Then heaviness fell on the men’s spirits, for wives and mothers upbraided them as cowards; their little ones shrieked and hid their faces when it was told that the bugbear of their dreams was making his ‘had’ in an Unst helyer; and at last, driven by shame and a remnant of manly courage, the islanders determined on attacking their enemy. They would discover if he were immortal; they would prove if the powers of evil were above those of good.
A fleet of boats was got ready, laden with sharp stones, which were to be cast at the foe—a safe mode of onslaught! The islanders armed themselves with staves and axes. Nets were prepared, in whose toils the Denschman should fall if he, by any strange chance, came to close quarters. The oldest udaller in the isle ordered his best boat to be launched and consecrated, to lead the attack. A day was fixed upon. It had been ascertained on the previous evening that the Denschman was still in his ‘had,’ alive and strong. No one doubted by that time that there he would remain while the island remained, if not ousted by force and the help of holy powers; or if not aided by demons to rise and blight the isle.
‘Pray,’ said the old udaller to his three fair daughters, who stood to see him embark in the consecrated boat—‘pray that I bring the Denschman’s dishonoured corpse back with me.’
‘We will pray,’ said the golden-haired maidens.
But what consternation there was on the Aire of Widwick, a few minutes later, when it was found that the old man’s boat—the largest and best in the isle, the skiff that was to have led the attack—had disappeared! She had not sunk into the pellucid water, else she had been easily recovered; she had not floated out to sea, for the tide was running landwards; yet she had gone as completely as if she had owned feet to carry her over earth, or wings to fly through air. To be sure, the boat had both feet and wings of a kind, but these were of use on the ocean alone. And she was gone—oars and sails too! Doubtless, her flight had been on her native element; but some man’s hand must have spread her wings or moved her feet. Then who had stolen the udaller’s boat? No Hialtlander, be sure! Robbery was never the vice of those islanders; moreover, such a theft could have been brought home to a native easily.
One fisherman, more acute than his neighbours, whispered: ‘None but the Denschman has done this;’ and with common assent, all echoed: ‘The Denschman has done this.’
Boats instantly put off and sped to Flübersgerdie, where confirmation of those suspicions was not wanting. The Denschman was no longer in the cave. He had been there, hale and terrible, on the previous evening; he had vanished that morning, and left no trace behind. ‘It must have been the Evil One himself,’ said the folk; and there was gloom in the isle, trembling, and much fear, for all expected that ere long the Denschman would descend upon Unst, and, fired by revenge, deal worse havoc than even that of former days.
But days and weeks went past, and nothing further was known of the Denschman or the udaller’s boat, and still the people feared their ancient foe and looked for his return. None doubted that he survived. The man who could live in unabated vigour through a fortnight without food or fire in a dark ocean cave, who could find means of leaving his prison, and could spirit away a large boat—such a one was not likely to have perished on the sea. Yes, without doubt, the Denschman would return to Unst; ‘and heaven help us when he comes!’ said the islanders.