REMINISCENCES OF THE LEWS. 77 



I cannot imagine. The crew consisted of three 

 of the ugliest, noisiest, most ill-conditioned- 

 looking viragoes of women I ever looked upon. 

 No one knew, or, if they did know, would own 

 them. There they were, perched up in their 

 boat, like so many witches, barring their 

 broomsticks. One of them sat upon a turf 

 creel in the bows, knitting for her bare life. 

 What Hebridean female, be she witch or not, 

 does not, under every circumstance and every 

 occupation, knit as if her bare life depended 

 upon that exertion ? Their voices set your 

 teeth on edge, and their laughter made you try 

 and stop your ears. It was evident they were 

 bent on mischief, and that to maintain dis- 

 cipline with these three Gorgons was impos- 

 sible ; and so it turned out. The tide was 

 now making fast. The rocks over which the 

 rapids had been foaming were disappearing. 

 We could see the leaders of the band of the 

 bottle-noses moving about, and gradually feel- 

 ing their way as to taking the Narrows. Half- 

 an-hour's patience now, and our troubles would 

 be repaid, and this band, like the last that had 

 visited Loch Seaforth a few years before, would 

 be ours ; when, just at this critical moment, 

 this triumvirate of demons, deaf to all en- 

 treaties, to offers of bribes innumerable, to 



