Free A Rope--In Case by Lillian Beckwith

only the limit was reached when the boatman considered the amount of freeboard to be over the danger limit. Sometimes it could be a matter of inches.
    Perhaps it is because the Hebrideans live so close to the sea that they are, or appear to be, indifferent to its hazards. A boatman may have some misgivings as to the capacity of his boat but passengers seldom have any. As an instance I recall a time when I was about to travel on the official ferry to the island one wild and stormy day. When the boatmen had come to untie the ropes that held her they saw that the number of passengers greatly exceeded the number permitted or considered safe. They had refused to sail until some disembarked. No one had made any move. The boatmen were adamant. The last twenty people aboard must get off and wait for another ferry, they said. Still no-one moved.
    â€˜I’m no takin’ this boat to sea loaded like this,’ one had insisted. ‘She’s no safe. You can see for yourselves how little free board there is. She’ll never make the other side.’
    An old man had objected. ‘We’re on board now,’ he said stubbornly. ‘How can you force us to get off?’
    â€˜I’m sayin’ she’s overloaded an’ dangerous,’ reiterated the boatman. ‘An’ some of you will need to get ashore.’
    â€˜There’s none of us gettin’ ashore,’ the old man had told him. ‘An’ what’s more, with the tide goin’ out like it is you’ll need to sail from here or you’ll have her bangin’ her bottom out.’
    The boatman looked harassed. There was no disputing the truth of the statement and he looked as if he might soon yield to persuasion. Grudgingly he begun to untie the rope from the bollard.
    In a mounting panic I had pushed my way forward. If the boatman considered it unsafe I was not disposed to argue. ‘I’m getting off,’ I said, but as I was about to jump ashore the old man restrained me with a hand on my arm. ‘Don’t give in to him, madam,’ he instructed. ‘You have every right to be here. You were one of the first ones aboard.’
    â€˜I don’t want to be one of the first ones to drown, though,’ I retorted. ‘I’m waiting for the next boat.’
    The old man had seemed very disappointed by what he no doubt considered to be my treachery and only two other passengers—both of them tourists—followed my example. The boat had sailed, overcrowded as she was, and reached the other side safely. I imagined the triumph of the old man.
    The last dinghy load came out. In addition to Morag and Anna Vic and Niall it contained three American girls who had arrived in the village only that evening. Already Hector had appropriated the attention of one of them, a pretty blonde.
    â€˜Here, look after that for a minute,’ Niall said, taking off his wooden leg and throwing it to me. With only one good leg Niall was as agile on land or sea as any man with two. He always referred to his wooden leg as his ‘spare leg’.
    â€˜Okay, start her up,’ he instructed Hector and went forward to cast off the mooring. Niall though owning a croft in Bruach spent little of his time in the village, being mostly away on a variety of jobs. When he was at home he seemed to consider that the whole village was in need of his care and attention.
    There was rarely any preconceived plan or intended destination for these impromptu evening cruises. The passengers were content to sing and chatter while allowing the helmsman to steer in any direction he fancied. Mostly we just wandered about the sea, perhaps towards caves or a cove that looked interesting. Occasionally we landed to explore some spot that was relatively inaccessible by land or perhaps finding ourselves near a harbour of one of the islands we would go ashore and descend on a household—always there was a claim to kinship—where we would enjoy