CHAPTER XVIII 



RUDHA NA h'UAMHA 



Away in the west of Mull there stands, guarding the shores 

 of that island from the eager waves of the Atlantic, the 

 Headland of the Caves, or, in the language of the Gael 

 — "Rudha na h'uamha." 



I think that of all districts of the island — sparsely popu- 

 lated and inaccessible as it is, even in its busiest parts — 

 this is the very wildest. No crofter's dwelling can be found 

 along the headland ; indeed, the foot of man may not tread 

 its rough slopes from one year's end to another. It is 

 given over to the Atlantic, and to the winds which come 

 thither from the vast regions of the sea. 



The last outpost of civilisation is a tiny croft overlook- 

 ing the blue waters of Loch Scridain, just where the loch 

 gives place to the restless heave of the Atlantic, and here 

 dwells a Gaelic speaking shepherd with his wife and family. 

 Often have I visited their home at every season of the 

 year — ^during summer sun and winter storm — and each time 

 I have received a welcome of the best, one which could be 

 given only by those who live their quiet lives close to the 

 heart of Nature. The good wife of this croft is never idle. 

 She has many things to occupy her time. Yet I have never 

 known her too busy but what she was eager to give the 

 traveller the best that her home could provide : scones and 

 oatcakes hot from the girdle, things to refresh one greatly 

 after a long tramp across the hills. Many pairs of stock- 

 ings and socks does she knit during the dark winter nights, 

 from the wool which she has herself spun and dyed. At 

 this spinning and dyeing of the wool there is indeed none 

 in the island to beat her. Of a summer's afternoon I have 



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