FRAGMENTS FROM THE SEASHORE. 245 



was therefore compelled to carry a goodly number, 

 that were almost heavy enough to have been 

 composed of iron ore, a great distance on my back 

 before the horseshoe-shaped walls of my photo- 

 graphic studio were raised high enough to receive 

 the roof. The problem of securing timber to 

 support the heavy stone slabs and block up the 

 doorway was solved by descending a deep hole, 

 broken, according to Highland tradition, through 

 the roof of a sea cave by one of King Odin's heels 

 when he alighted on the solid shores of North 

 Uist after his record leap of at least eight miles 

 to escape the fury of his irate queen. Here I 

 found plenty of driftwood deposited by the ever- 

 beneficent Gulf Stream, but getting it to the mouth 

 of the pit without assistance was another story. 

 For half the distance I could shoulder it and 

 ascend with some degree of ease and safety, but 

 during the rest of the journey the timber had 

 to be held in my arms whilst I slowly worked my 

 way upwards with shoulders pressed against an 

 overhanging bank, and feet on a thin layer of 

 crumbling rubble lying over a smooth-faced bed 

 of rock sloping with dangerous steepness towards 

 the bottom of the pit. Nothing would save the 

 wayfarer who made a slip at this particular point 

 from rolling down a rough slope for fifty feet 

 and alighting on a bed of tide-tossed boulders, 

 calculated to do some damage. 



