CHAPTER XIX 



IN HEBRIDEAN WATERS 



A GREY, leaden morning of late summer. For days 

 now the wind has blown fresh from the west, bringing 

 mist and rain from the great spaces of the Atlantic. 



Across Oban Bay there stand the hills of Mull, faint and 

 indistinct, and with driving rain squalls shrouding them from 

 time to time. 



It is just after sunrise that the small steamer which carries 

 mails and passengers for the Outer Hebrides casts off from the 

 pier, setting her course north-west for the Sound of Mull and 

 the open sea beyond it. Comparatively sheltered and land- 

 locked as is the first part of the passage, the Atlantic swell is 

 this morning felt even between Kerrara and Lismore, and the 

 rain clouds race past us from the west, while the glass falls 

 steadily. Terns fish daintily in the broken waters, and an 

 Arctic skua makes its way northward with clean-cut and 

 powerful flight. Near Lismore the tide rushes southward 

 with great speed, and here is a rough and confused sea, spell- 

 ing destruction to any small boat. Mist and rain sweep 

 across from the Mull hills, so that all distant view is obscured, 

 but the old castle of Duart is seen dimly, overlooking the 

 storm-tossed sound, and farther north the Glas Eileanan, or 

 Grey Islands, with their numerous population of terns. 



A brief halt at Tobermory, and off the little village of 

 Kilchoan, in Ardnamurchan, and then the small ship sets 

 her course westward, making for the islands of Coll and 

 Tiree. On the rocks about the Ardnamurchan Lighthouse 

 the Atlantic swell breaks with slow and steady rhythm, 



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