The largest was like an oversize statue of Queen Victoria, well bustled behind, rather than any sea maiden of a clan chief; but the two smaller ones were maidenly enough, one stooped a little as in meditation. It was only when we discovered that Queen Victoria was two hundred feet high, and the others each a hundred feet, that we properlyrealised how massive were the cliff-walls, reaching at one place to over six hundred feet, against which we had sailed most of the day. The Crew surveyed them from all angles while I steered for Wiay Island in the entrance to Loch Bracadale. Beyond the cliffs of Wiay lay Oronsay Island, with its face of rock like the wall of a medieval fortress, complete with arched door in the centre. I gave the two low spits that run out from this island a respectable berth and then headed for Ardtreck Point, round which should lie Portnalong and our anchorage.

Meantime the Crew was drawing my attention to many things—a habit she developed as the days went on, and a not unpleasant one, for there was as a rule plenty of time to contemplate the unusual. And the grass that rippled over Wiay and Oronsay had certainly the velvet-like texture of a living skin, while the sheep that clung so precariously to the very edges of the precipices might readily be mistaken for small grey boulders.

‘Do they ever fall off?’

‘Oh, a few of them now and again. Their thrill. And the bite just beyond reach—pretty sweet. As a sheep, would you have an urge to get such a bite?’

‘As a sheep, I have had such an urge in my time,’ she replied, looking at me pointedly. She was picking up!

I told her to keep her eyes on her work, as we were now about to perform something that might be very much more exciting to us than standing on a cliff-edge is to a sheep.

‘What is that?’

‘We are about to come to our first anchorage,’ I replied.

At that, sobered by imagination, she stuck her head into the chart. ‘Is that Ardtreck Point?’

‘What else can it be?’

‘Is Portnalong round that?—it isn’t named on the chart.’

‘No’, I answered, ‘but it’s named in the Sailing Directions: read it out again.’

So she read what was there printed thus: ‘Sheltered anchorage, except for a short carry from the east, in four faths. close in-shore. This bay is free of dangers, and affords splendid anchorage to W. of pier, the holding ground being very good. The pier shows a fix. red It.

‘STORES. Small store. P.O. mile up road. No Tel. WATER. Tap behind shed at head of Pier.’

‘It seems queer to think that all that’s round that point. Do you think it is?’

‘I doubt it,’ I answered.

‘What’ll I have to do?’

‘Wait till you get your orders.’ And then I remembered she had not been with me when I was told two very impressive stories about Skyemen coming back with motor boats for the first time from Gairloch or some other near spot on the mainland.