ghland retreat on the shores of Loch Awe, is an
awful tale of destiny, the premonition of which only renders it more
tragic.

They were all sitting round the fire one winter night each relating his
best story. Each had told his story of the most wonderful things he had
heard or seen in the Ghost line except Martin Barraw from Uist who sat
silently listening to all.

"Come, Martin," said the man of the house "are you not going to tell a
story, I am sure you know many?"

"Well yes," said Martin. "I know some and there is one strange one,
running in my mind all this night, that I have never told to anyone yet,
but I think I must tell it to-night."

"Oh, yes, do, Martin," cried all present.

"Well," said Martin, "you all I am sure remember the night of the fatal
boat accident at Portroch ferry, when Murdoch McLane, big David the
Gamekeeper, and Donald McRae, the ferryman were drowned and I was the
only one saved of the four."

"Yes we do that Martin, remember it well," said the good man, "that was
the night the Taybridge was blown down, it was a Sunday night the 28th
of Dec. '79."

"Yes you are right that was the very night. Well you know Murdoch and I
were Salmon watching down the other side of the Loch that winter. Well
one night about the middle of November we were sitting by the side of
Altanlarich, it would be about midnight, we had sat for some time
without speaking I thought Murdoch was asleep and I was very nearly so,
when suddenly Murdoch sprung to his feet with a jump that brought me to
mine in a second.

"Goodness what is wrong with you," said I, looking round in every
direction to see what startled him but could see nothing.

"'O dear, dear! what a horrid dream I have had,' said he. 'A dream,'
said I. 'My' I thought you had seen a ghost or something by the spring
you gave.'

"'Well! you would spring too if you could and you drowning.' Then he
told me that he thought it was the 28th of December and there was such a
storm he had never seen anything like it in his life before. 'We were
crossing the loch at the ferry,' said he. 'We had the big white boat and
four oars on her. Big David the keeper Donald the ferryman you and I.
And man but it was awful. The boat right up on end at times every wave
washing over us and filling the boat more and more, and no way of
bailing her, because no one could let go his oar, you and I were on the
weather side, and Big David and Donald on the other, they of course had