The result was that I delayed our departure for ten minutes and
when I came on board faced a wrathful Gresson. 'Where the hell
have you been?' he asked. 'The weather's blowing up dirty and the
old man's mad to get off. Didn't you get your legs stretched
enough this afternoon?'

I explained humbly that I had been to the schoolmaster to get
something to read, and produced my dingy red volumes. At that his
brow cleared. I could see that his suspicions were set at rest.

We left Colonsay about six in the evening with the sky behind us
banking for a storm, and the hills of Jura to starboard an angry
purple. Colonsay was too low an island to be any kind of breakwater
against a western gale, so the weather was bad from the start. Our
course was north by east, and when we had passed the butt-end of
the island we nosed about in the trough of big seas, shipping tons
of water and rolling like a buffalo. I know as much about boats as
about Egyptian hieroglyphics, but even my landsman's eyes could
tell that we were in for a rough night. I was determined not to get
queasy again, but when I went below the smell of tripe and onions
promised to be my undoing; so I dined off a slab of chocolate and a cabin
biscuit, put on my waterproof, and resolved to stick it out on deck.

I took up position near the bows, where I was out of reach of
the oily steamer smells. It was as fresh as the top of a mountain, but
mighty cold and wet, for a gusty drizzle had set in, and I got the
spindrift of the big waves. There I balanced myself, as we lurched
into the twilight, hanging on with one hand to a rope which
descended from the stumpy mast. I noticed that there was only an
indifferent rail between me and the edge, but that interested me and