Eilean Dubh is an islet in the middle of the Lynn of Lorn, and has a nasty and slightly deceptive reef running well out on its west side. It is advisable to give it a wide berth. We were now getting anxious again about our navigation, as in our small chart the cluster of rocks and shoals to the north of Lismore looked very confusing, even under a magnifying glass. And just at that moment, two things happened: a squall of sou’easterly wind struck us, with lashing rain, and the engine began to miss and labour. It looked as if a valve was sticking or a drop of water interfering with the jet, if it wasn’t a faulty plug or two, so I could do nothing except try to keep her going. We were a long way from the presiding genius of Iona now!

As we came abreast of Port Appin, its sheltered anchorage looked very inviting. Even in the rain, its white walls and cultivated fields seemed to indicate a smiling land of plenty. Every now and then we struck such fertile spots on the West, and the rain did no more than bring out their colour.

I put it to the whole crew whether we should go into Port Appin rather than risk Loch Linnhe, with the weather and the engine as they were. But a sort of legend had grown up on this boat that having said we would go to a certain place, go we must; and some way back we had settled on Kintallen. So the crew voted onward and we began picking up our islets and shoals. We luckily made no mistake, though the island of Shuna did loom on us so near at hand (for it was thick here) that we wondered what it was. We kept on its farmhouse for a little and then bore away for the open firth, the engine reduced to three cylinders, the rain remorseless, and a cold wind out of the sou’east that whitened the Crew’s fingers.

Presently she called our attention to the land of Morven. ‘The mountains look twenty thousand feet high.’

We had opened out Loch Corrie and the hills behind were certainly of a fabulous magnitude. It is the sort of moment when Ossianic legend becomes real. We had never seen these gloomy formations on so gigantic a scale. They overwhelmed human discontent and lifted the mind to a strange and wondering happiness.

And on the strength of it the Mate addressed the Crew elaborately: ‘The milk and the sandwiches, though doubtless nourishing in themselves, are debarred from attaining their proper effect from lack of warmth. Now if he had anything good in his heart, such as a thimbleful of the ancient Scottish spirit—’

At which final word, as though Ossian himself had been waiting for it—and this at least is no legend—our rare old vintage of an engine uncorked her fourth cylinder with a roar. There were panic glances for a moment, before we understood. It was a command I could hardly refuse, though the precious store was indeed very low.