A RAID ON SUTHERLAND. 461 



swarming with sea-birds; in fact, there was no department 

 of wild sport, belonging either to Highlands or sea-coast, that 

 had not its representative in this zoological congress. One of 

 the greatest curiosities was an albino sea-eagle. There was 

 also a white jackdaw. The head-keeper pointed- out what he 

 called the black eagle. This, however, was a male golden 

 one, rather darker in the feathers than usual. The late Pro- 

 fessor MacGillivray, of Aberdeen, held sanguine belief of 

 another small kind of eagle which bred in the Highlands. He 

 never was able to prove it ; and with the exception of one or 

 two stragglers of the little spotted eagle, no third species has 

 ever been detected. 



We hired the only craft in Lochinver to cross the Minch to 

 Stornoway, where the west-coast steamboat calls. A filthy 

 little smack, and dirtier skipper, with a pair of squab cabin- 

 boys for crew, were not inviting, but we had no choice. When 

 they were weighing anchor and hoisting sail, we were accosted 

 by the old fishing-guide, who had till then been unsuccessfully 

 fishing for his " morning." A bottle of ale at once uncorked 

 the full tide of his gasconading folly. He first boasted of a 

 brother, a sergeant in a Highland regiment. One of the fish- 

 ing gentlemen quietly asked if he had not deserted. Neil's 

 fury knew no bounds. " He deserted his wife then ? " sug- 

 gested Mr , who thoroughly knew his man. "He was 



never merried," stuttered old hobnails, choking with passion. 

 " Then how could he desert his wife ? " was the adroit turn. 

 Neil's muddled dilemma at this query was comical in the ex- 

 treme. The stake-nets were in full view. The old fisherman, 

 of course, was bragging of what he could do in that way. 

 " Gie me a bag-net," quoth Neil. " I've none to give ; and if 

 I had, I would put your ugly head in it," retorts the salmon- 

 angler, who hated the very name of the deadly tool that spoilt 

 his sport. We left old Neil as mad as a bull in a net. 



" Where's her head ? " roars the skipper from the bulkhead 

 cabin. " She's east by waast ! " shout the crew. With a few 



