Looking seawards the vista was a turmoil of broken water, divided by the Island of Fetlar. Close under its lee the sea was comparatively calm, but owing to the tidal race, the "Sound" or intervening channel seemed too violent for any craft to navigate in safety.
Cautiously the lieutenant approached the brink of the cliff and looked down to the cauldron of foam beneath. The tide had ebbed considerably. Fang-like rocks showed their jagged heads above the breakers for nearly a quarter of a mile off shore. It seemed marvellous how the almost waterlogged "Roldal" had contrived to be swept over those dangerous rocks. In vain he looked for traces of his first independent command: the ship had literally gone to pieces.
After considerable difficulty Terence succeeded in finding the little cottage to which his chum had been taken. A big-boned, gaunt-featured man answered his knock, and without betraying the faintest surprise at his visitor's garb, invited him into the room. The Shetlander asked no questions; he seemed to know Aubyn's business. Like the rest of the islanders, most of whom had played a prominent part in the rescue of the survivors of the "Roldal," he already know the officers and most of the men by sight.
Impressed by the gravity of the man's manner, Terence fully expected to find his chum in a desperate plight, but to his surprise he was greeted by an outburst of laughter.
"Excuse me, old man," exclaimed Kenneth, "but you do look a sketch! Who's your tailor? And are you about to cultivate a torpedo beard?"
"How's that arm of yours?" asked Aubyn.
"Feels a bit rotten," admitted Kenneth, "or rather, I can't feel it at all. It seems a bit numb. But it will be all right in a day or so, I guess. It was a real plucky thing of yours, old man. Looked like a case of attempted suicide, when you cut that rope.
"I should have felt like your murderer if I hadn't," retorted Aubyn. "But it's over and done with. We're lucky to get ashore. By the by, I suppose you know that they're sending a steamer from Lerwick as soon as the weather moderates?"
Terence could not talk rationally. He touched upon half a dozen subjects in as many minutes. His mind was full of sorrow for his chum's misfortune. He knew what Raeburn was yet to learn: that the lack of sensitiveness in Kenneth's arm meant that never again would his chum be able to use the limb.
Raeburn's sanguineness was most pathetic. He had fully made up his mind to get to Leith and await the "Strongbow's" return. He rehearsed the little scene he would have when Smithers restored to him his cherished pipe.