a very slow affair. There was no wind, and as the boat was wretchedly

equipped, we could pull but two oars on one side, and one on the other.

The men gave way, however, with a good will, the passengers taking

spells to help them, and the whole company giving the time in

Gaelic boat-songs. And what with the songs, and the sea-air, and the

good-nature and spirit of all concerned, and the bright weather, the

passage was a pretty thing to have seen.

But there was one melancholy part. In the mouth of Loch Aline we found

a great sea-going ship at anchor; and this I supposed at first to be one

of the King's cruisers which were kept along that coast, both summer

and winter, to prevent communication with the French. As we got a little

nearer, it became plain she was a ship of merchandise; and what still

more puzzled me, not only her decks, but the sea-beach also, were quite

black with people, and skiffs were continually plying to and fro between

them. Yet nearer, and there began to come to our ears a great sound

of mourning, the people on board and those on the shore crying and

lamenting one to another so as to pierce the heart.

Then I understood this was an emigrant ship bound for the American

colonies.

We put the ferry-boat alongside, and the exiles leaned over the

bulwarks, weeping and reaching out their hands to my fellow-passengers,

among whom they counted some near friends. How long this might have gone

on I do not know, for they seemed to have no sense of time: but at last

the captain of the ship, who seemed near beside himself (and no great

wonder) in the midst of this crying and confusion, came to the side and

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