Far to the west there was a break, showing a touch of blue, in the heavy clouds. The day might turn out all right. There were very few smokes about. The wise folk were not yet out of bed! So I went on to the post office and sent off a telegram requesting our letters to be forwarded to Eigg. That settled it! The postmaster, an obliging intelligent man, said he would come down and give a hand with the anchors.

As I was on the way back to the pier, a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds and all the air about me ran with light, and all the land of Skye. Green and lovely it looked, a siren island. Here and there cattle were slowly being put to pasture. How leisurely awoke this rural life in the freshness of the morning! An exultation came upon the mind, all the keener for the previous hopelessness and gloom. There was a contrast here that runs in the character of the people. I saw it and understood.

Meantime the Crew was getting milk and oatcakes and scones from Mrs. Morrison. She was allowed to pay for the milk, but for naught else, being overcome in the laughing argument. Here was the old Skye. So the Crew took photographs of them all and promised to send them (which she did), and we made our farewells.

Mr. Macleod and the postmaster soon appeared in their own boat. The wind, alas! had shifted to the west, which meant there would be a swell outside. Mr. Macleod was not at all sure of the weather; though it might keep up for a bit, it was not settled. There was stuff on the sky yet. However, if I couldn’t face it outside I could always run back, which I must be sure to do. He was obviously not very happy about the size of the crew! but I had made up my mind that we were going, for in the last day or two there had been growing a curious feeling of being trapped in this place, and I did not want any such fatalism of the West to take hold.

The heavy anchor was soon up and stowed in the cockpit. As they were hauling the light anchor, I got the engine going. The boat was now facing the shore and they stood off ready to help. The painter was properly shortened! I put her in reverse. She took the load. Now for it!—and I pushed the gear lever forward—and it went, into neutral and then into full speed ahead. There was a moment’s desperate hesitation before she took the forward load, but she took it, and I joined the Crew at the tiller. The Crew was charged with controlled excitement. But we were going—if not confidently enough yet to give the men a wave! They were already pulling for the pier and we were opening out the Cuillin—shrouded in tremendous cloud. Portnalong was in deep shadow. As we rounded Ardtreck Point, we waved farewell to a place where we had spent ten days of a new pleasant life, not the least memorable part being the storms, which Mr. Macleod had said were the worst summer storms he had experienced since coming to Portnalong. Which was something!