Skye, Island of (Scotland) -- Description and travel
The question now arose--By what means could we reach Mr M'Ian? There
was no ferry at Kilmaree, but sundry boats were drawn up on the
shore, and a couple were bobbing on the restless water at the stony
pier. There were the boats certainly enough, but where were the
boatmen? In the neighbourhood men could surely be obtained who, for
a consideration, would take us across. We directed our steps to the
lodge at Kilmaree, which seemed untenanted, and after some little
trouble penetrated into the region of the offices and outhouses.
Here we found a couple of men chopping sticks, and to them my
companion--who as a man of business and learned in the law was the
spokesman on such occasions--addressed himself. "You want to go over
to Mr M'Ian's to-night?" said the elder, desisting from his task, and
standing up with his axe in his hand. "Yes, we are particularly
anxious to get across. Can you take us?" "I don't know; you see we
are no ferrymen, an' if we take you across we must leave our work."
"Of course you must; but we'll pay you for your trouble." Here the
two men exchanged a sentence or two of Gaelic, and then the elder
wood-chopper asked, "Do you know Mr M'Ian?" "Oh, yes, we know him
very well." "Does he expect you this night?" "No; but we are
anxious to see him, and he will be glad to see us." "I'm no sure we
can take you across," said the man hesitatingly; "you see the master
is from home, an' the wind is rising, an' we're no ferrymen, an'
we'll need to borrow a boat, an'"--here he hesitated still more--"it
would cost you something." "Of course it will. What will you
expect." "Wad you think ten shillings too much?" "No, we'll give
you ten shillings," said Fellowes, clinching the bargain. "And,"
said I, coming in like a swift charge of lancers on a
half-disorganised battalion, and making victory complete, "we'll give
you a glass of spirits at the house, too, when you get across." The
men then threw down their axes, put on their jackets, which hung on
nails on the walls, and talking busily in Gaelic, led the way to the
little stony pier where the boats were moored.
[Sidenote: On Loch Eishart.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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