His snoring was the most magnificent I have ever heard. It induced reverberations of laughter in the coping of a small stone bridge. The bog quaked. I could hardly read my watch-face for snorts of mirth that issued from some obscure but happy benevolence within.

At Kyleakin—Haco’s Kyle—we had to wait an hour and a quarter for the ferry boat, which seemed bent on demonstrating the scientific curve of timelessness with the two off piers as axes of co-ordinates. And very convincing it was, for our wits were sharpened by the knowledge that we were now to be at least one hour late, and we followed the graph with close attention and occasional exclamatory remarks of admiration. A car had shut off its engine behind us. From it, in a lull, came an explosive voice: ‘What the damthing wants to keep jiggering about like that for, God knows!’ But we had not the energy to form a committee.

Often in following weeks was I to curse this absence of time in the West, a state or condition for which there is no human warrant. It irritates supremely the active man who wants something done. I swore that one day I should have my revenge.

The cod at Kyle of Lochalsh were forgotten. And all Eoin’s friends passed by. The long trek across country was accomplished in marvellous time. For we took turn about at the wheel, the one who was relieved climbing into the back seat and curling up in a half-sleep where the body was softly tossed by trains rushing backward, by the screws of heaving steamers, by a certain small motor cruiser, twenty-seven feet over all, refusing to give way to beam seas. And we triumphed, for when I bade good-bye to Eoin at the gate, our guests had not yet arrived.

‘You’ve bought her?’

‘Yes,’ I said, acknowledging her smiling welcome on the doorstep, ‘and you are hereby engaged as the whole crew.’

II

Fitting Out

With copies of the Motor Boat, the Yachting Monthly, and similar periodicals (not to mention cruises in book form of small craft on most of the seven seas) lying about me, I realised that I had gone against every authority and precedent in first buying my boat and then proceeding to find out the sort of boat I should have bought. I was a stranger to this sea-cruising world, with no knowledge of its technical needs, and with a very indifferent stomach for its heave and roll, yet I hadn’t even invited lists of second-hand vessels from the Clyde yachting yards, and so have ensured certain positive aids in the way of equipment and comfort.

As, a Caledonian, I should presumably blush to mention this, but in my desire to help other men who, equally ignorant with myself, may yet have the sea in their blood, I must leave the hard-headed myth to its place of origin. I did things first and met the consequences after. And as this is largely a record of these consequences, I must set them down as they arose.