He had remembered what the chief of MacGregor had told him, long ago when he was a hunted fugitive, how from time immemorial the proud Clan Alpine had been wont to drag their chiefly galleys across that other tairbeart, the narrow isthmus of land between Loch Long and Loch Lomond, from sea-water to fresh; and how King Hakons son-in-law Magnus, King of Man, had heard of the device over fifty years ago, before the Battle of Largs, and had surprised the Scots by appearing without warning in the Clyde estuary, from the Hebridean Sea, by crossing this more westerly tar bert For here also was only a mile-wide isthmus. Just over the intervening low ridge, West Loch Tarbert struck inland for ten miles from the Sound of Jura and the Western Sea.
The ascent was stiff for such heavy loads, and taxed all the muscle and
determination. Then Bruce realised that, as so often of a summer
morning, there was an onshore wind. This, sweeping down Loch Fyncs
cold-water surface, blew on to the wanner land here from an easterly direction. Hurrying back to the leading galley, he yelled to the few men still on board to raise the great sail.
It was worth trying, and could do no harm.
The moment that the sail began to open, the effect was felt by every man pulling and pushing. The wind seemed to take half the weight off the vessel. Speed increased dramatically. Quickly the other craft hoisted sail likewise. Everywhere men laughed and cheered, however breathlessly. Here would be a tale to tell, a great song to sing, something to twit Angus Og with-how the Lowland king sailed from Loch Fyne to Jura Sound!
They did not in fact sail all the way; for once the crest of the ridge was passed, the east wind died away, and any breeze there was came from the west. However, it was now downhill and easier going. In little more than two hours after leaving the East Loch, the first two vessels were dipping their forefeet into the West.
There was no triumphant pause in the mens Herculean exertions.
Without delay, all but a few turned back, to repeat their
performance.
They improved on their methods, their route and their expertise, but it was early evening nevertheless before all the galleys were safely into the West Loch, with men exhausted and tempers frayed.
The King himself had been seeking to hide his fretfulness for hours. It had all taken longer than he had anticipated, and he was working within narrow time limits.
Whenever the last keel was in the water, and despite the grousing of tired and hungry men, he gave the order to sail. Down the long narrow loch they sped, in line astern, through the low Knapdale hills, into the eye of the westering sun.
In ten miles the wide waters of the Sound of Jura opened before them, ablaze with the sunset. Only a few miles ahead, to port, lay the small isle of Gigha, with beyond it all the long unbroken line made by the great islands of Jura and Islay, purple against the evening light.
Walter Stewart, who did not know the Hebrides well, standing beside the King on the high poop of the foremost galley, stared.
A
goodly sight, Sire, he said.
Fair. But … where is John of Lorn?
Bruce pointed southwards.
Between us and Angus Og, I think!
he said.
It is my prayer that he will learn the fact before long.
And too late!
MacDougall was, in fact, using the narrow seas of the Sound of Jura as a fortress area, guarding his own territory of Nether Lorn. It was ideally suited for this purpose, skilfully used. A great funnel fifty miles long, a dozen miles wide at its base between Kintyre and Islay, it narrowed in to a mere couple of miles between the Craignish peninsula and the northern tip of Jura. By massing his fleet at the southern end, and stretching a boom across the narrows at Craignish, with guard ships, the rebel Lord of Lorn, whose mother was a Comyn, could turn this whole great area into an inland sea; and even though the islands to the west were Anguss, his ships of war could dominate all therein. Only the one alternative water access was available, the narrow gap lying between the north end of Jura and the next island of Scarbia. And this was the famous Sound of Corryvrechan, with its menacing whirlpools and tidal cauldrons, better guard than any boom of logs and chains.
Angus Ogs information had been that MacDougall was using the Isle of Gigha as headquarters and base. On Gigha, therefore, the Kings flotilla bore down.
As they approached the green, rock-bound and fairly lowlying isle, a mere five miles long and a quarter of that wide, all aboard the royal squadron, who were not working the sweeps, stood to arms. There was only the one effective landing-place of Gigha, the small shallow bay of Ardminish two-thirds of the way down the east side, and it could be seen that it was packed with shipping. But experienced eyes quickly discerned in the level beams of the setting sun, that these were not fighting ships, galleys, galleasses, car racks sloops, but rather supply vessels, transports, shallops, and the like.
As might be expected, the fighting force would be at sea, somewhere to the south, facing the threat of Angus Ogs fleet.
We leave this for later, Sire? Gilbert Hay asked.
Go seek Lame John, while there is yet light?
I think not, Gibbie. It will be a clear night, never truly dark.
John MacDougall can wait a little yet. I told Angus to give me until dawn tomorrow. Then to do as he would, lacking us. We will take this island, behind MacDougall. Give our force a taste of fight, to rouse and inspirit them. And these ships anchored there-we might put some of them to use. Aye-we will assault Gigha.
It was eloquent of the sense of complete security of whoever commanded on the island that no alarm was taken at their approach, no postures of defence made. Bruce had ordered his own galleys sails to be furled, so that the black device painted thereon would not be visible from land, and they drove on under oars only.
No doubt they would seem to be no more than a detachment of
MacDougalls fleet returning to port for some reason. At any rate, as
they beat round the little headland of Arminish Point, wary of the skerries, the twelve galleys encountered no sort of opposition.
The newcomers were drawing in alongside the craft already ranked there, and armed men in their hundreds pouring over the side, before anybody on Gigha realised that there was an emergency.
As an armed assault the occupation of Gigha was laughable; but as a strategic exercise it could hardly have been more successful, or more speedy. There was a little fighting, but of so sporadic and minor a nature as scarcely to be worth the title. A few men were slain and some seriously injured, admittedly-but such casualties were mainly the work of angry islanders themselves, MacDonalds -for this was of course one more of Anguss many territories-who had suffered much at the hands of the invaders and were not slow to take this opportunity for revenge. Bruce had to clamp down swift and stern discipline, to prevent a general massacre.
Nearly all the prisoners were English sailors and their Irish women camp-followers. He left a small garrison under Sir Donald Campbell, Sir Neils brother, and sailed away before the islanders or his own people could organise the inevitable celebration. As it was, a lot of strong liquor came aboard the squadron with the returning warriors.
They were not quite so cramped for space now, for Bruce ordered the
addition of a number of the captured ships to their strength
temporarily. There were murmurs at this, for these were slow
non-fighting vessels, which could only be a weakening influence. But the King was adamant.
It was nearly midnight, and they drove southwards over a smooth, quiet translucent sea which looked like beaten pewter.
Visibility was good for that hour, but provided little definition