And then we met the sea—and the swell.

VI

How we Arrived at Eigg

The Crew had never encountered this motion of the sea so directly. In a steamer it is different. There one is high above the sea, with a great company around to inspire confidence and with a proper captain and crew. Here in our small boat the whole ocean came at one in rounded hills, as if (said the Crew) it were being heaved up from below. And there was about it the suggestion of a living restless force seeking all around to do something, to be violent, and yet with an immense and even more sinister power of restraint. If the restraining power were removed—what destructive forces would be released! The ‘pulse of the sea’ is a poor image for this massive on-rolling imminence.

Down the cliffs on our port side, a waterfall dropped sheer, its white vein smoking here and there. To starboard the surf was breaking on the two spits of Oronsay Island. Beyond were the cliffs of Wiay—and then, to the horizon, nothing but the ocean.

The sun was obscured by cloud, but round it I saw a wide halo, a complete circle of stormy rainbow colour. So that the Crew might not see it, I asked her how she felt.

‘Fine,’ she answered.

‘Like a smoke?’

But she shook her head and made a motion with her lips. They were dry and sticky. The knuckles of the hand that grasped the cockpit rail were white. She smiled. ‘I am not used to it. That’s all.’

I explained how lucky we were in having such a good sea, but when we got out of Loch Bracadale and headed south we would bring the swell abeam and so would be inclined to roll a bit. She nodded and asked me where we were going.

As I wasn’t sure myself, I began to expound a general plan of campaign. I would first head straight out of Loch Bracadale into the open sea, so that if the old engine broke down, I could rig up a sail and try to fetch our starting-point under canvas. We must accordingly keep a long distance off shore, because our particular kind of boat would, under sail, do little more than run before the wind. We could never tack into it. Had the wind been in an easterly direction, we could have fulfilled our first intention of making Soay Island and getting into Loch Scavaig beside Loch Coruisk (where it might have been interesting to spend a midnight or two). That was now ruled out. We should therefore bear presently for the island of Canna. And beyond that we need not for the moment think.

The engine was going steadily, the circulation pipes were cool, and the oil drip-feed was working. We were doing fine! Soon we had opened out Macleod’s Maidens and the hills of South Uist and were looking towards them, when a cable length ahead I saw a yellowish scum of water. I thought it tidal but kept my eye on it. And then I got what was our first real scare at sea. A heavy thirty-foot beam of wood, no more than just awash, was directly in front of us, broadside on. I put the helm hard over; there was a swaying lurch as the sea came at us, and we passed clear. What would have happened if we had hit that stem on, I do not know, but I imagine it might have been pretty bad. I smiled at the manner in which we had navigated by the compass and with no look out for long distances on the way south! No more of that, and I peered over the high house at the wind-darkened sea. Yet despite a keen lookout, I missed a second log altogether and only saw it as it swished past at arm’s length. Clearly the recent gales had taken toll of some deck cargo.