It was here that a certain saint first landed on his voyage out of Ireland to convert the Hebrideans.

And, indeed, I think he had some claim to be called saint; for, with the boats of that past age, to make so rough a passage, and land on such a ticklish coast, was surely not far short of the miraculous.

It was to him, or to some of his monkish underlings who had a cell there, that the islet owes its holy and beautiful name, the House of God.
Among these old wives' stories there was one which I was inclined to hear with more credulity.

As I was told, in that tempest which scattered the ships of the Invincible Armada over all the north and west of Scotland, one great vessel came ashore on Aros, and before the eyes of some solitary people on a hill-top, went down in a moment with all hands, her colours flying even as she sank.

There was some likelihood in this tale; for another of that fleet lay sunk on the north side, twenty miles from Grisapol.