LETTER XXIII. 161 



the voices of the vexed waters within the whirlpool, and can see 

 the white waves madly leaping into the air, throwing up the foam 

 towards the sky, as they approaeh the entrance to the gulf 

 between Scarba and Jura. Even where we are, the water is in 

 a state of ebullition, — technically called a " tide rip, or ripple," — 

 quite distinct from the ordinary waves, which roll along before 

 the wind. 1 



Our skipper gets a pull of the sheet, keeps his luff, and shouts 

 something discordant in Gaelic to his mate in the bow (wearing 

 a garibaldi, red frock, and only one boot), who trims the jib. 

 We surmise that the Sound of Jura is a treacherous water, but 

 have implicit confidence in our skipper, who screws himself into 

 as snug a position as the steering perch upon which he is roosting 

 will admit, and makes horrible faces as he dislodges a bit of 

 tobacco in his cheek with his tongue. 



At last we near the land, and shooting past a little rocky 

 point, find ourselves in a smooth, glassy, land-locked bay with a 

 little pier, shrubs growing down to the water's edge, and a gay 

 little yacht floating peaceably at anchor, unconscious of the 

 heaving surf, which ever moans at the narrow portal of this 

 placid little haven. 



We were received on shore by a couple of gillies, who took 

 our guns and slender baggage, and then ascended a gentle slope 

 of grass like a large lawn, bounded by rocky banks, shaggy with 



1 Such as we ourselves witnessed, near the same place, in July 1SS7, from the 

 deck of our yacht, interested in an appearance which might well have served as 

 an illustration of the Great Sea Serpent : and one frecpiently observed and 

 understood by lighthouse-keepers, and others who are accustomed to gaze upon 

 the waters, in all stages of calm or storm, or ebb and flow of tide. — En. 



