‘A skylark is singing strongly in the rain (contrary to our book’s belief), which at last is coming straight down, for the wind has died.

‘There is something ominous in the lull. Yet I see a cormorant coming down Loch Harport and heading out to sea. And sea-birds can be a surer indication of weather than a glass.

‘The small boats by the pier are swinging round a little. The wind is changing. In the quiet, the rain beats heavily on the deck, and though I had spent a whole forenoon renewing some of the putty in the skylights and fixing the ventilators, there is still a drip here and there. The sort of small thing that can be very annoying.

‘Our herring gull is wiping his beak on the end plank of the pier. He has a careful look round, picks up specks here and there—the last of the monster mackerel, bone and all—takes off, settles in salt water and nuzzles it cleansingly, then alights on the end of the dinghy, now half full of water, looks straight at me, and says, “Skoo-awk!”’

In this lull, we dared not risk going ashore, for weather conditions were similar to those which had preceded the previous gale. The gull alighted on the edge of the cockpit, more deathly than ever. Vigorously I shoo’d him off, for certainly he had proved himself a bird of ill omen for us. But immediately we heard his feet overhead, where he made a mess. A second cormorant came down Loch Harport, and I blessed the bird. The glass had moved up two points. We went ashore, where I met the carpenter coming down to work on the pier. He promised me some tow for caulking the dinghy and I asked him what he thought of the weather. ‘I’m afraid the summer is over,’ he said. ‘We had all the good weather in May.’ I had discovered one or two doubtful bolts about the engine. The prospect was gloomy enough, so I got hold of my old friend and an outboard motor, and that night in the straight rain we went away with the net.

I still hear his voice as he stooped for the first white gleam: ‘Mackerel!’ And for the second: ‘Maakerel!’ And for the third: ‘Maaakril!’ A fine crescendo of disgust it was by the time we had landed a few dozen of these fish. But we had our good luck, too, and the incessant downpour gave things a friendliness. The stage is reached where rain no longer matters, a certain easy pleasure is got from it, a real sense of freedom. And a pipe smokes with the bowl upside down about as well as any other way. When at last I heard the footsteps die away on the pier, I turned in and slept like a stone.

And then in the morning, lo! a breath of wind from the east and the glass still rising.

We would go!

Up at six o’clock, we soon had breakfast over and things fairly sea-shape. I cleared the engine and primed her. She roared first time. I could but hope that no damage had been done to the shaft or clutch. At nine, we went ashore. I wanted Mr. Macleod to help me haul the big anchor. The two chains had got foul.