Pretty maddening, what with our friends on shore and the sweat running into my eyes and down my nose. But the Crew held on nobly till I got the engine going again, reasonably, in neutral. Then we cleared the dinghy and the Crew stood ready to push off from the vessel’s quarter as I went into reverse. We came away nicely, slowly round into the right spot, and the engine actually kept going this time in neutral while I dropped anchor and paid out foot by foot as she swung to the current, and waved to our friends ashore, and wiped my nose.

The Crew, of course, had been tensely excited over all these complicated manoeuvres, particularly as any order I shouted was generally drowned in the splendid roar; so that she had not had time to look at the engine; which was fortunate, or she might have collapsed, for as I stooped in at the door I was met by water being whirled all round the cabin with great velocity, and decided that at least one of the cylinders must have burst. After shutting the throttle (there was no switch for cutting out the spark) I satisfied myself that all that had happened was the rising of bilge water into the shallow pan beneath a flywheel doing its thousand or so revolutions a minute. So we got ready—I had a second pair of trousers which were supposed to be less oily—and rowed ashore.

VII

Egga, Ego, Ardegga, Egea, Eiggie, or Eigg

Our hostess, in white, looked cool and very clean, and welcomed us to her white home with its blue woodwork and cream walls, its lupins and gorgeous cabbage lettuces. This introduction to Eigg was somehow extraordinarily full of brightness. It was not merely that the sun was shining. There were trees, and braes with little hazel woods, and everywhere the fragrant white rose of Scotland. This is a delightful spot and during the five days we made it our headquarters we fell in love with it, even if the weather did not treat us well.

Our host—a writer—had the understanding of human needs that makes hospitality one of the pleasanter arts. In the cool room were bookcases and burning logs, and if he writes—which he threatens to do—a book about the Small Isles (Muck, Eigg, Rum and Canna), I shall place an advance order. If ever I come across a book beginning, ‘When I tapped the glass this morning it rose to 29.98 . . . ’ I shall be held like the Ancient Mariner. And think of this for the beginning of a happy ending: ‘The black needle, steady on 31, was pointing to VERY DRY.’ Though I admit that may be carrying romance a bit too far.

But the feeling of ease and pleasure after the trip is very real. Happiness exudes not so much from the mind as from the skin. One looks slowly at things and with a sort of bemused loving-kindness. One calls one’s hosts lucky dogs. Tells them this sort of blessedness is not fair. They laugh, and after one comprehending glance at a wrung-out body, he produces a tankard of draught beer with froth on the top. There is something a little divine about all this. The body breathes and lives in itself.