But the sea does not permit indulgence in land reveries, not for very long, for Treshnish Point was falling astern, and we had to make up our minds what we were going to do. The Treshnish Isles, opening out to starboard in their flat rectangular rock formations, low to the sea, were a continuous and ever varying attraction. The Dutchman’s Cap, from an easterly aspect, is ultra-modern in the severity of its lines, compared with the island north of it (Lunga) in which the Crew from one point found a remarkable resemblance to Napoleon’s hat.

But the Mate had discovered low on the horizon what he believed from the chart to be Staffa, while I wondered about a boss of rock obviously much farther away and a little to the west. It could not be Dubh Artach lighthouse, for that was much too far distant to be seen. Nor apparently was it the end of the Ross of Mull, judging from the configuration of the land. It did not look like an island but like a rock coming up out of the sea, and we could not find a likely rock anywhere on our chart. Every now and again this mysterious rock drew our attention—as it must have drawn the attention of Vikings and Gaels, pirates and pilgrims, throughout the centuries.

As the day went on we opened out Loch Tuadh, got Ulva Island on our port beam, and the Mate was showing a considerable degree of confidence in our general position. I watched him working out the game of chances.

‘You see’, he explained, ‘if anything happened now, we could make one or two sheltered anchorages in the north of Ulva Island. I could sail her into them easily.’

‘Fine.’

‘And just round the southern point of the island, there’s a good anchorage we could run into, called—called—’

‘Gometra,’ I said.

The Crew smiled. ‘It’s an old game now,’ she explained. ‘He always has a few anchorages up his sleeve.’

The Mate laughed, delighted.

I suggested that in fact I shouldn’t mind landing on Ulva, as it afforded a quite outstanding spectacle of social devastation, consequent upon land clearances, and said that Dr. Johnson and his Scotch satellite had been there and also in the neighbouring island of Inch Kenneth, where the Doctor was astonished to discover civilisation in quite shapely forms.

‘So long as we know,’ said the Mate, holding a steady southerly course. And they both laughed.

‘Aren’t you impressed by Johnson’s visit?’

‘Not particularly, at the moment. In fact the only thing that impressed me in the whole affair was the old boy’s philosophic behaviour in dirty weather. Remember the night they made Coll? By heavens, it was a filthy night. And the old lad lay like a log, sick as a dog, and abused no one. Full marks.’

‘And he really hated the whole show. How he hated it! It was somewhere hereabouts, wasn’t it, that he confided in Boswell his real opinion. He would not wish not to be disgusted in the Highlands, he said, for that would be to lose the power of distinguishing, and a man might then lie down in the middle of them. He wished only, he said, to conceal his disgust.’