But it is a subject which I have dealt with elsewhere and I mention it now because of the depressing effect it had upon us on that quiet evening in Oban, with its gay visitors, and clean streets, and handsome hotels.

‘What does Oban live on?’ I asked the salesman.

‘House-letting mostly. Though the shops do a good trade with the country round about.’

Two trawlers were unloading and a third manoeuvring for a berth. I asked him how it was we could not catch fish in the bays. I could not help smiling at his dry expression as he looked at the trawlers. I remembered the lonely fisherman of Ardmore.

‘How much fish have they landed to-day?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know to-day’s figures, but on Monday last they landed two thousand six hundred boxes. Some days it’s less.’

For one small quay it seemed an astonishing quantity of white fish.

That these vessels poached the inshore banks there could be little doubt. That the official effort to detect them was ludicrously inadequate there could likewise be no doubt. On our travels, we had once seen the Fishery cruiser. Giving her the West to look after was like giving all Argyllshire to one gamekeeper.

To blame the trawlers is to ask too much of human nature. In their position I should certainly do my utmost to poach. Indeed, as I looked at these iron vessels, their rust whitened by salt water and gulls, I knew I was looking at the most daring vessels afloat, manned by the finest and most intrepid seamen to be found on any of the oceans of the world. They have the air of buccaneers. No slacking or grousing against the Government here. They take their living out of the teeth of danger, in the worst seas fought by man, and a slowly meandering Fishery cruiser or the wailing of a pack of half-crofters is not going to trouble them much.

‘Well, at least the trawlers bring a lot of business to Oban?’

But the salesman shook his head. ‘They have the fish all ready in iced boxes and load them direct on to the train for the south. That’s all.’

We watched this neat dispatch of business. The train shunted on the quay.

‘Are there no local fishing boats from Oban?’

‘There is supposed to be one.’

And there we were back at a sore point, back at the reputed laziness and lack of initiative of the West Coast man, at those tales of doles and faked employment, of constant demands for Government assistance, of a lost capacity to help himself.

‘I want to buy some fresh fish,’ said the Crew to the Mate.

Like a lamb he followed her into a fish shop. She chose a modest quantity for a single meal and the price manifestly staggered him.

‘Are you sure they’re quite fresh?’ she asked pleasantly.

‘Oh yes, madam. They’ve just come from Aberdeen.’