CHAPTER XIX 



THE MAIL-BOAT 



To the dwellers in the inaccessible Hebridean Isles of Coll 

 and Tiree, the one link between themselves and civilisation 

 is the small but sturdy steamer which, summer and winter, 

 regularly brings to them their mails, and indeed, most of 

 the necessaries of life. 



Manned by a sturdy crew of Gaelic-speaking Highlanders, 

 and in charge of a skipper w^ho is one of the finest navi- 

 gators of his time, the mail-boat succeeds in making her 

 call at the narrow and rock-girt loch at Arinagour, in Coll, 

 and at the surf-ridden Gott Bay, in Tiree, when no other 

 vessel, either stranger or one "well acquaint " (as they say) 

 w^ith the coast, would attempt to make a landing. 



I have many a time crossed over to the islands in the 

 mail-boat, and each occasion I can clearly recall, but one 

 which remains most vividly impressed on the memory was 

 on a wild morning of early December. The previous day 

 was dull and quiet, with mist hanging low* on all the hills, 

 and with the barometer extrabrdinarily low — it stood at 

 28.4 inches — and still falling. It was after dark when I started 

 on my way to Tobermory, that little seaport at the northern 

 entrance to the Sound of Mull, from which the steamer 

 was w'ont to start out before daybreak. There was as yet 

 no wind, but across the northern sky the aurora played 

 incessantly. From the north-western horizon, where the 

 sky was free from storm clouds, pale shafts of greenish 

 light shot up, remained for a few seconds, then vanished, 

 to reappear elsewhere. As far as the zenith the glow ex- 

 tended, and flickering shafts of light, as though from sheet- 

 lightning, lit up the sky. Below, the dark waters of that 



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