AFTER DEER 259 



The forked flames leap up towards the stalactites on 

 the ceiling, their flickering shadows rise and fall on 

 the cavern walls, while, lulled to rest by the droning 

 of the surf, in a few minutes we have consigned to 

 a temporary oblivion all our hopes and fears for the 

 morrow. 



An early waking, a hurried, shuddering plunge into 

 the ocean, a deliberate breakfast, and a more deliberate 

 pipe. It is a regular Hebridean autumn morning. 

 Last evening we and the sun separated on the most 

 pleasant terms, scarcely one fleecy cloud in the sky, 

 everything below responding to his parting smiles. 

 Now a bitter north-west gale is blowing off the ocean, 

 snatching up armfuls of sand and tossing them into 

 your eyes, driving the dirty grey clouds fast over the 

 heavens, and tumbling about the cold grey water in 

 showers of drifting foam. We make our arrangements 

 stolidly, fill our flasks and sling our glasses ; but even 

 after we have corrected the rawness of the atmosphere 

 with a modest " morning " of mountain dew, it takes 

 an effort to force out a sentence or screw up a smile. 

 We half envy our rifles the warm seclusion of the 

 waterproof coverings in which we leave them for the 

 present. Roughing it, indeed ! We bear it all with 

 a subdued pleasure, and a grim gratification in 

 endurance which does us infinite credit ; but we are 

 inclined to pit our Highland hardships against any 

 chance of frost-bite in Canada or sunstroke in the 

 Wynaut jungle. And in spite of the wind that goes, 

 roaring past us as we mount a breach in the cliffs. 



