Even more than that, as this particular engine demonstrated; for the engineer, with the great artist’s economy, begins eliminating forces, such as magnetism, and starts his engine by compressing the air we breathe. An astral conjuror, at the touch of whose fingers the Rena comes alongside so nicely that you can step ashore without throwing a rope.

And it showed us some mountains, too, when it was at it. I thought I had seen Ben Cruachan plain, for it dominates Taynuilt, and from the Quiet Bay we had nightly observed its great peak take the dying sunlight. But we never saw it in full majesty until we had gone beyond Bonawe Narrows and looked back. For Ben Cruachan is rightly a mountain closely attended by six others, each of them over 3,000 feet, and the majesty is for him who gazes back on the group rising from the sea.

From Bonawe up to the head of Loch Etive is some twelve miles, and as a display of near mountainous scenery, the region is impressive. The day was full of sunshine, and though it brought a haze to distant peaks, where the Crew craved definition in outline for her camera, it was perfect for a traveller adventuring for the first time into this high rock-glittering land, with soft green of lower slopes and narrow wooded glens. An occasional shooting lodge or shepherd’s house emphasised the stillness and remoteness. Once the small boat we towed went ashore with letters for a sheep farmer, and once we stopped to deliver a package for workmen renovating a lodge some miles inland; for this country is all deer forest and full of landlords and clegs (though you can kill the clegs).

Glen Noe, Glen Liver (with a good bay), and Glen Kinglas to starboard; to port, Cadderlie River with its bay and Dail—with the antiquary’s theory. ‘Thereabouts’, said the engineer, ‘is the site of Deirdre’s garden; and do you see that rocky place with the three trees (at high water it’s an island)? Well, that’s supposed to be the spot where Deirdre’s treasure lies buried.’

‘The garden’, said the Crew, with an expert’s eye, ‘would be where that man is cutting hay. I wonder if she went in for rock plants.’

‘Of course, no one can be sure about anything,’ said the engineer with a smile. ‘There was a man here last year hunting for the treasure—’

But I missed the story because at that moment a cleg landed on the rubicund cheek of a clergyman, who was listening to us, and who hated the brutes as much as I did. ‘Cleg!’ I shouted. He held up his cheek, which in my enthusiasm I smacked so loudly that other passengers turned round.

‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully. ‘Thanks so much. They specially rejoice in me.’

All the passengers were like children on a holiday, delightful folk, and the Rena and her crew let no one down. Not even over the golden eagle of the handbill, for presently the second-in-command was pointing to a mountain-top, where, sure enough, the great bird was slowly circling on extended wings.