2076 TiiF. Zoologist— April, 1870. 



gathering gloom and swoop at tliat gannet ! the gannet swerves aside; 

 the pirate almost touches the water, but springing aloft again dashes 

 at the gannet, which again swerves, while the skua sheers off, doubt- 

 less seeing that the solan was empty and hungry as itself. 1 have 

 only once before seen Richardson's skua attack such a large bird as 

 the gannet. 



But we have passed Pabba's precipices and are in the Sound of 

 Mingalay, where the billows of the Atlantic, meeting the waves and 

 tide of the Minch, the tide running like a mill-race, the huge waves 

 are humbled, and in rage and despair are leaping, foaming, tumbling 

 and whirling us close under a reef of rocks, on which the waves churn 

 themselves into foam — mad, like a wounded boar. Two pair of great 

 blackbacks rise from their nests, and, conscious of their security, stare 

 at us as our boat is labouring and plunging. Several oystercatchers 

 are running about the r>)ck, and rising and quivering their wings, 

 trilling their shrill whistle in terror for their eggs, while the "scarts" 

 fly blindly around the reef. 



Kani IJead, hideous in the gloom, is blotted out by the fierce rage 

 of the storm. A yell in Gaelic as Rorj' and his man spring to the 

 sheet! I grasp the tiller as they tear down the sail : the wind rages 

 and screams round us; the angry waves, seething in the maelstrom of 

 tumidt, are white with foam, as the (ierce gale strips off their tops, 

 blending salt water and rain, and mist, and sea, and sky, all in gloom. 

 The foam is dashed in our faces, as, encased in waterproofs from head 

 to feet, I clench my teeth and grasp the tiller. All is gloom, one 

 can't see fifiy yards a-head ; the reef of rocks on which. we can hear 

 the roar of the waves, is hidden from sight, and nothing is seen, save 

 when a gull .seems to whirl past and vanishes in the gloom. 



Rory says it is impossible to reach Barra Head to-day, as wind and 

 tide are against us, and as we have manfully battled with wind and 

 tide for six long cold hours, we are unwilling to turn back. Rory 

 says he can land us on Mingalay : there are two men there who can 

 speak English, and we can get shelter, and cross over the Sound of 

 Bernera to Barra Head to-morrow if the weather moderates : we 

 clutch at this forlorn hope, and 



"Swifi as a gull before the breeze, 

 Before ihe gale bound we." 



A quarter of an hour's cold wet sail, with the salt foam in our faces — 

 an indistinct black mass rises, seemingly pressed down by the weight 



