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CONTENTS


FROM A PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN DURING HIS CANDIDATURE FOR THE
REPRESENTATION OF THE CARNAVON BOROUGHS 1906
FROM JOHN O' GROAT'S TO LAND'S END
OR 1372 MILES ON FOOT
A BOOK OF DAYS AND CHRONICLE OF ADVENTURES BY TWO PEDESTRIANS ON TOUR
1916
FOREWORD
When Time, who steals our hours away.
Shall steal our pleasures too;
The memory of the past shall stay
And half our joys renew.
As I grow older my thoughts often revert to the past, and
like the old Persian poet, Khosros, when he walked by the churchyard and
thought how many of his friends were numbered with the dead, I am often
tempted to exclaim: "The friends of my youth! where are they?" but there
is only the mocking echo to answer, as if from a far-distant land,
"Where are they?"
"One generation passeth away; and another generation
cometh," and enormous changes have taken place in this country during
the past seventy years, which one can only realise by looking back and
comparing the past with the present.
The railways then were gradually replacing the
stage-coaches, of which the people then living had many stories to tell,
and the roads which formerly had mostly been paved with cobble or other
stones were being macadamised; the brooks which ran across the surface
of the roads were being covered with bridges; toll-gates still barred
the highways, and stories of highway robbers were still largely in
circulation, those about Dick Turpin, whose wonderful mare "Black Bess"
could jump over the turnpike gates, being the most prominent, while
Robin Hood and Little John still retained a place in the minds of the
people as former heroes of the roads and forests.
Primitive methods were still being employed in
agriculture. Crops were cut with scythe and sickle, while old
scythe-blades fastened at one end of a wooden bench did duty to cut
turnips in slices to feed the cattle, and farm work generally was
largely done by hand.
At harvest time the farmers depended on the services of
large numbers of men who came over from Ireland by boat, landing at
Liverpool, whence they walked across the country in gangs of twenty or
more, their first stage being Warrington, where they stayed a night at
Friar's Green, at that time the Irish quarter of the town. Some of them
walked as far as Lincolnshire, a great corn-growing county, many of them
preferring to walk bare-footed, with their shoes slung across their
shoulders. Good and steady walkers they were too, with a military step
and a four-mile-per-hour record.
The village churches were mostly of the same form in
structure and service as at the conclusion of the Civil War. The old oak
pews were still in use, as were the galleries and the old "three-decker"
pulpits, with sounding-boards overhead. The parish clerk occupied the
lower deck and gave out the hymns therefrom, as well as other notices of
a character not now announced in church. The minister read the lessons
and prayers, in a white surplice, from the second deck, and then, while
a hymn was being sung, he retired to the vestry, from which he again
emerged, attired in a black gown, to preach the sermon from the upper
deck.
The church choir was composed of both sexes, but not
surpliced, and, if there was no organ, bassoons, violins, and other
instruments of music supported the singers.
The churches generally were well filled with worshippers,
for it was within a measurable distance from the time when all
parishioners were compelled to attend church. The names of the farms or
owners appeared on the pew doors, while inferior seats, called free
seats, were reserved for the poor. Pews could be bought and sold, and
often changed hands; but the squire had a large pew railed on from the
rest, and raised a little higher than the others, which enabled him to
see if all his tenants were in their appointed places.
The village inns were generally under the shadow of the
church steeple, and, like the churches, were well attended, reminding
one of Daniel Defoe, the clever author of that wonderful book Robinson
Crusoe, for he wrote:
Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there;
And 'twill be found upon examination,
The Devil has the largest congregation.
The church services were held morning and afternoon,
evening service being then almost unknown in country places; and between
the services the churchwardens and other officials of the church often
adjourned to the inn to hear the news and to smoke tobacco in long clay
pipes named after them "churchwarden pipes"; many of the company who
came from long distances remained eating and drinking until the time
came for afternoon service, generally held at three o'clock.
The landlords of the inns were men of light and leading,
and were specially selected by the magistrates for the difficult and
responsible positions they had to fill; and as many of them had acted as
stewards or butlersat the great houses of the neighbourhood, and
perhaps had married the cook or the housekeeper, and as each inn was
required by law to provide at least one spare bedroom, travellers could
rely upon being comfortably housed and well victualled, for each
landlord brewed his own beer and tried to vie with his rival as to which
should brew the best.
Education was becoming more appreciated by the poorer
people, although few of them could even write their own names; but when
their children could do so, they thought them wonderfully clever, and
educated sufficiently to carry them through life. Many of them were
taken away from school and sent to work when only ten or eleven years of
age!
Books were both scarce and dear, the family Bible being,
of course, the principal one. Scarcely a home throughout the land but
possessed one of these family heirlooms, on whose fly-leaf were recorded
the births and deaths of the family sometimes for several successive
generations, as it was no uncommon occurrence for occupiers of houses to
be the descendants of people of the same name who had lived in them for
hundreds of years, and that fact accounted for traditions being handed
down from one generation to another.
Where there was a village library, the books were chiefly
of a religious character; but books of travel and adventure, both by
land and sea, were also much in evidence, and Robinson
Crusoe, Captain Cook's Three Voyages round the World, and the Adventures
of Mungo Park in Africa were
often read by young people. The story of Dick Whittington was another
ideal, and one could well understand the village boys who lived near the
great road routes, when they saw the well-appointed coaches passing on
their way up to London, being filled with a desire to see that great
city, whose streets the immortal Dick had pictured to himself as being
paved with gold, and to wish to emulate his wanderings, and especially
when there was a possibility of becoming the lord mayor.
The bulk of the travelling in the country was done on
foot or horseback, as the light-wheeled vehicles so common in later
times had not yet come into vogue. The roads were still far from safe,
and many tragedies were enacted in lonely places, and in cases of murder
the culprit, when caught, was often hanged or gibbeted near the spot
where the crime was committed, and many gallows trees were still to be
seen on the sides of the highways on which murderers had met with their
well-deserved fate. No smart service of police existed; the parish
constables were often farmers or men engaged in other occupations, and
as telegraphy was practically unknown, the offenders often escaped.
The Duke of Wellington and many of his heroes were still
living, and the tales of fathers and grandfathers were chiefly of a
warlike nature; many of them related to the Peninsula War and Waterloo,
as well as Trafalgar, and boys were thus inspired with a warlike and
adventurous spirit and a desire to see the wonders beyond the seas.
It was in conditions such as these that the writer first
lived and moved and had his being, and his early aspirations were to
walk to London, and to go to sea; but it was many years before his
boyish aspirations were realised. They came at length, however, but not
exactly in the form he had anticipated, for in 1862 he sailed from
Liverpool to London, and in 1870 he took the opportunity of walking back
from London to Lancashire in company with his brother. We walked by a
circuitous route, commencing in an easterly direction, and after being
on the road for a fortnight, or twelve walking days, as we did not walk
on Sundays, we covered the distance of 306 miles at an average of
twenty-five miles per day.
We had many adventures, pleasant and otherwise, on that
journey, but on the whole we were so delighted with our walk that, when,
in the following year, the question arose. "Where shall we walk this
year?" we unanimously decided to walk from John o' Groat's to Land's
End, or, as my brother described it, "from the top of the map to the
bottom."
It was a big undertaking, especially as we had resolved
not to journey by the shortest route, but to walk from one great object
of interest to another, and to see and learn as much as possible of the
country we passed through on our way. We were to walk the whole of the
distance between the north-eastern extremity of Scotland and the
south-western extremity of England, and not to cross a ferry or accept
or take a ride in any kind of conveyance whatever. We were also to
abstain from all intoxicating drink, not to smoke cigars or tobacco, and
to walk so that at the end of the journey we should have maintained an
average of twenty-five miles per day, except Sunday, on which day we
were to attend two religious services, as followers of and believers in
Sir Matthew Hale's Golden Maxim:
A
Sabbath well spent brings a week of content
And Health for the toils of
to-morrow;
But a Sabbath profaned,
WHATE'ER MAY BE GAINED.
Is a certain forerunner of
Sorrow.
With the experience gained in our walk the previous year,
we decided to reduce our equipment to the lowest possible limit, as
every ounce had to be carried personally, and it became a question not
of how much luggage we should take, but of how little; even maps were
voted off as encumbrances, and in place of these we resolved to rely
upon our own judgment, and the result of local inquiries, as we
travelled from one great object of interest to another, but as these
were often widely apart, as might be supposed, our route developed into
one of a somewhat haphazard and zigzag character, and very far from the
straight line.
We each purchased a strong, black leather handbag, which
could either be carried by hand or suspended over the shoulder at the
end of a stick, and in these we packed our personal and general luggage;
in addition we carried a set of overalls, including leggings, and armed
ourselves with stout oaken sticks, or cudgels, specially selected by our
local fencing master. They were heavily ferruled by the village
blacksmith, for, although we were men of peace, we thought it advisable
to provide against what were known as single-stick encounters, which
were then by no means uncommon, and as curved handles would have been
unsuitable in the event of our having to use them either for defensive
or offensive purposes, ours were selected with naturally formed knobs at
the upper end.
Then there were our boots, which of course were a matter
of the first importance, as they had to stand the strain and wear and
tear of a long journey, and must be easy fitting and comfortable, with
thick soles to protect our feet from the loose stones which were so
plentiful on the roads, and made so that they could be laced tightly to
keep out the water either when raining or when lying in pools on the
roads, for there were no steam-rollers on the roads in those days.
In buying our boots we did not both adopt the same plan.
I made a special journey to Manchester, and bought the strongest and
most expensive I could find there; while my brother gave his order to an
old cobbler, a particular friend of his, and a man of great experience,
who knew when he had hold of a good piece of leather, and to whom he had
explained his requirements. These boots were not nearly so smart looking
as mine and did not cost as much money, but when I went with him for the
boots, and heard the old gentleman say that he had fastened a piece of
leather on his last so as to provide a corresponding hole inside the
boot to receive the ball of the foot, I knew that my brother would have
more room for his feet to expand in his boots than I had in mine. We
were often asked afterwards, by people who did not walk much, how many
pairs of boots we had worn out during our long journey, and when we
replied only one each, they seemed rather incredulous until we explained
that it was the soles that wore out first, but I had to confess that my
boots were being soled the second time when my brother's were only being
soled the first time, and that I wore three soles out against his two.
Of course both pairs of boots were quite done at the conclusion of our
walk.
Changes of clothing we were obliged to have sent on to us
to some railway station, to be afterwards arranged, and soiled clothes
were to be returned in the same box. This seemed a very simple
arrangement, but it did not work satisfactorily, as railways were few
and there was no parcel-post in those days, and then we were always so
far from our base that we were obliged to fix ourselves to call at
places we did not particularly want to see and to miss others that we
would much rather have visited. Another objection was that we nearly
always arrived at these stations at inconvenient times for changing
suits of clothes, and as we were obliged to do this quickly, as we had
no time to make a long stay, we had to resort to some amusing devices.
We ought to have begun our journey much earlier in the
year. One thing after another, however, prevented us making a start, and
it was not until the close of some festivities on the evening of
September 6th, 1871, that we were able to bid farewell to "Home, sweet
home" and to journey through what was to us an unknown country, and
without any definite idea of the distance we were about to travel or the
length of time we should be away.
HOW WE GOT TO JOHN O' GROAT'S
Sept. 7. Warrington to Glasgow by
trainArrived too late to catch the boat on the Caledonian Canal for
IvernessTrained to Aberdeen.
Sept. 8. A day in the "Granite City"Boarded the s.s. St.
Magnus intending to
land at WickDecided to remain on board.
Sept. 9. Landed for a short time at Kirkwall in the Orkney
IslandsDuring the night encountered a storm in the North Sea.
Sept. 10. (Sunday).
Arrived at Lerwick in the Shetland Islands at 2 a.m.
Sept. 11. Visited Bressay Island and the Holm of NossReturned to St.
Magnus at night.
Sept. 12. Landed again at KirkwallExplored CathedralWalked across
the Mainland of the Orkneys to Stromness, visiting the underground
house at Maeshowe and the Standing Stones at Stenness on our way.
Sept. 13. Visited the Quarries where Hugh Miller made his wonderful
geological researchesExplored coast scenery, including the Black
Craig.
Sept. 14. Crossed the Pentland Firth in a sloopUnfavourable wind
prevented us sailing past the Old Man of Hoy, so went by way of Lang
Hope and Scrabster Roads, passing Dunnet Head on our way to Thurso,
where we landed and stopped for the night.
Sept. 15. Travelled six miles by the Wick coach and walked the
remaining fifteen miles to John o' Groat'sLodged at the "Huna Inn."
Sept. 16. Gathered some wonderful shells on the beach and explored
coast scenery at Duncansbay.
Sept. 17. (Sunday).
Visited a distant kirk with the landlord and his wife and listened
to a wonderful sermon.
OUR ROUTE FROM JOHN O' GROAT'S TO LAND'S END
Ά Indicates the day's journey. ΆΆ Indicates where Sunday
was spent.
FIRST WEEK'S JOURNEY Sept. 18 to 24.
"Huna Inn" Canisbay Bucholie Castle Keiss Girnigoe
Sinclair Noss Head Wick or Ά Wick Harbour Mid Clyth
Lybster Dunbeath Ά Berriedale Braemore Maidens Paps Mountain
Lord Galloway's Hunting-box Ord of Caithness Helmsdale Ά Loth
Brora Dunrobin Castle Golspie Ά The Mound Loch Buidhee Bonar
Bridge Dornoch Firth Half-way House [Aultnamain Inn] Ά Novar
Cromarty Firth Dingwall Muir of Ord Beauly Bogroy Inn
Inverness ΆΆ
SECOND WEEK'S JOURNEY Sept. 25 to Oct. 1.
Tomnahurich Loch Ness Caledonian Canal Drumnadrochit Ά
Urquhart Castle Invermoriston Glenmoriston Fort Augustus
Invergarry Ά Glengarry Well of the Heads Loggan Bridge Loch
Lochy Spean Bridge Fort William Ά Inverlochy Castle Ben Nevis
Fort William Ά Loch Linnhe Loch Leven Devil's Stair Pass of
Glencoe Clachaig Inn Ά Glencoe Village Ballachulish Kingshouse
Inveroran Loch Tulla Bridge of Orchy Glen Orchy Ά Dalmally
ΆΆ
THIRD WEEK'S JOURNEY Oct. 2 to Oct. 8.
Loch Awe Cruachan Mountain Glen Aray Inverary Castle
Inverary Loch Fyne Cairndow Inn Ά Glen Kinglas Loch Restil
Rest and be Thankful Glen Croe Ben Arthur Loch Long Arrochar
Tarbet Loch Lomond Luss Helensburgh Ά The Clyde Dumbarton
Renton Alexandria Balloch Kilmaronock Drymen Ά Buchlyvie
Kippen Gargunnock Windings of the Forth Stirling Ά Wallace
Monument Cambuskenneth St. Ninians Bannockburn Carron
Falkirk Ά Laurieston Polmont Linlithgow Edinburgh ΆΆ
FOURTH WEEK'S JOURNEY Oct. 9 to Oct. 15.
Craigmillar Rosslyn Glencorse Penicuik Edleston Cringletie
Peebles Ά River Tweed Horsburgh Innerleithen Traquair
Elibank Castle Galashiels Abbotsford Melrose Lilliesleaf Ά
Teviot Dale Hassendean Minto Hawick Goldielands Tower
Branxholm Tower Teviothead Caerlanrig Mosspaul Inn Langholm
Gilnockie Tower Canonbie Colliery Ά River Esk "Cross Keys Inn"
Scotch Dyke Longtown Ά Solway Moss River Sark Springfield
Gretna Green Todhills Kingstown Carlisle Wigton Aspatria Ά
Maryport Cockermouth Bassenthwaite Lake Portinscale Keswick
ΆΆ
FIFTH WEEK'S JOURNEY Oct 16 to Oct. 22.
Falls of Lodore Derwentwater Bowder Stone Borrowdale Green
Nip Wythburn Grasmere Ά Rydal Ambleside Windermere
Hawkshead Coniston Ulverston Ά Dalton-in-Furness Furness Abbey
Barrow Monument Haverthwaite Ά Newby Bridge Cartmel Fell
Kendal Ά Kirkby Lonsdale Devil's Bridge Ingleton Giggleswick
Settle Malham Ά Malham Cove Gordale Scar Kilnsey River
Wharfe Grassington Greenhow Pateley Bridge ΆΆ
SIXTH WEEK'S JOURNEY Oct. 23 to Oct. 29.
Brimham Rocks Fountains Abbey Ripon Boroughbridge Devil's
Arrows Aldeborough Ά Marston Moor River Ouse York Ά Tadcaster
Towton Field Sherburn-in-Elmet River Aire Ferrybridge
Pontefract Ά Robin Hood's Well Doncaster Ά Conisborough
Rotherham Ά Attercliffe Common Sheffield Norton Hathersage
Little John's Grave Castleton ΆΆ
SEVENTH WEEK'S JOURNEY Oct. 30 to Nov. 5.
Castleton Tideswell Miller's Dale Flagg Moor Newhaven
Tissington Ashbourne Ά River Dove Mayfield Ellastone Alton
Towers Uttoxeter Bagot's Wood Needwood Forest Abbots Bromley
Handsacre Ά Lichfield Tamworth Atherstone Watling Street
Nuneaton Ά Watling Street High Cross Lutterworth River Swift
Fosse Way Brinklow Coventry Ά Kenilworth Leamington
Stoneleigh Abbey Warwick Stratford-on-Avon Charlecote Park
Kineton Edge Hill Ά Banbury Woodstock Oxford ΆΆ
EIGHTH WEEK'S JOURNEY Nov. 6 to Nov. 12.
Oxford Sunningwell Abingdon Vale of White Horse Wantage
Icknield Way Segsbury Camp West Shefford Hungerford Ά
Marlborough Downs Miston Salisbury Plain Stonehenge Amesbury
Old Sarum Salisbury Ά Wilton Compton Chamberlain Shaftesbury
Blackmoor Vale Sturminster Ά Blackmoor Vale Cerne Abbas
Charminster Dorchester Bridport Ά The Chesil Bank Chideoak
Charmouth Lyme Regis Axminster Honiton Exeter Ά Exminster
Star Cross Dawlish Teignmouth Torquay ΆΆ
NINTH WEEK'S JOURNEY Nov. 13 to Nov. 18.
Torbay Cockington Compton Castle Marldon Berry Pomeroy
River Dart Totnes Sharpham Dittisham Dartmouth Totnes Ά
Dartmoor River Erme Ivybridge Plymouth Ά Devonport St.
Budeaux Tamerton Foliot Buckland Abbey Walkhampton Merridale
River Tavy Tavistock Hingston Downs Callington St. Ive
Liskeard Ά St. Neot Restormel Castle Lostwithiel River Fowey
St. Blazey St. Austell Truro Ά Perranarworthal Penryn
Helston The Lizard St. Breage Perran Downs Marazion St.
Michael's Mount Penzance Ά Newlyn St. Paul Mousehole St.
Buryan Treryn Logan Rock St. Levan Tol-Peden-Penwith
Sennen Land's End Penzance ΆΆ
HOMEWARD BOUND Nov. 20 and 21.
HOW WE GOT TO JOHN O' GROAT'S
Thursday, September 7th.
It was one o'clock in the morning when we started on the
three-mile walk to Warrington, where we were to join the 2.18 a.m. train
for Glasgow, and it was nearly ten o'clock when we reached that town,
the train being one hour and twenty minutes late. This delay caused us
to be too late for the steamboat by which we intended to continue our
journey further north, and we were greatly disappointed in having thus
early in our journey to abandon the pleasant and interesting sail down
the River Clyde and on through the Caledonian Canal. We were, therefore,
compelled to alter our route, so we adjourned to the Victoria Temperance
Hotel for breakfast, where we were advised to travel to Aberdeen by
train, and thence by steamboat to Wick, the nearest available point to
John o' Groat's.
We had just time to inspect Sir Walter Scott's monument
that adorned the Square at Glasgow, and then we left by the 12.35 train
for Aberdeen. It was a long journey, and it was half-past eight o'clock
at night before we reached our destination, but the weariness of
travelling had been whiled away by pleasant company and delightful
scenery.
We had travelled continuously for about 360 miles, and we
were both sleepy and tired as we entered Forsyth's Hotel to stay the
night.
Friday, September 8th.
After a good night's rest, followed by a good breakfast,
we went out to inquire the time our boat would leave, and, finding it
was not due away until evening, we returned to the hotel and refreshed
ourselves with a bath, and then went for a walk to see the town of
Aberdeen, which is mostly built of the famous Aberdeen granite. The
citizens were quite proud of their Union Street, the main thoroughfare,
as well they might be, for though at first sight we thought it had
rather a sombre appearance, yet when the sky cleared and the sun shone
out on the golden letters that adorned the buildings we altered our
opinion, for then we saw the "Granite City" at its best.
We spent the time rambling along the beach, and, as
pleasure seekers generally do, passed the day comfortably, looking at
anything and everything that came in our way. By no means sea-faring
men, having mainly been accustomed to village life, we had some
misgivings when we boarded the s.s. St.
Magnus at eight o'clock
in the evening, and our sensations during the night were such as are
common to what the sailors call "land-lubbers." We were fortunate,
however, in forming the acquaintance of a lively young Scot, who was
also bound for Wick, and who cheered us during the night by giving us
copious selections from Scotland's favourite bard, of whom he was
greatly enamoured. We heard more of "Rabbie Burns" that night than we
had ever heard before, for our friend seemed able to recite his poetry
by the yard and to sing some of it also, and he kept us awake by
occasionally asking us to join in the choruses. Some of the sentiments
of Burns expressed ideals that seem a long time in being realised, and
one of his favourite quotations, repeated several times by our friend,
dwells in our memory after many years:
For a' that an' a' that
It's coming, yet, for a' that,
That man to man the war-ld o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.
During the night, as the St.
Magnus ploughed her way
through the foaming billows, we noticed long, shining streaks on the
surface of the water, varying in colour from a fiery red to a silvery
white, the effect of which, was quite beautiful. Our friend informed us
these were caused by the stampede of the shoals of herrings through
which we were then passing.
The herring fishery season was now on, and, though we
could not distinguish either the fishermen or their boats when we passed
near one of their fishing-grounds, we could see the lights they carried
dotted all over the sea, and we were apprehensive lest we should collide
with some of them, but the course of the St.
Magnus had evidently been
known and provided for by the fishermen.
We had a long talk with our friend about our journey
north, and, as he knew the country well, he was able to give us some
useful information and advice. He told us that if we left the boat at
Wick and walked to John o' Groat's from there, we should have to walk
the same way back, as there was only the one road, and if we wished to
avoid going over the same ground twice, he would advise us to remain on
the St. Magnus until
she reached her destination, Lerwick, in the Shetland Islands, and the
cost by the boat would be very little more than to Wick. She would only
stay a short time at Lerwick, and then we could return in her to
Kirkwall, in the Orkney Islands. From that place we could walk across
the Mainland to Stromness, where we should find a small steamboat which
conveyed mails and passengers across the Pentland Firth to Thurso in the
north of Scotland, from which point John o' Groat's could easily be
reached, and, besides, we might never again have such a favourable
opportunity of seeing the fine rock scenery of those northern islands.

WICK HARBOUR.
From a photograph taken in 1867.
We were delighted with his suggestion, and wrote a
hurried letter home advising our people there of this addition to our
journey, and our friend volunteered to post the letter for us at Wick.
It was about six o'clock in the morning when we neared that important
fishery town and anchored in the harbour, where we had to stay an hour
or two to load and unload cargo. Our friend the Scot had to leave us
here, but we could not allow him to depart without some kind of ceremony
or other, and as the small boat came in sight that was to carry him
ashore, we decided to sing a verse or two of "Auld Lang Syne" from his
favourite poet Burns; but my brother could not understand some of the
words in one of the verses, so he altered and anglicised them slightly:
An' here's a haund, my trusty friend,
An' gie's a haund o' thine;
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness
yet,
For the sake o' auld lang
syne.
Some of the other passengers joined in the singing, but
we never realised the full force of this verse until we heard it sung in
its original form by a party of Scots, who, when they came to this
particular verse, suited the action to the word by suddenly taking hold
of each other's hands, thereby forming a cross, and meanwhile beating
time to the music. Whether the cross so formed had any religious
significance or not, we did not know.
Our friend was a finely built and intelligent young man,
and it was with feelings of great regret that we bade him farewell and
watched his departure over the great waves, with the rather mournful
presentiment that we were being parted from him for ever!
Saturday, September 9th.
There were signs of a change in the weather as we left
Wick, and the St. Magnus rolled
considerably; but occasionally we had a good view of the precipitous
rocks that lined the coast, many of them having been christened by the
sailors after the objects they represented, as seen from the sea. The
most prominent of these was a double-headed peak in Caithness, which
formed a remarkably perfect resemblance to the breasts of a female giant
with nipples complete, and this they had named the "Maiden's Paps." Then
there was the "Old Man of Hoy," and other rocks that stood near the
entrance to that terrible torrent of the sea, the Pentland Firth; but,
owing to the rolling of our ship, we were not in a fit state either of
mind or body to take much interest in them, and we were very glad when
we reached the shelter of the Orkney Islands and entered the fine
harbour of Kirkwall. Here we had to stay for a short time, so we went
ashore and obtained a substantial lunch at the Temperance Hotel near the
old cathedral, wrote a few letters, and at 3 p.m. rejoined the St.
Magnus.
The sea had been quite rough enough previously, but it
soon became evident that it had been smooth compared with what followed,
and during the coming night we wished many times that our feet were once
more on terra firma.
The rain descended, the wind increased in violence, and the waves rolled
high and broke over the ship, and we were no longer allowed to occupy
our favourite position on the upper deck, but had to descend a stage
lower. We were saturated with water from head to foot in spite of our
overalls, and we were also very sick, and, to add to our misery, we
could hear, above the noise of the wind and waves, the fearful groaning
of some poor woman who, a sailor told us, had been suddenly taken ill,
and it was doubtful if she could recover. He carried a fish in his hand
which he had caught as it was washed on deck, and he invited us to come
and see the place where he had to sleep. A dismal place it was too,
flooded with water, and not a dry thing for him to put on. We could not
help feeling sorry that these sailors had such hardships to undergo; but
he seemed to take it as a matter of course, and appeared to be more
interested in the fish he carried than in the storm that was then
raging. We were obliged to keep on the move to prevent our taking cold,
and we realised that we were in a dark, dismal, and dangerous position,
and thought of the words of a well-known song and how appropriate they
were to that occasion:
"O Pilot! 'tis a fearful night,
There's danger on the deep;
I'll come and pace the deck
with thee,
"Go down!" the Pilot cried,
"go down!
This is no place for thee;
Fear not! but trust in
Providence,
Wherever thou may'st be."
The storm continued for hours, and, as it gradually
abated, our feelings became calmer, our fears subsided, and we again
ventured on the upper deck. The night had been very dark hitherto, but
we could now see the occasional glimmering of a light a long distance
ahead, which proved to be that of a lighthouse, and presently we could
distinguish the bold outlines of the Shetland Islands.
As we entered Bressay Sound, however, a beautiful
transformation scene suddenly appeared, for the clouds vanished as if by
magic, and the last quarter of the moon, surrounded by a host of stars,
shone out brilliantly in the clear sky. It was a glorious sight, for we
had never seen these heavenly bodies in such a clear atmosphere before,
and it was hard to realise that they were so far away from us. We could
appreciate the feelings of a little boy of our acquaintance, who, when
carried outside the house one fine night by his father to see the moon,
exclaimed in an ecstasy of delight: "Oh, reach it, daddy!reach it!" and
it certainly looked as if we could have reached it then, so very near
did it appear to us.
It was two o'clock on Sunday morning, September 10th,
when we reached Lerwick, the most northerly town in Her Majesty's
British Dominions, and we appealed to a respectable-looking passenger
who was being rowed ashore with us in the boat as to where we could
obtain good lodgings. He kindly volunteered to accompany us to a house
at which he had himself stayed before taking up his permanent residence
as a tradesman in the town and which he could thoroughly recommend.
Lerwick seemed a weird-looking place in the moonlight, and we turned
many corners on our way to our lodgings, and were beginning to wonder
how we should find our way out again, when our companion stopped
suddenly before a private boarding-house, the door of which was at once
opened by the mistress. We thanked the gentleman for his kind
introduction, and as we entered the house the lady explained that it was
her custom to wait up for the arrival of the St.
Magnus. We found the fire burning and the kettle boiling, and the
cup that cheers was soon on the table with the usual accompaniments,
which were quickly disposed of. We were then ushered to our apartments
a bedroom and sitting or dining-room combined, clean and comfortable,
but everything seemed to be moving like the ship we had just left. Once
in bed, however, we were soon claimed by the God of Slumber, sleep, and
dreamsour old friend Morpheus.
Sunday, September 10th.
In the morning we attended the English Episcopalian
Church, and, after service, which was rather of a high church character,
we walked into the country until we came in sight of the rough square
tower of Scalloway Castle, and on our return we inspected the ruins of a
Pictish castle, the first of the kind we had seen, although we were
destined to see many others in the course of our journey.

LERWICK.
Commercial Street as it was in 1871.
The Picts, we were informed, were a race of people who
settled in the north of Scotland in pre-Roman times, and who constructed
their dwellings either of earth or stone, but always in a circular form.
This old castle was built of stone, and the walls were five or six yards
thick; inside these walls rooms had been made for the protection of the
owners, while the circular, open space enclosed by the walls had
probably been for the safe housing of their cattle. An additional
protection had also been formed by the water with which the castle was
surrounded, and which gave it the appearance of a small island in the
middle of a lake. It was connected with the land by means of a narrow
road, across which we walked. The castle did not strike us as having
been a very desirable place of residence; the ruins had such a very
dismal and deserted appearance that we did not stay there long, but
returned to our lodgings for lunch. After this we rested awhile, and
then joined the townspeople, who were patrolling every available space
outside. The great majority of these were women, healthy and
good-looking, and mostly dressed in black, as were also those we
afterwards saw in the Orkneys and the extreme north of Scotland, and we
thought that some of our disconsolate bachelor friends might have been
able to find very desirable partners for life in these northern
dominions of Her Majesty the Queen.
The houses in Lerwick had been built in all sorts of
positions without any attempt at uniformity, and the rough, flagged
passage which did duty for the main street was, to our mind, the
greatest curiosity of all, and almost worth going all the way to
Shetland to see. It was curved and angled in such an abrupt and zigzag
manner that it gave us the impression that the houses had been built
first, and the street, where practicable, filled in afterwards. A
gentleman from London was loud in his praise of this wonderful street;
he said he felt so much safer there than in "beastly London," as he
could stand for hours in that street before the shop windows without
being run over by any cab, cart, or omnibus, and without feeling a
solitary hand exploring his coat pockets. This was quite true, as we did
not see any vehicles in Lerwick, nor could they have passed each other
through the crooked streets had they been there, and thieves would have
been equally difficult to find. Formerly, however, Lerwick had an evil
reputation in that respect, as it was noted for being the abode of
sheep-stealers and pirates, so much so, that, about the year 1700, it
had become such a disreputable place that an earnest appeal was made to
the "Higher Authorities" to have the place burnt, and for ever made
desolate, on account of its great wickedness. Since that time, however,
the softening influences of the Christian religion had permeated the
hearts of the people, and, at the time of our visit, the town was well
supplied with places of worship, and it would have been difficult to
have found any thieves there then. We attended evening service in the
Wesleyan Chapel, where we found a good congregation, a well-conducted
service, and an acceptable preacher, and we reflected that Mr. Wesley
himself would have rejoiced to know that even in such a remote place as
Lerwick his principles were being promulgated.
Monday, September 11th.
We rose early with the object of seeing all we could in
the short time at our disposal, which was limited to the space of a
single day, or until the St.
Magnus was due out in the
evening on her return journey. We were anxious to see a large cavern
known as the Orkneyman's Cave, but as it could only be reached from the
sea, we should have had to engage a boat to take us there. We were told
the cave was about fifty feet square at the entrance, but immediately
beyond it increased to double the size; it was possible indeed to sail
into it with a boat and to lose sight of daylight altogether.
The story goes that many years ago an Orkneyman was
pursued by a press-gang, but escaped being captured by sailing into the
cave with his boat. He took refuge on one of the rocky ledges inside,
but in his haste he forgot to secure his boat, and the ground swell of
the sea washed it out of the cave. To make matters worse, a storm came
on, and there he remained a prisoner in the cave for two days; but as
soon as the storm abated he plunged into the water, swam to a small rock
outside, and thence climbed to the top of the cliff and so escaped.
Since that event it had been known as the Orkneyman's Cave.
We went to the boat at the appointed time, but
unfortunately the wind was too strong for us to get round to the cave,
so we were disappointed. The boatman suggested as the next best thing
that we should go to see the Island of Noss. He accordingly took us
across the bay, which was about a mile wide, and landed us on the Island
of Bressay. Here it was necessary for us to get a permit to enable us to
proceed farther, so, securing his boat, the boatman accompanied us to
the factor's house, where he procured a pass, authorising us to land on
the Island of Noss, of which the following is a facsimile:
Allow Mr. Nailer and friends
to land on Noss.
To Walter. A.M. Walker.
Here he left us, as we had to walk across the Island of
Bressay, and, after a tramp of two or three miles, during which we did
not see a single human being, we came to another water where there was a
boat. Here we found Walter, and, after we had exhibited our pass, he
rowed us across the narrow arm of the sea and landed us on the Island of
Noss. He gave us careful instructions how to proceed so that we could
see the Holm of Noss, and warned us against approaching too near the
edge of the precipice which we should find there. After a walk of about
a mile, all up hill, we came to the precipitous cliffs which formed the
opposite boundary of the island, and from a promontory there we had a
magnificent view of the rocks, with the waves of the sea dashing against
them, hundreds of feet below. A small portion of the island was here
separated from the remainder by a narrow abyss about fifty feet wide,
down which it was terrible to look, and this separated portion was known
as the Holm of Noss. It rose precipitously on all sides from the sea,
and its level surface on the top formed a favourite nesting-place for
myriads of wild birds of different varieties, which not only covered the
top of the Holm, but also the narrow ledges along its jagged sides.
Previous to the seventeenth century, this was one of the places where
the foot of man had never trod, and a prize of a cow was offered to any
man who would climb the face of the cliff and establish a connection
with the mainland by means of a rope, as it was thought that the Holm
would provide pasturage for about twenty sheep. A daring fowler, from
Foula Island, successfully performed the feat, and ropes were firmly
secured to the rocks on each side, and along two parallel ropes a box or
basket was fixed, capable of holding a man and a sheep. This apparatus
was named the Cradle of Noss, and was so arranged that an Islander with
or without a sheep placed in the cradle could drag himself across the
chasm in either direction. Instead, however, of returning by the rope or
cradle, on which he would have been comparatively safe, the hardy fowler
decided to go back by the same way he had come, and, missing his
foothold, fell on the rocks in the sea below and was dashed to pieces,
so that the prize was never claimed by him.
THE HOLM OF NOSS.
"It made us shudder ... as we peered down on the abysmal depths below."
We felt almost spellbound as we approached this awful
chasm, and as if we were being impelled by some invisible force towards
the edge of the precipice. It fairly made us shudder as on hands and
knees we peered down on the abysmal depths below. It was a horrible
sensation, and one that sometimes haunted us in our dreams for years
afterwards, and we felt greatly relieved when we found that we could
safely crawl away and regain an upright posture. We could see thousands
upon thousands of wild birds, amongst which the ordinary sea-gull was
largely represented; but there were many other varieties of different
colours, and the combination of their varied cries, mingled with the
bleating of the sheep, the whistling of the wind, the roaring of the
waves as they dashed against the rocks below, or entered the caverns
with a sound like distant thunder, tended to make us feel quite
bewildered. We retired to the highest elevation we could find, and
there, 600 miles from home, and perhaps as many feet above sea-level,
was solitude in earnest. We were the only human beings on the island,
and the enchanting effect of the wild scenery, the vast expanse of sea,
the distant moaning of the waters, the great rocks worn by the wind and
the waves into all kinds of fantastic shapes and caverns, the blue sky
above with the glorious sun shining upon us, all proclaimed to our minds
the omnipotence of the great Creator of the Universe, the Almighty Maker
and Giver of all.
We lingered as long as we could in these lonely and
romantic solitudes, and, as we sped down the hill towards the boat, we
suddenly became conscious that we had not thought either of what we
should eat or what we should drink since we had breakfasted early in the
morning, and we were very hungry. Walter was waiting for us on our side
of the water, as he had been watching for our return, and had seen us
coming when we were nearly a mile away. There was no vegetation to
obstruct the view, for, as he said, we might walk fifty miles in
Shetland without meeting with a bush or tree. We had an agreeable
surprise when we reached the other side of the water in finding some
light refreshments awaiting our arrival which he had thoughtfully
provided in the event of their being required, and for which we were
profoundly thankful. The cradle of Noss had disappeared some time before
our visit, but, if it had been there, we should have been too terrified
to make use of it. It had become dangerous, and as the pasturage of
sheep on the Holm had proved a failure, the birds had again become
masters of the situation, while the cradle had fallen to decay. Walter
gave us an awful description of the danger of the fowler's occupation,
especially in the Foula Island, where the rocks rose towering a thousand
feet above the sea. The top of the cliffs there often projected over
their base, so that the fowler had to be suspended on a rope fastened to
the top of the cliff, swinging himself backwards and forwards like a
pendulum until he could reach the ledge of rock where the birds laid
their eggs. Immediately he landed on it, he had to secure his rope, and
then gather the eggs in a hoop net, and put them in his wallet, and then
swing off again, perhaps hundreds of feet above the sea, to find another
similar ledge, so that his business was practically carried on in the
air. On one of these occasions a fowler had just reached a landing-place
on the precipice, when his rope slipped out of his hand, and swung away
from the cliff into the empty air. If he had hesitated one moment, he
would have been lost for ever, as in all probability he would either
have been starved to death on the ledge of rock on which he was or
fallen exhausted into the sea below. The first returning swing of the
rope might bring him a chance of grasping it, but the second would be
too far away. The rope came back, the desperate man measured the
distance with his eye, sprang forward in the air, grasped the rope, and
was saved.
Sometimes the rope became frayed or cut by fouling some
sharp edge of rock above, and, if it broke, the fowler was landed in
eternity. Occasionally two or three men were suspended on the same rope
at the same time. Walter told us of a father and two sons who were on
the rope in this way, the father being the lowest and his two sons being
above him, when the son who was uppermost saw that the rope was being
frayed above him, and was about to break. He called to his brother who
was just below that the rope would no longer hold them all, and asked
him to cut it off below him and let their father go. This he indignantly
refused to do, whereupon his brother, without a moment's hesitation, cut
the rope below himself, and both his father and brother perished.
It was terrible to hear such awful stories, as our nerves
were unstrung already, so we asked our friend Walter not to pile on the
agony further, and, after rewarding him for his services, we hurried
over the remaining space of land and sea that separated us from our
comfortable quarters at Lerwick, where a substantial tea was awaiting
our arrival.
We were often asked what we thought of Shetland and its
inhabitants.
Shetland was fine in its mountain and coast scenery, but
it was wanting in good roads and forests, and it seemed strange that no
effort had been made to plant some trees, as forests had formerly
existed there, and, as a gentleman told us, there seemed no peculiarity
in either the soil or climate to warrant an opinion unfavourable to the
country's arboricultural capacity. Indeed, such was the dearth of trees
and bushes, that a lady, who had explored the country thoroughly,
declared that the tallest and grandest tree she saw during her visit to
the Islands was a stalk of rhubarb which had run to seed and was waving
its head majestically in a garden below the old fort of Lerwick!
Agriculture seemed also to be much neglected, but
possibly the fishing industry was more profitable. The cottages also
were very small and of primitive construction, many of them would have
been condemned as being unfit for human habitation if they had existed
elsewhere, and yet, in spite of this apparent drawback, these hardy
islanders enjoyed the best of health and brought up large families of
very healthy-looking children. Shetland will always have a pleasant
place in our memories, and, as regards the people who live there, to
speak the truth we scarcely ever met with folks we liked better. We
received the greatest kindness and hospitality, and met with far greater
courtesy and civility than in the more outwardly polished and
professedly cultivated parts of the countries further south, especially
when making inquiries from people to whom we had not been "introduced"!
The Shetlanders spoke good English, and seemed a highly intelligent race
of people. Many of the men went to the whale and other fisheries in the
northern seas, and "Greenland's icy mountains" were well known to them.
On the island there were many wives and mothers who
mourned the loss of husbands and sons who had perished in that dangerous
occupation, and these remarks also applied to the Orkney Islands, to
which we were returning, and might also account for so many of these
women being dressed in black. Every one told us we were visiting the
islands too late in the year, and that we ought to have made our
appearance at an earlier period, when the sun never sets, and when we
should have been able to read at midnight without the aid of an
artificial light. Shetland was evidently in the range of the "Land of
the Midnight Sun," but whether we should have been able to keep awake in
order to read at midnight was rather doubtful, as we were usually very
sleepy. At one time of the year, however, the sun did not shine at all,
and the Islanders had to rely upon the Aurora Borealis, or the Northern
Lights, which then made their appearance and shone out brilliantly,
spreading a beautifully soft light over the islands. We wondered if it
were this or the light of the midnight sun that inspired the poet to
write:
Night walked in beauty o'er the peaceful sea.
Whose gentle waters spoke
tranquillity,
or if it had been borrowed from some more peaceful clime,
as we had not yet seen the "peaceful sea" amongst these northern
islands. We had now once more to venture on its troubled waters, and we
made our appearance at the harbour at the appointed time for the
departure of theSt. Magnus. We were, however, informed that the
weather was too misty for our boat to leave, so we returned to our
lodgings, ordered a fire, and were just making ourselves comfortable and
secretly hoping our departure might be delayed until morning, when Mrs.
Sinclair, our landlady, came to tell us that the bell, which was the
signal for the St. Magnus to
leave, had just rung. We hurried to the quay, only to find that the boat
which conveyed passengers and mails to our ship had disappeared. We were
in a state of consternation, but a group of sailors, who were standing
by, advised us to hire a special boat, and one was brought up
immediately, by which, after a lot of shouting and whistlingfor we
could scarcely see anything in the fogwe were safely landed on the
steamboat. We had only just got beyond the harbour, however, when the
fog became so dense that we suddenly came to a standstill, and had to
remain in the bay for a considerable time. When at last we moved slowly
outwards, the hoarse whistle of the St.
Magnus was sounded at
short intervals, to avoid collision with any other craft. It had a
strangely mournful sound, suggestive of a funeral or some great
calamity, and we should almost have preferred being in a storm, when we
could have seen the danger, rather than creeping along in the fog and
darkness, with a constant dread of colliding with some other boat or
with one of the dangerous rocks which we knew were in the vicinity.
Sleep was out of the question until later, when the fog began to clear a
little, and, in the meantime, we found ourselves in the company of a
group of young men who told us they were going to Aberdeen.
One of them related a rather sorrowful story. He and his
mates had come from one of the Shetland Islands from which the
inhabitants were being expelled by the factor, so that he could convert
the whole of the island into a sheep farm for his own personal
advantage. Their ancestors had lived there from time immemorial, but
their parents had all received notice to leave, and other islands were
being depopulated in the same way. The young men were going to Aberdeen
to try to find ships on which they could work their passage to some
distant part of the world; they did not know or care where, but he said
the time would come when this country would want soldiers and sailors,
and would not be able to find them after the men had been driven abroad.
He also told us about what he called the "Truck System," which was a
great curse in their islands, as "merchants" encouraged young people to
get deeply in their debt, so that when they grew up they could keep them
in their clutches and subject them to a state of semi-slavery, as with
increasing families and low wages it was then impossible to get out of
debt. We were very sorry to see these fine young men leaving the
country, and when we thought of the wild and almost deserted islands we
had just visited, it seemed a pity they could not have been employed
there. We had a longer and much smoother passage than on our outward
voyage, and the fog had given place to a fine, clear atmosphere as we
once more entered the fine harbour of Kirkwall, and we had a good view
of the town, which some enthusiastic passenger described as the
"Metropolis of the Orcadean Archipelago."
Tuesday, September 12th.
We narrowly escaped a bad accident as we were leaving the St.
Magnus. She carried a large number of sheep and Shetland ponies on
deck, and our way off the ship was along a rather narrow passage formed
by the cattle on one side and a pile of merchandise on the other. The
passengers were walking in single file, my brother immediately in front
of myself, when one of the ponies suddenly struck out viciously with its
hind legs just as we were passing. If we had received the full force of
the kick, we should have been incapacitated from walking; but
fortunately its strength was exhausted when it reached us, and it only
just grazed our legs. The passengers behind thought at first we were
seriously injured, and one of them rushed forward and held the animal's
head to prevent further mischief; but the only damage done was to our
overalls, on which the marks of the pony's hoofs remained as a record of
the event. On reaching the landing-place the passengers all came forward
to congratulate us on our lucky escape, and until they separated we were
the heroes of the hour, and rather enjoyed the brief notoriety.
ST. MAGNUS CATHEDRAL KIRKWALL
There was an old-world appearance about Kirkwall
reminiscent of the time
When Norse and Danish galleys plied
Their oars within the Firth
of Clyde,
When floated Haco's banner
trim
Above Norwegian warriors
grim,
Savage of heart and huge of
limb.
for it was at the palace there that Haco, King of Norway,
died in 1263. There was only one considerable street in the town, and
this was winding and narrow and paved with flags in the centre,
something like that in Lerwick, but the houses were much more foreign in
appearance, and many of them had dates on their gables, some of them as
far back as the beginning of the fifteenth century. We went to the same
hotel as on our outward journey, and ordered a regular good "set out" to
be ready by the time we had explored the ancient cathedral, which, like
our ship, was dedicated to St.
Magnus. We were directed to call at a cottage for the key, which was
handed to us by the solitary occupant, and we had to find our way as
best we could. After entering the ancient building, we took the
precaution of locking the door behind us. The interior looked dark and
dismal after the glorious sunshine we had left outside, and was
suggestive more of a dungeon than a place of worship, and of the dark
deeds done in the days of the past. The historian relates that St.
Magnus met his death at the hands of his cousin Haco while in the church
of Eigleshay. He had retired there with a presentiment of some evil
about to happen him, and "while engaged in devotional exercises,
prepared and resigned for whatever might occur, he was slain by one
stroke of a hatchet. Being considered eminently pious, he was looked
upon as a saint, and his nephew Ronald built the cathedral in accordance
with a vow made before leaving Norway to lay claim to the Earldom of
Orkney." The cathedral was considered to be the best-preserved relic of
antiquity in Scotland, and we were much impressed by the dim religious
light which pervaded the interior, and quite bewildered amongst the dark
passages inside the walls. We had been recommended to ascend the
cathedral tower for the sake of the fine view which was to be obtained
from the top, but had some difficulty in finding the way to the steps.
Once we landed at the top of the tower we considered ourselves well
repaid for our exertions, as the view over land and sea was very
beautiful. Immediately below were the remains of the bishop's and earl's
palaces, relics of bygone ages, now gradually crumbling to decay, while
in the distance we could see the greater portion of the sixty-seven
islands which formed the Orkney Group. Only about one-half of these were
inhabited, the remaining and smaller islands being known as holms, or
pasturages for sheep, which, seen in the distance, resembled green
specks in the great blue sea, which everywhere surrounded them.
STROMNESS
I should have liked to stay a little longer surveying
this fairy-like scene, but my brother declared he could smell our
breakfast, which by this time must have been waiting for us below. Our
exit was a little delayed, as we took a wrong turn in the rather
bewildering labyrinth of arches and passages in the cathedral walls, and
it was not without a feeling of relief that we reached the door we had
so carefully locked behind us. We returned the key to the caretaker, and
then went to our hotel, where we loaded ourselves with a prodigious
breakfast, and afterwards proceeded to walk across the Mainland of the
Orkneys, an estimated distance of fifteen miles.
On our rather lonely way to Stromness we noticed that
agriculture was more advanced than in the Shetland Islands, and that the
cattle were somewhat larger, but we must say that we had been charmed
with the appearance of the little Shetland ponies, excepting perhaps the
one that had done its best to give us a farewell kick when we were
leaving the St. Magnus.
Oats and barley were the crops chiefly grown, for we did not see any
wheat, and the farmers, with their wives and children, were all busy
harvesting their crops of oats, but there was still room for extension
and improvement, as we passed over miles of uncultivated moorland later.
On our inquiring what objects of interest were to be seen on our way,
our curiosity was raised to its highest pitch when we were told we
should come to an underground house and to a large number of standing
stones a few miles farther on. We fully expected to descend under the
surface of the ground, and to find some cave or cavern below; but when
we got to the place, we found the house practically above ground, with a
small mountain raised above it. It was covered with grass, and had only
been discovered in 1861, about ten years before our visit. Some boys
were playing on the mountain, when one of them found a small hole which
he thought was a rabbit hole, but, pushing his arm down it, he could
feel no bottom. He tried again with a small stick, but with the same
result. The boys then went to a farm and brought a longer stick, but
again failed to reach the bottom of the hole, so they resumed their
play, and when they reached home they told their parents of their
adventure, and the result was that this ancient house was discovered and
an entrance to it found from the level of the land below.
SHETLAND PONIES.
We went in search of the caretaker, and found him busy
with the harvest in a field some distance away, but he returned with us
to the mound. He opened a small door, and we crept behind him along a
low, narrow, and dark passage for a distance of about seventeen yards,
when we entered a chamber about the size of an ordinary cottage
dwelling, but of a vault-like appearance. It was quite dark, but our
guide proceeded to light a number of small candles, placed in rustic
candlesticks, at intervals, round this strange apartment. We could then
see some small cells in the wall, which might once have been used as
burial places for the dead, and on the walls themselves were hundreds of
figures or letters cut in the rock, in very thin lines, as if engraved
with a needle. We could not decipher any of them, as they appeared more
like Egyptian hieroglyphics than letters of our alphabet, and the only
figure we could distinguish was one which had the appearance of a winged
dragon.
The history of the place was unknown, but we were
afterwards told that it was looked upon as one of the most important
antiquarian discoveries ever made in Britain. The name of the place was
Maeshowe. The mound was about one hundred yards in circumference, and it
was supposed that the house, or tumulus, was first cut out of the rock
and the earth thrown over it afterwards from the large trench by which
it was surrounded.
"STANDING STONES OF STENNESS."
Our guide then directed us to the "Standing Stones of
Stenness," which were some distance away; but he could not spare time to
go with us, so we had to travel alone to one of the wildest and most
desolate places imaginable, strongly suggestive of ghosts and the
spirits of the departed. We crossed the Bridge of Brogar, or Bruargardr,
and then walked along a narrow strip of land dividing two lochs, both of
which at this point presented a very lonely and dismal appearance.
Although they were so near together, Loch Harry contained fresh water
only and Loch Stenness salt water, as it had a small tidal inlet from
the sea passing under Waith Bridge, which we crossed later. There were
two groups of the standing stones, one to the north and the other to the
south, and each consisted of a double circle of considerable extent. The
stones presented a strange appearance, as while many stood upright, some
were leaning; others had fallen, and some had disappeared altogether.
The storms of many centuries had swept over them, and "they stood like
relics of the past, with lichens waving from their worn surfaces like
grizzly beards, or when in flower mantling them with brilliant orange
hues," while the areas enclosed by them were covered with mosses, the
beautiful stag-head variety being the most prominent. One of the poets
has described them:
The heavy rocks of giant size
That o'er the land in circles
rise.
Of which tradition may not
tell,
Fit circles for the Wizard
spell;
Seen far amidst the scowling
storm
Seem each a tall and phantom
form,
As hurrying vapours o'er them
flee
Frowning in grim security,
While like a dread voice from
the past
Around them moans the
autumnal blast!
These lichened "Standing Stones of Stenness," with the
famous Stone of Odin about 150 yards to the north, are second only to
Stonehenge, one measuring 18 feet in length, 5 feet 4 inches in breadth,
and 18 inches in thickness. The Stone of Odin had a hole in it to which
it was supposed that sacrificial victims were fastened in ancient times,
but in later times lovers met and joined hands through the hole in the
stone, and the pledge of love then given was almost as sacred as a
marriage vow. An antiquarian description of this reads as follows: "When
the parties agreed to marry, they repaired to the Temple of the Moon,
where the woman in the presence of the man fell down on her knees and
prayed to the God Wodin that he would enable her to perform, all the
promises and obligations she had made, and was to make, to the young man
present, after which they both went to the Temple of the Sun, where the
man prayed in like manner before the woman. They then went to the Stone
of Odin, and the man being on one side and the woman on the other, they
took hold of each other's right hand through the hole and there swore to
be constant and faithful to each other." The hole in the stone was about
five feet from the ground, but some ignorant farmer had destroyed the
stone, with others, some years before our visit.
There were many other stones in addition to the circles,
probably the remains of Cromlechs, and there were numerous grass mounds,
or barrows, both conoid and bowl-shaped, but these were of a later date
than the circles. It was hard to realise that this deserted and
boggarty-looking place was once the Holy Ground of the ancient
Orcadeans, and we were glad to get away from it. We recrossed the Bridge
of Brogar and proceeded rapidly towards Stromness, obtaining a fine
prospective view of that town, with the huge mountain masses of the
Island of Hoy as a background, on our way. These rise to a great height,
and terminate abruptly near where that strange isolated rock called the
"Old Man of Hoy" rises straight from the sea as if to guard the islands
in the rear. The shades of evening were falling fast as we entered
Stromness, but what a strange-looking town it seemed to us! It was built
at the foot of the hill in the usual irregular manner and in one
continuous crooked street, with many of the houses with their
crow-stepped gables built as it were over the sea itself, and here in
one of these, owing to a high recommendation received inland, we stayed
the night. It was perched above the water's edge, and, had we been so
minded, we might have caught the fish named sillocks for our own
breakfast without leaving the house: many of the houses, indeed, had
small piers or landing-stages attached to them, projecting towards the
bay.
We found Mrs. Spence an ideal hostess and were very
comfortable, the only drawback to our happiness being the information
that the small steamboat that carried mails and passengers across to
Thurso had gone round for repairs "and would not be back for a week, but
a sloop would take her place" the day after to-morrow. But just fancy
crossing the stormy waters of the Pentland Firth in a sloop! We didn't
quite know what a sloop was, except that it was a sailing-boat with only
one mast; but the very idea gave us the nightmare, and we looked upon
ourselves as lost already. The mail boat, we had already been told, had
been made enormously strong to enable her to withstand the strain of the
stormy seas, besides having the additional advantage of being propelled
by steam, and it was rather unfortunate that we should have arrived just
at the time she was away. We asked the reason why, and were informed
that during the summer months seaweeds had grown on the bottom of her
hull four or five feet long, which with the barnacles so impeded her
progress that it was necessary to have them scraped off, and that even
the great warships had to undergo the same process.
Seaweeds of the largest size and most beautiful colours
flourish, in the Orcadean seas, and out of 610 species of the flora in
the islands we learned that 133 were seaweeds. Stevenson the great
engineer wrote that the large Algζ, and especially that one he named the
"Fucus esculentus," grew on the rocks from self-grown seed, six feet in
six months, so we could quite understand how the speed of a ship would
be affected when carrying this enormous growth on the lower parts of her
hull.
Wednesday, September 13th.
We had the whole of the day at our disposal to explore
Stromness and the neighbourhood, and we made the most of it by rambling
about the town and then along the coast to the north, but we were seldom
out of sight of the great mountains of Hoy.
Sir Walter Scott often visited this part of the Orkneys,
and some of the characters he introduced in his novels were found here.
In 1814 he made the acquaintance of a very old woman near Stromness,
named Bessie Miller, whom he described as being nearly one hundred years
old, withered and dried up like a mummy, with light blue eyes that
gleamed with a lustre like that of insanity. She eked out her existence
by selling favourable winds to mariners, for which her fee was sixpence,
and hardly a mariner sailed out to sea from Stromness without visiting
and paying his offering to Old Bessie Miller. Sir Walter drew the
strange, weird character of "Norna of the Fitful Head" in his novel The
Pirate from her.
The prototype of "Captain Cleveland" in the same novel
was John Gow, the son of a Stromness merchant. This man went to sea, and
by some means or other became possessed of a ship named the Revenge,
which carried twenty-four guns. He had all the appearance of a brave
young officer, and on the occasions when he came home to see his father
he gave dancing-parties to his friends. Before his true character was
knownfor he was afterwards proved to be a piratehe engaged the
affections of a young lady of fortune, and when he was captured and
convicted she hastened to London to see him before he was executed; but,
arriving there too late, she begged for permission to see his corpse,
and, taking hold of one hand, she vowed to remain true to him, for fear,
it was said, of being haunted by his ghost if she bestowed her hand upon
another.
It is impossible to visit Stromness without hearing
something of that famous geologist Hugh Miller, who was born at Cromarty
in the north of Scotland in the year 1802, and began life as a quarry
worker, and wrote several learned books on geology. In one of these,
entitledFootprints of the Creator in the Asterolepis of Stromness,
he demolished the Darwinian theory that would make a man out to be only
a highly developed monkey, and the monkey a highly developed mollusc. My
brother had a very poor opinion of geologists, but his only reason for
this seemed to have been formed from the opinion of some workmen in one
of our brickfields. A gentleman who took an interest in geology used to
visit them at intervals for about half a year, and persuaded the men
when excavating the clay to put the stones they found on one side so
that he could inspect them, and after paying many visits he left without
either thanking them or giving them the price of a drink! But my brother
was pleased with Hugh Miller's book, for he had always contended that
Darwin was mistaken, and that instead of man having descended from the
monkey, it was the monkey that had descended from the man. I persuaded
him to visit the museum, where we saw quite a number of petrified
fossils. As there was no one about to give us any information, we failed
to find Hugh Miller's famous asterolepis, which we heard afterwards had
the appearance of a petrified nail, and had formed part of a huge fish
whose species were known to have measured from eight to twenty-three
feet in length. It was only about six inches long, and was described as
one of the oldest, if not the oldest, vertebrate fossils hitherto
discovered. Stromness ought to be the Mecca, the happy hunting-ground,
or the Paradise to geologists, for Hugh Miller has said it could furnish
more fossil fish than any other geological system in England, Scotland,
and Wales, and could supply ichthyolites by the ton, or a ship load of
fossilised fish sufficient to supply the museums of the world. How came
this vast number of fish to be congregated here? and what was the force
that overwhelmed them? It was quite evident from the distorted portions
of their skeletons, as seen in the quarried flags, that they had
suffered a violent death. But as we were unable to study geology, and
could neither pronounce nor understand the names applied to the fossils,
we gave it up in despair, as a deep where all our thoughts were drowned.
We then walked along the coast, until we came to the
highest point of the cliffs opposite some dangerous rocks called the
Black Craigs, about which a sorrowful story was told. It happened on
Wednesday, March 5th, 1834, during a terrific storm, when the Star
of Dundee, a schooner of about eighty tons, was seen to be drifting
helplessly towards these rocks. The natives knew there was no chance of
escape for the boat, and ran with ropes to the top of the precipice near
the rocks in the hope of being of some assistance; but such was the fury
of the waves that the boat was broken into pieces before their eyes, and
they were utterly helpless to save even one of their shipwrecked
fellow-creatures. The storm continued for some time, and during the
remainder of the week nothing of any consequence was found, nor was any
of the crew heard of again, either dead or alive, till on the Sunday
morning a man was suddenly observed on the top of the precipice waving
his hands, and the people who saw him first were so astonished that they
thought it was a spectre. It was afterwards discovered that it was one
of the crew of the ill-fated ship who had been miraculously saved. He
had been washed into a cave from a large piece of the wreck, which had
partially blocked its entrance and so checked the violence of the waves
inside, and there were also washed in from the ship some red herrings, a
tin can which had been used for oil, and two pillows. The herrings
served him for food and the tin can to collect drops of fresh water as
they trickled down the rocks from above, while one of the pillows served
for his bed and he used the other for warmth by pulling out the feathers
and placing them into his boots. Occasionally when the waves filled the
mouth of the cave he was afraid of being suffocated. Luckily for him at
last the storm subsided sufficiently to admit of his swimming out of the
cave; how he managed to scale the cliffs seemed little short of a
miracle. He was kindly treated by the Islanders, and when he recovered
they fitted him out with clothing so that he could join another ship. By
what we may call the irony of fate he was again shipwrecked some years
afterwards. This time the fates were less kind, for he was drowned!
THE WRECK.
We had a splendid view of the mountains and sea, and
stayed as usual on the cliffs until the pangs of hunger compelled us to
return to Stromness, where we knew that a good tea was waiting for us.
At one point on our way back the Heads of Hoy strangely resembled the
profile of the great Sir Walter Scott, and this he would no doubt have
seen when collecting materials for The
Pirate.
We had heard both in Shetland and Orkney that when we
reached John o' Groat's we should find an enormous number of shells on
the beach, and as we had some extensive rockeries at home already
adorned with thousands of oyster shells, in fact so many as to cause our
home to be nicknamed "Oyster Shell Hall," we decided to gather some of
the shells when we got to John o'Groat's and send them home to our
friends. The question of packages, however, seemed to be rather a
serious one, as we were assured over and over again we should find no
packages when we reached that out-of-the-way corner of Scotland, and
that in the whole of the Orkney Islands there were not sufficient
willows grown to make a single basket, skip, or hamper. So after tea we
decided to explore the town in search of a suitable hamper, and we had
some amusing experiences, as the people did not know what a hamper was.
At length we succeeded in finding one rather ancient and capacious
basket, but without a cover, whose appearance suggested that it had been
washed ashore from some ship that had been wrecked many years ago, and,
having purchased it at about three times its value, we carried it in
triumph to our lodgings, to the intense amusement of our landlady and
the excited curiosity of the Stromnessians.
We spent the remainder of the evening in looking through
Mrs. Spence's small library of books, but failed to find anything very
consoling to us, as they related chiefly to storms and shipwrecks, and
the dangerous nature of the Pentland Firth, whose turbulent waters we
had to cross on the morrow.
The Pentland Firth lies between the north of Scotland and
the Orkney Islands, varies from five and a half to eight miles in
breadth, and is by repute the most dangerous passage in the British
Isles. We were told in one of the books that if we wanted to witness a
regular "passage of arms" between two mighty seas, the Atlantic at
Dunnet Head on the west, and the North Sea at Duncansbay Head on the
east, we must cross Pentland Firth and be tossed upon its tides before
we should be able to imagine what might be termed their ferocity. "The
rush of two mighty oceans, struggling to sweep this world of waters
through a narrow sound, and dashing their waves in bootless fury against
the rocky barriers which headland and islet present; the endless contest
of conflicting tides hurried forward and repelled, meeting, and
minglingtheir troubled surface boiling and spoutingand, even in a
summer calm, in an eternal state of agitation"; and then fancy the calm
changing to a storm: "the wind at west; the whole volume of the Atlantic
rolling its wild mass of waters on, in one sweeping flood, to dash and
burst upon the black and riven promontory of the Dunnet Head, until the
mountain wave, shattered into spray, flies over the summit of a
precipice, 400 feet above the base it broke upon." But this was
precisely what we did not want to see, so we turned to the famous Statistical
Account, which also described the difficulty of navigating the Firth
for sailing vessels. This informed us that "the current in the Pentland
Firth is exceedingly strong during the spring tides, so that no vessel
can stem it. The flood-tide runs from west to east at the rate of ten
miles an hour, with new and full moon. It is then high water at
Scarfskerry (about three miles away from Dunnet Head) at nine o'clock.
Immediately, as the water begins to fall on the shore, the current turns
to the west; but the strength of the flood is so great in the middle of
the Firth that it continues to run east till about twelve. With a gentle
breeze of westerly wind, about eight o'clock in the morning the whole
Firth, from Dunnet Head to Hoy Head in Orkney, seems as smooth as a
sheet of glass. About nine the sea begins to rage for about one hundred
yards off the Head, while all without continues smooth as before. This
appearance gradually advances towards the Firth, and along the shore to
the east, though the effects are not much felt along the shore till it
reaches Scarfskerry Head, as the land between these points forms a
considerable bay. By two o'clock the whole of the Firth seems to rage.
About three in the afternoon it is low water on the shore, when all the
former phenomena are reversed, the smooth water beginning to appear next
the land and advancing gradually till it reaches the middle of the
Firth. To strangers the navigation is very dangerous, especially if they
approach near to land. But the natives along the coast are so well
acquainted with the direction of the tides, that they can take advantage
of every one of these currents to carry them safe from one harbour to
another. Hence very few accidents happen, except from want of skill or
knowledge of the tides."
A NORTH SEA ROLLER.
There were some rather amusing stories about the
detention of ships in the Firth. A Newcastle shipowner had despatched
two ships from that port by the same tide, one to Bombay by the open
sea, and the other, via the Pentland Firth, to Liverpool, and the Bombay
vessel arrived at her destination first. Many vessels trying to force a
passage through the Firth have been known to drift idly about hither and
thither for months before they could get out again, and some ships that
once entered Stromness Bay on New Year's Day were found there, resting
from their labours on the fifteenth day of April following, "after
wandering about like the Flying
Dutchman." Sir Walter Scott said this was formerly a ship laden with
precious metals, but a horrible murder was committed on board. A plague
broke out amongst the crew, and no port would allow the vessel to enter
for fear of contagion, and so she still wanders about the sea with her
phantom crew, never to rest, but doomed to be tossed about for ever. She
is now a spectral ship, and hovers about the Cape of Good Hope as an
omen of bad luck to mariners who are so unfortunate as to see her.
The dangerous places at each end of the Firth were
likened to the Scylla and Charybdis between Italy and Sicily, where, in
avoiding one mariners were often wrecked by the other; but the dangers
in the Firth were from the "Merry Men of Mey," a dangerous expanse of
sea, where the water was always boiling like a witch's cauldron at one
end, and the dreaded "Swalchie Whirlpool" at the other. This was very
dangerous for small boats, as they could sail over it safely in one
state of the tide, but when it began to move it carried the boat round
so slowly that the occupants did not realise their danger until too
late, when they found themselves going round quicker and quicker as they
descended into the awful vortex below, where the ancient Vikings firmly
believed the submarine mill existed which ground the salt that supplied
the ocean.
We ought not to have read these dismal stories just
before retiring to rest, as the consequence was that we were dreaming of
dangerous rocks, storms, and shipwrecks all through the night, and my
brother had toiled up the hill at the back of the town and found Bessie
Miller there, just as Sir Walter Scott described her, with "a
clay-coloured kerchief folded round her head to match the colour of her
corpse-like complexion." He was just handing her a sixpence to pay for a
favourable wind, when everything was suddenly scattered by a loud knock
at the door, followed by the voice of our hostess informing us that it
was five o'clock and that the boat was "awa' oot" at six.
We were delighted to find that in place of the great
storm pictured in our excited imagination there was every prospect of a
fine day, and that a good "fish breakfast" served in Mrs. Spence's best
style was waiting for us below stairs.
Thursday, September 14th.
After bidding Mrs. Spence farewell, and thanking her for
her kind attention to us during our visit to Stromness, we made our way
to the sloop, which seemed a frail-looking craft to cross the stormy
waters of the Pentland Firth. We did not, of course, forget our large
basket which we had had so much difficulty in finding, and which excited
so much attention and attracted so much curiosity towards ourselves all
the way to John o' Groat's. It even caused the skipper to take a
friendly interest in us, for after our explanation he stored that
ancient basket amongst his more valuable cargo.
There was only a small number of passengers, but in spite
of the early hour quite a little crowd of people had assembled to
witness our departure, and a considerable amount of banter was going on
between those on board the sloop and the company ashore, which continued
as we moved away, each party trying to get the better of the other. As a
finale, one of our passengers shouted to his friend who had come to see
him off: "Do you want to buy a cow?" "Yes," yelled his friend, "but I
see nothing but a calf." A general roar of laughter followed this
repartee, as we all thought the Orkneyman on shore had scored. We should
have liked to have fired another shot, but by the time the laughter had
subsided we were out of range. We did not expect to be on the way more
than three or four hours, as the distance was only about twenty-four
miles; but we did not reach Thurso until late in the afternoon, and we
should have been later if we had had a less skilful skipper. In the
first place we had an unfavourable wind, which prevented our sailing by
the Hoy Sound, the shortest and orthodox route, and this caused us to
miss the proper sea view of the "Old Man of Hoy," which the steamboat
from Stromness to Thurso always passed in close proximity, but we could
perceive it in the distance as an insular Pillar of Rock, standing 450
feet high with rocks in vicinity rising 1,000 feet, although we could
not see the arch beneath, which gives it the appearance of standing on
two legs, and hence the name given to the rock by the sailors. The
Orcadean poet writes:
See Hoy's Old Man whose summit bare
Pierces the dark blue fields
of air;
Based in the sea, his fearful
form
Glooms like the spirit of the
storm.
"OLD MAN OF HOY."
When pointing out the Old Man to us, the captain said
that he stood in the roughest bit of sea round the British coast, and
the words "wind and weather permitting" were very applicable when
stoppages wore contemplated at the Old Man or other places in these
stormy seas.
We had therefore to sail by way of Lang Hope, which we
supposed was a longer route, and we were astonished at the way our
captain handled his boat; but when we reached what we thought was Lang
Hope, he informed the passengers that he intended to anchor here for
some time, and those who wished could be ferried ashore. We had decided
to remain on the boat, but when the captain said there was an inn there
where refreshments could be obtained, my brother declared that he felt
quite hungry, and insisted upon our having a second breakfast. We were
therefore rowed ashore, and were ushered into the parlour of the inn as
if we were the lords of the manor and sole owners, and were very
hospitably received and entertained. The inn was appropriately named the
"Ship," and the treatment we received was such as made us wish we were
making a longer stay, but time and tide wait for no man.
For the next inn he spurs amain,
In haste alights, and scuds
away
But time and tide for no man
stay.
THE SHIP INN, LANG HOPE.
The sign has now been removed to a new hotel, visible in the photograph,
on the opposite side of the ferry.
Whether it was for time or tide or for one of those
mysterious movements in the Pentland Firth that our one-masted boat was
waiting we never knew. We had only just finished our breakfast when a
messenger appeared to summon us to rejoin the sloop, which had to tack
considerably before we reached what the skipper described as the
Scrabster Roads. A stiff breeze had now sprung up, and there was a
strong current in the sea; at each turn or tack our boat appeared to be
sailing on her side, and we were apprehensive that she might be blown
over into the sea. We watched the operations carefully and anxiously,
and it soon became evident that what our skipper did not know about the
navigation of these stormy seas was not worth knowing. We stood quite
near him (and the mast) the whole of the time, and he pointed out every
interesting landmark as it came in sight. He seemed to be taking
advantage of the shelter afforded by the islands, as occasionally we
came quite near their rocky shores, and at one point he showed us a
small hole in the rock which was only a few feet above the sea; he told
us it formed the entrance to a cave in which he had often played when,
as a boy, he lived on that island.
DUNNET HEAD AND LIGHTHOUSE.
The time had now arrived to cross the Pentland Firth and
to sail round Dunnet Head to reach Thurso. Fortunately the day was fine,
and the strong breeze was nothing in the shape of a storm; but in spite
of these favourable conditions we got a tossing, and no mistake! Our
little ship was knocked about like a cork on the waters, which were
absolutely boiling and foaming and furiously raging without any
perceptible cause, and as if a gale were blowing on them two ways at
once. The appearance of the foaming mass of waters was terrible to
behold; we could hear them roaring and see them struggling together just
below us; the deck of the sloop was only a few feet above them, and it
appeared as if we might be swallowed up at any moment. The captain told
us that this turmoil was caused by the meeting of the waters of two
seas, and that at times it was very dangerous to small boats.
Many years ago he was passing through the Firth with his
boat on a rather stormy day, when he noticed he was being followed by
another boat belonging to a neighbour of his. He could see it distinctly
from time to time, and he was sure that it could not be more than 200
yards away, when he suddenly missed it. He watched anxiously for some
time, but it failed to reappear, nor was the boat or its crew ever seen
or heard of again, and it was supposed to have been carried down by a
whirlpool!
We were never more thankful than when we got safely
across those awful waters and the great waves we encountered off Dunnet
Head, and when we were safely landed near Thurso we did not forget the
skipper, but bade him a friendly and, to him, lucrative farewell.
We had some distance to walk before reaching the town
where, loaded with our luggage and carrying the large basket between us,
each taking hold of one of the well-worn handles, we attracted
considerable attention, and almost every one we saw showed a disposition
to see what we were carrying in our hamper; but when they discovered it
was empty, their curiosity was turned into another channel, and they
must see where we were taking it; so by the time we reached the house
recommended by our skipper for good lodgings we had a considerable
following of "lookers on." Fortunately, however, no one attempted to add
to our burden by placing anything in the empty basket or we should have
been tempted to carry it bottom upwards like an inmate of one of the
asylums in Lancashire. A new addition was being built in the grounds,
and some of the lunatics were assisting in the building operations, when
the foreman discovered one of them pushing his wheelbarrow with the
bottom upwards and called out to him, "Why don't you wheel it the right
way up?"
"I did," said the lunatic solemnly, "but they put bricks
in it!"
We felt that some explanation was due to our landlady,
who smiled when she saw the comical nature of that part of our luggage
and the motley group who had followed us, and as we unfolded its history
and described the dearth of willows in the Orkneys, the price we had
paid, the difficulties in finding the hamper, and the care we had taken
of it when crossing the stormy seas, we could see her smile gradually
expanding into a laugh that she could retain no longer when she told us
we could have got a better and a cheaper basket than that in the "toon,"
meaning Thurso, of course. It was some time before we recovered
ourselves, laughter being contagious, and we could hear roars of it at
the rear of the house as our antiquated basket was being stored there.
After tea we crossed the river which, like the town, is
named Thurso, the word, we were informed, meaning Thor's House. Thor,
the god of thunder, was the second greatest of the Scandinavian deities,
while his father, Odin, the god of war, was the first. We had some
difficulty in crossing the river, as we had to pass over it by no less
than eighty-five stepping-stones, several of which were slightly
submerged. Here we came in sight of Thurso Castle, the residence of the
Sinclair family, one of whom, Sir John Sinclair, was the talented author
of the famousStatistical Account of Scotland, and a little
farther on stood Harold's Tower. This tower was erected by John Sinclair
over the tomb of Earl Harold, the possessor at one time of one half of
Orkney, Shetland, and Caithness, who fell in battle against his own
namesake, Earl Harold the Wicked, in 1190. In the opposite direction was
Scrabster and its castle, the scene of the horrible murder of John, Earl
of Caithness, in the twelfth century, "whose tongue was cut from his
throat and whose eyes were put out." We did not go there, but went into
the town, and there witnessed the departure of the stage, or mail coach,
which was just setting out on its journey of eighty miles, for railways
had not yet made their appearance in Caithness, the most northerly
county in Scotland. We then went to buy another hamper, and got a much
better one for less money than we paid at Stromness, for we had agreed
that we would send home two hampers filled with shells instead of one.
We also inquired the best way of getting to John o' Groat's, and were
informed that the Wick coach would take us the first six miles, and then
we should have to walk the remaining fifteen. We were now only one day's
journey to the end and also from the beginning of our journey, and, as
may easily be imagined, we were anxiously looking forward to the morrow.
Friday, September 15th.
At eight o'clock in the morning we were comfortably
seated in the coach which was bound for Wick, with our luggage and the
two hampers safely secured on the roof above, and after a ride of about
six miles we were left, with our belongings, at the side of the highway
where the by-road leading in the direction of John o' Groat's branched
off to the left across the open country. The object of our walk had
become known to our fellow-passengers, and they all wished us a pleasant
journey as the coach moved slowly away. Two other men who had friends in
the coach also alighted at the same place, and we joined them in waving
adieux, which were acknowledged from the coach, as long as it remained
in sight. They also very kindly assisted us to carry our luggage as far
as they were going on our way, and then they helped us to scheme how
best to carry it ourselves. We had brought some strong cord with us from
Thurso, and with the aid of this they contrived to sling the hampers
over our shoulders, leaving us free to carry the remainder of our
luggage in the usual way, and then, bidding us a friendly farewell, left
us to continue on our lonely way towards John o' Groat's. We must have
presented an extraordinary appearance with these large baskets extending
behind our backs, and we created great curiosity and some amusement
amongst the men, women, and children who were hard at work harvesting in
the country through which we passed.
My brother said it reminded him of Christian in John
Bunyan's Pilgrim's
Progress, who carried the burden on his back and wanted to get rid
of it; while I thought of Sinbad the Sailor, who, when wrecked on a
desert island, was compelled to carry the Old Man of the Sea on his
shoulders, and he also wanted to get rid of his burden; but we agreed
that, like both of these worthy characters, we should be obliged to
carry our burdens to the end of the journey.
We had a fine view of Dunnet Head, which is said to be
the Cape Orcas mentioned by Diodorus Siculus, the geographer who lived
in the time of Julius Cζsar, and of the lighthouse which had been built
on the top of it in 1832, standing quite near the edge of the cliff.
The light from the lantern, which was 346 feet above the
highest spring tide, could be seen at a distance of 23 miles; but even
this was sometimes obscured by the heavy storms from the west when the
enormous billows from the Atlantic dashed against the rugged face of the
cliff and threw up the spray as high as the lights of the building
itself, so that the stones they contained have been known to break the
glass in the building; such, indeed, was the prodigious combined force
of the wind and sea upon the headland, that the very rock seemed to
tremble as if it were affected by an earthquake.
While on the coach we had passed the hamlets of Murkle
and Castlehill. Between these two places was a sandy pool on the
seashore to which a curious legend was attached. The story goes that
a young lad on one occasion discovered a
mermaid bathing and by some means or other got into conversation
with her and rendered himself so agreeable that a regular meeting at
the same spot took place between them. This continued for some time.
The young man grew exceedingly wealthy, and no one could tell how he
became possessed of such riches. He began to cut a dash amongst the
lasses, making them presents of strings of diamonds of vast value,
the gifts of the fair sea nymph. By and by he began to forget the
day of his appointment; and when he did come to see her, money and
jewels were his constant request. The mermaid lectured him pretty
sharply on his love of gold, and, exasperated at his perfidy in
bestowing her presents on his earthly fair ones, enticed him one
evening rather farther than usual, and at length showed him a
beautiful boat, in which she said she would convey him to a cave in
Darwick Head, where she had all the wealth of all the ships that
ever were lost in the Pentland Firth and on the sands of Dunnet. He
hesitated at first, but the love of gold prevailed, and off they set
to the cave in question. And here, says the legend, he is confined
with a chain of gold, sufficiently long to admit of his walking at
times on a small piece of sand under the western side of the Head;
and here, too, the fair siren laves herself in the tiny waves on
fine summer evenings, but no consideration will induce her to loose
his fetters of gold, or trust him one hour out of her sight.
We walked on at a good pace and in high spirits, but,
after having knocked about for nine days and four nights and having
travelled seven or eight hundred miles by land and sea, the weight of
our extra burden began to tell upon us, and we felt rather tired and
longed for a rest both for mind and body in some quiet spot over the
week's end, especially as we had decided to begin our long walk on the
Monday morning.
Visions of a good hotel which we felt sure we should find
at John o' Groat's began to haunt us, and the more hungry we became the
brighter were our anticipations of the good fare that awaited us. But
judge of our surprise and disappointment when a man whom we met on the
road told us there was no hotel there at all! We asked if he thought we
could get lodgings at John o' Groat's House itself, but the sardonic
grin that spread over his features when he told us that that house had
vanished long ago was cruel. The information gave us quite a shock, and
our spirits seemed to fall below zero as we turned our backs on the man
without even thanking him for answering our questions. We felt not too
full, but too empty for words, as we were awfully hungry, and I heard my
brother murmur something that sounded very like "Liar"; but the man's
information turned out to be perfectly correct. Our luggage also began
to feel heavier, and the country gradually became more wild and
desolate. Our spirits revived a little when a fisherman told us of a
small inn that we should reach a mile or two before coming to John o'
Groat's. We thought we had surely come to the end of everywhere when we
reached the "Huna Inn," for it stood some distance from any other house
and at the extreme end of an old lane that terminated at the sea. It was
a small, primitive structure, but it was now our only hope, as far as we
knew, for obtaining lodgings, and we could scarcely restrain our delight
when we were told we could be accommodated there until Monday morning.
It was an intense relief to us to be separated from our cumbersome
luggage, and we must say that Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie did all in their
power to make us comfortable and happy and to make us feel at home. We
contented ourselves with some light refreshments which to some
non-pedestrians might have appeared decidedly heavy, and then decided to
see all that remained of John o' Groat's House.
Walking along the beach for about a mile and a half, the
distance we were told that separated the ruins from the inn, we failed
to find them, and were about to return when we met a shepherd who said
we had already passed them. We therefore returned with him, as he told
us he was going to the inn, and he showed us a few mounds of earth
covered with grass which marked the site of the foundations of John o'
Groat's House, but the stones had been removed to build a storehouse, or
granary, at a place he pointed out in the distance. We were rather
disappointed, as we expected to find some extensive remains, and, seeing
they were so very scanty, we wondered why, in a land where stones were
so plentiful, some monument or inscribed stone had not been erected to
mark the site where this remarkable house once stood, as, in the absence
of some one to direct them, strangers, like ourselves, might pass and
repass these remains without noticing them. We were not long in reaching
the inn, for the shepherd was a big man and took very long strides, and
here we wrote a few short letters to our friends to advise them of our
safe arrival at John o' Groat's, afterwards walking to the post office
about a mile away to post them, and ordering a high tea to be ready for
us on our return. It was half-past eight when we finished our tea, after
which we were conducted to a little room close to the sea, with two tiny
windows in it, one of them without a blind, and with a peat or turf fire
burning brightly on the hearth. Mrs. Mackenzie then brought us a small
candle, which she lighted, and handed us a book which she said was the
"Album," and we amused ourselves with looking over this for the
remainder of the evening. It was quite a large volume, dating from the
year 1839, and the following official account of the Groat family,
headed with a facsimile of the "Groat Arms," was pasted inside the
cover:
THE CHIEF OF THE RACE OF JOHN O' GROAT
IS ALEXANDER G. GROAT, ESQ., ADVOCATE, EDINBURGH.
NOTICES OF JOHN O' GROAT'S HOUSE.
It is stated in Sinclair's
Statistical Accounts of Scotland, vol. 8, page 167 and
following:"In the account of Cannisby by the Rev. John Marison, D.D.,
that in the reign of James the Fourth, King of Scotland, Malcom,
Cairn and John de Groat, supposed to have been brothers and
originally from Holland, arrived in Caithness from the south of
Scotland, bringing with them a letter in Latin by that King
recommending him to the countenance and protection of his loving
subjects in the County of Caithness."
It is stated in Chambers's
Pictures of Scotland, vol. 2, page 306, "that the foundations or
ruins of John o' Groat's House, which is perhaps the most celebrated
in the whole world, are still to be seen."
Then followed the names and addresses of visitors
extending over a period of thirty-three years, many of them having also
written remarks in prose, poetry, or doggerel rhyme, so we found plenty
of food for thought and some amusement before we got even half way
through the volume. Some of these effusions might be described as of
more than ordinary merit, and the remainder as good, bad, and
indifferent. Those written in foreign languagesand there were many of
themwe could neither read nor understand, but they gave us the
impression that the fame of John o' Groat's had spread throughout the
civilised world. There were many references to Stroma, or the Island of
the Current, which we could see in the Pentland Firth about four miles
distant, and to the difficulties and danger the visitors had experienced
in crossing that "stormy bit of sea" between it and John o' Groat's. But
their chief complaint was that, after travelling so far, there was no
house for them to see. They had evidently, like ourselves, expected to
find a substantial structure, and the farther they had travelled the
greater their disappointment would naturally be. One visitor had
expressed his disappointment in a verse more forcible than elegant, but
true as regarded the stone.
The place where his home doth
lie;
And the devil a stone saw I.
The following entry also appeared in the Album:
Elihu Burrit of New Britain,
Connecticut, U.S. America, on a walk from Land's End to John o'
Groat's, arrived at Huna Inn, upon Monday Sep. 28th, 1863. He
visited the site of that famous domicile so celebrated in the
world-wide legend for its ingenious construction to promote domestic
happiness, and fully realised all he had anticipated in standing on
a spot so rich with historical associations and surrounded with such
grand and beautiful scenery. He desires also to record his testimony
to the hospitality and comfort of the cosy little sea-side Inn,
where he was pleasantly housed for the night, and of which he will
ever cherish an interesting remembrance.
Saturday, September 16th.
"Now for the shells!" exclaimed my brother, as we awoke
early in the morning, for we expected to have a hard day's work before
we gathered shells enough to fill our large baskets. So we hurried on
with our breakfast, and then, shouldering our hampers, walked quickly
along the beach to the place where we had been informed we should find
them. When we got there we saw a sight which surely could not have had
its parallel in the British Isles, for the beach was white with them for
the greater part of two miles. We were greatly astonished, for in some
places the beach was so thickly covered that, had we possessed a shovel,
we could have filled both our baskets with shells in a very few minutes.
We decided therefore to select those best suited to our purpose, and we
worked away until we had filled both our hampers. We then carried them
one at a time to the "Huna Inn," and arranged with Mr. Mackenzie to have
them carefully packed and delivered to the local carrier to be conveyed
by road to the steamboat office at Wick, and thence forwarded by water
to our home, where we knew their contents would be appreciated for
rockery purposes. The whole of our operations were completed by noon,
instead of occupying the whole of the day as anticipated, for we had a
great advantage in having such an enormous number of shells to select
from. Our host told us that farmers occasionally moved them by
cart-loads to serve as lime manure on their land. Their accumulation at
that particular spot was a mystery which he could not explain beyond the
fact that the shells were washed up from the Pentland Firth during the
great storms; so we concluded that there must be a land of shell fish in
or near that stormy deep, perhaps corresponding with that of the larger
fish whose destruction we had seen represented in the Strata of Pomona
in the Orkneys.
ROCKS AT DUNCANSBAY.
We must not forget to record, however, that amongst the
vast number of shells we had turned over we found some of those lovely
little shells known as "John o' Groat's buckies," so highly prized by
visitors. They were difficult to find, as they were so very small, but
we found quite a number, and considered them to be perfect little gems,
and so very pretty that we reserved them for special presents to our
friends. We afterwards learned that they were known to science as Cyproe
Artoca, or European Cowry.
An interesting account of John o' Groat's House and the shells was
written in the year 1698 by the Rev. John Brand, Commissioner of the
General Assembly:
The landing-place was called John o'
Groat's House, the northernmost house in Scotland; the man who now
liveth in it and keepeth an inn there is called John Grot, who saith
his house hath been in the possession of his predecessors of that
name for some hundreds of years; which name of Grot is frequent in
Caithness.
Upon the sand by John Grot's house are found many small pleasant
buckies and shells, beautified by diverse colours, which some use to
put upon a string as beads, and account much of their rarity. It is
also observed of these shells that not one of them can be found
altogether like another, and upon the review of the parcel I had I
discovered some difference among them which variety renders them the
more beautiful.
THE STACKS OF DUNCANSBAY
After our midday dinner had partially digested, for we
had eaten rather too much, we started for Duncansbay Head, following the
coast line on an up-gradient until we reached the top, which formed the
north-eastern extremity of Scotland, and from where we had to start on
Monday morning. It was a lonely spot, and we were the only visitors; but
we had a lively time there, as the thousands of wild birds whose homes
were in the rocks, judging from the loud noises they made as they new
about us in endless processions, resented our intrusion into their
sacred domainhovering around us in every direction. Perhaps they were
only anxious to ascertain whether we were friends or foes, but we were
very much interested in their strange movements. They appeared to be
most numerous on and about two or three perpendicular rocks which rose
from the sea like pinnacles to a great height. These rocks were named
the "Stacks," or the "Boars of Duncansbay," their sides and summits
being only accessible to birds, and forming safe resting and
nesting-places for them, and on the top of the highest stack the
golden-coloured eagles had for ages reared their young. The "Stacks"
might once have formed part of the headland or of some adjacent island
which had been wasted away by the winds and waves of ages until only
these isolated portions remained, and these were worn into all kinds of
crevices and fantastic shapes which impressed us with a sense of their
great antiquity. We walked along the top of the cliffs, which here
presented the appearance of one vast amphitheatre lined with precipices,
with small promontories here and there jutting out into the sea
resembling fortresses, some of them having the ruins of ancient castles
crowning their highest points. We could scarcely bring our minds to
realise that these were the very rocks we had seen from the deck of the
s.s. St. Magnus only
a few days since. We had passed through so many scenes, and had had so
many adventures both by night and day since then, that the lapse of time
seemed to us to be more like years than days. We retraced our steps to
the head, and stood there for some time watching the ships far out at
sea, trying to distinguish the St.
Magnus, as it was just about the time she was again due on her
outward journey; but the demands of our hungry insides were again
claiming urgent attention, and so we hastened our return to the "Huna
Inn." On our way we again encountered the shepherd who had shown us the
site of John o' Groat's House, and we invited him to look us up in the
evening, as we were anxious to get further information about John and
his famous house. "Huna Inn," in spite of its disadvantages, was quite a
romantic place to stay at, as it was situated almost on the edge of the
boiling torrent of the Pentland Firth, which at times was so stormy that
the island of Stroma could not be reached for weeks.
The "Swalchie," or whirlpool of Stroma, has been
mentioned by many ancient writers, but the most interesting story is
that of its origin as given in the old Norse legend headed, "Fenja and
Menja," and containing a famous ballad known as the "Grotta Songr," or
the "Mill Song," grotta being the Norse for mill, or quern.
Odin had a son by name Skjold from whom
the Skjoldungs. He had his throne and ruled in the lands that are
now called Denmark but were then called Gotland. Skjold had a son by
name Fridleif, who ruled the lands after him. Fridleif's son was
Frode. He took the kingdom after his father, at the time when the
Emperor Augustus established peace in all the earth, and Christ was
born. But Frode being the mightiest King in the Northlands, this
peace was attributed to him by all who spake the Danish tongue and
the Norsemen called it the Peace of Frode. No man injured the other,
even though he might meet, loose or in chains, his father's or
brother's bane (murderer). There was no thief or robber so that a
gold ring would lie a long time on Jalanger's heath. King Frode sent
messengers to Sirthjod, to the King whose name was Fjolner, and
bought there two maidservants, whose names were Fenja and Menja.
They were large and strong. About this time were found in Denmark
two millstones so large that no one had the strength to turn them.
But the nature belonged to these millstones that they ground
whatever was demanded of them by the miller. The name of the mill
was Grotte. But the man to whom King Frode gave the mill was called
Hengekjapt. King Frode had the maidservants led to the mill and
requested them to grind for him gold and peace and Frode's
happiness. Then he gave them no longer time to rest or sleep than
while the cuckoo was silent or while they sang a song. It is said
they sang the song called the "Grotte Song," and before they ended
it they ground out a host against Frode, so that on the same night
there came the Sea-King whose name was Mysing and slew Frode and
took a large amount of booty. Mysing took with him Grotte and also
Fenja and Menja and bade them grind salt, and in the middle of the
night they asked Mysing whether he did not have salt enough. He bade
them grind more. They ground only a short time longer before the
ship sank. But in the ocean arose a whirlpool (maelstrom,
mill-stream) in the place where the sea runs into the mill-eye: the
Swalchie of Stroma.
The story "Why is the sea salt?" or "How the sea became
salt," has appeared in one form or another among many nations of the
world, and naturally appealed strongly to the imagination of the youth
of a maritime nation like England. The story as told formerly amongst
schoolboys was as follows:
Jack had decided to go to sea, but
before doing so he went to see his fairy godmother, who had a
strange looking old coffee-mill on the mantelshelf in her kitchen.
She set the table for tea without anything on it to eat or drink,
and then, taking down the old mill, placed it on the table and asked
it to grind each article she required. After the tea-pot had been
filled, Jack was anxious for something to eat, and said he would
like some teacakes, so his fairy godmother said to the mill:
Buttered tea-cakes now I
pray!"
for she knew Jack liked plenty of butter on his cakes, and out they
came from the mill until the plate was well filled, and then she
said:
"Mill! Mill! rest thee
now,
Thou hast ground enough I
trow,"
and immediately the mill stopped grinding. When Jack told her he was
going away on a ship to sea, his fairy godmother made him a present
of the old mill, which he would find useful, as it would grind
anything he asked it to; but he must be careful to use the same
words that he had heard her speak both in starting and stopping the
mill. When he got to the ship, he stored the old mill carefully in
his box, and had almost forgotten it when as they neared the country
they were bound for the ship ran short of potatoes, so Jack told the
Captain he would soon find him some, and ran for his mill, which he
placed on the deck of the ship, and said to it:
Let us have some potatoes
I pray!"
and immediately the potatoes began to roll out of the mill and over
the deck, to the great astonishment and delight of the sailors, who
had fine fun gathering them up. Then Jack said to the mill:
"Mill! Mill! rest thee
now,
Thou hast ground enough I
trow,"
and immediately the mill ceased grinding.
The Captain determined to get the mill from Jack, who would not part
with it, and tried to steal it, but did not succeed, and when they
reached the port, Jack took the mill ashore with him, and rented a
shop that happened to be empty, and had a sign-board placed over it
with the words painted in large letters, "All sorts of things
supplied here on the shortest notice," and he soon got a pile of
money, the last order being one from the King, who wanted clothing
for his soldiers in a hurry, as war had broken out unexpectedly.
Jack's good fortune was soon heard of by the Captain, and when his
ship was ready to sail he contrived to get one of his friends to
invite Jack to a party that evening, and then with the help of some
of his crew he broke into the shop and stole the old mill.
When Jack returned in the morning his mill was gone, and he could
just see the sails of the ship far out at sea. But he did not care
much, as he had now money enough to keep himself for many years.
Meantime the Captain in his hurry to get away had forgotten to bring
some things that were wanted, and when he found they had no salt on
board, he brought the old mill on deck, and said:
Let us have some salt I
pray,"
and immediately the mill began to grind salt at a great speed and
presently covered the deck all round where it was working, but the
Captain had forgotten the words spoken by Jack when he stopped the
mill, and though he used all the words he could think of, the mill
kept on grinding, and was rapidly filling every available space on
the deck. The Captain then ran to his cabin and brought out his
sword, and with a terrific blow he cut the mill in halves; but each
piece formed itself into a mill, and both mills continued grinding
until the ship sank to the bottom of the sea, where the mills are
still grinding in the terrible Swalchie of Stroma, and that is why
the water in the sea is salt!
There had been a ferry at John o' Groat's years before
our visit, and mails and passengers had been carried across the Firth to
and from the Orkney Islands, the distance across being shorter from this
point than from any other in Scotland; but for some unexplained reason
the service had been discontinued, and the presence of the ferry would
probably account for so many names being written in the album. The day
was already drawing to a close as we sat down to tea and the good things
provided by Mrs. Mackenzie, and we were waited upon by a Scotch lassie,
who wore neither shoes nor stockings; but this we found was nothing
unusual in the north of Scotland in those days. After tea we adjourned
to our room, and sat down in front of our peat fire; but our
conversational powers soon exhausted themselves, for we felt uncommonly
drowsy after having been exposed so long to the open air. We sat there
silently watching the curling smoke as it went up the chimney and
dreamily gazing into the caverns which had been formed in the fire
below, imagining that we could see all kinds of weird objects therein,
and then we thought of the times when we should not have been able to
rest so securely and comfortably in the "Huna Inn," when one Scottish
clan was trying to exterminate another not so far away from where we
were then sitting, for no more apparent reason than that the Scots were
born soldiers, and if they had no foreigners to fight they must fight
among themselves. We must have been nearly asleep when our reveries were
interrupted by the entrance of the shepherd, whom for the moment we had
entirely forgotten. He had come in response to our invitation to talk
with us about things in general, but particularly about John o' Groat,
and we were glad to see him, and we now give
THE SHEPHERD'S STORY
John o' Groat was a fisherman belonging to Holland who was caught
when at sea in a great storm which damaged his sails so that his
boat drifted almost helplessly across the sea. When he came in sight
of the Scottish coast he was carried with the current into the
Pentland Firth, and as he could not repair the sails in the boat and
could not get back to Holland with them in their damaged condition,
he decided to land on one of the islands and repair them on shore.
His wife was very much opposed to his landing on Stroma, as she
thought it was a desert island, so he got his boat across from there
to the Scottish coast; but when he attempted to land at Huna, the
natives opposed his landing, for they thought he was a pirate.
Fortunately for him he had a few kegs of gin in his boat, and when
the canny Scots saw these they became more friendly, especially as
they had a great respect for Holland's gin, and so they allowed him
to land, and even helped him to mend his sails. They afterwards
allowed him to settle amongst them on condition that he did not
attempt to go into the interior of the country, and that he built
his house on the seashore. He got on well amongst his new friends,
and in time became their chief and had eight sons, and on one
festive occasion, when they all came to see him, they quarrelled as
to which should have precedence at his table, so John told them that
the next time they came he would have matters so arranged as to
avoid that kind of thing in the future. He therefore built an
entirely new house with eight sides to it and a door in each, and
made a table inside of the same octagonal shape, so that when they
came to see him again each of them could enter by his own door and
sit at his own head of the table.
In reply to our questions the shepherd said he thought
this event happened about 350 years ago, but the house had long since
disappeared, and only the site of the foundations which he had shown us
previously now remained. He also said that heaps of ladies and gentlemen
came there to picnic on the site, and he had seen them take even small
stones away; but though he had lived there for fifty years, he had never
seen John o' Groat's any different from what it was now. We asked him
why John did not return to Holland, and he said it was because he had a
letter from the king. We thanked the shepherd for his story, and, having
suitably rewarded him, bade him farewell and hurried off to bed in the
fading light of our rapidly diminishing candle.
Sunday, September 17th.
The strict observance of the Sabbath Day in Scotland was
to us a most pleasing feature in Scottish life, and one to which we had
been accustomed from early childhood, so we had no desire to depart from
it now. We were, therefore, very pleased when Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie
invited us to accompany them to the Free Kirk service, and, as half-past
ten o'clock was the time fixed for our departure from the inn, we
concluded that the kirk could not be far away, as that was the hour that
service began in our village church in Cheshire, but we could not
remember seeing any kirk in the neighbourhood of the "Huna Inn." We
continued walking one mile after another for more than an hour, and must
have walked quite four miles before we came in sight of the kirk, and we
were then informed that the service did not commence until twelve
o'clock! The country through which we passed was very bare, there being
a total absence of hedges and trees, so we could see people coming
towards the kirk from every direction. Everybody seemed to know
everybody else, and, as they came nearer the sacred enclosure, they
formed themselves into small groups and stood conversing with each
other, chiefly on religious matters, until the minister arrived to take
charge of his flock. He was a quaintly dressed and rather elderly man,
evidently well known, as he had a nod or a smile of recognition and a
friendly word for all. We followed him into the kirk, where we found
ourselves in the presence of quite a large congregation, and sat with
Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie in their own pew in the rear of the kirk. The
form of the service was quite different from that to which we had been
accustomed. The congregation stood up while they prayed and sat down
while they sang the Psalms, with the exception of one man, who remained
standing in what we thought was the clerk's desk immediately below the
pulpit. This man acted as leader of the singing, but he failed to get
much assistance from the people, and had great difficulty in keeping the
singing going. Possibly the failure of the congregational singing might
be accounted for by the absence of an organ or other instrument of music
to assist and encourage the people to sing, the nearest approach to
anything of the kind being the tuning-fork which the conductor held in
his hand. There was also the fact that the sitting posture was not the
best position for bringing out the powers of the human voice; but we
came to the conclusion that music was not looked upon favourably in that
remote part of Scotland.
In front of the pulpit there was an enclosure, fenced in
by the communion rail, and inside this were seated the elders, or
deacons of the church. These were very old men with bent heads and white
hair, and had the appearance of centenarians; they were indeed the
queerest-looking group of old men we had ever seen assembled together.
But it was their noses that chiefly attracted our attention, as they
were so very long and crooked, and the strange feature about them was
that they were all of the same pattern. Their only rival, as far as we
could see, in length of nose was the minister, but we thought he had
enlarged his by artificial means, as we found to our surprise that he
was addicted to snuff-taking, a habit very prevalent in Scotland in
those days.
Then came the sermon. On the pulpit was the Bible, and
beside it a substantial box of snuff, to which the minister resorted
occasionally in the course of his long discourse. His pinches must have
been considerable, for every sniff lasted from two to three seconds, and
could be heard distinctly all over the kirk. This had a tendency to
distract our attention from his sermon, which, by the way, was a very
good one; but, owing to his rather slow delivery, we experienced a
feeling of relief when he reached the end, for it had lasted quite an
hour.
There was now a slight movement amongst the congregation,
which we interpreted as a sign that the service was at an end, and we
rose to leave; but, imagine our consternation when our friends told us
that what we had listened to was only the first part of the service, and
that we must on no account leave, as the second part was to follow
immediately. We therefore remained not altogether unwillingly, for we
were curious to know what the next service was like. It proved to be
almost exactly the same as the first, and we could not distinguish much
difference between the two sermons; but we listened attentively, and
were convinced that the preacher was a thoroughly conscientious man in
spite of his occasional long sniffs of snuff, which were continued as
before, but what astonished us was that the old gentleman never once
sneezed! It was the most remarkable service we had ever attended, and it
concluded exactly at three o'clock, having lasted three hours.
We had then to retrace our four-mile walk to "Huna Inn,"
but the miles seemed rather longer, as Mrs. Mackenzie could only walk in
a leisurely manner and we were feeling very hungry. We whiled away the
time by talking about the sermons and the snuff, but chiefly about the
deacons and their wonderful noses, and why they were all alike and so
strangely crooked. Mr. Mackenzie suggested that they were crooked
because if they had grown straight they would have projected over their
mouths and prevented them from eating, the crook in them being a
provision of nature to avoid this; or, they might have descended from
the Romans or some other ancient race who had formerly inhabited the
coast of that part of Scotland. Books had been written and sermons
preached about noses, and the longer the nose the greater the intellect
of the owner was supposed to be. We told our host that there was only
one-sixteenth part of an inch between the length of Napoleon's nose and
that of Wellington's. We had forgotten which was the longer, but as
Wellington's was so conspicuous that he was nicknamed "Nosey" by his
troops, and as he had won the great battle of Waterloo, we concluded
that it was his, and gave him the benefit of the doubt. We quoted the
following lines:
Knows he, that never took a pinch,
Nosey, the pleasure thence
that flows?
Knows he the titillating joy
O Nose, I am as proud of thee
As any mountain of its snows;
I gaze on thee, and feel that
pride
Our host confided to us the reason why he was so anxious
that we should not leave in the middle of the service. The second
service was originally intended for those who had to come long distances
to reach the kirk, some of whom came from a place seven miles away, but
in late years the two services had become continuous. A few Sundays
before our visit some persons had left the kirk at the end of the first
part, and in his second sermon the minister had plainly described them
as followers of the Devil! so we supposed our host was anxious that we
should not be denounced in the same way.
We found our tea-dinner waiting our arrival at the inn.
We sat down to it at half-past four, and, as we rose from what was left
of it at five o'clock, having worked hard meanwhile, we may safely be
credited with having done our duty.
We had a walk with our host along the shore, and had not
proceeded far before we saw a dark-looking object some distance away in
the sea. We thought it looked like a man in a boat, rising and falling
with the waves, but Mr. Mackenzie told us that it was two whales
following the herrings that were travelling in shoals round the coasts.
We were very much interested in their strange movements, as they were
the only whales we ever saw alive, but we could not help feeling sorry
for the fish. Evening was coming on as we re-entered "Huna Inn," and
when we were again seated before our turf fire, joined by our host and
hostess, our conversation was chiefly on the adventures we had already
had, the great walk we were to begin on the morrow, and the pleasure it
had given us to see the manifest and steadfast determination of the
people at the kirk to observe the Commandment of the God of the Sabbath,
"REMEMBER THAT THOU KEEP HOLY THE SABBATH DAY." We wondered how much the
prosperity of the Scottish nation and its representatives in every part
of the "wide, wide world" was attributable to their strict observance of
the Sabbath. Who knows?
WE BEGIN OUR JOURNEY
Monday, September 18th.
We rose early and walked along the beach to Duncansbay
Head, or Rongisby as the old maps have it, gathering a few of those
charming little shells called John o'Groat Buckies by the way. After
walking round the site of John o'Groat's house, we returned to our
comfortable quarters at the Huna Inn for breakfast. John o'Groat seems
to have acted with more wisdom than many entrusted with the affairs of a
nation. When his sons quarrelled for precedence at his table, he
consoled them with the promise that when the next family gathering took
place the matter should be settled to the satisfaction of all. During
the interval he built a house having eight sides, each with a door and
window, with an octagonal table in the centre so that each of his eight
sons could enter at his own door and sit at his own side or "head" of
the table. By this arrangementwhich reminded us of King Arthur's use of
his round tablehe dispelled the animosity which previously prevailed.
After breakfast, and in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, we made
an entry in the famous Album with name and address, object of journey,
and exact time of departure, and they promised to reserve a space
beneath the entry to record the result, which was to be posted to them
immediately we reached our journey's end.
JOHN O'GROAT'S HOUSE.
It was about half-past ten o'clock when we started on our
long walk along a circuitous and unknown route from John o'Groat's to
Land's End. Our host and hostess stood watching our departure and waving
adieux until we disappeared in the distance. We were in high spirits,
and soon reached the junction of roads where we turned to the left
towards Wick. The first part of our walk was through the Parish of
Canisbay, in the ancient records of which some reference is made to the
more recent representatives of the Groat family, but as these were made
two hundred years ago, they were now almost illegible. Our road lay
through a wild moorland district with a few farms and cottages here and
there, mainly occupied by fishermen. There were no fences to the fields
or roads, and no bushes or trees, and the cattle were either herded or
tied to stakes.
After passing through Canisbay, we arrived at the most
northerly house in the Parish of Wick, formerly a public-house, and
recognised as the half-way house between Wick and John o'Groat's. We
found it occupied as a farm by Mr. John Nicolson, and here we saw the
skeleton of a whale doing duty as a garden fence. The dead whale,
seventy feet in length, had been found drifting in the sea, and had been
hauled ashore by the fishermen. Mr. Nicolson had an ingenious son, who
showed us a working sun-dial in the garden in front of the house which
he had constructed out of a portion of the backbone, and in the same
bone he had also formed a curious contrivance by which he could tell the
day of the month. He told us he was the only man that studied painting
in the North, and invited us into the house, wherein several rooms he
showed us some of his paintings, which were really excellent considering
they were executed in ordinary wall paint. His mother informed us that
he began to study drawing when he was ill with a slow fever, but not
bed-fast. Two of the pictures, that of an old bachelor and a Scotch
lassie, a servant, were very good indeed. We also saw a picture of an
old woman, a local celebrity, about a hundred years old, which was
considered to be an excellent likeness, and showed the old lady's eyes
so sunk in her head as to be scarcely visible. We considered that we had
here found one of Nature's artists, who would probably have made a name
for himself if given the advantages so many have who lack the ability,
for he certainly possessed both the imaginative faculty and no small
degree of dexterity in execution. He pointed out to us the house of a
farmer over the way who slept in the Parish of Wick and took his meals
in that of Canisbay, the boundary being marked by a chimney in the
centre of the roof. He also informed us that his brother accompanied
Elihu Burritt, the American blacksmith, for some distance when he walked
from London to John o'Groat's.
We were now about eleven miles from Wick, and as Mr.
Nicolson told us of an old castle we had missed, we turned back across
the moors for about a mile and a half to view it. He warned us that we
might see a man belonging to the neighbourhood who was partly insane,
and who, roaming amongst the castle ruins, usually ran straight towards
any strangers as if to do them injury; but if we met him we must not be
afraid, as he was perfectly harmless. We had no desire to meet a madman,
and luckily, although we kept a sharp look-out, we did not see him. We
found the ruined castle resting on a rock overlooking the sea with the
rolling waves dashing on its base below; it was connected with the
mainland by a very narrow strip broken through in one place, and
formerly crossed by a drawbridge. As this was no longer available, it
was somewhat difficult to scale the embankment opposite; still we
scrambled up and passed triumphantly through the archway into the ruins,
not meeting with that resistance we fancied we should have done in the
days of its daring owner. A portion only of the tower remained, as the
other part had fallen about two years before our visit. The castle, so
tradition stated, had been built about the year 1100 by one Buchollie, a
famous pirate, who owned also another castle somewhere in the Orkneys.
How men could carry on such an unholy occupation amidst such dangerous
surroundings was a mystery to us.
MR. NICOLSON'S HOME, SHOWING THE ARCH OF WHALE'S JAW.
On our return we again saw our friend Mr. Nicolson, who
told us there were quite a number of castles in Caithness, as well as
Pictish forts and Druidical circles, a large proportion of the castles
lying along the coast we were traversing. He gave us the names of some
of them, and told us that they materially enhanced the beauty of this
rock-bound coast. He also described to us a point of the coast near
Ackergill, which we should pass, where the rocks formed a remarkably
perfect profile of the Great Duke of Wellington, though others spoke of
it as a black giant. It could only be seen from the sea, but was
marvellously correct and life-like, and of gigantic proportions.
Acting on Mr. Nicolson's instructions, we proceeded along
the beach to Keiss Castle, and ascended to its second storey by means of
a rustic ladder. It was apparently of a more recent date than Buchollie,
and a greater portion of it remained standing. A little to the west of
it we saw another and more modern castle, one of the seats of the Duke
of Portland, who, we were told, had never yet visited it. Before
reaching the village of Keiss, we came to a small quay, where we stayed
a short time watching the fishermen getting their smacks ready before
sailing out to sea, and then we adjourned to the village inn, where we
were provided with a first-class tea, for which we were quite ready. The
people at the inn evidently did not think their business inconsistent
with religion, for on the walls of the apartment where we had our tea
were hanging two pictures of a religious character, and a motto "Offer
unto God thanksgiving," and between them a framed advertisement of
"Edinburgh Ales"!
After tea we continued our journey until we came to the
last house in the village of Keiss, a small cottage on the left-hand
side of the road, and here we called to inspect a model of John
o'Groat's house, which had been built by a local stonemason, and
exhibited at the great Exhibition in London in 1862. Its skilful builder
became insane soon after he had finished it, and shortly afterwards
died. It was quite a palatial model and much more handsome than its
supposed original was ever likely to have been. It had eight doors with
eight flights of steps leading up to them, and above were eight towers
with watchmen on them, and inside the house was a table with eight sides
made from wood said to have been from the original table in the house of
Groat, and procured from one of his descendants. The model was
accompanied by a ground plan and a print of the elevation taken from a
photo by a local artist. There was no charge for admission or for
looking at the model, but a donation left with the fatherless family was
thankfully received.
We now walked for miles along the seashore over huge
sand-hills with fine views of the herring-boats putting out to sea. We
counted fifty-six in one fleet, and the number would have been far
greater had not Noss Head intervened to obstruct our view, as many more
went out that night from Wick, although the herring season was now
nearly over. We passed Ackergill Tower, the residence of Sir George
Dunbar, and about two miles farther on we came to two old castles quite
near to each other, which were formerly the strongholds of the Earls of
Caithness. They were named Girnigoe and Sinclair. Girnigoe was the
oldest, and under the ruins of the keep was a dismal dungeon.
It was now getting dark, and not the pleasantest time to
view old castles surrounded by black rocks with the moan of the sea as
it invaded the chasms of the rocks on which they stood. Amongst these
lonely ruins we spoke of the past, for had our visit been three
centuries earlier, the dismal sounds from the sea below would have
mingled with those from the unfortunate young man chained up in that
loathsome dungeon, whose only light came from a small hole high up in
the wall. Such was John, Master of Caithness, the eldest son of the
fifth Sinclair, Earl of Caithness, who is said to have been imprisoned
here because he had wooed and won the affections of the daughter of a
neighbouring laird, marked out by his father, at that time a widower,
for himself. He was confined in that old dungeon for more than six long
years before death released him from his inhuman parent.
During his imprisonment John had three keepers appointed
over himMurdoch Roy and two brothers named Ingram and David Sinclair.
Roy attended him regularly, and did all the menial work, as the other
two keepers were kinsmen of the earl, his father, who had imprisoned
him. Roy was sorry for the unfortunate nobleman, and arranged a plot to
set him at liberty, which was unfortunately discovered by John's brother
William, who bore him no good will. William told his father, the earl,
who immediately ordered Roy to be executed. The poor wretch was
accordingly brought out and hanged on the common gibbet of the castle
without a moment being allowed him to prepare for his final account.
Soon afterwards, in order to avenge the death of Roy,
John, who was a man of great bodily strength and whose bad usage and
long imprisonment had affected his mind, managed to seize his brother
William on the occasion of his visit to the dungeon and strangle him.
This only deepened the earl's antipathy towards his unhappy son, and his
keepers were encouraged to put him to death. The plan adopted was such
as could only have entered the imagination of fiends, for they withheld
food from their prisoner for the space of five days, and then set before
him a piece of salt beef of which he ate voraciously. Soon after, when
he called for water, they refused to give him any, and he died of raging
thirst. Another account said they gave him brandy, of which he drank so
copiously that he died raving mad. In any case, there is no doubt
whatever that he was barbarously done to death.
GIRNIGOE CASTLE.
Every castle along the seacoast had some story of cruelty
connected with it, but the story of Girnigoe was perhaps the worst of
all, and we were glad to get away from a place with such dismal
associations.
About a hundred years after this sad event the Clan of
the Campbells of Glenorchy declared war on the Sinclairs of Keiss, and
marched into Caithness to meet them; but the Sinclairs instead of going
out to meet them at the Ord of Caithness, a naturally fortified
position, stayed at home, and the Campbells took up a strong position at
Altimarloch, about two miles from Wick. The Sinclairs spent the night
before the battle drinking and carousing, and then attacked the
Campbells in the strong position they had taken up, with the result that
the Sinclairs were routed and many of them perished.
They meet, they close in deadly strife,
But brief the bloody fray;
Before the Campbells' furious
charge
The Caithness ranks give way.
The shrieking mother wrung
her hands,
The maiden tore her hair,
And all was lamentation loud,
It was commonly said that the well-known quicksteps, "The
Campbells are coming" and the "Braes of Glenorchy" obtained their names
from this raid.
The Sinclairs of Keiss were a powerful and warlike
family, and they soon regained their position. It was a pleasing
contrast to note that in 1765 Sir William Sinclair of Keiss had laid
aside his sword, embracing the views held by the Baptists, and after
being baptized in London became the founder of that denomination in
Caithness and a well-known preacher and writer of hymns.
In his younger days he was in the army, where he earned
fame as an expert swordsman, his fame in that respect spreading
throughout the countryside. Years after he had retired from the service,
while sitting in his study one forenoon intently perusing a religious
work, his valet announced the arrival of a stranger who wished to see
him. The servant was ordered to show him into the apartment, and in
stalked a strong muscular-looking man with a formidable Andrea Ferrara
sword hanging by his side, and, making a low obeisance, he thus
addressed the knight:
"Sir William, I hope you will pardon my intrusion. I am a
native of England and a professional swordsman. In the course of my
travels through Scotland, I have not yet met with a gentleman able to
cope with me in the noble science of swordsmanship. Since I came to
Caithness I have heard that you are an adept with my favourite weapon,
and I have called to see if you would do me the honour to exchange a few
passes with me just in the way of testing our respective abilities."
Sir William was both amused and astonished at this
extraordinary request, and replied that he had long ago thrown aside the
sword, and, except in case of necessity, never intended to use it any
more. But the stranger would take no denial, and earnestly insisted that
he would favour him with a proof of his skill.
"Very well," said Sir William, "to please you I shall do
so," and, rising and fetching his sword, he desired the stranger, who
was an ugly-looking fellow, to draw and defend himself. After a pass or
two Sir William, with a dexterous stroke, cut off a button from the vest
of his opponent.
"Will that satisfy you," inquired Sir William; "or shall
I go a little deeper and draw blood?"
"Oh, I am perfectly satisfied," said the other. "I find I
have for once met a gentleman who knows how to handle his sword."
In about half a mile after leaving the ruins of these old
castles we saw the Noss Head Lighthouse, with its powerful light already
flashing over the darkening seas, and we decided to visit it. We had to
scale several fences, and when we got there we found we had arrived long
after the authorised hours for the admission of visitors. We had
therefore some difficulty in gaining an entrance, as the man whose
attention we had attracted did not at first understand why we could not
come again the next day. When we explained the nature of our journey, he
kindly admitted us through the gate. The lighthouse and its surroundings
were scrupulously clean, and if we had been Her Majesty's Inspectors of
Lighthouses, if such there be, we could not have done otherwise than
report favourably of our visit. The attendants were very kind to us, one
of them accompanying us to the top, and as the lighthouse was 175 feet
high, we had a great number of steps to climb. We had never seen the
interior of a lighthouse before, and were greatly interested in the
wonderful mechanism by which the flashlight was worked. We were much
impressed by the incalculable value of these national institutions,
especially in such dangerous positions as we knew from experience
prevailed on those stormy coasts. We were highly delighted with our
novel adventure, and, after regaining the entrance, we walked briskly
away; but it was quite dark before we had covered the three miles that
separated the lighthouse from the fishery town of Wick. Here we procured
suitable lodgings, and then hurried to the post office for the letters
that waited us, which we were delighted to read, for it seemed ages
since we left home.
NOSS HEAD LIGHTHOUSE.
(Distance walked twenty-five miles.)
Tuesday, September 19th.
We had our first experience of a herring breakfast, and
were surprised to find how delicious they tasted when absolutely fresh.
There was an old proverb in Wick: "When the herrings come in, the
doctors go out!" which may indicate that these fish had some medicinal
value; but more likely the saying referred to the period of plenty
following that of want and starvation. We went down to the quay and had
a talk with some of the fishermen whom we met returning from their
midnight labours. They told us they had not caught many herrings that
night, but that the season generally had been a good one, and they would
have money enough to support themselves through the coming winter. There
were about nine hundred boats in the district, and sometimes over a
thousand, all employed in the fishing industry; each boat was worked by
four men and one boy, using nets 850 yards long. The herrings appeared
about the second week in August and remained until the end of September,
but the whales swallowed barrels of them at one "jow."
We called at the steamboat depot and found that our
hampers of shells had already arrived, and would be sent forward on the St.
Magnus; next we went to get our hair and beards trimmed by the Wick
barber. He was a curious old gentleman and quite an orator, and even at
that early hour had one customer in hand while another was waiting to be
shaved, so we had of course to wait our turn. The man who was waiting
began to express his impatience in rather strong language, but the
barber was quite equal to the occasion, and in the course of a long and
eloquent oration, while he was engaged with the customer he had in hand,
he told him that when he came into a barber's shop he should have the
calmness of mind to look quietly around and note the sublimity of the
place, which ought to be sufficient to enable him to overcome such signs
of impatience as he had exhibited. We were quite sure that the barber's
customer did not understand one-half the big words addressed to him, but
they had the desired effect, and he waited patiently until his turn came
to be shaved. He was a dark-complexioned seafaring man, and had
evidently just returned from a long sea voyage, as the beard on his chin
was more like the bristles on a blacking-brush, and the operation of
removing them more like mowing than shaving. When completed, the barber
held out his hand for payment. The usual charge must have been a penny,
for that was the coin he placed in the barber's hand. But it was now the
barber's turn. Drawing himself up to his full height, with a dignified
but scornful expression on his face, he pointed with his razor to the
penny he held in his other hand, which remained open, and exclaimed
fiercely, "This! for a month's shave!" Another penny was immediately
added, and his impatient customer quickly and quietly departed.
It was now our turn for beard and hair trimming, but we
had been so much amused at some of the words used by the barber that,
had it not been for his awe-inspiring look, the scissors he now held in
his hand, and the razors that were so near to us, we should have failed
to suppress our laughter. The fact was that the shop was the smallest
barber's establishment we had ever patronised, and the dingiest-looking
little place imaginable, the only light being from a very small window
at the back of the shop. To apply the words sublime and sublimity to a
place like this was ludicrous in the extreme. It was before this window
that we sat while our hair was being cut; but as only one side of the
head could be operated upon at once, owing to the scanty light, we had
to sit before it sideways, and then to reverse our position.
We have heard it said that every man's hair has a
stronger growth on one side of his head than the other, but whether this
barber left more hair on the strong side or not we did not know. In any
case, the difference between the two sides, both of hair and beard,
after the barber's operation was very noticeable. The only sublime thing
about the shop was the barber himself, and possibly he thought of
himself when speaking of its sublimity. He was a well-known character in
Wick, and if his lot had been cast in a more expansive neighbourhood he
might have filled a much higher position. He impressed us very much, and
had we visited Wick again we should certainly have paid him a
complimentary visit. We then purchased a few prints of the neighbourhood
at Mr. Johnston's shop, and were given some information concerning the
herring industry. It appeared that this industry was formerly in the
hands of the Dutch, who exploited the British coasts as well as their
own, for the log of the Dutillet,
the ship which brought Prince Charles Edward to Scotland in 1745,
records that on August 25th it joined two Dutch men-of-war and a fleet
of herring craft off Rongisby.
OLD MAN OF WICK.
In the early part of the fourteenth century there arose a
large demand for this kind of fish by Roman Catholics both in the
British Isles and on the Continent. The fish deserted the Baltic and new
herring fields were sought, while it became necessary to find some
method of preserving them. The art of curing herrings was discovered by
a Dutchman named Baukel. Such was the importance attached to this
discovery that the Emperor Charles V caused a costly memorial to be
erected over his grave at Biervlet. The trade remained in the hands of
the Dutch for a long time, and the cured herrings were chiefly shipped
to Stettin, and thence to Spain and other Roman Catholic countries,
large profits being made. In 1749, however, a British Fishery Society
was established, and a bounty of £50 offered on every ton of herrings
caught. In 1803 an expert Dutchman was employed to superintend the
growing industry, and from 1830 Wick took the lead in the herring
industry, which in a few years' time extended all round the coasts, the
piles of herring-barrels along the quay at Wick making a sight worth
seeing.
We had not gone far when we turned aside to visit the
ruins of Wick Castle, which had been named by the sailors "The Auld Man
o'Wick." It was built like most of the others we had seen, on a small
promontory protected by the sea on three sides, but there were two
crevices in the rock up which the sea was rushing with terrific force.
The rock on which its foundations rested we estimated to be about 150
feet high, and there was only a narrow strip of land connecting it with
the mainland. The solitary tower that remained standing was about fifty
feet high, and apparently broader at the top than at the bottom, being
about ten or twelve yards in length and breadth, with the walls six or
seven feet thick. The roar of the water was like the sound of distant
thunder, lending a melancholy charm to the scene. It was from here that
we obtained our first land view of those strange-looking hills in
Caithness called by the sailors, from their resemblance to the breasts
of a maiden, the Maiden's Paps. An old man directed us the way to
Lybster by what he called the King's Highway, and looking back from this
point we had a fine view of the town of Wick and its surroundings.
Taught by past experience, we had provided ourselves with
a specially constructed apparatus for tea-making, with a flask to fit
inside to carry milk, and this we used many times during our journey
through the Highlands of Scotland. We also carried a reserve stock of
provisions, since we were often likely to be far away from any human
habitation. To-day was the first time we had occasion to make use of it,
and we had our lunch not in the room of an inn, but sitting amongst the
heather under the broad blue canopy of heaven. It was a gloriously fine
day, but not a forerunner of a fine day on the morrow, as after events
showed. We had purchased six eggs at a farmhouse, for which we were only
charged fourpence, and with a half-pound of honey and an enormous
oatmeal cakereal Scotchwe had a jovial little picnic and did not fare
badly. We had many a laugh at the self-satisfied sublimity of our friend
the barber, but the sublimity here was real, surrounded as we were by
magnificent views of the distant hills, and through the clear air we
could see the mountains on the other side of the Moray Firth probably
fifty miles distant. Our road was very hilly, and devoid of fences or
trees or other objects to obstruct our view, so much so that at one
point we could see two milestones, the second before we reached the
first.
We passed Loch Hempriggs on the right of our road, with
Iresgoe and its Needle on the seacoast to the left, also an old ruin
which we were informed was a "tulloch," but we did not know the meaning
of the word. After passing the tenth milestone from Wick, we went to
look at an ancient burial-ground which stood by the seaside about a
field's breadth from our road. The majority of the gravestones were very
old, and whatever inscriptions they ever had were now worn away by age
and weather; some were overgrown with grass and nettles, while in
contrast to these stood some modern stones of polished granite. The
inscriptions on these stones were worded differently from those places
farther south. The familiar words "Sacred to the memory of" did not
appear, and the phrasing appeared rather in the nature of a testimonial
to the benevolence of the bereft. We copied two of the inscriptions:
ERECTED BY ROBERT WALLACE, MERCHANT,
LYBSTER, TO THE MEMORY
OF HIS SPOUSE CHARLLOT SIMPSON WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE NOV. 21
1845 AGED 30 YEARS.
Lovely in Life.
PLACED BY JOHN SUTHERLAND, FISHERMAN, LYBSTER, IN MEMORY OF
HIS WIFE WILLIAMINIA POLSON WHO DIED 28TH MAY 1867 AGED 29
YEARS.
At Death still lovely.
In the yard we noticed a large number of loose stones and
the remains of a wall which we supposed had been part of the kirk. The
name of the village near here was Mid Clyth, and the ruins those of an
old Roman Catholic chapel last used about four hundred years ago.
Several attempts had been made to obtain power to remove the surplus
stones, but our informant stated that although they had only about a
dozen Romanists in the county, they were strong enough to prevent this
being done, and it was the only burial-ground between there and Wick. He
also told us that there were a thousand volunteers in Caithness.
THE NEEDLE OF IRESGOE.
The people in the North of Caithness in directing us on
our way did not tell us to turn to right or left, but towards the points
of the compasssay to the east or the west as the case might be, and
then turn south for a given number of chains. This kind of information
rather puzzled us, as we had no compass, nor did we know the length of a
chain. It seemed to point back to a time when there were no roads at all
in that county. We afterwards read that Pennant, the celebrated tourist,
when visiting Caithness in 1769, wrote that at that time there was not a
single cart, nor mile of road properly so called in the county. He
described the whole district as little better than an "immense morass,
with here and there some fruitful spots of oats and bere (barley), and
much coarse grass, almost all wild, there being as yet very little
cultivated." And he goes on to add:
Here are neither barns nor granaries;
the corn is thrashed out and preserved in the chaff in bykes, which
are stacks in the shape of beehives thatched quite round. The tender
sex (I blush for the Caithnessians) are the only animals of burden;
they turn their patient backs to the dunghills and receive in their
cassties or straw baskets as much as their lords and masters think
fit to fling in with their pitchforks, and then trudge to the fields
in droves.
A more modern writer, however, thought that Pennant must
have been observant but not reflective, and wrote:
It is not on the sea coast that woman
looks on man as lord and master. The fishing industry more than any
other leads to great equality between the sexes. The man is away and
the woman conducts all the family affairs on land. Home means all
the comfort man can enjoy! His life is one persistent calling for
self-reliance and independence and equally of obedience to command.
The relations Pennant quoted were not of servility, but
of man assisting woman to do what she regarded as her natural work.
To inland folk like ourselves it was a strange sight to
see so many women engaged in agricultural pursuits, but we realised that
the men had been out fishing in the sea during the night and were now in
bed. We saw one woman mowing oats with a scythe and another following
her, gathering them up and binding them into sheaves, while several
others were cutting down the oats with sickles; we saw others driving
horses attached to carts. The children, or "bairns," as they were called
here, wore neither shoes nor stockings, except a few of the very young
ones, and all the arable land was devoted to the culture of oats and
turnips.
We passed through Lybster, which in Lancashire would only
be regarded as a small village, but here was considered to be a town, as
it could boast of a population of about eight hundred people. We made
due note of our reaching what was acknowledged to be the second
plantation of trees in the county; there were six only in the entire
county of Caithness, and even a sight like this was cheery in these
almost treeless regions.
An elderly and portly-looking gentleman who was on the
road in front of us awaited our arrival, and as an introduction politely
offered us a pinch of snuff out of his well-filled snuff-box, which we
accepted. We tried to take it, but the application of a small portion to
our noses caused us to sneeze so violently that the gentleman roared
with laughter at our expense, and was evidently both surprised and
amused at our distress. We were soon good friends, however, and he was
as pleased with our company as we were with his, but we accepted no more
pinches of snuff in Scotland. He had many inquiries to make about the
method of farming in Cheshire and regarding the rotation of crops. We
informed him that potatoes were the first crop following grass grown in
our neighbourhood, followed by wheat in the next year, and oats and
clover afterwardsthe clover being cut for two years. "And how many
years before wheat again?" he asked; but this question we could not
answer, as we were not sufficiently advanced in agricultural knowledge
to undergo a very serious examination from one who was evidently
inclined to dive deeply into the subject. As we walked along, we noticed
a stone on the slope of a mountain like those we had seen at Stenness in
the Orkneys, but no halo of interest could be thrown around it by our
friend, who simply said it had been there "since the world began." Near
Lybster we had a good view of the Ord of Caithness, a black-looking
ridge of mountains terminating in the Maiden's Paps, which were later to
be associated with one of the most difficult and dangerous traverses we
ever experienced.
The night was now coming on, and we hurried onwards,
passing two old castles, one to the left and the other to the right of
our road, and we noticed a gate, the posts of which had been formed from
the rib-bones of a monster whale, forming an arch ornamented in the
centre by a portion of the backbone of the same creature. In the dark
the only objects we could distinguish were the rocks on the right and
the lights of two lighthouses, one across Dornoch Firth and the other
across Moray Firth. In another mile and a half after leaving the farmer,
who had accompanied us for some miles and who, we afterwards learned,
was an old bachelor, we were seated in the comfortable hotel at Dunbeath.
The landlord was civil and communicative, and we sat talking to him
about the great difference between Caithness and Cheshire, and the
relative values of turf and coal. He informed us that there was very
little coal consumed in the county of Caithness, as the English coal was
dear and the Scotch coal bad, while the peat was of good quality, the
darkest-looking being the richest and the best.
Our tea was now ready, and so were we, as we had walked
fifteen miles since our lunch in the heather. We were ushered into the
parlour, where we were delighted to find a Cheshire gentleman, who told
us he had been out shooting, and intended to leave by the coach at two
a.m. Hearing that two pedestrians had arrived, he had given up his bed,
which he had engaged early in the day, and offered to rest on the sofa
until the arrival of the mail-coach. We thanked him for his kind
consideration, for we were tired and footsore. Who the gentleman was we
did not discover; he knew Warrington and the neighbourhood, had visited
Mr. Lyon of Appleton Hall near that town, and knew Mr. Patten of Bank
Hall, who he said was fast getting "smoked out" of that neighbourhood.
We retired early, and left him in full possession of the coffee-room and
its sofa.
At two o'clock in the morning we were wakened by the loud
blowing of a horn, which heralded the approach of the mail-coach, and in
another minute the trampling of horses' feet beneath our window
announced its arrival. We rose hurriedly and rushed to the window, but
in the hurry my brother dashed against a table, and down went something
with a smash; on getting a light we found it was nothing more valuable
than a water-bottle and glass, the broken pieces of which we carefully
collected together, sopping up the water as best we could. We were in
time to see our friend off on the coach, with three horses and an
enormous light in front, which travelled from Thurso to Helmsdale, a
distance of fifty-eight miles, at the rate of eight miles per hour.
(Distance walked twenty-one and a half miles.)
Wednesday, September 20th.
We rose early, and while waiting for our breakfast talked
with an old habituι of the hotel, who, after drawing our attention to
the weather, which had now changed for the worse, told us that the
building of the new pier, as he called it, at Wick had been in progress
for seven or eight years, but the sea there was the stormiest in
Britain, and when the wind came one way the waves washed the pier down
again, so that it was now no bigger than it was two years ago. He also
told us he could remember the time when there was no mail-coach in that
part of the country, the letters for that neighbourhood being sent to a
man, a tailor by trade, who being often very busy, sent his wife to
deliver them, so that Her Majesty's mails were carried by a female!
A STORM IN WICK HARBOUR.
Almost the last piece of advice given us before leaving
home was, "Mind that you always get a good breakfast before starting out
in a morning," and fortunately we did not neglect it on this occasion,
for it proved one of the worst day's walks that we ever experienced.
Helmsdale was our next stage, and a direct road led to it along the
coast, a distance of sixteen miles. But my brother was a man of original
ideas, and he had made up his mind that we should walk there by an
inland route, and climb over the Maiden's Paps mountain on our way.
The wind had increased considerably during the night, and
the rain began to fall in torrents as we left the Dunbeath Inn, our
mackintoshes and leggings again coming in useful. The question now arose
whether we should adhere to our original proposal, or proceed to
Helmsdale by the shortest route. Our host strongly advised us to keep to
the main road, but we decided, in spite of our sore feet and the raging
elements, to cross over the Maiden's Paps. We therefore left the main
road and followed a track which led towards the mountains and the wild
moors. We had not gone very far when we met a disconsolate sportsman,
accompanied by his gillies and dogs, who was retreating to the inn which
he had left early in the morning. He explained to us how the rain would
spoil his sport amongst the grouse, though he consoled himself by
claiming that it had been one of the finest sporting seasons ever known
in Caithness. As an illustration, he said that on the eighteenth day of
September he had been out with a party who had shot forty-one and a half
brace of grouse to each gun, besides other game. The average weight of
grouse on the Scotch moors was twenty-five ounces, but those on the
Caithness moors were heavier, and averaged twenty-five and a half
ounces.
He was curious to know where we were going, and when we
told him, he said we were attempting an impossible feat in such awful
weather, and strongly advised us to return to the hotel, and try the
journey on a finer day. We reflected that the fine weather had now
apparently broken, and it would involve a loss of valuable time if we
accepted his advice to wait for a finer day, so we pressed forwards for
quite two hours across a dreary country, without a tree or a house or a
human being to enliven us on our way. Fortunately the wind and rain were
behind us, and we did not feel their pressure like our friend the
sportsman, who was going in the opposite direction. At last we came to
what might be called a village, where there were a few scattered houses
and a burial-ground, but no kirk that we could see. Near here we crossed
a stream known as Berriedale Water, and reached the last house, a farm,
where our track practically ended. We knocked at the door, which was
opened by the farmer himself, and his wife soon provided us with tea and
oatmeal cake, which we enjoyed after our seven or eight-mile walk. The
wind howled in the chimney and the rain rattled on the window-panes as
we partook of our frugal meal, and we were inclined to exclaim with the
poet whose name we knew not:
The day is cold and dark and dreary,
It rains, and the wind is
never weary.
The people at the farm had come there from South Wales
and did not know much about the country. All the information they could
give us was that the place we had arrived at was named Braemore, and
that on the other side of the hills, which they had never crossed
themselves, there was a forest with no roads through it, and if we got
there, we should have to make our way as best we could across the moors
to Helmsdale. They showed us the best way to reach the foot of the
mountain, but we found the going much worse than we anticipated, since
the storm had now developed into one of great magnitude. Fortunately the
wind was behind us, but the higher we ascended the stronger it became,
and it fairly took our breath away even when we turned our heads towards
it sideways, which made us realise how impossible it was for us to turn
back, however much we might wish to do so; consequently we struggled
onwards, occasionally taking advantage of the shelter of some projecting
rock to recover our breathinga very necessary proceeding, for as we
approached the summit the rain became more like sleet, the wind was very
cold, and the rocks were in a frozen and slippery condition. We were in
great danger of being blown over and losing our lives, and as we could
no longer walk upright in safety, we knelt down, not without a prayer to
heaven as we continued on our way. Thus we crawled along upon our hands
and knees over the smooth wind-swept summit of the Maiden's Paps, now
one immense surface of ice. The last bit was the worst of all, for here
the raging elements struck us with full and uninterrupted force. We
crossed this inches at a time, lying flat on the smooth rock with our
faces downwards. Our feelings of thankfulness to the Almighty may be
imagined when we finally reached the other side in safety.
Given a fine day we should have had a glorious view from
this point, and, as it was, in spite of the rain we could see a long
distance, but the prospect was far from encouraging. A great black rock,
higher than that we had climbed, stood before us, with its summit hidden
in the clouds, and a wide expanse of hills and moors, but not a house or
tree so far as the eye could reach. This rather surprised us, as we
expected the forest region to be covered with trees which would afford
us some shelter on our farther way. We learned afterwards that the
"forest" was but a name, the trees having disappeared ages ago from most
of these forests in the northern regions of Scotland.
We were wet through to the skin and shivering with cold
as we began to descend the other side of the Maiden's Papsa descent we
found both difficult and dangerous. It looked an awful place below usa
wild amphitheatre of dreary hills and moors!
We had no compass to guide us, and in the absence of
light from the sun we could not tell in what direction we were
travelling, so with our backs towards the hills we had crossed, we made
our way across the bog, now saturated with water. We could hear it
gurgling under our feet at every stride, even when we could not see it,
and occasionally we slipped into holes nearly knee-deep in water. After
floundering in the bog for some time, and not knowing which way to turn,
as we appeared to be surrounded with hills, we decided to try to walk
against the wind which was blowing from the sea, for we knew that if we
could reach the coast we should also reach the highway, which ran
alongside it. But we soon had to give in, for we came to great rocks
impossible for us to scale, so we had to abandon this direction and try
another. The rain still continued, and our hands had now been bleached
quite white with the rain beating on them, just like those of a
washerwoman after a heavy day's washing. We knew that the night would
shortly be coming on, and the terrible thought of a dark night on the
moors began to haunt us. If we could only have found a track we should
not have cared, but we were now really LOST.
We were giving way to despair and beginning to think it
might be a question of life or death when a bright thought suddenly
struck us, and we wondered why we had not thought of it before. Why not
follow the water, which would be sure to be running towards the sea?
This idea inspired us with hope, and seemed to give us new life; but it
was astonishing what a time elapsed before we found a running stream,
for the water appeared to remain where it fell. At length we came to a
small stream, the sight of which gave us renewed energy, and we followed
it joyfully on its downward course. Presently we saw a few small bushes;
then we came to a larger stream, and afterwards to a patch of grassland
which clearly at one time had been under cultivation. At last we came to
trees under which we could see some deer sheltering from the storm: by
this time the stream had become a raging torrent. We stood watching the
deer for a moment, when suddenly three fine stags rushed past us and
dashed into the surging waters of the stream, which carried them down a
considerable distance before they could land on its rocky bank on the
other side. It was an exciting adventure, as the stags were so near us,
and with their fine antlers presented an imposing appearance.
We now crossed over some heather in order to reach a
small path which we could see alongside the swollen river. How pleased
we were when we knew we were out of danger! It seemed to us like an
escape from a terrible fate. We remembered how Mungo Park, when alone in
the very heart of Africa, and in the midst of a great wilderness,
derived consolation from very much smaller sources than the few trees
which now cheered us on our way. The path became broader as we passed
through the grounds of Lord Galloway's hunting-box, and we soon reached
the highway, where we crossed the boiling torrent rushing along with
frightful rapidity on its way to the sea. The shades of night were
coming on as we knocked at the door of the keeper's cottage, and judge
of our surprise when we were informed that, after walking from ten
o'clock in the morning to six o'clock at night, we were only about six
miles from Dunbeath, whence we had started that morning, and had still
about ten miles to walk before we could reach Helmsdale.
We were almost famished with hunger, but we were lucky
enough to secure a splendid tea at the keeper's cottage. Fortunately for
us the good lady of the house had provided a sumptuous repast for some
sporting gentlemen she was expecting, but who had been prevented from
coming owing to the storm. We kept no record of our gastronomical
performances on this occasion, but we can safely state that of a whole
rabbit very little remained, and the same remark would apply to a whole
series of other delicacies which the keeper's wife had so kindly and
thoughtfully provided for her more distinguished but absent guests. We
took the opportunity of drying some of our wet clothing, and before we
finished our tea the keeper himself came in, to whom we related our
adventures. Though accustomed to the broken regions and wild solitudes
we had passed through, he was simply astounded that we had come over
them safely, especially on such a day.
It was pitch dark when we left the keeper's cottage, and
he very kindly accompanied us until we reached the highroad in safety.
The noise caused by the rushing waters of the rivers as they passed us
on their way in frantic haste to the sea, now quite near us, and the
roar of the sea itself as it dashed itself violently against the rocky
coast, rendered conversation very difficult, but our companion gave us
to understand that the road to Helmsdale was very hilly and lonely, and
at one time was considered dangerous for strangers. Fortunately the
surface was very good, and we found it much easier to walk upon than the
wet heather we had passed over for so many miles. The black rocks which
lined the road, the darkness of the night, and the noise from the sea as
the great waves dashed and thundered on the rocks hundreds of feet
below, might have terrified timid travellers, but they seemed nothing to
us compared with our experience earlier in the day. The wind had
moderated, but the rain continued to fall, and occasionally we were
startled as we rounded one of the many bends in the road by coming
suddenly on a burn swollen with the heavy rains, hurling itself like a
cataract down the rocky sides of the hill, and rushing under the road
beneath our feet in its noisy descent helter-skelter towards the sea.
We walked on as rapidly as the hilly nature of our road
would permit, without seeing a house or human being, until we approached
Helmsdale, when we were surprised by the sudden appearance of the
stage-coach drawn by three horses and displaying its enormous red lamp
in front. The driver suddenly pulled up his horses, for, as he said, he
did not know "what the de'il it was coming in front": he scarcely ever
met any one on that road, and particularly on such an "awful" stormy
night. We asked him how far we were from the town, and were delighted to
hear it was only about two miles away. It was after ten o'clock when we
arrived at Helmsdale, tired and footsore, but just in time to secure
lodgings for the night at the Commercial Inn.
(Distance walked thirty miles.)
Thursday, September 21st.
Helmsdale was a pleasant little town inhabited chiefly by
fishermen, but a place of some importance, for it had recently become
the northern terminus of the railway. A book in the hotel, which we read
while waiting for breakfast, gave us some interesting information about
the road we had travelled along the night before, and from it we learned
that the distance between Berriedale and Helmsdale was nine and a half
miles, and that about half-way between these two places it passed the
Ord of Caithness at an elevation of 1,200 feet above the sea-level, an
"aclivity of granite past which no railway can be carried," and the
commencement of a long chain of mountains separating Caithness from
Sutherland.
Formerly the road was carried along the edge of a
tremendous range of precipices which overhung the sea in a fashion
enough to frighten both man and beast, and was considered the most
dangerous road in Scotland, so much so that when the Earl of Caithness
or any other great landed proprietor travelled that way a troop of their
tenants from the borders of Sutherland-shire assembled, and drew the
carriage themselves across the hill, a distance of two miles, quadrupeds
not being considered safe enough, as the least deviation would have
resulted in a fall over the rocks into the sea below. This old road,
which was too near the sea for modern traffic, was replaced by the
present road in the year 1812. The old path, looked at from the
neighbourhood of Helmsdale, had more the appearance of a sheep track
than a road as it wound up the steep brow of the hill 300 or 400 feet
above the rolling surge of the sea below, and was quite awe-inspiring
even to look at, set among scenery of the most wild and savage
character.
We had now cleared the county of Caithness, which, like
Orkney and Shetland, was almost entirely devoid of trees. To our way of
thinking a sprinkling of woods and copses would have much enhanced the
wild beauty of the surroundings, but there was a difference of opinion
or taste on this point as on everything else. A gentleman who had
settled in America, and had had to clear away the trees from his
holding, when he passed through Caithness on his way to John o' Groat's
was continually ejaculating, "What a beautiful country!" "What a very
beautiful country!" Some one who heard him remarked, "You can hardly
call it a very beautiful country when there are no trees." "Trees,"
cried the Yankee; "that's all stuff Caithness, I calculate, is the
finest clearing I ever saw in my life!"
We had often wondered, by the way, how the Harbour Works
at Wick would be affected by the great storms, and we were afterwards
greatly interested when we read in a Scotch provincial newspaper the
following telegrams:
TERRIFIC GALE AT WICK
THREATENED DESTRUCTION OF THE HARBOUR WORKS
From our Wick Correspondent
Wick, Wednesday, 12:50A terrific storm is raging here
to-day. It is a gale from the south-east, with an extraordinary surf
which is making a complete break of the new Harbour Works, where a
number of large stones have been dislodged and serious damage is
threatened.
1:30 p.m.The
storm still continues. A large concrete block, weighing 300 tons,
has been dislodged, and the whole building seems doomed unless the
storm abates very soon.
These hours corresponded with the time we were crossing
the Maiden's Paps mountains, and we are not likely ever to forget the
great danger we were in on that occasion.
We were rather backward in making a start on our journey
to-day, for our feet were very sore; but we were advised to apply common
soap to our stocking feet, from which we experienced great relief. As we
left the town we saw some ruins, which we assumed were those of
Helmsdale Castle, and we had now the company of the railway, which, like
our road, hugged the seacoast for some miles. About two miles after
leaving Helmsdale we sighted the first railway train we had seen since
we left Aberdeen a fortnight before. Under ordinary conditions this
might have passed unnoticed, but as we had been travelling through such
wild country we looked upon it as a sign that we were approaching a part
of the country which had communication with civilisation, other than
that afforded by sea or mail-coach.
PICTISH TOWER (EXTERIOR).
We now walked through the Parish of Loth, where in Glen
Loth we were informed the last wolf in Scotland was killed, and about
half a mile before reaching Brora we climbed over a stone fence to
inspect the ruins of a Pictish castle standing between our road and the
railway. The ruins were circular, but some of the walls had been built
in a zig-zag form, and had originally contained passages and rooms, some
of which still existed, but they looked so dark that we did not care to
go inside them, though we were informed that about two years before our
visit excavations had been made and several human skulls were
discovered. The weather continued wet, and we passed through several
showers on our way from Helmsdale to Brora, where, after a walk of
twelve miles, we stayed for lunch, and it was again raining as we left
there for Golspie.
PICTISH TOWER (INTERIOR).
At Brora we heard stories of wonderful fossils which were
to be found in the rocks on the shoreshells and fish-scales and remains
of bigger creaturesand of a bed of real coal. Certainly the rocks
seemed to change their character hereabouts, which may account for the
softening of the scenery and the contrast in agricultural pursuits in
this region with those farther north. Here the appearance of the country
gradually improved as we approached the woods and grounds and more
cultivated regions surrounding the residence of the Duke of Sutherland.
DUNROBIN CASTLE.
"It was the finest building we had seen, not at all like the
gloomy-looking castles, being more like a palace, with a fine display of
oriel windows, battlements, steeples, and turrets."
We came in sight of another Pictish castle, which we
turned aside to visit; but by this time we had become quite familiar
with the formation of these strange old structures, which were nearly
all built after the same pattern, although some belonged to an earlier
period than others, and the chambers in them were invariably dark and
dismal. If these were used for the same purpose as similar ones we had
seen in Shetland, where maidens of property and beauty were placed for
protection from the "gallants" who roamed about the land in those days,
the fair prisoners must have had a dismal time while incarcerated in
these dungeon-like apartments. In these ruins, however, we saw some
ancient utensils, or querns, supposed to have been used for crushing
corn. They had been hollowed out in stone, and one of them had a
well-worn stone inside it, but whether or no it was the remains of an
ancient pestle used in crushing the corn we could not determine; it
looked strangely like one.
The country hereabouts was of the most charming
description, hilly and undulating rather than rugged, and we left the
highway to walk along the seashore, where we passed the rifle and
artillery ranges of the volunteers. We also saw the duke's private pier
extending towards the open sea, and from this point we had a fine view
of Dunrobin Castle, the duke's residence, which was the finest building
we had seen, and not at all like the other gloomy-looking castles, being
more like a palace. It is a happy blending of the German Schloss, the
French chβteau, and Scottish baronial architecture, with a fine display
of oriel windows, battlements, turrets, and steeples, the great tower
rising to a height of 135 feet above the garden terrace below. A vista
of mountains and forests lay before any one privileged to ascend the
tower. The view from the seashore was simply splendid, as from this
point we could see, showing to great advantage, the lovely gardens,
filled with beautiful shrubs and flowers of luxuriant growth, sloping
upwards towards the castle, and the hills behind them, with their lower
slopes covered with thousands of healthy-looking firs, pines, and some
deciduous trees, while the bare moorland above formed a fine background.
On the hill "Beinn-a-Bhragidh," at a point 1,300 feet above sea-level,
standing as if looking down on all, was a colossal monument erected to
the memory of the duke's grandfather, which could be seen many miles
away. The duke must have been one of the largest landowners in Britain,
as, in addition to other possessions, he owned the entire county of
Sutherland, measuring about sixty miles long and fifty-six miles broad,
so that when at home he could safely exclaim with Robinson Crusoe, "I am
monarch of all I survey."
The castle had an ancient foundation, for it was in 1097
the dun, or stronghold, of the second Robert of Sutherland, and the
gardens have been famous from time immemorial. An extract from an old
book written in 1630 reads, "The Erle of Sutherland made Dunrobin his
speciall residence it being a house well-seated upon a mole hard by the
sea, with fair orchards wher ther be pleasant gardens, planted with all
kinds of froots, hearbs and flours used in this kingdom, and abundance
of good saphorn, tobacco and rosemarie, the froot being excellent and
cheeflie the pears and cherries."
A most pleasing feature to our minds was the fact that
the gardens were open to all comers, but as we heard that the duke was
entertaining a distinguished company, including Lord Delamere of Vale
Royal from our own county of Cheshire, we did not apply for permission
to enter the grounds, and thus missed seeing the great Scotch thistle,
the finest in all Scotland. This thistle was of the ordinary variety,
but of colossal proportions, full seven feet high, or, as we afterwards
saw it described, "a beautiful emblem of a war-like nation with his
radious crown of rubies full seven feet high." We had always looked upon
the thistle as an inferior plant, and in Cheshire destroyed it in
thousands, regarding it as only fit for food for donkeys, of which very
few were kept in that county; but any one seeing this fine plant must
have been greatly impressed by its appearance. The thistle has been the
emblem of Scotland from very early times, and is supposed to have been
adopted by the Scots after a victorious battle with the Danes, who on a
dark night tried to attack them unawares. The Danes were creeping
towards them silently, when one of them placed his bare foot on a
thistle, which caused him to yell out with pain. This served as an alarm
to the Scots, who at once fell upon the Danes and defeated them with
great slaughter, and ever afterwards the thistle appeared as their
national emblem, with the motto, Nemo
me impune lacessit, or, "No one hurts me with impunity."
Golspie was only a short distance away from the castle,
and we were anxious to get there, as we expected letters from home, so
we called at the post office first and got what letters had arrived, but
another mail was expected. We asked where we could get a cup of coffee,
and were directed to a fine reading-room opposite, where we adjourned to
read our letters and reply to them with the accompaniment of coffee and
light refreshments. The building had been erected by the Sutherland
family, and was well patronised, and we wished that we might meet with
similar places in other towns where we happened to call. Such as we
found farther south did not appear to be appreciated by the class of
people for whom they were chiefly intended. This may be accounted for by
the fact that the working-class Scots were decidedly more highly
educated than the English. We were not short of company, and we heard a
lot of gossip, chiefly about what was going on at the castle.
On inquiring about our next stage, we were told that it
involved a twenty-five-mile walk through an uninhabited country, without
a village and with scarcely a house on the road. The distance we found
afterwards had been exaggerated, but as it was still raining and the
shades of evening were coming on, with our recent adventures still fresh
in our minds and the letter my brother expected not having yet arrived,
we agreed to spend the night at Golspie, resolving to make an early
start on the following morning. We therefore went into the town to
select suitable lodgings, again calling at the post office and leaving
our address in the event of any letters coming by the expected mail,
which the officials kindly consented to send to us, and after making a
few purchases we retired to rest. We were just dozing off to sleep, when
we were aroused by a knock at our chamber door, and a voice from without
informed us that our further letters and a newspaper had arrived. We
jumped out of bed, glad to receive additional news from the "old folks
at home," and our sleep was no less peaceful on that account.
(Distance walked eighteen miles.)
Friday, September 22nd.
We rose at seven o'clock, and left Golspie at eight en
route for Bonar Bridge.
As we passed the railway station we saw a huge traction engine, which we
were informed belonged to the Duke of Sutherland, and was employed by
him to draw wood and stone to the railway. About a mile after leaving
the town we observed the first field of wheat since we had left John o'
Groat's. The morning had turned out wet, so there was no one at work
among the corn, but several machines there showed that agriculture
received much attention. We met some children carrying milk, who in
reply to our inquiry told us that the cows were milked three times each
dayat six o'clock in the morning, one o'clock at noon, and eight
o'clock at nightwith the exception of the small Highland cows, which
were only milked twice. As we were looking over the fields in the
direction of the railway, we observed an engine with only one carriage
attached proceeding along the line, which we thought must be the mail
van, but we were told that it was the duke's private train, and that he
was driving the engine himself, the engine being named after his castle,
"Dunrobin." We learned that the whole railway belonged to him for many
miles, and that he was quite an expert at engine driving.
About five miles after leaving Golspie we crossed what
was known as "The Mound," a bank thrown across what looked like an arm
of the sea. It was upwards of half a mile long, and under the road were
six arches to admit the passage of the tide as it ebbed and flowed. Here
we turned off to the right along the hill road to Bonar Bridge, and
visited what had been once a mansion, but was now nearly all fallen to
the ground, very little remaining to tell of its former glory. What
attracted us most was the site of the garden behind the house, where
stood four great yew trees which must have been growing hundreds of
years. They were growing in pairs, and in a position which suggested
that the road had formerly passed between them.
Presently our way passed through a beautiful and romantic
glen, with a fine stream swollen by the recent rains running alongside
it. Had the weather been more favourable, we should have had a charming
walk. The hills did not rise to any great elevation, but were nicely
wooded down to the very edge of the stream, and the torrent, with its
innumerable rapids and little falls, that met us as we travelled on our
upward way, showed to the best advantage. In a few miles we came to a
beautiful waterfall facing our road, and we climbed up the rocks to get
a near view of it from a rustic bridge placed there for the purpose. A
large projecting rock split the fall into the shape of a two-pronged
fork, so that it appeared like a double waterfall, and looked very
pretty. Another stream entered the river near the foot of the waterfall,
but the fall of this appeared to have been artificially broken thirty or
forty times on its downward course, forming the same number of small
lochs, or ponds. We had a grand sight of these miniature lakes as they
overflowed one into another until their waters joined the stream below.
We now left the trees behind us and, emerging into the
open country, travelled many miles across the moors alongside Loch
Buidhee, our only company being the sheep and the grouse. As we
approached Bonar Bridge we observed a party of sportsmen on the moors.
From the frequency of their fire we supposed they were having good
sport; a horse with panniers on its back, which were fast being ladened
with the fallen game, was following them at a respectful distance. Then
we came to a few small houses, near which were large stacks of peat or
turf, which was being carted away in three carts. We asked the driver of
the first cart we overtook how far it was to Bonar Bridge, and he
replied two miles. We made the same inquiry from the second, who said
three miles, and the reply of the third was two and a half miles. As the
distance between the first and the third drivers was only one hundred
yards, their replies rather amused us. Still we found it quite far
enough, for we passed through shower after shower.
Our eighteen-mile walk had given us a good idea of
"Caledonia stern and wild," and at the same time had developed in us an
enormous appetite when by two o'clock we entered the hotel facing Bonar
Bridge for our dinner. The bridge was a fine substantial iron structure
of about 150 feet span, having a stone arching at either end, and was of
great importance, as it connected main roads and did away with the ferry
which once existed there. As we crossed the bridge we noticed two
vessels from Sunderland discharging coals, and some fallen fir-trees
lying on the side of the water apparently waiting shipment for colliery
purposes, apt illustrations of the interchange of productions. There
were many fine plantations of fir-trees near Bonar Bridge, and as we
passed the railway station we saw a rather substantial building across
the water which we were informed was the "Puirshoose," or "Poor House."
Observing a village school to the left of our road, we
looked through the open door; but the room was empty, so we called at
the residence of the schoolmaster adjoining to get some reliable
information about our further way, We found him playing on a piano and
very civil and obliging, and he advised us to stay for the night at what
was known as the Half-way House, which we should find on the hill road
to Dingwall, and so named because it was halfway between Bonar and
Alness, and nine miles from Bonar. Our road for the first two miles was
close along Dornoch Firth, and the fine plantations of trees afforded us
some protection against the wind and rain; then we left the highway and
turned to the right, along the hill road. After a steep ascent for more
than a mile, we passed under a lofty elevation, and found ourselves once
more amongst the heather-bells so dear to the heart of every true Scot.
At this point we could not help lingering awhile to view
the magnificent scene below. What a gorgeous panorama! The wide expanse
of water, the bridge we had lately crossed and the adjoining small
village, the fine plantations of trees, the duke's monument rising above
the woods at Golspie, were all visible, but obscured in places by the
drifting showers. If the "Clerk of the Weather" had granted us sunshine
instead of rain, we should have had a glorious prospect not soon to be
forgotten. But we had still three miles to walk, or, as the people in
the north style it, to travel, before we could reach the Half-Way House,
when we met a solitary pedestrian, who as soon as he saw us coming sat
down on a stone and awaited us until we got within speaking distance,
when he began to talk to us. He was the Inspector of Roads, and had been
walking first in one direction and then in the other during the whole of
the day. He said he liked to speak to everybody he saw, as the roads
were so very lonely in his district. He informed us that the Half-Way
House was a comfortable place, and we could not do better than stay
there for the night.
We were glad when we reached the end of our nine-mile
walk, as the day had been very rough and stormy. As it was the third in
succession of the same character, we did not care how soon the weather
took a turn for the better. The Half-Way House stood in a deserted and
lonely position on the moor some little distance from the road, without
another house being visible for miles, and quite isolated from the outer
world. We entered the farmyard, where we saw the mistress busy amongst
the pigs, two dogs barking at us in a very threatening manner. We walked
into the kitchen, the sole occupant of which was a "bairn," who was
quite naked, and whom we could just see behind a maiden of clothes
drying before the fire. The mistress soon followed us into the house,
and in reply to our query as to whether we could be accommodated for the
night said, "I will see," and invited us into the parlour, a room
containing two beds and sundry chairs and tables. The floor in the
kitchen was formed of clay, the parlour had a boarded floor, and the
mantelpiece and roof were of very old wood, but there was neither
firegrate nor fire.
After we had waited there a short time, the mistress
again made her appearance, with a shovel full of red-hot peat, so,
although she had not given us a decided answer as to whether we could
stay the night or not, we considered that silence gave consent,
especially when seconded by the arrival of the welcome fire.
"You surely must have missed your train!" she said; but
when we told her that we were pedestrian tourists, or, as my brother
described it, "on a walking expedition," she looked surprised.
When she entered the room again we were sorting out our
letters and papers, and she said, "You surely must be sappers!" We had
some difficulty in making her understand the object of our journey, as
she could not see how we could be walking for pleasure in such bad
weather.
We found the peat made a very hot fire and did good
service in helping to dry our wet clothing. We wanted some hot milk and
bread for supper, which she was very reluctant to supply, as milk was
extremely scarce on the moors, but as a special favour she robbed the
remainder of the family to comply with our wishes. The wind howled
outside, but we heeded it not, for we were comfortably housed before a
blazing peat fire which gave out a considerable amount of heat. We lit
one of our ozokerite candles, of which we carried a supply to be
prepared for emergencies, and read our home newspaper, The
Warrington Guardian, which was sent to us weekly, until supper-time
arrived, and then we were surprised by our hostess bringing in an
enormous bowl, apparently an ancient punch bowl, large enough to wash
ourselves in, filled with hot milk and bread, along with two large
wooden spoons. Armed with these, we both sat down with the punch-bowl
between us, hungry enough and greedy enough to compete with one another
as to which should devour the most. Which won would be difficult to say,
but nothing remained except the bowl and the spoons and our extended
selves.
We had walked twenty-seven miles, and it must have been
weather such as we had experienced that inspired the poet to exclaim:
The west wind blows and brings rough weather,
The east brings cold and wet
together,
The south wind blows and
brings much rain,
The north wind blows it back
again!
The beds were placed end to end, so that our feet came
together, with a wooden fixture between the two beds to act as the
dividing line. Needless to say we slept soundly, giving orders to be
wakened early in the morning.
(Distance walked twenty-seven miles.)
Saturday, September 23rd.
We were awakened at six o'clock in the morning, and after
a good breakfast we left the Half-Way House (later the "Aultnamain
Inn"), and well pleased we were with the way the landlady had catered
for our hungry requirements. We could see the sea in the distance, and
as we resumed our march across the moors we were often alarmed suddenly
by the harsh and disagreeable cries of the startled grouse as they rose
hurriedly from the sides of our path, sounding almost exactly like "Go
back! go back!" We were, however, obliged to "Go forward," and that
fairly quickly, as we were already a few miles behind our contemplated
average of twenty-five miles per day. We determined to make the loss
good, and if possible to secure a slight margin to our credit, so we set
out intending to reach Inverness that night if possible. In spite,
therefore, of the orders given in such loud and unpleasant tones by the
grouse, we advanced quickly onwards and left those birds to rejoice the
heart of any sportsman who might follow.
Cromarty Firth was clearly visible as we left the moors,
and we could distinguish what we thought was Cromarty itself, with its
whitewashed houses, celebrated as the birthplace of the great geologist,
Hugh Miller, of whom we had heard so much in the Orkneys. The original
cause of the whitewashing of the houses in Cromarty was said to have
been the result of an offer made by a former candidate for Parliamentary
honours, who offered to whitewash any of the houses. As nearly all the
free and independent electors accepted his offer, it was said that
Cromarty came out of the Election of 1826 cleaner than any other place
in Scotland, notwithstanding the fact that it happened in an age when
parliamentarian representation generally went to the highest bidder.
We crossed the Strathrory River, and leaving the hills to
our right found ourselves in quite a different kind of country, a
veritable land of woods, where immense plantations of fir-trees covered
the hills as far as the eye could reach, sufficient, apparently, to make
up for the deficiency in Caithness and Sutherland in that respect, for
we were now in the county of Ross and Cromarty.
Shortly afterwards we crossed over the River Alness. The
country we now passed through was highly cultivated and very productive,
containing some large farms, where every appearance of prosperity
prevailed, and the tall chimneys in the rear of each spoke of the common
use of coal. The breeding of cattle seemed to be carried on extensively;
we saw one large herd assembled in a field adjoining our road, and were
amused at a conversational passage of arms between the farmer and two
cattle-dealers who were trying to do business, each side endeavouring to
get the better of the other. It was not quite a war to the knife, but
the fight between those Scots was like razor trying to cut razor, and we
wished we had time to stay and hear how it ended.
Arriving at Novar, where there was a nice little railway
station, we passed on to the village inn, and called for a second
breakfast, which we thoroughly enjoyed after our twelve-mile walk. Here
we heard that snow had fallen on one of the adjacent hills during the
early hours of the morning, but it was now fine, and fortunately
continued to be so during the whole of the day.
Our next stage was Dingwall, the chief town in the county
of Ross, and at the extreme end of the Cromarty Firth, which was only
six miles distant. We had a lovely walk to that town, very different
from the lonely moors we had traversed earlier in the day, as our road
now lay along the very edge of the Cromarty Firth, while the luxuriant
foliage of the trees on the other side of our road almost formed an arch
over our way. The water of the Firth was about two miles broad all the
way to Dingwall, and the background formed by the wooded hills beyond
the Firth made up a very fine picture. We had been fully prepared to
find Dingwall a very pretty place, and in that we were not disappointed.
The great object of interest as we entered this miniature
county town was a lofty monument fifty or sixty feet high,[Footnote:
This monument has since been swept away.] which stood in a separate
enclosure near a graveyard attached to a church. It was evidently very
old, and leaning several points from the perpendicular, and was bound
together almost to the top with bands of iron crossed in all directions
to keep it from failing. A very curious legend was attached to it. It
was erected to some steward named Roderick Mackenzie, who had been
connected with the Cromarty estate many years ago, and who appeared to
have resided at Kintail, being known as the Tutor of Kintail. He acted
as administrator of the Mackenzie estates during the minority of his
nephew, the grandfather of the first Earl of Cromarty, and was said to
have been a man of much ability and considerable culture for the times
in which he lived. At the same time he was a man of strong personality
though of evil repute in the Gaelic-speaking districts, as the following
couplet still current among the common people showed:
The three worst things in Scotland--
Mists in the dog-days, frost
in May, and the Tutor of Kintail.
The story went that the tutor had a quarrel with a woman
who appeared to have been quite as strong-minded as himself. She was a
dairymaid in Strathconon with whom he had an agreement to supply him
with a stone of cheese for every horn of milk given by each cow per day.
For some reason the weight of cheese on one occasion happened to be
light, and this so enraged the tutor that he drove her from the Strath.
Unfortunately for him the dairymaid was a poetess, and she gave vent to
her sorrow in verse, in which it may be assumed the tutor came in for
much abuse. When she obtained another situation at the foot of Ben Wyvis,
the far-reaching and powerful hand of the tutor drove her from there
also; so at length she settled in the Clan Ranald Country in Barrisdale,
on the shores of Loch Hourn on the west coast of Inverness-shire, a
place at that time famous for shell-fish, where she might have dwelt in
peace had she mastered the weakness of her sex for demanding the last
word; but she burst forth once more in song, and the tutor came in for
another scathing:
Though from Strathconon with its cream you've driven me,
And from Wyvis with its curds
and cheese;
While billow beats on shore
you cannot drive me
From the shell-fish of fair
Barrisdale.
These stanzas came to the ear of the tutor, who wrote to
Macdonald of Barrisdale demanding that he should plough up the beach,
and when this had been done there were no longer any shell-fish to be
found there.
The dairymaid vowed to be even with the tutor, and
threatened to desecrate his grave. When he heard of the threat, in order
to prevent its execution he built this strange monument, and instead of
being buried beneath it he was said to have been buried near the summit;
but the woman was not to be out-done, for after the tutor's funeral she
climbed to the top of the pinnacle and kept her vow to micturate there!
As our time was limited, we were obliged to hurry away
from this pleasantly situated town, and in about four miles, after
crossing the River Conon, we entered Conon village, where we called for
refreshments, of which we hastily disposed. Conon was quite an
agricultural village, where the smithy seemed to rival the inn in
importance, as the smiths were busy at work. We saw quite a dozen
ploughs waiting to be repaired in order to fit them to stir up the soil
during the ploughing season, which would commence as soon as the corn
was cleared off the land. Here we observed the first fingerpost we had
seen since leaving John o' Groat's, now more than a hundred miles
distant, although it was only an apology for one, and very different
from those we were accustomed to see farther south in more important but
not more beautiful places. It was simply an upright post with rough
pieces of wood nailed across the top, but we looked upon it as a sign
that we were approaching more civilised regions. The gentry had shown
their appreciation of this delightful part of the country by erecting
fine residences in the neighbourhood, some of which we passed in close
proximity. Just before crossing over the railway bridge we came to a
frightful figure of a human head carved on a stone and built in the
battlement in a position where it could be seen by all. It was coloured
white, and we heard it was the work of some local sculptor. It was an
awful-looking thing, and no doubt did duty for the "boggard" of the
neighbourhood. The view of the hills to the right of our road as we
passed along was very fine, lit up as they were by the rays of the
evening sun, and the snow on Ben Wyvis in the distance contrasted
strangely with the luxuriant foliage of the trees near us, as they
scarcely yet showed the first shade of the autumn tints.
About four miles farther on we arrived at a place called
the Muir of Ord, a rather strange name of which we did not know the
meaning, reaching the railway station there just after the arrival of a
train which we were told had come from the "sooth." The passengers
consisted of a gentleman and his family, who were placing themselves in
a large four-wheeled travelling-coach to which were attached four rather
impatient horses. A man-servant in livery was on the top of the coach
arranging a large number of parcels and boxes, those intolerable
appendages of travel. We waited, and watched their departure, as we had
no desire to try conclusions with the restless feet of the horses, our
adventures with the Shetland pony in the north having acted as a warning
to us. Shortly afterwards we crossed a large open space of land studded
with wooden buildings and many cattle-pens which a man told us was now
the great cattlemarket for the North, where sales for cattle were held
each monththe next would be due in about a week's time, when from
30,000 to 35,000 sheep would be sold. It seemed strange to us that a
place of such importance should have been erected where there were
scarcely any houses, but perhaps there were more in the neighbourhood
than we had seen, and in any case it lay conveniently as a meeting-place
for the various passes in the mountain country.
We soon arrived at Beauly, which, as its name implied,
was rather a pretty place, with its houses almost confined to the one
street, the Grammar School giving it an air of distinction. Our
attention was attracted by some venerable ruins at the left of our road,
which we determined to visit, but the gate was locked. Seeing a small
girl standing near, we asked her about the key, and she volunteered to
go and tell the man who kept it to come at once. We were pressed for
time, and the minutes seemed very long as we stood awaiting the arrival
of the key, until at last we decided to move on; but just as we were
walking away we saw an old man coming up a side street with the aid of a
crutch and a stick.
ON THE BEAULY RIVER.
He pointed with his stick towards the cathedral, so we
retraced our steps and awaited his arrival with the key. A key it
certainly was, and a large one too, for it weighed 2 lbs. 4 ozs. and the
bore that fitted the lock was three-quarters of an inch in diameter. It
was the biggest key we saw in all our long journey. We listened to all
the old man had to tell us about the cathedral, the building of which
begun in the year 1230. It measured 152 feet in length and about 24 feet
in breadth, but was ruined in the time of Cromwell. He showed us what he
described as the Holy Water Pot, which was quite near the door and had
some water in it, but why the water happened to be there the old man
could not explain. The front gable of the nave was nearly all standing,
but that at the back, which at one time had contained a large window,
was nearly all down. The old font was in the wall about half-way down
the cathedral; the vestry and chapter house were roofless. The
grave-stones dated from the year 1602, but that which covered the
remains of the founder was of course very much older. Beauly was
formerly a burial-place of the ancient Scottish chieftains, and was
still used as the burial-ground of the Mackenzies, the name reminding us
of our friends at the "Huna Inn." Rewarding our guide and the bairn who
had returned with him for their services, we walked quickly away, as we
had still twelve miles to walk before reaching Inverness.
BEAULY PRIORY.
After crossing the bridge over the River Beauly we had
the company for about a mile of a huge servant-girl, a fine-looking
Scotch lassie, with whom we ventured to enter into conversation although
we felt like dwarfs in her presence. She told us she had never been in
England, but her sister had been there in service, and had formed a bad
opinion of the way the English spent their Sundays. Some of them never
went to church at all, while one young man her sister knew there
actually whistled as he was going to church! It was very different in
Scotland, where, she said, all went to church and kept holy the Sabbath
day. She evidently thought it a dreadful offence to whistle on Sundays,
and we were careful not to offend the susceptibilities of the Scots,
and, we may safely say, our own, by whistling on the Lord's day.
Whistling was, however, an accomplishment of which we were rather proud,
as we considered ourselves experts, and beguiled many a weary mile's
march with quickstepsEnglish, Scotch, Welsh, and Irishwhich we
flattered ourselves sounded better amongst the hills of the Highlands of
Scotland even than the sacred bagpipes of the most famous Scotch
regiments.
We thanked our formidable-looking friend for her company
and, presenting her with a John o' Groat's buckie, bade her farewell.
When she must have been a distance away we accelerated our pace by
whistling "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" one of Charles Russell's songs. We could
not keep it up for long, as we were not only footsore, but sore in every
joint, through friction, and we were both beginning to limp a little
when we came to a junction in the roads. Here it was necessary to
inquire about our way, and seeing a farm quite near we went to it and
asked a gentleman who was standing in the yard which way we should turn
for Inverness and how far it was. He kindly directed us, and told us
that town was nine miles distant, but added, "I am just going there in
my 'machine,' which will be ready directly, and will be glad to give you
a lift." This kind offer formed one of the greatest temptations we had
during our long journey, as we had already walked thirty miles that day,
and were in a pitiable condition, and it was hard to say "No." We
thanked the gentleman heartily, and explained why we could not accept
it, as we had determined to walk all the way to Land's End, and with an
effort both painful and slow we mournfully took our way. We had only
travelled a short distance when he overtook us with a spirited horse and
a well-appointed conveyance, bidding us "Good night" as he passed.
We had a painful walk for the next three miles, and it
was just at the edge of dark when we called for tea at the "Bogroy Inn."
We were shown into the parlour by the mistress herself, a pleasant
elderly lady, very straight, but very stout, and when my brother
complimented her on her personal appearance, she told him that when she
first came into that neighbourhood thirty-five years ago she only
weighed eleven stone, but six years since she weighed twenty-two stone;
now, she rather sorrowfully added, "I only weigh seventeen stone!" She
evidently thought she had come down in the world, but she was an ideal
landlady of the good old sort, for she sent us some venison in for our
tea, the first we had ever tasted, and with eggs and other good things
we had a grand feast. Moreover, she sent her daughter, a prepossessing
young lady, to wait upon us, so we felt ourselves highly honoured.
As we were devouring the good things provided we heard
some mysterious tappings, which we were unable to locate. My brother
suggested the house might be haunted, but when the young lady entered
the room again we discovered that the tappings were outside the house,
on the shutters which covered the windows, for every one in the
Highlands in those days protected their lower windows with wooden
shutters. The tappings were accompanied by a low whistle, by which we
could see the young lady was visibly affected, until finally she left
the room rather hurriedly, never to appear again; nor did we hear the
tappings any more, and the requiem we sung was:
If she be not fair for me,
What care I how fair she be?
We were sorry to leave the "Bogroy Inn," as the mistress
said she would have been glad of our further patronage, but we had
determined to reach Inverness as a better place to stay over the week
end. With great difficulty we walked the remaining six miles under the
trees, through which the moon was shining, and we could see the stars
twinkling above our heads as we marched, or rather crawled, along the
Great North Road. On arriving at Inverness we crossed the bridge, to
reach a house that had been recommended to us, but as it was not up to
our requirements we turned back and found one more suitable across the
water. Our week's walk totalled 160 miles, of which thirty-nine had been
covered that day.
(Distance walked thirty-nine miles.)
Sunday, September 24th.
After a good night's rest and the application of common
soap to the soles of our feet, and fuller's earth to other parts of our
anatomyremedies we continued to employ, whenever necessary, on our long
journeywe were served with a good breakfast, and then went out to see
what Inverness looked like in the daylight. We were agreeably surprised
to find it much nicer than it appeared as we entered it, tired out, the
night before, and we had a pleasant walk before going to the
eleven-o'clock service at the kirk.
Inverness, the "Capital of the Highlands," has a long and
eventful history. St. Columba is said to have visited it as early as the
year 565, and on a site fortified certainly in the eighth century stands
the castle, which was, in 1039, according to Shakespeare, the scene of
the murder of King Duncan by Macbeth. The town was made a Royal Burgh by
David I, King of Scotland. The Lords of the Isles also appear to have
been crowned here, for their coronation stone is still in existence, and
has been given a name which in Gaelic signifies the "Stone of the Tubs."
In former times the water supply of the town had to be obtained from the
loch or the river, and the young men and maidens carrying it in tubs
passed this stone on their wayor rather did not pass, for they lingered
a while to rest, the stone no doubt being a convenient trysting-place.
We wandered as far as the castle, from which the view of the River Ness
and the Moray Firth was particularly fine.
We attended service in one of the Free Churches, and were
much interested in the proceedings, which were so different from those
we had been accustomed to in England, the people standing while they
prayed and sitting down while they sang. The service began with the one
hundredth Psalm to the good old tune known as the "Old Hundredth" and
associated in our minds with that Psalm from our earliest days:
All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with
cheerful voice.
Him serve with fear, His
praise forth tell,
Come ye before Him, and
rejoice.
THE CATHEDRAL, INVERNESS.
During the singing of this, all the people remained
seated except the precentor, who stood near the pulpit. Then followed a
prayer, the people all standing; and then the minister read a portion of
Scripture from the thirty-fourth chapter of the prophet Ezekiel
beginning at the eleventh verse: "For thus saith the Lord God; Behold I,
even I, will both search My sheep, and seek them out."
Another hymn was followed by the Lord's Prayer; after
which came the sermon, preached by the Rev. Donald Fraser, M.A., of
Marylebone, London, a former minister of the church. He read the last
three verses of the ninth chapter of St. John's gospel, continued
reading down to the sixteenth verse of the tenth chapter, and then
selected for his text the fourth, ninth, and tenth verses of that
chapter, the first verse of these reading: "And when he putteth forth
his own sheep, he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him, for they
know his voice."
The sermon had evidently been well thought out and was
ably delivered, the subject being very appropriate to a district where
sheep abound and where their habits are so well known. Everybody
listened with the greatest attention. At the close there was a public
baptism of a child, whose father and mother stood up before the pulpit
with their backs to the congregation. The minister recited the Apostles'
Creed, which was slightly different in phraseology from that used in the
Church of England, and then, descending from the pulpit, proceeded to
baptize the child in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The
closing hymn followed, and the people stood while the minister
pronounced the benediction, after which the congregation slowly
separated.
INVERNESS CASTLE.
During the afternoon we visited an isolated hill about a
mile from the town named Tomnahurich, or the "Hill of the Fairies."
Nicely wooded, it rose to an elevation of about 200 feet above the sea,
and, the summit being comparatively level and clear from trees, we had a
good view of Inverness and its surroundings. This hill was used as the
Cemetery, and many people had been buried, both on the top and along the
sides of the serpentine walk leading up to it, their remains resting
there peacefully until the resurrection, "when the trumpet shall sound
and the dead shall be raised incorruptible." We considered it an ideal
place for the burial of the dead, and quite a number of people were
walking up and down the paths leading under the trees, many of them
stopping on their way to view the graves where their friends had been
buried.
In the evening we attended service in the cathedral, a
large modern structure, with two towers, each of which required a spire
forty feet high to complete the original design. Massive columns of
Aberdeen granite had been erected in the interior to support the roof of
polished oak, adorned with carved devices, some of which had not yet
been completed. The Communion-table, or altar, made in Italy and
presented to the cathedral by a wealthy layman, stood beneath a
suspended crucifix, and was further adorned with a cross, two
candlesticks, and two vases containing flowers. The service, of a
High-Church character, was fully choral, assisted by a robed choir and a
good organ. The sermon was preached by the Rev. Provost Powell, who took
for his text Romans xiv. 7: "For none liveth to himself and no man dieth
to himself." He gave us a clever oration, but whether extempore or
otherwise we could not tell, as from where we sat we could not see the
preacher. There was not a large congregation, probably owing to the fact
that the people in the North are opposed to innovations, and look upon
crosses and candlesticks on the Communion-table as imitations of the
Roman Catholic ritual, to which the Presbyterians could never be
reconciled. The people generally seemed much prejudiced against this
form of service, for in the town early in the morning, before we knew
this building was the cathedral, we asked a man what kind of a place of
worship it was, and he replied, in a tone that implied it was a place to
be avoided, that he did not know, but it was "next to th' Catholics."
Our landlady spoke of it in exactly the same way.
SECOND WEEK'S JOURNEY
Monday, September 25th.
CAIRN ON THE BATTLEFIELD OF CULLODEN MUIR.
We rose early, but were not in very good trim for
walking, for a mild attack of diarrhoea yesterday had become intensified
during the night, and still continued. After breakfast we went to the
post office for our "poste restante" letters, and after replying to them
resumed our march. Culloden Muir, the site of the great battle in 1746,
in which the Scottish Clans under Prince Charlie suffered so severely at
the hands of the Duke of Cumberland, is only six miles away from
Inverness, and we had originally planned to visit it, but as that
journey would have taken us farther from the Caledonian Canal, the line
of which we were now anxious to follow, we gave up the idea of going to
Culloden. We were, moreover, in no humour for digressions since we had
not yet recovered from the effects of our long walk on Saturday, and our
bodily ailments were still heavy upon us. As we crossed the
suspension-bridge, in close proximity to the castle, we purchased a few
prints of the town and the neighbourhood through which we were about to
pass.
Inverness is built in a delightful situation, skirting
the Ness, which here takes the form of a beautiful, shallow river moving
peacefully forward to its great receptacle, Loch Ness, a few miles away;
but, although the country near the town is comparatively level, it is
surrounded by mountain scenery of the most charming description. Our
route lay along the north-western side of the Caledonian Canal in the
direction of Fort Augustus, and we again passed the Tomnahurich Hill.
Near this we saw a large building which we were surprised to learn was a
lunatic asyluman institution we did not expect to find here, for we had
only heard of one madman in the three counties of Scotland through which
we had passed. We concluded it must have been built for persons from
farther south.
CULLODEN MUIR.
The diarrhoea still continued to trouble us, so we asked
the advice of a gentleman we met on the road, and he recommended us to
call at the next farmhouse, which, fortunately, happened to be only a
short distance away, and to "take a quart of milk each, as hot as you
can drink it." So away we walked to the farm, which we found standing a
short distance from our road, and, after explaining our troubles and
wishes to the farmer, were invited into the house, where the mistress
quickly provided us with the hot milk, which luckily proved to be a safe
and simple remedy. The farmer and his wife were as pleased with our
company as we were with theirs, and were just the sort of people that
tourists like to meet. We had a long talk with them about the crops, the
markets, our long walk, and, last but not least, the weather. Speaking
of diarrhoea, the farmer informed us that the water of Inverness often
affected strangers in that way, and that it had even been known to
produce dysentery.
After regaining our road, we had a lovely walk that day;
the scenery and the weather were both very fine, and, about a mile
farther on, we had a glorious view over Loch Ness, beside which our walk
led us, through a delightful country studded with mansions amidst some
of nature's most beautiful scenery. Presently we met a party of men,
consisting of two soldiers and three civilians, engaged in cutting
branches from the trees that were likely to interfere with the working
of the telegraph, which passed along the side of the road. It consisted
of a single wire, and had only just been erected, for we noticed each
post bore the Government mark and the date 1871. We asked the men if
they knew of a good remedy for our complaint, and one of the soldiers,
who had seen service abroad, recommended "a spoonful of sweet oil and
cinnamon mixed with it." Our former remedy had proved to be efficacious,
so we had no need to try this, but we give the information here for the
benefit of all whom it may concern.
THE BURYING-PLACE OF THE CLANS.
We were certainly in for the best day's march we had yet
experienced, if not for distance, certainly for beauty of route; and if
we had had the gift of poetrywhich only affected us occasionallywe
should have had here food for poems sufficient to fill the side of a
newspaper. Mountain rills, gushing rivulets, and murmuring waters! Here
they were in abundance, rolling down the rocky mountains from unknown
heights, and lending an additional charm to the landscape! Is it
necessary to dilate on such beauties?for if words were conjured in the
most delicate and exquisite language imaginable, the glories of Loch
Ness and its surroundings are, after all, things to be seen before they
can be fully appreciated. The loch is over twenty miles long, and
averages about a mile broad; while a strange fact is that its water
never freezes. Scientific men, we were told, attributed this to the
action of earthquakes in distant parts of the world, their vibrations
affecting the surface of the water here; while others, apparently of the
more commonsense type, attribute it to the extreme depth of the water in
the loch itself, for in the centre it is said to exceed 260 yards.
As we loitered alongfor we were very lazywe decided to
have a picnic amongst the large stones on the shore of the loch, so we
selected a suitable position, and broke into the provisions we carried
in our bags as a reserve for emergencies. We were filling our
water-boiling apparatus from the loch, when we saw a steamboat
approaching from the direction of Glasgow. It presented quite a picture
as it passed us, in the sunshine, with its flags flying and its
passengers crowded on the deck, enjoying the fine scenery, and looking
for Inverness, where their trip on the boat, like the Caledonian Canal
itself, would doubtless end. There was music on board, of which we got
the full benefit, as the sound was wafted towards us across the water,
to echo and re-echo amongst the hills and adjoining woods; and we could
hear the strains of the music long after the boat was cut off from our
vision by the branches of the trees which partially surrounded us.
THE WELL OF THE DEAD, CULLODEN MUIR.
The stone marks the spot where MacGillivray of Dunmaglass died while
stretching out his hand toward the little spring of water.
We were, in reality, having a holiday compared with our
exertions on Saturday, and, as we were practically on the sick-list,
considered ourselves fully entitled to it. We thought we had travelled
quite far enough for invalids when, at fourteen miles from Inverness,
and in the light of a lovely sunset, we reached Drumnadrochit, a village
on the side of the loch.
Is it to be wondered at that we succumbed to the
seductions of the famous inn there, as distinguished men had done before
us, as the records of the inn both in prose and poetry plainly showed?
One poetical Irishman had written a rhyme of four verses each ending
with the word Drumnadrochit, one of which we thought formed a sufficient
invitation and excuse for our calling there; it read:
Stop, traveller! with well-pack'd bag,
You'll ne'er regret it,
though you lag
One of the best advertisements of this hotel and
Drumnadrochit generally appeared in a letter written by Shirley Brooks
to Punch in
1860, in which he wrote:
The inn whence these lines are dated
faces a scene which, happily, is not too often to be observed in
this planet. I say happily, sir, because we are all properly well
aware that this world is a vale of tears, in which it is our duty to
mortify ourselves and make everybody else as uncomfortable as
possible. If there were many places like Drumnadrochit, persons
would be in fearful danger of forgetting that they ought to be
miserable.
But who would have thought that a quiet and
sedate-looking Quaker like John Bright, the famous M.P. for Birmingham,
could have been moved by the spirit to write a verse of poetrysuch an
unusual thing for a member of the Society of Friends! Here it is:
In the Highland glens 'tis far too oft observed,
That man is chased away and
game preserved;
Glen Urquhart is to me a
lovelier glen
Here deer and grouse have not
supplanted men.
But was the position reversed when Mr. Bright visited it?
and did the men supplant the deer and grouse then?
DRUMNADROCHIT.
Glen Urquhart was one of the places we had to pass on the
following day, but as we had no designs on the deer and grouse, since
our sporting proclivities did not lie in that direction, we thought that
we might be safely trusted to leave the game undisturbed.
(Distance walked fourteen miles.)
Tuesday, September 26th.
We set out from Drumnadrochit early in the morning, and,
leaving Glen Urquhart to the right, after walking about two miles turned
aside to view Urquhart Castle, a ruin occupying a commanding position on
the side of Loch Ness and immediately opposite the entrance to the glen.
The castle was besieged by Edward I when he was trying to subdue
Scotland, and a melancholy story was told of that period. The Scots, who
were defending the castle, were "in extremis," as their provisions were
exhausted and they knew that when they surrendered they would all be
slain. The Governor, however, was anxious to save his wife, who was
shortly to become a mother, so he bade her clothe herself in rags and
drove her from the gate as though she were a beggar who had been shut up
in the castle and whom they had driven away because their provisions
were running short. The ruse succeeded, for the English, believing her
story, let her go; after the garrison saw that she was safe they sallied
forth to meet their fate, and were all killed.
URQUHART CASTLE.
The approach to the ruins from the road is by upwards of
a hundred rough hardwood steps, and the castle must have been a
well-nigh impregnable stronghold in former times, protected as it was on
three sides by the water of the loch and by a moat on the fourth, the
position of the drawbridge being still clearly denned.
Beneath the solitary tower is a dismal dungeon, and we
wondered what horrors had been enacted within its time-worn and gloomy
walls! Once a grim fortress, its ruins had now been mellowed by the hand
of time, and looked quite inviting amidst their picturesque
surroundings. To them might fitly be applied the words: "Time has made
beautiful that which at first was only terrible."
Whilst we were amongst the ruins, a steamboat which had
called at Drumnadrochit passed close alongside the castle, and we waved
our handkerchiefs to those on board, our silent salutations being
returned by some of the passengers. We afterwards learned we had been
recognised by a gentleman who had met us on the previous day.
About ten miles from Drumnadrochit we reached
Invermoriston, and visited a church which was almost filled with
monuments to the memory of the Grant family, the lairds of Glenmoriston.
Among them was the tombstone of the son of a former innkeeper, with the
following inscription, which reminded us of our own mortality:
Remember, Friend, when this you see,
As I am now so you must be;
As you are now so once was I.
Remember, Friend, that you
must die.
There was also another tombstone, apparently that of his
mother, inscribed:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JEAN SCOTT, THE
AMIABLE WIFE OF WILLIAM FALL, INVERMORISTON, INNKEEPER, WHO DIED ON
THE 13TH DAY OF
APRIL 1837 AGED 68 YEARS.
and on this appeared the following epitaph:
Weep not for me, O friends,
LOCH NESS FROM FORT AUGUSTUS.
We then went to visit the remarkable waterfall of
Glenmoriston, where the water after rushing down the rocks for some
distance entered a crevice in a projecting rock below, evidently worn in
the course of ages by the falls themselves. Here the water suddenly
disappeared, to reappear as suddenly some distance below, where, as if
furious at its short imprisonment, it came out splashing, dashing, and
boiling in fantastic beauty amongst the rocks over which it pursued its
downward course. We descended a few paces along a footpath leading to a
small but ancient building, probably at one time a summer house, in the
centre of which a very old millstone had done duty as a table. Here we
were fairly in the whirl of waters, and had a splendid view of the falls
and of the spray which rose to a considerable height. There was no doubt
that we saw this lovely waterfall under the best possible conditions,
and it was some recompense to us when we thought that the heavy rainfall
through which we had passed had contributed to this result. The thistle
may overshadow many more beautiful falls than the falls of Glenmoriston,
but we claim a share of praise for this lively little waterfall as
viewed by us in full force from this shady retreat.
GENERAL WADE'S ROAD NEAR FORT AUGUSTUS, WITH LOCH NESS IN THE DISTANCE.
A LIGHTHOUSE ON LOCH NESS.
FALLS OF FOYERS AND LOCH NESS.
"Here in the whirl of waters ... the spray rose to a considerable
height.
After refreshing ourselves at the inn, we started on our
next stage of ten miles to Fort Augustus, the loneliness of our journey
through its beauties of scenery being enlivened by occasionally watching
the pranks of the squirrels and gazing at the many burns that flowed
down the mountain slopes. Before reaching Fort Augustus we had a
splendid view as we looked backward over Loch Ness, dotted here and
there with several ships tacking and retacking, their white sails
gleaming in the sunshine. It had been a calm and lovely day; the sun was
sinking in the west as we entered Fort Augustus, but we had only time
enough for a superficial survey, for we had to proceed farther, and,
however important the Fort might have been in 1729 when General Wade
constructed his famous military road, or when the Duke of Cumberland
made it his headquarters while he dealt severely with the adherents of
Prince Charlie, shooting ruthlessly, laying waste on every side, and
driving women and children into the moors only to die, it looked very
insignificant that night. The Highland Clans never looked favourably on
the construction of these military roads, and would doubtless have
preferred the mountain tracks to remain as they were, for by using the
Fort as a base these roads became a weapon to be used against them;
their only eulogy was said to have been written by an Irish officer:
Had you but seen these roads before they were made,
You would lift up your eyes,
and bless General Wade.
My brother said he must have been a real Irishman, with
the eye of faith, to see roads before
they were made!
PRINCE CHARLIE'S CAVE, INVERMORISTON.
Fort Augustus stands at the extremity of Loch Ness, at
the point where its surplus waters are lowered by means of locks to
swell those of Loch Oich, so as to make both lochs navigable for the
purposes of the Caledonian Canal. We noticed some corn-stacks here that
were thatched with broom, and some small houses that were roofed with
what looked like clods of earth, so we concluded that the district must
be a very poor one.
IN GLENMORISTON.
As darkness was now coming on, we were anxious to find
lodgings for the night, and, hearing that there was an inn at a place
called Invergarry, seven and a half miles from Fort Augustus, we were
obliged to go there. The moon was just beginning to relieve the darkness
when we reached Invergarry, and, seeing a servant removing some linen
from a clothes-line in a small garden, we asked the way to the inn; she
pointed to a building opposite, and said we had "better go in at that
door." We entered as directed at the side door, and found ourselves in a
rather large inn with a passage through it from end to end. We saw what
we supposed to be the master and the mistress snugly ensconced in a
room, and asked the master if we could obtain lodgings for the night. He
said "yes," but we heard the mistress, who had not seen us, mutter
something we could not hear distinctly. My brother said he was sure he
heard the words "Shepherd's room." The landlord then conducted us into a
room at the end of the long dark passage, in which, we found several
shepherds drinking and conversing with each other in Gaelic. One of them
said to us "Good night," and as we returned his salutation they all
retired from the room. We were now able to look about us, and found the
room contained two tables, four forms, and at least two beds ranged
lengthways along one side. Presently a servant came in and began to make
one of the beds, and then another servant came who, we thought, eyed us
rather closely, as we were holding our faces down to conceal the
laughter which we could scarcely restrain. When she had made the other
bed my brother asked if both the beds were for us. The servant said she
couldn't tell, but "Missis says they are both to be made." We had
evidently been taken for shepherds, and at first we were inclined to
feel angry, for no one came to ask us if we required anything to eat or
drink. We could have done with a good supper, but fortunately we had
replenished our bags at Fort Augustus, so we were in no danger of being
starved. We scribbled in our diaries by the feeble light of the candle
which the servants had left on one of the tables, and as no one turned
up to claim the second bed we occupied both. There was no lock or
fastening on the door, but we barricaded it securely with two of the
formsand it was perhaps as well that we did so, for some one tried to
open it after we were in bedand we slept that night not on feathers,
but on chaff with which the beds or mattresses were stuffed.
(Distance walked twenty-seven miles.)
Wednesday, September 27th.
"The sleep of a labouring man is sweet," and so was ours
on the primitive beds of the shepherds. But the sounds in the rear of
the hotel awoke us very early in the morning, and, as there was every
appearance of the weather continuing fine, we decided to walk some
distance before breakfast. We asked one of the servants how much we had
to pay, and she returned with an account amounting to the astounding sum
of sixpence! Just fancy, ye Highland tourists! ye who have felt the keen
grip of many an hotel-keeper therejust fancy, if ye can, two of us
staying a night at a large hotel in the Highlands of Scotland for
sixpence!
We followed the servant to a small room at the front of
the hotel, where a lady was seated, to whom the money had to be paid;
the surprised and disappointed look on her face as we handed her a
sovereign in payment of our account was rich in the extreme, amply
repaying us for any annoyance we might have experienced the night
before. What made the matter more aggravating to the lady was that she
had not sufficient change, and had to go upstairs and waken some
unwilling money-changer there! Then the change had to be counted as she
reluctantly handed it to us and made a forlorn effort to recover some of
the coins. "Won't you stay for breakfast?" she asked; but we were not to
be persuaded, for although we were hungry enough, we were of an
unforgiving spirit that morning, and, relying upon getting breakfast
elsewhere, we thanked her and went on our way rejoicing!
About a mile farther on we reached the ruins of Glengarry
Castle, which stand in the private grounds of the owner, but locks and
bolts prevented us from seeing the interior. This castle remains more
complete than many others and still retains its quadrangular appearance,
much as it was when Prince Charlie slept there during his flight after
Culloden, and, although not built on any great elevation, it looks well
in its wooded environs and well-kept grounds. A story was told of the
last Lord Glengarry who, in 1820, travelled 600 miles to be present at
the Coronation of King George IV. He was dressed on that magnificent and
solemn occasion in the full costume of a Highland chief, including, as a
matter of course, a brace of pistols. A lady who was at the reception
happened to see one of the pistols in his clothing, and, being greatly
alarmed, set up a loud shriek, crying, "Oh Lord! Oh Lord! there's a man
with a pistol," and alarming the whole assembly. As she insisted on
Glengarry being arrested, he was immediately surrounded, and the Garter
King of Arms came forward and begged him to give up the much-dreaded
pistols; but he refused, as they were not loaded, and pleaded that they
formed an essential part of his national garb. At length, however, after
much persuasion, he gave them up.
Glengarry wrote a letter to the editor of The
Times, in which he said: "I have worn my dress continually at Court,
and was never so insulted before. Pistols, sir, are as essential to the
Highland courtier's dress as a sword is to English, French, or German;
and those used by me on such occasions as unstained with powder as any
courtier's sword, with blood. It is only grossest ignorance of Highland
character and costume which imagined that the assassin lurked under
their bold and manly form."
Glengarry, who, it was said, never properly recovered
from the effects of this insult, died in 1828.
After about another mile we came to a monument near the
side of the road, on the top of which were sculptured the figures of
seven human heads held up by a hand clasping a dagger. On each of the
four sides of the base there was an inscription in one of four different
languagesEnglish, French, Latin, and Gaelicas follows:
As a memorial to the ample and summary
vengeance which in the swift course of Feudal justice inflicted by
the orders of the Lord MacDonnell and Aross overtook the
perpetrators of the foul murder of the Keppoch family, a branch of
the powerful and illustrious Clan of which his Lordship was the
Chief, this Monument is erected by Colonel MacDonnell of Glengarry
XVII Mac-Minc-Alaister his successor and Representative in the year
of our Lord 1812. The heads of the seven murderers were presented at
the feet of the noble chief in Glengarry Castle after having been
washed in this spring and ever since that event which took place
early in the sixteenth century it has been known by the name "Tobar-nan-Ceann"
or the Well of the Heads.
The monument was practically built over the well, an
arched passage leading down to the water, where we found a
drinking-utensil placed for any one who desired a drink. We were glad to
have one ourselves, but perhaps some visitors might be of such refined
and delicate taste that they would not care to drink the water after
reading the horrible history recorded above.
It appeared that Macdonald of Keppoch, the owner of the
estate, had two sons whom he sent to France to be educated, and while
they were there he died, leaving the management of his estate to seven
kinsmen until the return of his sons from France; when they came back,
they were murdered by the seven executors of their father's will. The
Bard of Keppoch urged Glengarry to take vengeance on the murderers, and
this monument was erected to commemorate the ample and summary vengeance
inflicted about 1661.
INVERGARRY CASTLE.
Leaving this memorial of "ample and summary vengeance,"
we crossed the Loggan Bridge and gained the opposite bank of the
Caledonian Canal. The country we now passed through was very lonely and
mountainous, and in one place we came to a large plantation of hazel
loaded with nuts. We reflected that there were scarcely any inhabitants
to eat them, as the persons we met did not average more than a dozen in
twenty miles, and on one occasion only six all told; so we turned into
nut-gatherers ourselves, spurred on by the fact that we had had no
breakfast and our appetites were becoming sharpened, with small prospect
of being appeased in that lonely neighbourhood.
A little farther on, however, we met a man with two dogs,
who told us he was the shepherd, and, in reply to our anxious inquiry,
informed us that we could get plenty to eat at his house, which we
should find a little farther on the road. This was good news, for we had
walked eight miles since leaving Invergarry. When we reached the
shepherd's house, which had formerly been an inn, we found the mistress
both civil and obliging, and she did her best to provide for our hungry
requirements. The house was evidently a very old one, and we wondered
what queer people had sat in that ingle-nook and what strange stories
they had told there. The fireplace was of huge dimensions; hanging above
it was a single-and a double-barrelled gun, while some old crockery and
ancient glass bottles adorned various parts of the kitchenevidently
family heirlooms, which no doubt had been handed down from one
generation to anotherand a very old bed reposed in the chimney corner.
The mistress provided us with a splendid breakfast, upon
which we inflicted "ample and summary vengeance," for those words were
still ringing in our minds and ears and had already become by-words as
we travelled along. The "best tea-pot," which looked as if it had not
been used for ages, was brought from its hiding-place; and, amongst
other good things, we were treated by way of dessert to some ripe
blackberries, which the mistress called brambleberries and which she
told us she had gathered herself. It was half-past ten o'clock when we
left the shepherd's house, and shortly afterwards we had a view of the
snow-covered summit of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Great Britain.
We had a lonely walk alongside Loch Lochy, which is ten miles in length;
but in about six miles General Wade's road, which we followed, branched
off to the left. About four miles from the junction we reached Spean
Bridge, over which we crossed the river of that name, which brings along
the waters of sundry lochs as well as others from the valley of Glen
Roy. This Glen forms an almost hidden paradise beloved of geologists, as
along the sides of the valley are the famous "Parallel Roads" belonging
to the Glacial Period. We replenished our stock of provisions, which we
had rather neglected, at Spean Bridge, and treated ourselves to another
little picnic in the lonely country beyond. It was dark before we
reached Fort William, where we found comfortable lodgings at the house
of Mrs. MacPherson opposite the Ben Nevis Hotel, and retired with the
intention of ascending Ben Nevis the following day.
(Distance walked twenty-five and a half miles.)
Thursday, September 28th.
After breakfast we commissioned Mrs. MacPherson to engage
the services of the guide to conduct us to the top of Ben Nevis, which
is 4,406 feet high, offering to pay him the sum of one sovereign for his
services. We had passed the old castle of Inverlochy in the dark of the
previous night, and, as we wished to visit it in the daylight that
morning, we arranged that the guide should meet us on a bridge outside
the town, which we must cross on our way to and from what we were told
was once a royal castle, where King Achius signed a treaty with
Charlemagne. The castle was some distance from the town, and quite near
the famous distillery where the whisky known as "Long John" or the "Dew
of Ben Nevis" was produced. We found ready access to the ruins, as the
key had been left in the gate of the walled fence which surrounded them.
"Prince Charlie," we learned, had "knocked" the castle to its present
shape from an adjoining hill, and what he had left of it now looked very
solitary. It was a square structure, with four towers one at each
corner, that at the north-west angle being the most formidable. The
space enclosed was covered with grass. What interested us most were four
very old guns, or cannons, which stood in front of the castle, mounted
on wheels supported on wood planks, and as they were of a very old
pattern, these relics of the past added materially to the effect of the
ancient and warlike surroundings.
We did not stay long in the ruins, as we were anxious to
begin our big climb, so we returned to the bridge to await the arrival
of the guide engaged for us by our hostess, and whom we had not yet
seen. We waited there for more than half an hour, and were just on the
point of returning to the town when we noticed the approach of a
military-looking man carrying a long staff spiked at one end, who turned
out to be the gentleman we were waiting for, and under whose guidance we
soon began the ascent of the big mountain. After climbing for some time,
we came to a huge stone on which the Government engineers had marked the
altitude as 1,000 feet above sea-level, and as we climbed higher still
we had a grand view of the hills and waters in the distance. We went
bravely onward and upward until we arrived at a lake, where on a rock we
saw the Government mark known as the "broad arrow," an emblem which we
also saw in many other places as we walked through the country, often
wondering what the sign could mean. We surmised that it stood for
England, Scotland, and Ireland united in one kingdom, but we afterwards
learned that it was introduced at the end of the seventeenth century to
mark Government stores, and that at one time it had a religious
significance connected with the Holy Trinity. The altitude was also
marked on the rock as 2,200 feet, so that we had now ascended half-way
to the top of Ben Nevis.

On our way up the mountain we had to stop several times,
for our guide complained of diarrhoea, but here he came to a dead stop
and said he could not proceed any farther. We were suspicious at first
that he was only feigning illness to escape the bad weather which we
could see approaching. We did our best to persuade him to proceed, but
without effect, and then we threatened to reduce his fee by one-half if
he did not conduct us to the summit of Ben Nevis as agreed. Finally we
asked him to remain where he was until we returned after completing the
ascent alone; but he pleaded so earnestly with us not to make the
attempt to reach the summit, and described the difficulties and dangers
so vividly, that we reluctantly decided to forgo our long-cherished
ambition to ascend the highest mountain in Great Britain. We were very
much disappointed, but there was no help for it, for the guide was now
really ill, so we took his advice and gave up the attempt.
Ben Nevis, we knew, was already covered with snow at the
top, and a further fall was expected, and without a guide we could not
possibly find the right path. We had noticed the clouds collecting upon
the upper peaks of the great mountain and the sleet was already
beginning to fall, while the wind, apparently blowing from an easterly
direction, was icy cold. My brother, who had had more experience in
mountain-climbing than myself, remarked that if it was so bitterly cold
at our present altitude of 2,200 feet, what might we expect it to be at
4,400, and reminded me of a mountain adventure he had some years before
in North Wales.
On his first visit to the neighbourhood he had been to
see a relative who was the manager of the slate quarries at Llanberis
and resided near Port Dinorwic. The manager gave him an order to ride on
the slate train to the quarries, a distance of seven miles, and to
inspect them when he arrived there. Afterwards he went to the Padaro
Villa Hotel for dinner, and then decided to go on to Portmadoc. There
was no railway in those days, and as the coach had gone he decided to
walk. The most direct way, he calculated, was to cross Snowdon mountain,
and without asking any advice or mentioning the matter to any one he
began his walk over a mountain which is nearly 3,600 feet high. It was
two o'clock in the afternoon when he left the hotel at Llanberis, and
from the time he passed a stone inscribed "3-3/4 miles to the top of
Snowdon" he did not see a single human being. It was the 23rd of
November, and the top of the mountain, which was clearly visible, was
covered with snow.
All went well with him until he passed a black-looking
lake and had reached the top of its rocky and precipitous boundary, when
with scarcely any warning he suddenly became enveloped in the clouds and
could only see a yard or two before him. He dared not turn back for fear
he should fall down the precipice into the lake below, so he continued
his walk and presently reached the snow. This, fortunately, was frozen,
and he went on until he came to a small cabin probably used by the guide
in summertime, but the door was locked, the padlock resting upon the
snow; soon afterwards he arrived at the cairn which marked the summit of
Snowdon. It was very cold, and he was soon covered with the frozen
particles from the clouds as they drifted against him in the wind, which
gave out a mournful sound like a funeral dirge as it drove against the
rocks.
He walked round the tower several times before he could
find a way down on the other side, but at length his attention was
attracted by a black peak of rock rising above the snow, and to his
astonishment, in a sheltered corner behind it, he could distinctly see
the footprints of a man and a small animal, probably a dog, that had
gone down behind the rock just before the snow had frozen. The prints
were not visible anywhere else, but, fortunately, it happened to be the
right way, and he crossed the dreaded "Saddleback" with a precipice on
each side of him without knowing they were there. It was a providential
escape, and when he got clear of the clouds and saw miles of desolate
rocky country before him bounded by the dark sea in the background and
strode down the remainder of the seven miles from the top of Snowdon,
his feelings of thankfulness to the Almighty may be better imagined than
described. He himselfa first-class walkeralways considered they were
the longest and quickest he ever accomplished. He occupied two hours in
the ascent, but not much more than an hour in the descent, reaching,
just at the edge of dark, the high-road where the words "Pitt's Head"
were painted in large letters on some rocks, which he afterwards learned
represented an almost exact profile of the head of William Pitt the
famous Prime Minister. He stayed for tea at Beddgelert and then walked
down the Pass of Aberglaslyn on a tree-covered road in almost total
darkness, with the company of roaring waters, which terrified him even
more than the dangers he had already encountered, as far as Tremadoc,
where he stayed the night.
We had a dismal descent from Ben Nevis, and much more
troublesome and laborious than the ascent, for our guide's illness had
become more acute and he looked dreadfully ill. It was a pitiable sight
to see him when, with scarcely strength enough to stand, he leaned
heavily upon his staff on one side and on ourselves alternately on the
other. We could not help feeling sorry for him for we had so recently
suffered from the same complaint ourselves, though in a much milder
form. We were compelled to walk very slowly and to rest at frequent
intervals, and to add to our misery the rain was falling heavily. We
were completely saturated long before reaching Fort William, and were
profoundly thankful when we landed our afflicted friend at his own door.
We handed him his full fee, and he thanked us and said that although he
had ascended Ben Nevis on nearly 1,200 occasions, this was the only time
he had failed.
BEN NEVIS
We had not been quite satisfied that the cause assigned
to our attack at Inverness was the real one, as we had drunk so little
water there. We thought now that there might be some infectious epidemic
passing through that part of Scotland, perhaps a modified form of the
cholera that decimated our part of England thirty or forty years before,
and that our guide as well as ourselves had contracted the sickness in
that way.
We must not forget to record that on our way up the "Ben"
we saw a most beautiful rainbow, which appeared to great advantage, as
it spread itself between us and the opposite hills, exhibiting to
perfection all its seven colours.
We were as hungry as hunters when we returned to our
lodgings, and, after changing some of our clothes and drying the others,
we sat down to the good things provided for our noon dinner, which we
washed down with copious libations of tea.
As the rain continued, we decided to stop another night
at Mrs. MacPherson's, so we went out to make some purchases at the
chemist's shop, which also served as an emporiumin fact as a general
stores. We had a chat with the proprietor, who explained that Fort
William was a very healthy place, where his profession would not pay if
carried on alone, so he had to add to it by selling other articles. The
Fort, he told us, was originally built in the time of Cromwell by
General Monk to overawe the Highlanders, but was afterwards re-erected
on a smaller scale by William III; hence its name of Fort William.
BEN NEVIS AS SEEN FROM BANAVIE.
We asked the chemist if he could recommend to us a good
shoemaker, who could undertake to sole and heel two pairs of boots
before morning, as ours were showing signs of wear-and-tear owing to the
long distances we had walked both before and after reaching John o'
Groat's. This he promised to do, and he sent one across to Mrs.
MacPherson's immediately. After we had parted with our boots, we were
prisoners for the remainder of the day, though we were partially
reconciled to our novel position when we heard the wind driving the rain
against the windows instead of against ourselves. But it seemed strange
to us to be sitting down hour after hour reading the books our hostess
kindly lent to us instead of walking on the roads. The books were
chiefly historical, and interested us, as they related to the country
through which we were passing. Terrible histories they contained too!
describing fierce battles and murders, and giving us the impression that
the Scots of the olden times were like savages, fighting each other
continually, and that for the mere pleasure of fighting. Especially
interesting to us was the record of the cruel massacre of Glencoe, for
we intended visiting there, if possible, on the morrow. It was not the
extent of the carnage on that occasion, but the horrible way in which it
was carried out, that excited the indignation of the whole country, and
my brother spent some time in copying in his note-book the following
history of
THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE
After King William had defeated the Highland Clans, he gave the
Highland Chiefs a year and a half to make their submission to his
officers, and all had done this except MacDonald of Glencoe, whose
ChiefMacIanhad delayed his submission to the last possible day. He
then went to Fort William to tender his Oath of Allegiance to the
King's Officer there, who unfortunately had no power to receive it,
but he gave him a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, who was at Inverary,
asking him to administer the Oath to MacIan. The aged Chief hastened
to Inverary, but the roads were bad and almost impassable owing to a
heavy fall of snow, so that the first day of January, 1692, had
passed before he could get there; Campbell administered the Oath and
MacIan returned to Glencoe thinking that all was now right. But a
plot was made against him by the Campbells, whose flocks and herds,
it was said, the MacDonalds had often raided, and it was decided to
punish MacIan and to exterminate his clan; and a company of the Earl
of Argyle's regiment, commanded by Captain Campbell of Glenlyon, was
sent to Glen Coe to await orders. MacIan's sons heard that the
soldiers were coming, and thought that they were coming to disarm
them, so they removed their arms to a place of safety, and, with a
body of men, they went to meet the soldiers to ask if they were
coming as friends or foes. They assured them that they were coming
as friends and wished to stay with them for a short time, as there
was no room for them, for the garrison buildings at Fort William
were already full of soldiers. Alaster MacDonald, one of MacIan's
sons, had married a niece of Glenlyon's, so that the soldiers were
cordially received and treated with every possible hospitality by
MacIan and his Clan, with whom they remained for about a fortnight.
Then Glenlyon received a letter from Duncanson, his commanding
officer, informing him that all the MacDonalds under seventy years
of age must be killed, and that the Government was not to be
troubled with prisoners. Glenlyon lost no time in carrying out his
orders. He took his morning's draught as usual at the house of
MacIan's son, who had married his niece, and he and two of his
officers accepted an invitation to dinner from MacIan, whom, as well
as the whole clan, he was about to slaughter. At four o'clock the
next morning, February 13, 1692, the massacre was begun by a party
of soldiers, who knocked at MacIan's door and were at once admitted.
Lindsay, who was one of the officers who had accepted his invitation
to dinner, commanded the party, and shot MacIan dead at his own
bedside while he was dressing himself and giving orders for
refreshments to be provided for his visitors. His aged wife was
stripped by the savage soldiers, who pulled off the gold rings from
her fingers with their teeth, and she died next day from grief and
the brutal treatment she had received. The two sons had had their
suspicions aroused, but these had been allayed by Glenlyon. However,
an old servant woke them and told them to flee for their lives as
their father had been murdered, and as they escaped they heard the
shouts of the murderers, the firing of muskets, the screams of the
wounded, and the groans of the dying rising from the village, and it
was only their intimate knowledge of the almost inaccessible cliffs
that enabled them to escape. At the house where Glenlyon lodged, he
had nine men bound and shot like felons. A fine youth of twenty
years of age was spared for a time, but one, Captain Drummond,
ordered him to be put to death; and a boy of five or six, who had
clung to Glenlyon's knees entreating for mercy and offering to
become his servant for life if he would spare him, and who had moved
Glenlyon to pity, was stabbed by Drummond with a dirk while he was
in the agony of supplication. Barber, a sergeant, with some
soldiers, fired on a group of nine MacDonalds who were round their
morning fire, and killed four of them, and one of them, who escaped
into a house, expressed a wish to die in the open air rather than
inside the house, "For your bread, which I have eaten," said Barber,
"I will grant the request." Macdonald was accordingly dragged to the
door, but he was an active man and, when the soldiers presented
their firelocks to shoot him, he cast his plaid over their eyes and,
taking advantage of their confusion and the darkness, he escaped up
the glen. Some old persons were also killed, one of them eighty
years of age; and others, with women and children who had escaped
from the carnage half clad, were starved and frozen to death on the
snow-clad hills whither they had fled.
The winter wind that
whistled shrill,
The snows that night that
cloaked the hill,
Though wild and pitiless,
had still
Far more than Southern
clemency.
It was thrilling to read the account of the fight between
the two Clans, Mackenzie and MacDonnell, which the Mackenzies won. When
the MacDonnells were retreating they had to cross a river, and those who
missed the ford were either drowned or killed. A young and powerful
chief of the MacDonnells in his flight made towards a spot where the
burn rushed through a yawning chasm, very wide and deep, and was closely
followed by one of the victorious Mackenzies; but MacDonnell, forgetting
the danger of the attempt in the hurry of his flight and the agitation
of the moment, and being of an athletic frame and half naked, made a
desperate leap, and succeeded in clearing the rushing waters below.
Mackenzie inconsiderately followed him, but, not having
the impulse of the powerful feelings that had animated MacDonnell, he
did not reach the top of the opposite bank, succeeding only in grasping
the branch of a birch tree, where he hung suspended over the abyss.
Macdonnell, finding he was not being followed, returned to the edge of
the chasm, and, seeing Mackenzie's situation, took out his dirk, and as
he cut off the branch from the tree he said, "I have left much behind me
with you to-day; take that also," and so Mackenzie perished.
There was another incident of Highland ferocity that
attracted us powerfully, and read as follows: "Sir Ewen encountered a
very powerful English officer, an over-match for him in strength, who,
losing his sword, grappled with the chief, and got him under; but
Lochiel's presence of mind did not forsake him, for grasping the
Englishman by the collar and darting at his extended throat with his
teeth, he tore away the bloody morsel, which he used to say was the
sweetest morsel he had ever tasted."
We felt that the people hereabouts were still of another
nation. The descendants of Prince Charlie's faithful adherents still
clung to their ancient religion, and they preserved many of their old
customs and traditions in spite of the changes in outlook which trade
and the great canal had brought about.
It was therefore not to be wondered at that, after
impressing our memories with these and other fearful stories and eating
the heavy supper provided for us by our landlady, our dreams that night
rather disturbed our slumbers.
SCENE OF THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.
"Especially interesting to us was the account of the cruel massacre of
Glencoe. Here was enacted one of the blackest crimes in the annals of
Scottish history."
Personally I was in the middle of a long journey, engaged
in disagreeable adventures in which I was placed at a considerable
disadvantage, as I was walking without my boots, when I was relieved
from an unpleasant position by the announcement that it was six o'clock
and that our boots had arrived according to promise.
(Distance walked nine miles.)
Friday, September 29th.
There was a delightful uncertainty about our journey, for
everything we saw was new to us, and we were able to enjoy to the
fullest extent the magnificent mountain and loch scenery in the
Highlands of Scotland, with which we were greatly impressed. It was
seven o'clock in the morning, of what, fortunately for us, proved to be
a fine day, as we left Fort William, and after coming to the end of the
one street which formed the town we reached a junction of roads, where
it was necessary to inquire the way to Glencoe. We asked a youth who was
standing at the door of a house, but he did not know, so went into the
house to inquire, and came out with the information that we could get
there either way. We had already walked along the full length of Loch
Ness, Loch Oich, and Loch Lochy, so we decided to walk alongside Loch
Linnhe, especially as that road had the best surface. So on we went at a
quick pace, for the half-day's holiday yesterday had resulted in renewed
energy. We could see the great mountains in front which we knew we must
cross, and after walking three and a half miles we met a pedestrian, who
informed us that we were on the right way, and must go on until we
reached Ballachulish, where we could cross the ferry to Glencoe.
This information rather troubled us, as we had determined
to walk all the way, so he advised us to go round the "Head of the
Loch"an expression we often heard used in Scotlandand to make our way
there across the open country; in this case the loch was Loch Leven, so
we left the highway and Loch Linnhe and walked to a small farm we could
see in the distance. The mistress was the only person about, but she
could only speak Gaelic, and we were all greatly amused at our efforts
to make ourselves understood. Seeing some cows grazing quite near, my
brother took hold of a quart jug standing on a bench and, pointing to
the cows, made her understand that we wanted a quart of milk, which she
handed to us with a smile. We could not ask her the price, so we handed
her fourpence, the highest price we had known to have been paid for a
quart of the best milk at home, and with which she seemed greatly
pleased.
We were just leaving the premises when the farmer came
up, and he fortunately could speak English. He told us he had seen us
from a distance, and had returned home, mistaking us for two men who
occasionally called upon him on business. He said we had gone "three
miles wrong," and took great pains to show us the right way. Taking us
through a fence, he pointed out in the distance a place where we should
have to cross the mountains. He also took us to a track leading off in
that direction, which we were to follow, and, leaving him, we went on
our way rejoicing. But this mountain track was a very curious one, as it
broke away in two or three directions and shortly disappeared. It was
unfenced on the moorland, and there were not enough people travelling
that way to make a well-defined path, each appearing to have travelled
as he pleased. We tried the same method, but only to find we had gone
out of the nearest way. We crossed several small burns filled with
delightfully clear water, and presently saw another house in the
distance, to which we now went, finding it to be the shepherd's house.
Here the loud and savage barking of a dog brought out the
shepherd's wife, who called the dog away from us, and the shepherd, who
was having his breakfast, also made his appearance. He directed us to a
small river, which he named in Gaelic, and pointed to a place where it
could easily be forded, warning us at the same time that the road over
the hills was not only dangerous, but difficult to find and extremely
lonely, and that the road to Glencoe was only a drovers' road, used for
driving cattle across the hills. We made the best of our way to the
place, but the stream had been swollen by the recent rains, and we
experienced considerable difficulty in crossing it. At length, after
sundry walkings backwards and forwards, stepping from one large stone to
another in the burn, we reached the opposite bank safely. The only
mishap, beyond getting over shoe-tops in the water, was the dropping of
one of our bags in the burn; but this we were fortunate enough to
recover before its contents were seriously damaged or the bag carried
away by the current.
THE PASS.
We soon reached the road named by the shepherd, which was
made of large loose stones. But was it a road? Scotland can boast of
many good roads, and has material always at hand both for construction
and repair; but of all the roads we ever travelled on, this was the
worst! Presently we came to a lonely cottage, the last we were to see
that day, and we called to inquire the way, but no English was spoken
there. This was unfortunate, as we were in doubt as to which was our
road, so we had to find our way as best we could. Huge rocks and great
mountains reared their heads on all sides of us, including Ben Nevis,
which we could recognise owing to the snowy coverlet still covering his
head. The country became very desolate, with nothing to be seen but huge
rocks, inaccessible to all except the pedestrian. Hour after hour we
toiled up mountainssometimes we thought we reached an elevation of two
thousand feetand then we descended into a deep ravine near a small
loch. Who could forget a day's march like this, now soaring to an
immense height and presently appearing to descend into the very bowels
of the earth! We must have diverged somewhat from the road known as the
"Devil's Staircase," by repute the worst road in Britain, for the track
we were on was in one section like the bed of a mountain torrent and
could not have been used even by cattle. Late in the afternoon we
reached the proper track, and came up with several herds of bullocks,
about three hundred in number, all told, that were being driven over the
mountains to find a better home in England, which we ourselves hoped to
do later.
IN GLENCOE.
We were fortunate in meeting the owner, with whom we were
delighted to enter into conversation. When we told him of our
adventures, he said we must have missed our way, and congratulated us on
having a fine day, as many persons had lost their lives on those hills
owing to the sudden appearance of clouds. He said a heap of stones we
passed marked the spot where two young men had been found dead. They
were attempting to descend the "Devil's Stair," when the mist came on,
and they wandered about in the frost until, overcome by sleep, they lay
down never to rise again in this world.
He had never been in England, but had done business with
many of the nobility and gentlemen there, of whom several he named
belonged to our own county of Chester. He had heard that the bullocks he
sold to them, after feeding on the rich, pastures of England for a short
time, grew to a considerable size, which we thought was not to be
wondered at, considering the hardships these shaggy-looking creatures
had to battle with in the North. We got some information about our
farther way, not the least important being the fact that there was a
good inn in the Pass of Glencoe; and he advised us to push on, as the
night would soon be coming down.
THE PASS IN GLENCOE.
At the close of day we could just see the outline of a
deep, dark valley which we knew was the Pass of Glencoe, with a good
road, hundreds of feet below. Acting on the advice of the drover, we
left the road and descended cautiously until we could go no farther in
safety; then we collected an enormous number of old roots, the remains
of a forest of birch trees which originally covered the mountain-side,
and with some dry heather lighted an enormous tire, taking care to keep
it within bounds. A small rill trickling down the mountain-side supplied
us with water, and, getting our apparatus to work and some provisions
from our bags, we sat down as happy as kings to partake of our frugal
meal, to the accompaniment of the "cup that cheers but not inebriates,"
waiting for the rising of the full moon to light us on our farther way
to the road below. We were reclining amongst the heather, feeling
thankful to the Almighty that we had not shared the fate of the two
young men whose cairn we had seen on the hills abovean end we might
easily have met, given the weather of yesterday and similar
conditionswhen suddenly we heard voices below us. Our fire now cast a
glare around it, and everything looked quite dark beyond its margin. Our
feelings of surprise increased as from the gloom emerged the gigantic
figures of two stalwart Highlanders. We thought of the massacre of
Glencoe, for these men were nearly double our size; and, like the
Macdonalds, we wondered whether they came as friends or foes, since we
should have fared badly had it been the latter. But they had been
attracted by the light of our fire, and only asked us if we had seen
"the droves." We gave them all the information we could, and then
bidding us "good night" they quietly departed.
"THE SISTERS," GLENCOE.
"Here was wild solitude in earnest.... The scene we looked upon was wild
and rugged, as if convulsed by some frightful cataclysm."
The darkness of the night soon became modified by the
reflected light from the rising moon behind the great hills on the
opposite side of the glen. We extinguished the dying embers of our fire
and watched the full moon gradually appearing above the rocks, flooding
with her glorious light the surrounding scene, which was of the
sublimest grandeur and solitude.
THE RIVER COE, GLENCOE.
Many descriptions of this famous glen have been written,
and no one who could see it under such favourable and extraordinary
conditions as we enjoyed that night would be disposed to dispute the
general opinion of its picturesque and majestic beauty. Surely Nature is
here portrayed in her mightiest form! How grand, and yet how solemn! See
the huge masses of rock rising precipitously on both sides of the glen
and rearing their rugged heads towards the very heavens! Here was wild
solitude in earnest, and not even the cry of the eagle which once, and
even now, had its abode in these vast mountain recesses broke the awful
silence which that night prevailed in the Pass, disturbed only by the
slumberous rippling of water. The scene we looked upon was wild and
rugged, as if convulsed by some frightful cataclysm, and we saw it under
conditions in which Nature conspired to enhance its awfulnessa sight
which few painters could imitate, few writers could graphically
describe. The infidel may deny the existence of the Creator of the
universe, but there was here sufficient to fill the soul with awe and
wonder, and to influence even the sceptic to render acknowledgment to
the great God who framed these majestic hills. The reflection of the
moon on the hills was marvellous, lighting up the white road at the
upper end of the pass and the hills opposite, and casting great black
shadows elsewhere which made the road appear as if to descend and vanish
into Hades. We fancied as we entered the pass that we were descending
into an abyss from which it would be impossible to extricate ourselves;
but we were brought up sharp in our thoughts, for when we reached the
road it suddenly occurred to us that we had forgotten to ask in which
direction we had to turn for the "Clachaig Inn" named by the drover.
We sat down by the roadside in the hope that some one
would come from whom we might obtain the information, and were just
beginning to think it was a forlorn hope when we heard the sound of
horse's feet approaching from the distance. Presently the rider
appeared, who proved to be a cattle-dealer, he told us he had some
cattle out at the foot of the glen, and said the inn was seven miles
away in the direction in which he was going. We asked him if he would
kindly call there and tell them that two travellers were coming who
required lodgings for the night. This he promised to do, and added that
we should find the inn on the left-hand side of the road. We then
started on our seven-mile walk down the Pass of Glencoe in the light of
the full moon shining from a clear sky, and in about an hour's time in
the greatest solitude we were almost startled by the sudden appearance
of a house set back from the left-hand side of the road with forms and
tables spread out on the grass in front. Could this be the inn? It was
on the left-hand side, but we could not yet have walked the distance
named by the cattle-dealer; so we knocked at the door, which was opened
by a queer-looking old man, who told us it was not the inn, but the
shepherd's house, and that the forms and tables in front were for the
use of passengers by the coach, who called there for milk and light
refreshments. Then the mistress, who was more weird-looking still, came
forward, and down the passage we could see other strange-looking people.
The old lady insisted upon our coming in, saying she would make us some
porridge; but my brother, whose nerves seemed slightly unstrung, thought
that we might never come out of the house again alive! We found,
however, that the company improved on closer acquaintance.
The meal was served in two deep bowls, and was so thick
that when our spoons were placed in it on end they stood upright without
any further support, so it was, as the Lancashire people describe it,
proper "thick porridge." We were unable to make much impression on it,
as we had not yet digested the repast we had enjoyed on the hills above,
and the good old lady added to our difficulties by bringing a plentiful
supply of milk. It was the first time we had tasted meal porridge in
Scotland. Needless to say, after paying our hostess for her hospitality,
we were allowed to depart in peace, nor were we molested during the
remainder of our romantic evening walk. After proceeding about two miles
farther amidst some of the most lonely and impressive scenery in the
Highlands, we arrived at the "Clachaig Inn." It was after closing-time,
but as the gentleman on horseback had delivered our message according to
promise, the people of the inn were awaiting our arrival. We received a
friendly welcome, and proceeded to satisfy what remained of a formerly
voracious appetite by a weak attack on the good things provided for
supper, after which, retiring to rest in the two beds reserved for us,
we slept so soundly that in the morning when roused by a six-o'clock
call we could not recall that our dreams had been disturbed even by the
awful massacre enacted at Glencoe, which place was now so near.
(Distance walked thirty miles.)
Saturday, September 30th.
By seven o'clock a.m. we were again on the road bound for
Inverary, which place we were anxious to visit, as it had recently been
the scene of a royal wedding, that of the Princess Louise with the
Marquis of Lorne. The morning was beautifully fine, but there had been a
frost during the night and the grass on the sides of the road was quite
white. The sky was clear, not a cloud being visible as we resumed our
walk down the glen, and in about three miles we reached the village of
Glencoe. Here we heard blasting operations being carried on quite near
our road, and presently we reached the edge of the loch, where there was
a pier and a ferry. We now found that in directing us to Inverary our
friends at the inn had taken it for granted that we wished to go the
nearest way, which was across this ferry, and we were told there were
others to cross before reaching Inverary. We therefore replenished our
stock of provisions at the village shop and turned back up the glen, so
that after seeing it in the light of the full moon the night before we
had now the privilege of seeing it in the glorious sunshine. We walked
on until we got to the shepherd's house where we had been treated to
such a heavy repast of meal porridge the previous evening, and there we
had a substantial meal to fortify us for our farther journey. On our way
up the glen we had passed a small lake at the side of our road, and as
there was not sufficient wind to raise the least ripple on its surface
it formed a magnificent mirror to the mountains on both sides. Several
carts laden with wool had halted by the side of the lake and these also
were reflected on its surface. We considered the view pictured in this
lake to be one of the prettiest sights we had ever seen in the sunshine,
and the small streams flowing down the mountain sides looked very
beautiful, resembling streaks of silver. We compared the scene in
imagination with the changes two months hence, when the streams would be
lines of ice and the mountain roads covered with a surface of frozen
snow, making them difficult to find and to walk upon, and rendering
travelling far less pleasant than on this beautiful morning. We often
thought that we should not have completed our walk if we had undertaken
it at the same period of the year but in the reverse direction, since we
were walking far too late in the season for a journey of this
description. We considered ourselves very fortunate in walking from John
o' Groat's to Land's End, instead of from Land's End to John o' Groat's,
for by the time we finished deep snow might have covered these Northern
altitudes. How those poor women and children must have suffered at the
time of the massacre of Glencoe, when, as Sir Walter Scott writes
flying from their burning huts, and from
their murderous visitors, the half-naked fugitives committed
themselves to a winter morning of darkness, snow, and storm, amidst
a wilderness the most savage in the Western Highlands, having a
bloody death behind them, and before them tempest, famine, and
desolation when some of them, bewildered by the snow-wreaths, sank
in them to rise no more!
BRIDGE OF ORCHY.
They were doubtless ignorant of the danger they were in,
even as they escaped up the glen, practically the only way of escape
from Glencoe, for Duncanson had arranged for four hundred soldiers to be
at the top end of the pass at four o'clock that morning, the hour at
which the massacre was to begin at the other end. Owing to the heavy
fall of snow, however, the soldiers did not arrive until eleven o'clock
in the forenoonlong after the fugitives had reached places of safety.
Like many other travellers before us, we could not resist
passing a bitter malediction on the perpetrators of this cruel wrong,
although they had long since gone to their reward. And yet we are told
that it hastened that amalgamation of the two kingdoms which has been
productive of so much good.
We had our breakfast or lunch served on one of the tables
ranged outside the front of the shepherd's house, and in quite a
romantic spot, whence we walked on to a place which had figured on
mileposts for a long distance named "Kingshouse." Here we expected to
find a village, but as far as we could see there was only one fairly
large house there, and that an inn. What king it was named after did not
appear, but there was no other house in sight. Soon after passing it we
again came in contact with the master cattle-drover we had interviewed
the day before, who told us that he had brought his bullocks from the
Isle of Skye, from which place they had to travel seventy-one miles. We
also passed several other droves, some of which we might have seen
previously, and by nightfall came to Inveroran. Here we saw a
comfortable inn which would have just suited us, but as there was no
church there and the next day was Sunday, we decided to walk to the next
village, about three miles farther on, where we were informed there was
a church, and a drover's house quite near it where we could get
lodgings. By this time it was quite dark, and we passed Loch Tulla
without either seeing it or knowing it was there, and arriving at the
Bridge of Orchy we found the drover's house near the church. To our
great disappointment the accommodation had all been taken up, and the
only place that the lady of the house knew of in the direction we were
going was a farmhouse about four miles away, where she said, with a tone
of doubt in her voice, "we might get in!" We crossed the bridge and
passed over the River Orchy, which connected Loch Tulla with Loch Awe,
some sixteen miles distant.
Fortunately for us the moon now rose, though obscured by
great black clouds, which we could see meant mischief, probably to make
us pay dearly for the lovely weather during the day. But luckily there
was sufficient light to enable us to see the many burns that crossed the
surface of the road, otherwise it would have been impossible for us to
have found our way. The streams were very numerous, and ran into the
river which flowed alongside our road, from among some great hills the
outlines of which we could see dimly to the left. We were tired, and the
miles seemed very long, but the excitement of crossing the rushing
waters of the burns and the noise of the river close by kept us awake.
We began to think we should never reach that farmhouse, and that we had
either missed our way or had been misinformed, when at length we reached
the desired haven at a point where a gate guarded the entrance to the
moor. All was in darkness, but we went to the house and knocked at the
front door. There was no response, so we tried the shutters that
barricaded the lower windows, our knocks disturbing the dogs at the back
of the house, which began to bark and assisted us to waken the
occupants. Presently we heard a sleepy voice behind the shutters, and my
brother explained the object of our visit in a fine flow of language
(for he was quite an orator), including references, as usual, to our
"walking expedition," a favourite phrase of his. As the vehement words
from within sounded more like Gaelic than English, I gathered that his
application for lodgings had not been successful. Tired as I was, I
could not help laughing at the storm we had created, in which the
"walking expedition" man heartily joined. But what were we to do? Here
we were on a stormy night, ten miles from the inn at Dalmally, which for
aught we knew might be the next house, hungry and tired, cold and wet;
and having covered thirty miles that day and thirty miles the day
before, how could we walk a further ten miles? Our track was unfenced
and bounded by the river on one side and the moors on the other, but
presently we came to a place where the surface of the moor rose sharply
and for some distance overhung the road, forming a kind of a cove. Here
we gathered, some of the dry heather that extended under that which
ornamented the sides of the cove, made quite a respectable fire, and ate
our last morsel of food, with which unluckily we were poorly provided.
To add to our misfortune, the wind grew into a hurricane and whirled the
smoke in every direction, forcing us at last to beat a hasty retreat.
We now faced the prospect of a night on the moors, and
resolved to crawl along at a sufficient speed to keep up our
circulation, stopping at the first house we came to. Here again the
subdued light from the moon proved useful, for we had not gone very far
before we saw what appeared to be a small house on the moor about a
hundred yards away. We approached it very cautiously, and found it was a
small hut. How glad we were to see that hut! We struck a light, and at
once began an exploration of the interior, which we found contained a
form, a rustic table reared against the wall, and, better than all, a
fireplace with a chimney above it about a yard high; the door was lying
loose outside the hovel. It may have been a retreat for keepers, though
more likely a shelter for men who had once been employed on the land,
for attached to it was a small patch of land fenced in which looked as
though it had been cultivated. With a few sticks which we found in one
corner and a handful of hay gathered from the floor we lighted a fire,
for we were now becoming experts in such matters; but the smoke seemed
undecided which way it should go, for at one minute it went up the
chimney, at another it came down. We went outside and altered the
chimney a little, for it was only formed of loose stones, and thus
effected an improvement for a time. The door gave us the most trouble,
since being loose we had the greatest difficulty in keeping it in its
proper position, for the wind was now blowing hardso much so that we
thought at times that the hut itself would be blown over. At last a
tremendous gust came, and down went the chimney altogether. The fire and
smoke now made towards the doorway, so that we had frequently to step
outside in order to get a breath of fresh air. We tried to build the
chimney up again, but this was impossible owing to the velocity of the
wind and rain and the exposed situation. Our slender supply of fuel was
nearly exhausted, which was the worst feature, as it was imperative that
we should keep ourselves warm; so we decided to go back towards the
river, where we had seen a few small trees or bushes lining the bank
between our track and the water. Luckily, however, we discovered a dead
tree inside the enclosed land, and as I was somewhat of an expert at
climbing, I "swarmed" up it and broke off all the dead branches I could
reach with safety, it being as much as I could do to retain my hold on
the slippery trunk of the tree.
With the dead wood and some heather and pieces of turf we
returned laden and wet through to our dug-out, where we managed to get
our fire burning again and to clear away some of the stones that had
fallen upon it. Still there was no sleep for us that night, which was
the most miserable one almost that we ever experienced.
But just fancy the contrast! In the dead of night, in a
desolate Highland glen, scaling a stone fence in a pitiless storm of
wind and rain, and climbing up a dead tree to break off a few branches
to serve as fuel for a most obstinate firesuch was the reality; and
then picture, instead of this, sitting before a good fire in a
comfortable inn, with a good supper, and snug apartments with every
accommodationthese had been our fond anticipations for the week-end! We
certainly had a good supply of wet fuel, and perhaps burned something
else we ought not to have done: but we were really prisoners for the
night. The merciless wind and rain raged throughout, and we had to stick
to our novel apartment and breathe until daylight the awful smoke from
the fire we were compelled to keep alight. Yet our spirits were not
entirely damped, for we found ourselves in the morning, and often during
the night, singing the refrain of an old song:
We'll stand the storm, it won't be long;
Just occasionally the gloom thickened when we ventured to
think of details, among which came uppermost the great question, "Where
and when shall we get our breakfast?"
(Distance walked, including that to Dalmally, forty
miles.)
Sunday, October 1st.
Soon after daylight appeared the rain moderated, and so
did the wind, which now seemed to have exhausted itself. Our sleep, as
may easily be imagined, had been of a very precarious and fitful
character; still the hut had rendered substantial service in sheltering
us from the fury of the storm. Soon after leaving our sorry shelter we
saw a white house standing near the foot of a hill beyond the moor, and
to this we resolved to go, even though it was a long distance away, as
it was now imperative that we should obtain food. A knock at the door,
more than once repeatedfor it was still very earlyat last roused the
mistress of the house, who opened the door and with kindly sympathy
listened to our tale of woe. She at once lit the fire, while the other
members of the family were still asleep in the room, and found us some
soap and water, our hands and faces being as black as smoke and burnt
sticks could make them. After a good wash we felt much better and
refreshed, although still very sleepy. She then provided us with some
hot milk and oatcake, and something we had never tasted before, which
she called "seath." It proved to be a compound of flour and potatoes,
and after our long fast it tasted uncommonly good. Altogether we had an
enormous breakfast, the good wife waiting upon us meanwhile in what we
supposed was the costume common to the Highlandsin other words, minus
her gown, shoes, and stockings. We rewarded her handsomely and thanked
her profusely as she directed us the nearest way to Dalmally.
On arrival at the well-appointed inn there, we received
every attention, and retired to our bedrooms, giving strict orders to
the waiter to see that we were called in time for lunch, and for the
English service at the kirk, which he told us would be held that day
between one and two o'clock. In accordance with our instructions we were
called, but it was not surprising, after walking quite forty miles since
Saturday at daybreak, that we should be found soundly sleeping when the
call came.
Lunch was waiting for us, and, after disposing of it as
hungry folk should, we went to Glenorchy Church, only to find that,
unfortunately, there was no service that day. The minister, who had
charge of two parishes, was holding a service at his other church, seven
miles distant up the glen! We therefore hurried to the Free Kirk, which
stood in another part of the village; but as the Gaelic service had been
taken at one o'clock and the English service followed it immediately
afterwards, the minister had already begun his sermon when we arrived.
The door was shut, so entering quietly and closing it behind us, we were
astonished to find a table in the vestibule with a plate exposing to our
view a large number of coins evidently the result of the collection from
the worshippers within. We were surprised at the large proportion of
silver coins, an evidence that the people had given liberally. We added
our mites to the collection, while we wondered what would have become of
the money if left in a similar position in some districts we could think
of farther south. We were well pleased with the sermon, and as the
congregation dispersed we held a conversation and exchanged views with
one of the elders of the church chiefly on the subject of collections.
He explained that the prevailing practice in the Scottish Churches was
for the collection to be takenor rather givenon entering the House of
God, and that one or two of the deacons generally stood in the vestibule
beside the plate. We told him it was the best way of taking a collection
that we had ever seen, since it did not interrupt or interfere with the
service of the church, and explained the system adopted in the churches
in England.
In our youthful days collections were only made in church
on special occasions, and for such purposes as the support of Sunday
schools and Missionary Societies. The churchwardens collected the money
in large and deep wooden boxes, and the rattle of the coins as they were
dropped into the boxes was the only sound we could hear, for the
congregation remained seated in a deep and solemn silence, which we in
our youthful innocence thought was because their money was being taken
away from them.
In later years brass plates were substituted for boxes in
some churches, and each member of the congregation then seemed to vie
with his neighbours for the honour of placing the most valuable coin on
the plate. The rivalry, however, did not last long, and we knew one
church where this custom was ended by mutual arrangement. The hatchet
was buried by substituting bags, attached, in this case, to the end of
long sticks, to enable the wardens to reach the farthest end of the pews
when necessary.
This system continued for some time, but when collections
were instituted at each service and the total result had to be placarded
on the outside of the church door, with the numbers and total value of
each class of coin recorded separately, the wardens sometimes found a
few items in the bags which were of no monetary value, and could not be
classified in the list without bringing scandal to the church and
punishment to the, perhaps youthful, offenders; so the bags were
withdrawn and plates reinstated, resulting in an initial increase of 10
per cent, in the amount collected.
The church was a large one, and a great number of ladies
attended it on Sundays, their number being considerably augmented by the
lady students from the Collegiate Institutions in the town, who sat in a
portion of the church specially reserved for them.
The Rector of the parish was an elderly man and an
eloquent preacher, who years before had earned his reputation in London,
where in a minor capacity he had been described by Charles Dickens as
the model East End curate.
Eight gentlemen were associated with him as wardens and
sidesmen, all well-known men in the town, one of whom being specially
known for the faultless way in which he was dressed and by his beautiful
pink complexionthe presence of the light hair on his face being
scarcely discernible, and giving him the appearance of being endowed
with perpetual youth. His surname also was that of the gentleman for
whom all young ladies are supposed to be waiting, so it was not to be
wondered at that he was a general favourite with them, and that some
slight feeling of jealousy existed among his colleagues. It was part of
their duties to collect the offerings from the congregation, and
afterwards assemble at the west end of the church, marching two and two
in military step to the east end to hand their collections to the
clergyman who stood there waiting to receive them.
One Sunday morning, when the favourite collector reached
that end of the church where most of the young ladies were located, he
was surprised to notice that all of them received him with a smile as he
handed them the plate. Several of them actually went so far as to
incline their heads slightly, as if adding a nod to their smiles. He
thought at first that they were amused at something connected with his
new suit of clothesof which, by the way, he was quite proudbut a hasty
examination of his person from collar downwards showed everything to be
in perfect order. He felt annoyed and very uncomfortable when the ladies
continued to smile as he visited each pew, without his being able to
ascertain the reason why, and he was greatly relieved when he got away
from them to rejoin his colleagues. As he was advancing with them up the
centre of the church his eye chanced to rest for a moment on the
contents of his plate, and there, to his horror, he saw a large white
mint-drop about the size of a half-crown, which had been placed face
upwards bearing the words printed in clear red letters, "WILL YOU MARRY
ME?" Then he understood why the young ladies smiled and nodded
acceptance so pleasantly that morning, for, unconsciously, he had been
"popping the question" all round; although inquired into at the time,
the mystery of the mint-drop was never satisfactorily solved.
A gentleman to whom we told this story said it reminded
him of another of what he called a "swell"a fine young fellow, with
apparently more money than sensewho dropped into a country church for
service and was shown into the squire's pew. The squire was old and of
fixed habits. After settling in his seat he drew out his half-crown as
usual and placed it on the ledge in front. His companion pulled out a
sovereign and ostentatiously put it on the ledge too. The squire stared
hard at him and soon reckoned him up. He then placed a second half-crown
on the first, and the stranger produced a second sovereign. Five times
was this repeated during the service. At last the churchwarden brought
his brass plate, which the squire gravely took and held out to his
neighbour, who swept the five sovereigns on to it in a very grand
manner. The squire picked up one half-crown for the plate and, with a
twinkle in his eye, returned the rest to his pocket!
Since the days of King David singing has always been
considered a most valuable aid in the offering up of prayers and praises
to the Almighty, and nothing sounded better in our ears than the hearty
singing of a good old hymn by the entire congregation. But why this
period in the Church Service should have been chosen in later years as a
suitable time for the wardens to disturb the harmony and thoughts of the
parishioners by handing round their collection plates was beyond our
comprehension. The interruption caused by that abominable practice often
raised unchristian-like feelings in our minds, and we wished at times
that the author of it, whoever he might be, could be brought to the
gallows and publicly hanged for his services; for why should our
devotions be disturbed by the thought that at any moment during the
singing of a hymn the collector might suddenly appear on the scene,
possibly sneaking up from the rear like a thief in the night, to the
annoyance of every one within reach? If the saving of time is the
object, why not reduce the length of the sermon, which might often be
done to advantage? or, failing that, why not adopt the system which
prevailed in the Scottish Churches?
DUNCAN-BANN-MACINTYRE'S MONUMENT.
The elder of the Free Kirk at Dalmally was much
interested in what we told him about our English Services, where the
congregations both prayed and sang in positions differing from those
adopted in Scotland, and to continue the conversation he walked with us
as far as Dalmally Bridge, where we parted company. We then continued on
our way to visit a monument erected on a hill we could see in the
distance "to the memory of Duncan-Bann-Macintyre, the Glenorchy poet,
who was born in the year 1724 and departed this life in 1812"; and,
judging from the size of the monument, which was in the style of a
Grecian temple in grey granite and inscribed to the memory of the
"Sweetest and Purest of Gaelic Bards," he must have been a man of
considerable importance. From that point we had a fine view of Loch Awe,
perhaps the finest obtainable, for although it is above twenty miles
long, the lake here, in spite of being at its greatest breadth, appeared
almost dwarfed into a pool within the mighty mass of mountains with
lofty Ben Cruachan soaring steeply to the clouds, and forming a majestic
framework to a picture of surpassing beauty. The waters of the lake
reflected the beauties of its islands and of its mountainous banks.
These islands all had their own history or clan legend and were full of
mysteries. Inishail, once a nunnery, and for ages the burying-place of
the clan chieftains; Innischonell, from the eleventh century the
stronghold of the Argyll, whence they often sent forth their famous
slogan or defiant war-cry, "It's a far cry to Lochawe"; Fraoch Eilean,
where the hero Fraoch slew and was himself slain by the serpent that
guarded the apples for which the fair Mego longed.
We then retraced our steps slowly to the Dalmally inn,
where we were served with tea in the sumptuous manner common to all
first-class inns in the Highlands of Scotland, after which we retired to
rest, bent on making good the sleep we had lost and on proceeding on our
journey early the following morning.
THIRD WEEKS JOURNEY
Monday, October 2nd.
KILCHURN CASTLE AND LOCH AWE.
We left our comfortable quarters at Dalmally at seven
o'clock in the morning, and presently reached Loch Awe, with the poet's
monument still in sight and some islands quite near to us in the loch.
We soon left Loch Awe, turning off when we reached Cladich and striking
over the hills to the left. After walking about two miles all uphill, we
reached the summit, whence we had a fine backward view of Loch Awe,
which from this point appeared in a deep valley with its sides nicely
wooded. Here we were in the neighbourhood of the Cruachan mountains, to
which, with Loch Awe, a curious tradition was attached that a
supernatural being named "Calliach Bhere," or "The Old Woman," a kind of
female genie, lived on these high mountains. It was said that she could
step in a moment with ease from one mountain to another, and, when
offended, she could cause the floods to descend from the mountains and
lay the whole of the low ground perpetually under water. Her ancestors
were said to have lived from time immemorial near the summit of the vast
mountain of Cruachan, and to have possessed a great number of herds in
the vale below. She was the last of her line, and, like that of her
ancestors, her existence was bound up with a fatal fountain which lay in
the side of her native hill and was committed to the charge of her
family since it first came into existence. It was their duty at evening
to cover the well with a large flat stone, and in the morning to remove
it again. This ceremony was to be performed before the setting and the
rising of the sun, that its last beam might not die upon nor its first
ray shine upon the water in the well. If this care were neglected, a
fearful and mysterious doom would be the punishment. When the father of
the Calliach Bhere died, he committed the charge to her, warning her of
its importance and solemnity and the fatality attending its neglect. For
many years this mysterious woman attended carefully to her duties, but
one unlucky evening, tired with her exertions in hunting and ascending
the hills, she sat down by the fountain to await the setting of the sun,
and falling asleep, did not awake until morning. When she arose she
looked around, but the vale had vanished and a great sheet of water
taken its place. The neglected well had overflowed while she slept, the
glen was changed into a lake, the hills into islets, and her people and
cattle had perished in the deluge. The Calliach took but one look over
the ruin she had caused, and all that remained of her large possessions
in the glen was Loch Awe and its islands! Then she herself vanished into
oblivion.
It is strange how these old stories are told with but
little variation in so many places. This very story appears in Wales and
Ireland and other regions where Celts predominate, and except in one
instance, that of the destruction of the Lowland Hundreds, now under the
water of Cardigan Bay, always in connection with a woman. We first heard
it in Shropshire, but there it was an old woman who lived in a small
cottage and possessed the only well in the place, charging the
townspeople one farthing per bucket for the water. In those remote times
this formed a great tax on the poor people, and many were the prayers
offered up that the imposition might be removed. These prayers were
answered, for one night a great storm arose, the well continued to
overflow, and in the morning the old woman and her cottage had
disappeared, and in place of the well appeared the beautiful Lake of
Ellesmere.
INVERARY CASTLE.
We had a fine walk down Glen Aray, with the River Aray on
the left for some distance to keep us company, and after about four
miles' walking we came to a ladder inserted in a high stone wall to the
left of our road, which was here covered with trees. My brother climbed
up to see what was on the other side, and reported that there was a
similar ladder in the wall for descent, that he could see the river
rushing down the rocks, and that a pretty little pathway ran under the
trees alongside the stream. We had not met a single person since leaving
the neighbourhood of Cladich, and as there was no one about from whom to
make inquiries, we took "French leave" and climbed over the fence, to
see at once a pretty waterfall and to follow a lovely path for a mile or
two until it landed us in one of the main drives from Inverary Castle.
Here we stopped to consider whether we should proceed or retreat, for we
were sure we had been trespassing. My brother reminded me of an
experience that occurred to us in the previous year in London. Before we
began our walk home from that great city we visited as many of the
sights of London as we could, and amongst these was the famous Tower. We
had passed through the Gateway, but were then uncertain how to proceed,
when, peeping round a corner, we saw a man dressed in a very
strange-looking uniform, whom we afterwards learned was called a
"Beef-eater." We approached him rather timidly to make inquiries, to
which he kindly replied, but told us afterwards that he knew we were
Englishmen the minute he saw us coming round the corner. Foreigners in
coming through the gateway always walked firmly and quickly, while the
English came creeping along and looking round the corners as if they
were afraid. "My advice to you, young men," he said, "when visiting
strange places, is to go on until you are stopped!" So on this occasion
we decided to follow that advice and to go on towards the castle we
could see in the distance. We had not proceeded very far, however,
before we met a couple of two-horse open carriages followed by quite a
number of persons on horseback. Feeling rather guilty, we stepped upon
the grass by the roadside, and tried to look as if we were not there,
but we could see that we had been observed by the occupants of the
carriages and by their retinue. We knew from their appearance that they
belonged to the aristocracy, and were not surprised to learn that the
second carriage contained the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, while the
people on horseback were the younger members of their family. We had
almost reached the castle when we were stopped by a servant in livery,
to whom we explained the cause of our presence, asking him the nearest
way to Inverary, which he pointed out. He told us, among other things,
that the Duke could drive many miles in his own domain, and that his
family consisted of thirteen children, all of whom were living. We
thanked him, and as we retired along the road he had directed us, we
considered we had added one more adventure to enliven us on our journey.
We had only walked a little way from the castle when a lady came across
the park to speak to us, and told us that the cannon and the large
wooden structure we could see in the park had been used for the "spree"
at the royal wedding, when the Marquis of Lome, the eldest son of the
Duke, had been married to the Princess Louise of England. She also told
us that the Princess and the Marquis had been staying at the castle a
short time before, but were not there then. Who the lady was we did not
know, but she was of fine appearance and well educated, and from her
conversation had evidently travelled extensively both at home and
abroad. We thanked her for her courage and courtesy in coming to speak
to us, at which she smiled and, bowing gracefully, retired towards the
castle. How her conduct compared with that of some people in England may
be judged from the following extract which we clipped from a Scottish
newspaper shortly afterwards:
A War Office clerk was riding outside
the Oban coach from Inverary. A fellow-passenger at his side
remarked, "What a glorious view! what a lovely scene!" to which the
young gentleman of the War Office, with a strong glance at the
speaker, replied, "Sir, I don't know you; we have not been
introduced."
It was a fine afternoon, and Inverary town looked at its
best and quite pleasant in the sunshine, for most of the houses were
coloured white. We halted awhile at the picturesque sculptured cross,
where many a weary pilgrim had rested before us, with a glorious view
over Loch Fyne and the mountains beyond. The church stood at the end of
the street, and the "Argyll Arms Hotel" would have been a fine place to
stay at for the night. There was also quite a large temperance hotel
where carriages could be hired; but we had only walked about sixteen
miles, so we had to resist these attractions and walk on to Cairndow, a
further distance of ten miles.
INVERARY CROSS
Loch Fyne, along the edge of which our road ran all the
way to Cairndow, is tidal and about two miles wide at Inverary. We were
now on the opposite side of the castle grounds, and could see another
entrance gate, which had been decorated for the royal wedding. Fine
woods bounded our road on the left until we reached the round hill of
Duniquaich, where it turned rather abruptly until at Strone Point it was
nearly opposite Inverary. From this place we had a magnificent view of
the district we had just passed through; the splendid castle with its
grey walls and the lofty tower on the wooded hill adjoining it
contrasted finely with the whitened houses of the town of Inverary, as
it stood in the light of the setting sun. We journeyed on alongside the
loch, when as the shades of evening were coming on we met a young man
and a young woman apparently in great distress. They told us they had
crossed the loch in a small boat to look for ferns, and as the tide was
going out had thought they might safely leave their boat on the side of
the loch, but when they returned they could not find it anywhere. They
seemed to have been equally unsuccessful with regard to the ferns, as we
could not see any in their possession, but we guessed they had other
interests, so we went to their assistance and soon found the boat, which
doubtless was in the place where they had left it. The tide must have
receded farther than they had anticipated, and they had looked for it
too near the water. We assisted them to launch the boat, and when they
were safely seated the young woman, who had looked far more alarmed than
her companion, smiled upon us sweetly. In response to their looks and
words of thanks we wished them a pleasant and safe journey; but we never
saw any ferns! Our conversation as we resumed our walk was largely upon
this adventure, and we wondered if the ferns could not have been found
as easily on the other side of the loch as on thisbut then we knew that
Love is proverbially blind, and we consigned this fern story to the
region of our mythological remembrances, and were still in good humour
and not too tired when we reached the Cairndow inn, where we were
hospitably, sumptuously, and we could safely add, when we paid the bill
next morning, expensively entertained. But was this partly accounted for
by the finely flavoured herrings known as Loch Fyne kippers we had for
breakfast, which were said to fetch a higher price than any others in
Scotland?
(Distance walked twenty-five miles.)
Tuesday, October 3rd.
We left Cairndow early in the morning, and soon
afterwards turned away from Loch Fyne to ascend a rough and lonely road
leading towards Loch Long, about eight miles distant. It was a cold,
bleak, and showery morning as we travelled along Glen Kinglas against a
strong head wind, which greatly impeded our progress. On reaching the
top of the glen, we came to the small Loch Restil, reposing at the foot
of a mountain the summit of which was 2,955 feet above sea-level. The
only persons we had seen on our way up the glen were two shepherds on
the slope of one of the hills some distance from our road; but now we
came to two men mending the road, in which great holes had been caused
by the heavy rainfall. We chatted with them, and they told us that a
little farther on we should come to "The Rest." Though it may seem a
trifling matter to record, we were very glad to see those two men, as
our way had been excessively lonely and depressing, for the pass only
reached about 900 feet at its crown, while the great hills which
immediately adjoined the road on either side rose to an altitude of from
2,500 to 3,300 feet! When we arrived at "The Rest" we found a rock on
which were inscribed the words "Rest and be Thankful," while another
inscription informed us that "This is a Military Road repaired by the
93rd Regiment in 1768." We thought that at one time there must have been
a stone placed there, to do duty as a travellers' rest, where weary
travellers might "Rest and be Thankful," but nothing of the kind existed
now except the surface of the road on which we were walking. On reaching
a short stiff rise, followed by a sharp double bend in the road, we
passed the entrance of a track leading down to "Hell's Glen"; but if
this glen was any worse than Glen Kinglas which we had just ascended, or
Glen Croe which we now descended, it must have been a very dreadful
place indeed. Fortunately for us, the weather began to improve, and
before we reached Loch Long with its lofty ramparts the sun shone out in
all its matchless glory and lighted up not only the loch but the whole
of the amphitheatre formed by the lofty hills that surrounded it. A
passenger steamboat plying on the bosom of the loch lent additional
interest to the scene, and the combined view quite cheered our drooping
spirits. The change, both as regarded scenery and atmosphere, between
this side of the pass and the other was really marvellous, reminding us
of the contrast between winter and summer. The sight of the numerous
little waterfalls flowing over the rocks above to contribute their quota
to the waters of the loch below was quite refreshing. One of the great
hills we had passed without being able to see its summitfor it was
quite near our roadwas the well-known Ben Arthur, 2,891 feet high,
commonly spoken of either as "The Cobbler" or "The Cobbler and his
Wife." It was not until we had got some distance away that our attention
was called to it. We walked round the head of Loch Long and crossed a
bridge, some words on the iron fixtures informing us that we were now
passing from Argyllshire into Dumbartonshire. The coping on the bridge
was of fresh, neatly clipped grass instead of the usual stonework we
expected to find, and looked very remarkable; we saw nothing like it on
our further travels.
"REST AND BE THANKFUL," GLEN CROE.
We asked a gentleman who was standing in the road about
the various objects of interest in the neighbourhood. Pointing to Ben
Arthur in the distance, he very kindly tried to explain the curious
formation of the rocks at the summit and to show us the Cobbler and his
Wife which they were said to represent. We had a long argument with him,
and although he explained that the Cobbler was sitting down, for the
life of us we could not distinguish the form either of him or of his
Wife. We could see that he considered we were very stupid for not being
able to see objects so plain to himself; and when my brother asked him
jocularly for the third time which was the Cobbler and which was his
Wife, he became very angry and was inclined to quarrel with us. We
smoothed him down as well as we could by saying that we now thought we
could see some faint resemblance to the objects referred to, and he
looked as if he had, as the poet says, "cleared from thick films of vice
the visual ray."
"THE COBBLER," FROM ARROCHAR.
We thanked him kindly for all the trouble he had taken,
and concluded, at first, that perhaps we were not of a sufficiently
imaginative temperament or else not in the most favourable position for
viewing the outlines. But we became conscious of a rather strong smell
of whisky which emanated from our loquacious friend, from which fact we
persuaded ourselves that he had been trying to show us features visible
only under more elevated conditions. When we last saw him he was still
standing in the road gazing at the distant hills, and probably still
looking at the Cobbler and his Wife.
I asked my brother, as we walked along, why he put his
question in that particular form: "Which is the Cobbler and which is his
Wife?" He told me he was thinking of a question so expressed many years
ago, long before revolving pictures were thought of, and when pictures
of any kind were very scarce. A fair was being held in the country, and
a showman was exhibiting pictures which were arranged in a row alongside
his booth or van in such a way that his customers could pass from one
picture to another and which they could see by looking through slightly
magnifying glasses placed in pairs, one to fit each eye after the
fashion of a pair of spectacles. Before the show stood a number of small
boys who would have been pleased to have a peep at the pictures if they
could have raised the money. Just at that moment a mother with her two
little girls appeared, and when the children came near the show, one of
them called out, "Oh, Ma! may we see the peep-shows? It's only a penny!"
whereupon the mother took out her purse and handed each of the little
girls a penny. When the showman saw them approaching, he shouted angrily
to the small boys who were blocking the entrance; "Get away, you little
ragged rascals that have no money," and then he added in a much milder
tone, "and let the little dears come up what's a-going to pay." When the
children reached the first peep-show, he said: "Now, my little dears,
look straight forwards, blow your noses, and don't breathe upon the
glass! Here you see the combat between the Scotch Lion, Wallace, and the
English Bulldogs, for eight hundred guineas a side, while the spectators
are a-looking on in the most facetious manner. Here you see the lion has
got his paws on one of the dogs whilst he is whisking out the eyes of
another with his tail!"
The little girls could see a picture but could not quite
make out what it was, so one of them called out: "Please, Mr. Showman,
which is the lion and which is the dogs?" and he said: "Oh! whichever
you please, my little dears, and the likes was never seen, and all for
the small sum of one penny!"
My brother said that when he asked the gentleman which
was the Cobbler and which was his Wife he would not have been surprised
if he had said angrily, "Whichever you please," and had walked away,
since he seemed in a very irritable frame of mind.
Since those "good old times" the character of these
country fairs has changed entirely, and we no longer sing the old
ballad:
Oh yes, I own 'tis my delight
To see the laughter and the
fright
In such a motley, merry sight
Boys on mamma's treacle fed,
On spicy cakes and
gingerbread.
On everybody's toes they
tread
The village of Arrochar stood in a very pleasant
position, at the head of Loch Long amid scenery of the loftiest and most
varied description. Illuminated as it was by the magic rays of the sun,
we thought it would compare favourably with any other watering-place in
the Highlands, and was just the spot to offer irresistible temptations
to those who required a short respite from the more busy scenes of life.
LOCH LOMOND FROM INVERSNAID.
We were in high spirits and inclined to speak to every
one we saw, so, when we met a boy, we asked him if he had seen a cow on
the road, to which he replied, rather seriously, that he had not. We
thought afterwards that we had laid ourselves open to a reply like that
given by the Orkneyman at Stromness, for the loss of a cow in Scotland
was looked upon as a very serious matter, but we escaped for a time.
Shortly afterwards, however, we saw a vehicle approaching in the
distance labelled "Royal Mail," and then another vehicle, similarly
marked, passed us from the opposite direction, in which we noticed the
boy we had just seen. When the two conveyances met, they stopped and a
number of bags were transferred from the one conveyance to the other, so
that it was obvious that they were exchanging their sacks of letters.
When we came up to them, the driver of the one that had overtaken us
asked if we had lost a cow, and when we answered "No," he said, "But
didn't you ask the boy there if he had seen one on the road?" When we
answered "Yes," and it was found to be all a joke, there was a general
laugh all round, which was joined in heartily by the boy himself, for he
had evidently got a ride on the strength of the story of the lost cow.
We observed that the cart that overtook us had two horses, whilst that
we met had only one, so we conjectured that our further way would be
comparatively level, and this we afterwards found to be correct. The boy
did not altogether miss his opportunity, for when we had reached, as he
thought, a safe distance, we heard him shout: "Ask your mother when you
get home if she has
seen a cow!"but perhaps "two calves" would have been nearer the mark.
We had a lovely two-mile walk between Arrochar and Tarbet,
with a magnificent view of Loch Lomond on our way; while before us,
across the loch, stood Ben Lomond, a mountain which rises to the height
of 3,192 feet above sea-level.
The scene was one that cannot properly be describedthe
blue waters, of the loch, with the trees beyond, and behind them this
magnificent mountain, its top covered with pure white snow, and the sun
shining on all, formed a picture beautiful beyond description, which
seemed to lift our hearts and minds from the earth to the blue heavens
above, and our thoughts to the great Almighty Who is in all and over all
in that "land of pure delight where saints immortal reign."
LOCH LOMOND AND THE BEN.
Our road now skirted the banks of Loch Lomond, the
largest fresh-water lake in Scotland or England, being twenty-four miles
long and five miles in width at its broadest point, and containing over
twenty islands, some of which we saw. At the hotel where we called for
tea it was thus described:
Loch Lomond is the paragon of Scottish
lakes. In island beauty unrivalled, for all that forms romance is
herescenery varying and increasing in loveliness, matchless
combinations of grandeur and softness united, forming a magic land
from which poesy and painting have caught their happiest
inspirations. Islands of different forms and magnitude. Some are
covered with the most luxuriant wood of every different tint; but
others show a beautiful intermixture of rock and coppicessome, like
plains of emerald, scarcely above the level of the water, are
covered with grass; and others, again, are bare rocks, rising into
precipices and destitute of vegetation.
Scotland has produced many men mighty in mind as well as
in body, and their ideas have doubtless been enlarged not only by their
advanced system of education, but by the great things which have
surrounded themthe great rocks and the great waters. So long as these
qualities are turned in a good direction, all goes well, but when in a
bad one like the "facilis descensus" described in George Cruikshank's
great picture "The Worship of Bacchus," then all goes badly. An
illustration of these large ideas turned to a bad account appeared in a
story we read of a degenerate son of the North to whom the gods had
granted the fulfilment of three wishes: First, he would have a Loch
Lomond of whisky; secondly, a Ben Lomond of snuff; thirdly, (with some
hesitation) another Loch Lomond of whisky.
We did not attempt the ascent of Ben Lomond, as our
experiences of mountain climbing hitherto had not been very encouraging.
Nor did we require the aid of those doubtful articles so ardently
desired by the degenerate Scot as we walked along the good road,
sheltered with trees, that lay alongside Loch Lomond, with the slopes of
the high hills to the right and to the left, the great loch with its
lovely islands backed by the mountains beyond.
Tarbet, which we soon left behind us, was notorious as
the port of Magnus the Norseman, whose followers dragged their boats
there from the sea to harry the islands whither so many of the natives
had fled for safety.
Ninnius, writing in the eighth century, tells of the
great King Arthur, who defeated the Scots and drove them for refuge to
Loch Lomond, "in which there were sixty islands and sixty rocks, and on
each an eagle's nest. Every first of May they came together, and from
the sound of their voices the men of that country knew what should
befall during the coming year. And sixty rivers fell into this
remarkable lake, but only one river ran from the lake to the sea." The
exactness of every point rather amused us, for of course the invincible
Arthur, like all other mythological heroes, must ever succeed, and he
soon cleared the Scots from their stronghold.
Sir Walter Scott has made this district famous, and we
could have lingered long in the region of the Trossachs, and should have
been delighted to see Loch Katrine, close by, which the "Lady of the
Lake" had rendered so familiar, but time is a hard taskmaster and we had
to be content with what Loch Lomond provided for us.
We therefore hurried on, and eventually reached the
lovely little village of Luss, where, as we entered, we were welcomed by
the warbling of a robin singing out right merrily, as if to announce our
arrival. Our first impression soon told us that Luss was well patronised
by visitors and by artists ever on the alert for scenery such as here
abounded. It was quite an English-looking village, with a small quarry,
not as extensively worked as formerly, we were informed, for only about
twenty men were now employed.
Before proceeding farther we called for refreshments, and
learned that a steamboat called periodically at Luss. We left this
favourite resort by the Dumbarton road, walking alongside Loch
Lomondone of the finest walks we ever took and quite baffling
description. It was rather provoking, therefore, when darkness came on
just as we reached the widest part of the Loch where quite a number of
islands could be seen. The road still continued beautiful, being arched
over with trees in some places, with the stars shining brightly above.
Luss, we learned, had its place in history as the home of
the Colquhouns, whose feud with the MacGregors led to such murderous
results. But perhaps its associations with Robert Bruce in his days of
adversity form its greater claim to fame, and the yews on Inch Lonaig,
just above, are said to have been planted by him to supply his bowmen.
Before we reached the end of the loch we turned on the
Dumbarton road, following the road for Helensburgh, as we wanted to see
the River Clyde. This road was fairly level, but about two miles from
Helensburgh it rose to an elevation of about 300 feet. On reaching the
top, we saw a sight which fairly startled us, for a great stretch of
water suddenly and unexpectedly came in view, and across its surface we
could see hundreds of gas lights, twinkling like stars in the darkness.
We found afterwards that they were those of the town of Greenock, on the
other side of the Clyde Estuary, which was some five or six miles across
this, its widest part. We considered this was one of the greatest sights
of our journey, and one well worth while climbing the hill to see. It
must, however, be noted that these were the first gas lights we had seen
for what seemed to us to be ages. We went straight to the Temperance
Hotel, which had been closed for the night, but we gained admission and
found comfortable quarters there.
(Distance walked thirty-one miles.)
Wednesday, October 4th.
We had pictured Helensburgh, from its name, as a very old
town, and were rather surprised when we discovered that it was only
founded at the close of the eighteenth century, by Sir James Colquhoun,
who named the place after his wife, the Lady Helen Sutherland. At the
time of our visit it was a favourite resort of visitors from across the
Clyde and elsewhere. We were unable to explore the town and its
environs, owing to a dense mist or fog which had accumulated during the
night; and this probably accounted for our sleeping longer than usual,
for it was quite nine o'clock before we left Helensburgh on our way to
Dumbarton. If the atmosphere had been clear, we should have had fine
views of Greenock, Port Glasgow, Roseneath Castle, the residence of the
Marquis of Lorne, and other places of interest across the Clyde, and of
the ships passing up and down the river. As it was, we had to be content
with listening to the busy sounds of labour and the thuds of the steam
hammers in the extensive shipbuilding yards across the water, and the
ominous sounds of the steam-whistles from the ships, as they ploughed
their way along the watery tracks on the Clyde. We were naturally very
much disappointed that we had to pass along this road under such
unfavourable conditions, but, as the mist cleared a little, we could
just discern the outlines of one or two of the steamboats as we neared
Dumbarton. The fields alongside our road were chiefly devoted to the
growth of potatoes, and the fine agricultural land reminded us of
England. We stayed to speak with one of the farmers, standing at his
gate, and he told us that he sent potatoes to the Manchester market,
which struck us with surprise because of the great distance. We also
stayed awhile, just before entering Dumbarton, as there had been a
slight railway accident, probably owing to the fog, and the officials,
with a gang of men, were making strenuous efforts to remove the remains
of a truck which had come to grief. We were walking into the town quite
unconscious of the presence of the castle, and were startled at its
sudden appearance, as it stood on an isolated rock, rising almost
perpendicularly to the height of about 300 feet, and we could only just
see its dim outline appearing, as it were, in the clouds. We left it for
future inspection and, as it was now twelve o'clock, hurried into the
town for a noon dinner, for which we were quite ready.
As a sample of the brief way in which the history of an
important town can be summarised, we give the following extract:
Dumbarton, immortalised by Osian,
possessed in turns by first Edward and John Balliol, the prison of
William Wallace, and the scene of that unavailing remorse which
agonised the bosom of his betrayer (a rude sculpture within the
castle represents Sir John Monteith in an attitude of despair,
lamenting his former treachery), captured by Bruce, unsuccessfully
besieged by the fourth Edward, reduced by the Earl of Argyll,
surprised, while in false security, by the daring of a bold soldier,
Captain Crawford, resided in by James V, visited by that fair and
erring Queen, the "peerless Mary," and one of the four castles kept
up by the Act of Union.
And we have been told that it was the birthplace of
Taliesin, the early poet of the Celts, and Gildas their historian.
In former times the castle of Dumbarton was looked upon
as one of the strongest places in the world, and, rising precipitously
from the level plain, it appeared to us to be quite impregnable. Captain
Crawford's feat in capturing this castle equals anything else of the
kind recorded in history. In the time of Queen Elizabeth of England,
when a quarrel was raging in Scotland between the partisans of King
James and his mother Queen Mary, and when even the children of the towns
and villages formed themselves into bands and fought with sticks,
stones, and even knives for King James or Queen Mary, the castle of
Dumbarton was held for the Queen; but a distinguished adherent of the
King, one Captain Crawford of Jordanhill, resolved to make an attempt to
take it. There was only one access to the castle, approached by 365
steps, but these were strongly guarded and fortified. The captain took
advantage of a misty and moonless night to bring his scaling-ladders to
the foot of the rock at the opposite side, where it was the most
precipitous, and consequently the least guarded by the soldiers at the
top. The choice of this side of the rock was fortunate, as the first
ladder broke with the weight of the men who attempted to climb it, and
the noise of the fall must have betrayed them if they had been on the
other and more guarded side. Crawford, who was assisted by a soldier who
had deserted from the castle, renewed the attempt in person, and, having
scrambled up a projecting ledge of rock, fastened the ladder by tying it
to the roots of a tree which grew midway up the rock. Here they found a
footing for the whole party, which was, of course, small in number. In
scaling the second precipice, however, one of the party was seized with
an epileptic fit, to which he was subject, brought on, perhaps, by
terror in the act of climbing the ladder. He could neither ascend nor
descend; moreover, if they had thrown him down, apart from the cruelty
of the thing, the fall of his body might have alarmed the garrison.
Crawford, therefore, ordered him to be tied fast to one side of the
ladder, and, turning it round, they mounted with ease. When the party
gained the summit, they slew the sentinel before he had time to give the
alarm, and easily surprised the slumbering garrison, who had trusted too
much to the security of their position. Some of the climbing irons used
are shown within the castle.
DUMBARTON CASTLE
We now set out from Dumbarton, with its old castle, and
the old sword worn by the brave Wallace reposing in the armoury, at the
same time leaving the River Clyde and its fine scenery, which, owing to
the fog, we had almost totally missed. We proceeded towards Stirling,
where we hoped to arrive on the following day; but we now found
ourselves passing through a semi-manufacturing district, and gradually
it dawned upon us that we had now left the Highlands and were
approaching the Lowlands of Scotland. We thought then and many times
afterwards of that verse of Robbie Burns's:
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands
a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer and
following the roe
My heart's in the Highlands,
wherever I go.
We passed through Renton, where there were bleaching and
calico printing works. A public library graced the centre of the
village, as well as a fine Tuscan column nearly 60 feet high, erected to
Tobias Smollett, the poet, historian and novelist, who was born in 1721
not half a mile from the spot. The houses were small and not very clean.
The next village we came to was Alexandria, a busy manufacturing place
where the chief ornament was a very handsome drinking-fountain erected
to a member of the same family, a former M.P., "by his tenants and
friends," forming a striking contrast to its mean and insignificant
surroundings of one-storied houses and dismal factories. We were soon in
the country again, and passed some fine residences, including the
modern-looking Castle of Tullichewan situated in a fine park, and
reached Balloch at the extreme end of Loch Lomond, from which point we
had a momentary view of the part of the lake we had missed seeing on the
preceding evening. Here we paid the sum of one halfpenny each for the
privilege of passing over the Suspension Bridge, which gave us access to
a very pleasant part of the country, and crossed one spur of a hill,
from the top of which, under favourable conditions, we might have seen
nearly the whole of Loch Lomond, including the islands and the ranges of
hills on either side
Mountains that like giants stand
To sentinel enchanted land.
MAINS CASTLE, KILMARONOCK
But though it was only about a mile and a half from our
path to the summit, and the total elevation only 576 feet, 297 of which
we had already ascended, we did not visit it, as the mist would have
prevented an extended view. It stood in a beautiful position, surrounded
by woods and the grounds of Boturich Castle; why such a pretty place
should be called "Mount Misery" was not clear, unless it had some
connection with one of the Earls of Argyll who came to grief in that
neighbourhood in 1685 near Gartocharn, which we passed shortly
afterwards. He had collected his clan to overthrow the Government of
James VII (James II of England) and had crossed the Leven at Balloch
when he found Gartocharn occupied by the royal troops. Instead of
attacking them, he turned aside, to seek refuge among the hills, and in
the darkness and amid the bogs and moors most of his men deserted, only
about five hundred answering to their names the following morning. The
Earl, giving up the attempt, was captured an hour or two later as he was
attempting to cross the River Clyde, and the words applied to him,
"Unhappy Argyll," indicated his fate. We passed Kilmaronock church in
the dark and, after crossing the bridge over Endrick Water, entered
Drymen and put up at the "Buchanan Arms" Inn, where we had been
recommended to stay the night.
(Distance walked twenty miles.)
Thursday, October 5th.
We were up early this morning and went to have a look
round the village of Drymen and its surroundings before breakfast. We
were quite near Buchanan Castle, and took the liberty of trespassing for
a short time in the walks and woods surrounding it. The Duke of Montrose
here reigned supreme, his family the Grahams having been in possession
for twenty generations; among his ancestors were Sir Patrick de Graham,
who was killed at the Battle of Dunbar in 1296, and Sir John de Graham,
the beloved friend of the immortal Wallace, who was slain at the Battle
of Falkirk in 1298. The village had been built in the form of a square
which enclosed a large field of grass called the Cross Green, with
nothing remarkable about it beyond an enormous ash tree supposed to be
over 300 years old which stood in the churchyard. It measured about 17
feet in circumference at 5 feet from the ground, and was called the Bell
Tree, because the church bell which summoned the villagers to worship
was suspended from one of its branches. The tree began to show signs of
decay, so eventually the bell had to be taken down and a belfry built to
receive it.
THE SQUARE, DRYMEN
We finished our breakfast at 8.30, and then, with the
roads in a fearfully muddy condition owing to heavy downfalls of rain,
started on our walk towards Stirling. The region here was pleasing
agricultural country, and we passed many large and well-stocked farms on
our way, some of them having as many as a hundred stacks of corn and
beans in their stack-yards. After walking about seven miles we arrived
at the dismal-looking village of Buchlyvie, where we saw many houses in
ruins, standing in all their gloominess as evidences of the devastating
effects of war. Some of the inhabitants were trying to eke out their
livelihood by hand-loom weaving, but there was a poverty-stricken
appearance about the place which had, we found, altered but little since
Sir Walter Scott wrote of it in the following rhyme which he had copied
from an old ballad:
May the foul fiend drive ye
Where there's neither horse
meat
Nor man's meat, nor a chair
to sit down.
We did not find the place quite so bad as that, for there
were two or three small inns where travellers could get refreshments and
a chair to sit down upon; but we did not halt for these luxuries until
we reached Kippen, about five miles farther on. Before arriving there we
overtook two drovers who were well acquainted with Glencoe and the
Devil's Stairs, and when we told them of our adventures there they said
we were very lucky to have had a fine day when we crossed those hills.
They told us the story of the two young men who perished there, but
thought their death was partially caused through lack of food. Kippen,
they informed us, was on the borders of Perthshire and Stirlingshire,
and when we told them we intended calling for refreshments they advised
us to patronise the "Cross Keys Inn." We found Kippen, or, as it was
sometimes named, the Kingdom of Kippen, a pleasant place, and we had no
difficulty in finding the "Cross Keys." Here we learned about the King
of Kippen, the Scottish Robin Hood, and were told that it was only two
miles away to the Ford of Frew, where Prince Charlie crossed the River
Forth on his way from Perth to Stirling, and that about three minutes'
walk from the Cross there was a place from which the most extensive and
beautiful views of the country could be obtained. Rising like towers
from the valley of the Forth could be seen three craigsDumyate Craig,
Forth Abbey Craig, and the craig on which Stirling Castle had been
built; spreading out below was the Carse of Stirling, which merged into
and included the Vale of Monteith, about six miles from Kippen; while
the distant view comprised the summits of many mountains, including that
of Ben Lomond.
OLD BELFRY, KIPPEN
As usual in Scotland, the village contained two
churchesthe Parish Church and the United Free Church. In the old
churchyard was an ancient ivy-covered belfry, but the church to which it
belonged had long since disappeared. Here was the burial-place of the
family of Edinbellie, and here lived in olden times an attractive and
wealthy young lady named Jean Kay, whom Rob Roy, the youngest son of Rob
Roy Macgregor, desired to marry. She would not accept him, so leaving
Balquidder, the home of the Macgregors, accompanied by his three
brothers and five other men, he went to Edinbellie and carried her off
to Rowardennan, where a sham form of marriage was gone through. But the
romantic lover paid dearly for his exploit, as it was for robbing this
family of their daughter that Rob forfeited his life on the scaffold at
Edinburgh on February 16th, 1754, Jean Kay having died at Glasgow on
October 4th, 1751.
QUEEN MARY'S BOWER, INCHMAHOME.
We were well provided for at the "Cross Keys," and heard
a lot about Mary Queen of Scots, as we were now approaching a district
where much of the history of Scotland was made. Her name seemed to be on
everybody's lips and her portrait in everybody's house, including the
smallest dwellings. She seemed to be the most romantic character in the
minds of the Scots, by whom she was almost idolisednot perhaps so much
for her beauty and character as for her sufferings and the circumstances
connected with her death. The following concise account of the career of
this beautiful but unfortunate Queen and her son King James greatly
interested us. She was born at Linlithgow Palace in the year 1542, and
her father died when she was only eight days old. In the next year she
was crowned Queen of Scotland at Stirling, and remained at the Castle
there for about four years. She was then removed to Inchmahome, an
island of about six acres in extent situated in the small Lake of
Monteith, about six miles north of Kippen. In 1547, when six years old,
she was sent to France in a Flemish ship from Dumbarton, and in the
following year she was married to the Dauphin of France, afterwards King
Francis II, who died in the year 1560. Afterwards she returned to
Scotland and went to Stirling Castle, where she met her cousin Lord
Darnley and was married to him at Holyrood in 1565, her son being born
in 1566. Troubles, however, soon arose, and for a short time she was
made a prisoner and placed in the Castle of Loch Leven, from which she
escaped with the intention of going to Dumbarton Castle for safety. Her
army under the Earl of Argyll accompanied her, but on the way they met
an opposing army commanded by the Regent Murray, who defeated her army,
and Queen Mary fled to England. Here she again became a prisoner and was
placed in various castles for the long period of nineteen years, first
in one and then in another, with a view probably to preventing her being
rescued by her friends; and finally she was beheaded in 1587 in the
forty-eighth year of her age at Fotheringay Castle in Northamptonshire,
by command of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth.
Her son James VI of Scotland, who subsequently became
James I of England, was baptised in the Royal Chapel at Stirling Castle
in 1566, and in 1567, when he was only about thirteen months old, was
crowned in the parish church at Stirling, his mother Queen Mary having
been forced to abdicate in favour of her son. The great Puritan divine
John Knox preached the Coronation sermon on that occasion, and the young
king was educated until he was thirteen years of age by George Buchanan,
the celebrated scholar and historian, in the castle, where his
class-room is still to be seen. He succeeded to the English throne on
the death of Queen Elizabeth, and was crowned as King James I of England
in the year 1603.
Leaving Kippen, we passed through Gargunnock, with the
extraordinary windings of the River Forth to our left, and arrived at
Stirling at 5.15 p.m., where at the post-office we found a host of
letters waiting our arrival and at the railway-station a welcome change
of clothing from home.
(Distance walked twenty-two miles.)
Friday, October 6th.
Stirling is one of the most attractive towns in Scotland,
and we could not resist staying there awhile to explore it. It is the
"key to the Highlands," and one of the oldest of the Royal burghs. It
was a place of some importance in the time of the Romans, as it stood
between the two great Firths of the Clyde and the Forth, where the
Island of Britain is at its narrowest. The first Roman wall was built
between the Forth and the Clyde, and the Second Roman Legion was
stationed at Stirling. According to an old inscription on a stone near
the Ballengeich road, they kept a watch there day and night, and in A.D.
81 a great battle was fought near by against 30,000 Caledonians, who
were defeated. Stirling has a commanding geographical position, and all
the roads converge there to cross the River Forth. It was at Stirling
Bridge that Wallace defeated the army of 50,000 soldiers sent against
him in the year 1297 by Edward I, King of England. The town had also a
lively time in the days of Charles Edward Stuart, "Bonnie Prince
Charlie," whose father, during his exile in France, had been encouraged
by the French to return and lay claim to the English Crown. Landing in
Inverness-shire in 1745, Prince Charlie was immediately joined by many
of the Highland clans, and passed with his army through Stirling on his
way towards London. Not finding the support they expected from the
south, they were compelled to return, followed closely along their line
of retreat by the English Army, and they were soon back again at
Stirling, where they made a desperate but unsuccessful effort to obtain
possession of the castle, which was held for the English. The Duke of
Cumberland's Army by this time was close upon their heels, and gave them
no rest until they caught them and defeated them with great slaughter up
at Culloden, near Inverness.
STIRLING CASTLE AND NECROPOLIS.
There was much in Stirling and its environs that we
wished to see, so we were astir early in the morning, although the
weather was inclined to be showery. First of all, we went to see the
cemetery, which occupies a beautiful position on a hill overlooking the
wonderful windings of the River Forth, and here we found the tomb of the
Protestant martyrs "Margaret and Agnes," the latter only eighteen years
of age, who were tied to stakes at low water in the Bay of Wigtown on
May 11th, 1685, and, refusing an opportunity to recant and return to the
Roman Catholic faith, were left to be drowned in the rising tide. Over
the spot where they were buried their figures appeared beautifully
sculptured in white marble, accompanied by that of an angel standing
beside them; the epitaph read:
M. O A.
MARGARET
VIRGIN MARTYR OF THE OCEAN WAVE
WITH HER LIKE-MINDED SISTER
AGNES.
Love, many waters cannot
quench! GOD saves
His chaste impearled One!
in Covenant true.
"O Scotia's Daughters!
earnest scan the Page."
And prize this Flower of
Grace, blood-bought for you.
PSALMS IX., XIX.
THE PROTESTANT MARTYRS
We stayed there for a few solemn moments, for it was a
sight that impressed us deeply, and then we went to inspect an old stone
with the following curious inscription cut on its surface:
Some . only . breakfast . and . away:
Others . to . dinner . stay .
the . oldest . man . but .
sups:
that . lingers . out . the .
day:
he . that . goes . soonest:
has . the . least . to . pay:
We saw another remarkable structure called "The Rock of
Ages," a large monument built of stone, on each of the four sides of
which was a Bible sculptured in marble with texts from the Scriptures,
and near the top a device like that of a crown. It was a fine-looking
and substantial building, but we could not ascertain the reason for its
erection.
There were two churches quite near to each other standing
at one end of the cemetery, and these, we were informed, were known as
the East and West Churches, and had been formed out of the old Church of
Stirling, formerly noted for its bells, which were still in existence.
One of them, a Dutch bell, was marked "Rotterdam, 1657," and inscribed
"Soli Deo Gloria"; the only pre-Reformation bell was one that was said
to have come from Cambuskenneth Abbey, measuring 8 ft. 6-1/2 in. round
the mouth, 4 ft. 6 in. over the neck, and 2 ft. 1-1/2 in. in depth, and
bearing a Latin inscription, in Old English characters, which was said
to be the angelic salutation from St. Luke i. 28: "Hail, Mary, full of
grace, God is with thee; blessed art thou among women and to be
blessed." This bell, dating from the fourteenth century, was perfect in
sound, and had been the tone bell in the old abbey. The remainder of the
bells of Cambuskenneth had been lost owing to the swamping of the boat
that was bringing them across the river.
THE GATEWAY TO THE CASTLE.
We now went to view the castle, and as we approached the
entrance we were accosted by a sergeant, whom we engaged to act as our
guide.
The ramparts of the castle command the
noblest prospect imaginableGrampian, Ochil and Pentland Hills, the
River Forth, through all its windings, and "Auld Reekie" in the
distancetwelve foughten fields are visiblethe bridge where
Archbishop Hamilton was hanged, the mound on which the Regent, Earl
of Levenax, was beheaded on May 25th, 1425, along with the Duke of
Albany, his son-in-law, and his grandsonthe chamber where the
Scottish King James II was assassinateda noble valley, where
tournaments were held, and the hill, whence Beauty viewed "gentle
passages of arms" and rewarded knights' valour with her smiles, lie
just below the ramparts. Here James I lived, and James II was born,
and it was a favourite residence of James III. From these walls the
"Good Man of Ballangeich" made many an excursion, and here James V
and James VI were indoctrinated at the feet of that stern preceptor,
George Buchanan, and the seventh James and the second of England
visited here in company with the future Queen Anne and the last of
the Stuarts.
THE PALACE, STIRLING CASTLE.
STIRLING BRIDGE.
At Stirling Bridge Wallace defeated the army of fifty thousand soldiers
sent against him by Edward I; ... it was a battle won by strategy."
STIRLING CASTLE.
"The ramparts of the castle command the noblest prospect imaginablefrom
the top of the walls the sites of seven battlefields were pointed out to
us."
Such was the official description of the place we were
now visiting. As our guide conducted us through the archway into the
castle, he showed us the old chains that worked the portcullis. We noted
how cautious the old occupants of these strongholds were, for while one
of the massive doors was being drawn up the other went down, so that the
inner entrance was always protected. From the top of the walls the sites
of seven battlefields were pointed out to us, including those of
Bannockburn and Stirling Bridge. The Battle of Stirling Bridge was won
by Wallace by strategy; he had a much smaller army than the English, but
he watched them until they had got one-half their army over the narrow
bridge, and then attacked each half in turn, since the one could not
assist the other, the river being between them. In the following year he
was defeated himself, but as he retreated he reduced Stirling and its
castle to ruins. The Bridge of Allan, which could be seen in the
distance, was described as a miniature Torquay without the sea, and the
view from the castle on a clear day extended a distance of nearly fifty
miles. We were shown the aperture through which Mary Queen of Scots
watched the games in the royal garden below, and of course we had to be
shown the exact spot where "our most gracious Majesty Queen Victoria
with the Prince of Wales" sat on a much more recent date. The castle
stood on a rock, rising precipitously on two of its sides, and was now
being used as a barracks. It was a fine sight to see the soldiers as
they were being drilled. The old Chapel Royal was used as the armoury,
and our guide told us of many objects of interest which were stored
there; but we had no time to see them, so, rewarding him suitably for
his services, we hastened back to the town to refresh the "inner man."
It appeared that in former times none of the members of
the Town Council accepted any gift or emolument while in office; and,
before writing was as common as it is now, the old treasurer kept his
accounts in a pair of boots which he hung one on each side of the
chimney. Into one of them he put all the money he received and into the
other the vouchers for the money he paid away, and balanced his accounts
at the end of the year by emptying his boots, and counting the money
left in one and that paid away by the receipts in the other. What a
delightfully simple system of "double entry," and just fancy the
"borough treasurer" with a balance always in hand! Whether the
non-payment for services rendered by the Council accounted for this did
not appear; but there must have been some select convivials even in
those days, as the famous Stirling Jug remained as evidence of something
of the kind. It was a fine old vessel made of brass and taken great care
of by the Stirling people, who became possessed of it four or five
hundred years before our visit.
We then walked some distance to see Wallace's Monument,
the most conspicuous object for many miles round, and which had only
just been erected to perpetuate the memory of that great warrior, having
been opened by the Duke of Atholl in 1869. We paid twopence each for
admission, and in addition to climbing the hill to reach the entrance to
the monument we had to ascend a further 220 feet by means of a flight of
246 steps before we could reach the top. There were several rooms in the
basement, in one of which we found an enthusiastic party of young Scots
who were vociferously singing:
Scots, wha hae wie Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has often
led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
These were the first and last verses of the poem written
by the immortal Burns to represent Robert Bruce's address to his army
before the Battle of Bannockburn. We did not reveal our nationality to
the uproarious Scots, but, after listening to the song, which we had
never heard sung before, and the cheers which followed it, in which we
ourselves joined, we went quietly past them, for fear they might treat
us as the "usurpers" named in the last verse and "lay us low."
WALLACE MONUMENT.
On reaching the top of the monument we had a magnificent
view, which well repaid us for our exertions in climbing up the craig
and ascending the tower, and we lingered awhile to view the almost
fairy-like scene that lay below us, with the distant mountains in the
background. On descending, we entered our names in the visitors' book
and took our departure.
Just as we were leaving, our attention was attracted by a
notice which informed us that Cambuskenneth Abbey was only one mile
away, so we walked along the banks of the Forth to that ancient ruin.
The abbey was supposed to have taken its name from one Kenneth, who
fought a successful battle with the Picts on the site where it was
built. A Parliament was held within its walls in 1314 by King Robert
Bruce, but the abbey was destroyed, with the exception of the tower, in
1559. The chief object of interest was the tomb of James III, King of
Scots, and his Queen, the Princess Margaret of Denmark, who were buried
near the High Altar. The tomb, which appeared quite modern, recorded
that King James died June 11th, 1488, and that "This Restoration of the
Tomb of her Ancestors was executed by command of Her Majesty Queen
Victoria, A.D. 1865."
We now walked back to Stirling, and were again among the
windings of the River Forth, which are a striking feature whether viewed
from Wallace's Monument, the Castle walls, or the cemetery. To follow
them in some places, the traveller, it was said, would have to go four
times farther than by the straighter road.
ST. NINIANS CHURCH TOWER.
Recovering possession of our bags from the hotel, we
resumed our march along the road to Falkirk, eleven miles distant, and,
on the way, came to the village of St. Ninians, with its long, narrow
street of dismal-looking houses, many of them empty and in ruins, and
some marked "To Let"; and, from their dingy appearance, we imagined they
were likely to remain so. The people who lived in these houses were
formerly of evil reputation, as, before railways were constructed so far
north, all the cattle from the Western Isles and the North were driven
along the roads to Falkirk to be sold, and had to pass through St.
Ninians, which was so dreaded by the drovers that they called this long,
narrow street "The Pass of St. Ninians." For, if a sheep happened to go
through a doorway or stray along one of the passages, ever open to
receive them, it was never seen again and nobody knew of its whereabouts
except the thieves themselves. We walked along this miry pass and
observed what we thought might be an old church, which we went to
examine, but found it to be only a tower and a few ruins. The yard was
very full of gravestones. A large building at the bottom of the yard
was, we were told, what now did duty for the original church, which in
the time of Prince Charlie was used as a powder magazine, and was blown
up in 1745 by a party of his Highlanders to prevent its falling into the
hands of the advancing English Army, before which they were retreating.
Shortly afterwards we overtook a gentleman whom we at
first thought was a farmer, but found afterwards to be a surgeon who
resided at Bannockburn, the next village. He was a cheerful and
intelligent companion, and told us that the large flagstaff we could see
in the fields to the left was where Robert Bruce planted his standard at
the famous Battle of Bannockburn, which, he said, was fought at
midsummer in the year 1314. Bruce had been preparing the ground for some
time so as to make it difficult for the English to advance even though
they were much more numerous and better armed than the Scots. As soon as
the armies came in sight of each other on the evening of June 24th, King
Robert Bruce, dressed in armour and with a golden crown on his helmet,
to distinguish him from the rest of his army, mounted on a small pony,
and, with a battle-axe in his hand, went up and down the ranks of his
army to put them in order. Seeing the English horsemen draw near, he
advanced a little in front of his own men to have a nearer view of the
enemy. An English knight, Sir Henry de Bohun, seeing the Scottish king
so poorly mounted, thought he would rise to fame by killing Bruce and so
putting an end to the war at once. So he challenged him to fight by
galloping at him suddenly and furiously, thinking with his long spear
and tall, powerful horse to extinguish Bruce immediately. Waiting until
Bohun came up, and then suddenly turning his pony aside to avoid the
point of his lance, Bruce rose in his stirrups and struck Sir Henry, as
he passed at full speed, such a terrific blow on the head with his
battle-axe that it cut through his helmet and his head at the same time,
so that he died before reaching the ground. The only remark that Bruce
is said to have made was, "I have broken my good battle-axe."
This fearful encounter and the death of their champion
was looked upon as a bad omen by the English, and Sir Walter Scott thus
describes it:
The heart had hardly time to think,
The eyelid scarce had time to
wink,
High in his stirrups stood
the King,
And gave his battle-axe the
swing;
Right on De Boune, the whiles
he pass'd,
Fell that stern dintthe
firstthe last!
Such strength upon the blow
was put,
The helmet crash'd like
hazel-nut;
The axe shaft, with its
brazen clasp,
Was shiver'd to the gauntlet
grasp.
Springs from the blow the
startled horse,
Drops to the plain the
lifeless corse.
The battle began on the following morning, Midsummer Day,
and the mighty host of heavily armed men on large horses moved forward
along what they thought was hard road, only to fall into the concealed
pits carefully prepared beforehand by Bruce and to sink in the bogs over
which they had to pass. It can easily be imagined that those behind
pressing forward would ride over those who had sunk already, only to
sink themselves in turn. Thousands perished in that way, and many a
thrown rider, heavily laden with armour, fell an easy prey to the hardy
Scots. The result was disastrous to the English, and it was said that
30,000 of them were killed, while the Scots were able afterwards to raid
the borders of England almost to the gates of York.
The surgeon said that in the Royal College of Surgeons in
London a rib of Bruce, the great Scottish king, was included in the
curios of the college, together with a bit of the cancerous growth which
killed Napoleon. It was said that Bruce's rib was injured in a jousting
match in England many years before he died, and that the fracture was
made good by a first-class surgeon of the time. In 1329 Bruce died of
leprosy in his fifty fifth year and the twenty-third of his reign, and
was buried in the Abbey Church of Dunfermline. In clearing the
foundation for the third church on the same site, in 1818, the bones of
the hero were discovered, Sir Walter Scott being present. The breastbone
of the skeleton had been sawn through some 500 years before, as was
customary, in order to allow of the removal of the heart, which was then
embalmed, and given to Bruce's friend, Sir James Douglas, to be carried
to Palestine and buried in Jerusalem.
The surgeon also told usin order, we supposed, to cheer
our drooping spiritsof another battle fought in the neighbourhood of
Bannockburn in 1488, but this time it was the Scottish King James III
who came to grief. He had a fine grey courser given him "that could war
all the horse of Scotland if the king could sit up well." But he was a
coward and could not ride, and when some men came up shouting and
throwing arrows, they frightened the king. Feeling the spurs, the horse
went at "flight speed" through Bannockburn, and a woman carrying water,
when she saw the horse coming, dropped her bucket down on the road and
ran for safety. The horse, frightened by the bucket, jumped over the
brook that turned the mill, and threw the king off at the mill door. The
miller and his wife, who saw the accident, not knowing that the rider
was the king, put him in a nook in the mill and covered him with a
cloth. When he came round, he asked for a priest and told them he was
the king. But he had fallen into the hands of his enemies. The miller's
wife clapped her hands, and ran out crying for a priest for the king. A
man called out, "I am a priest; where is the king?" When he saw the king
he told him he might recover if he had a good leeching, but the king
desired him to give him the Sacrament. The supposed priest said, "That I
shall do quickly," and suiting the action to the word, he stabbed him
several times in the heart. The corpse he took away on his back, no one
knew whither, and the king's soldiers, now leaderless, fled to Stirling
and Linlithgow.
We thanked our friend for his company and bade him
farewell, as we reached Bannockburn village. We observed there, as in
most villages near Stirling, many houses in ruins or built with the
ruins of others. We thought what a blessing it was that the two nations
were now united, and that the days of these cruel wars were gone for
ever! At a junction of roads a finger-post pointed "To the Bannockburn
Collieries," and we saw several coal-pits in the distance with the ruins
of an old building near them, but we did not take the trouble to inspect
them.
The shades of night were coming on when, after walking a
few miles, we saw an old man standing at the garden gate of a very small
cottage by the wayside, who told us he was an old sailor and that
Liverpool had been his port, from which he had taken his first voyage in
1814. He could remember Birkenhead and that side of the River Mersey
when there was only one house, and that a farm from which he used to
fetch buttermilk, and when there was only one dock in Liverpoolthe
Prince's. We thought what a contrast the old man would find if he were
to visit that neighbourhood now! He told us of a place near by named
Norwood, where were the remains of an old castle of Prince Charlie's
time, with some arches and underground passages, but it was now too dark
to see them. We proceeded towards Camelon, with the great ironworks of
Carron illuminating the sky to our left, and finally arrived at Falkirk.
Here, in reply to our question, a sergeant of police recommended us to
stay the night at the "Swan Inn," kept by a widow, a native of
Inverness, where we were made very comfortable. After our supper of
bread and milk, we began to take off our boots to prepare for bed, but
we were requested to keep them on as our bedroom was outside! We
followed our leader along the yard at the back of the inn and up a
flight of stone steps, at the top of which we were ushered into a
comfortable bedroom containing three beds, any or all of which, we were
informed, were at our service. Having made our selection and fastened
the door, we were soon asleep, notwithstanding the dreadful stories we
had heard that day, and the great battlefields we had visitedhaunted,
no doubt, by the ghosts of legions of our English ancestors who had
fallen therein!
(Distance walked seventeen miles.)
Saturday, October 7th.
Falkirk, which stands on a gentle slope on the great
Carse of Forth, is surrounded by the Grampian Hills, the Ochills, and
the Campsie Range. Here King Edward I entirely routed the Scottish Army
in the year 1298. Wallace's great friend was slain in the battle and
buried in the churchyard, where an inscription recorded that "Sir John
de Grahame, equally remarkable for wisdom and courage, and the faithful
friend of Wallace, being slain in the battle by the English, lies buried
in this place."
We left the inn at six o'clock in the morning, the only
people visible being workmen turning out for their day's work. The last
great fair of the season was to be held that day, and we had the
previous day seen the roads filled with cattle making for Falkirk Fair,
perhaps one of the largest fairs in the kingdom. We had been told by the
drovers that the position was well adapted for the purpose, as the
ground was very sandy and therefore not so liable to be trampled into
mud by the animals' feet.
We passed through the village of Laurieston, where Alfred
Nobel, the inventor of dynamite and blasting gelatine, lived, and saw a
plough at work turning up potatoes, a crowd of women and boys following
it and gathering up the potatoes in aprons and then emptying them into a
long row of baskets which extended from one end of the field to the
other. A horse and cart followed, and the man in charge emptied the
contents of the baskets into the cart. We questioned the driver of the
plough, who assured us that no potatoes were left in the land, but that
all were turned up and gathered, and that it was a much better way than
turning them out by hand with a fork, as was usual in England.
LINLITHGOW PALACE.
ANCIENT KEY OF LINLITHGOW PALACE.
About two miles farther on we passed the romantic village
of Polmont, and on through a fine stretch of country until we reached
another fair-sized village called Linlithgow Bridge. We were then about
a mile and a half from the old town of Linlithgow; here the River Avon
separates the counties of Stirlingshire and Linlithgowshire. The old
bridge from which the place takes its name is said to have been built by
Edward I of England. In 1526 the Battle of Linlithgow Bridge was fought
at this spot; it was one of those faction fights between two contending
armies for predominance which were so prevalent in Scotland at the time,
the real object, however, being to rescue King James V from the
domination of the Earl of Angus. The opposing fronts under Angus and
Lennox extended on both sides of the Avon. The Earl of Lennox was slain
by Sir James Hamilton after quarter had been granted to the former. His
sword was afterwards found, and may still be seen in the small museum at
Linlithgow. In this village Stephen Mitchell, tobacco and snuff
manufacturer, carried on business and had an old snuff mill here; he was
the first founder in Great Britain of a Free Library. Burns the Scottish
poet stayed a night here on August 25th, 1787.
We arrived at the royal and ancient burgh of Linlithgow
at about nine o'clock. The town, as Burns says, "carries the appearance
of rude, decayed, idle grandeur"; it is, however, very pleasantly
situated, with rich, fertile surroundings. There is a fine old royal
palace here within which, on December 7th, 1542, the unfortunate Mary
Queen of Scots was born, whose beauty and magnificence have imbued her
history with so deep and melancholy an interest. Sir Walter Scott in "Marmion"
sings the praises of this palace as follows:
Of all the palaces so fair,
Built for the royal dwelling.
In Scotland, far beyond
compare
We fully endorsed the great Sir Walter's opinion, for it
certainly was a magnificent structure and occupied a grand situation,
with a large lake in front covering perhaps a hundred acres. We were
now, however, getting ravenously hungry, so we adjourned to the hotel
for breakfast, which was quickly served and almost as quickly eaten. The
palace was not open until ten o'clock, so we had to be content with a
view of the exterior, nor could we visit the fine old church, for we
wanted to reach Edinburgh, where we had decided to stay the week-end in
order to see some of the sights of the historic capital.
MONUMENT EXECUTED BY A ONE-ARMED MAN.
A halo of deepest interest surrounded the history of
Linlithgow, whose every stone spoke volumes of the storied past. The
traditions of the place go far back into the dim shadowy regions where
historic fact merges into myth and legend. Solid ground is only reached
about the twelfth century. The English had possession of the palace in
1313, and the way it was taken from them was probably unique in the
history of such places. The garrison was supplied with hay for the
horses by a local farmer named Binnock, who determined to strike a blow
for the freedom of his country. A new supply of hay had been ordered,
and he contrived to conceal eight men, well armed, under it. The team
was driven by a sturdy waggoner, who had a sharp axe concealed in his
clothing, while Binnock himself walked alongside. The porter, on seeing
their approach, lowered the drawbridge and raised the portcullis to
admit of the passage of the hay within the castle walls. Just as they
reached the centre of the gateway the driver drew his axe and cut off
the tackle that attached the oxen to the waggon, at the same time
striking the warder dead and shouting a preconcerted signal"Call all!
Call all!" "The armed men jumped from amongst the hay, and a strong
party of Scots, who by arrangement were in ambush outside, rushed in and
attacked the astonished garrison, who were unprepared for the
onslaughtthe load of hay being so placed that the gate could not be
closed nor the bridge raisedand so the Scots made themselves masters of
the palace."
WINDOW IN SOUTH CHANCEL OF ST. MICHAEL'S CHURCH, WHERE JAMES IV SAW THE
VISION BEFORE THE BATTLE OF FLODDEN.
The last event of any historical interest or importance
connected with this palace was the visit paid to it by Prince Charles
Stewart in 1745; it was destroyed in the following year.
The beautiful old Gothic church of St. Michael is
situated close to the palace. Perhaps no tradition connected with this
church is more interesting than the vision which is said to have
appeared to James IV while praying within St. Catherine's Aisle
immediately before the Battle of Flodden. According to Lindsay of
Pitscottie, on whose authority the tale rests, the King, being "in a
very sad and dolorous mood, was making his devotions to God to send him
good chance and fortune in his voyage" when a man "clad in ane blue
gown" appeared to him, and with little ceremony declared to the King
that he had been sent to desire him "nocht to pass whither he purposed,"
for if he did, things "would not fare well with him or any who went with
him." How little this warning was heeded by the King is known to all
readers of Scottish history. The "ghost," if it may be called so, was in
all likelihood an attempt to frighten the King, and it is certain that
the tale would never have gained the weird interest it possesses if
Flodden Field had not proved so disastrous. It has been helped to
immortality by Sir Walter Scott, who in "Marmion" has invested
Pitscottie's antique prose with the charm of imperishable poetry.
THE OLD CROSS WELL.
One characteristic of the towns or villages in Scotland
through which we passed was their fine drinking-fountains, and we had
admired a very fine one at Falkirk that morning; but Linlithgow's
fountain surpassed itit was indeed the finest we had seen, and a common
saying occurred to us:
Linlithgow has long been celebrated for its wells, some
of them of ancient date and closely associated with the history of the
town. We came to an old pump-well with the date 1720, and the words
"Saint Michael is kinde to straingers." As we considered ourselves to be
included in that category, we had a drink of the water.
THE TOWN HERALD, LINLITHGOW
(A survival of the past)
At the end of the village or town we passed the union
workhouse, where the paupers were busy digging up potatoes in the
garden, and a short distance farther on we passed a number of boys with
an elderly man in charge of them, who informed us they came from the
"institute," meaning the workhouse we had just seen, and that he took
them out for a walk once every week. Presently we met a shepherd who was
employed by an English farmer in the neighbourhood, and he told us that
the man we had met in charge of the boys was an old pensioner who had
served fifty-two years in the army, but as soon as he got his pension
money he spent it, as he couldn't keep it, the colour of his nose
showing the direction in which it went. It struck us the shepherd seemed
inclined that way himself, as he said if he had met us nearer a
public-house he would have "treated us to a good glass." We thought what
a pity it was that men had not a better eye to their own future
interests than to spend all their money "for that which is not bread,
and their labour for that which satisfieth not," and how many there were
who would ultimately become burdens to society who might have secured a
comfortable competency for old age by wisely investing their surplus
earnings instead of allowing them to flow down that awful channel of
waste!
ST. MICHAEL'S WELL.
We walked through a fine agricultural districtfor we
were now in Midlothianadorned with great family mansions surrounded by
well-kept grounds, and arrived in sight of Edinburgh at 1.30, and by two
o'clock we were opposite a large building which we were told was
Donaldson's Hospital, founded in 1842, and on which about £100,000 had
been spent.
Our first business on reaching Edinburgh was to find
suitable lodgings until Monday morning, and we decided to stay at Fogg's
Temperance Hotel in the city. We had then to decide whether we should
visit Edinburgh Castle or Holyrood Palace that dayboth being open to
visitors at the same hour in the afternoon, but as they were some
distance apart we could not explore both; we decided in favour of the
palace, where we were conducted through the picture gallery and the many
apartments connected with Mary Queen of Scots and her husband Lord
Darnley.
The picture-gallery contained the reputed portraits of
all the Kings of Scotland from Fergus I, 330 B.C., down to the end of
the Stuart dynasty; and my brother, who claimed to have a "painter's
eye," as he had learned something of that art when at school, discovered
a great similarity between the portraits of the early kings and those
that followed them centuries later. Although I explained that it was
only an illustration of history repeating itself, and reminded him of
the adage, "Like father, like son," he was not altogether satisfied. We
found afterwards, indeed, that the majority of the portraits had been
painted by a Flemish artist, one John de Witt, who in the year 1684 made
a contract, which was still in existence, whereby he bound himself to
paint no portraits within two years, he supplying the canvas and
colours, and the Government paying him £120 per year and supplying him
with the "originalls" from which he was to copy. We wondered what had
become of these "originalls," especially that of Fergus, 330 B.C., but
as no information was forthcoming we agreed to consider them as lost in
the mists of antiquity.
HOLYROOD PALACE.
There was much old tapestry on the walls of the various
rooms we inspected in the palace, and although it was now faded we could
see that it must have looked very beautiful in its original state. The
tapestry in one room was almost wholly devoted to scenes in which
heavenly-looking little boys figured as playing in lovely gardens amidst
beautiful scenery. One of these scenes showed a lake in the background
with a castle standing at one end of it. In the lake were two small
islands covered with trees which were reflected in the still waters,
while in the front was a large orange tree, growing in a lovely garden,
up which some of the little boys had climbed, one of whom was throwing
oranges to a companion on the ground below; while two others were
enjoying a game of leapfrog, one jumping over the other's back. Three
other boys were engaged in the fascinating game of blowing bubblesone
making the lather, another blowing the bubbles, while a third was trying
to catch them. There were also three more boysone of them apparently
pretending to be a witch, as he was riding on a broomstick, while
another was giving a companion a donkey-ride upon his back. All had the
appearance of little cupids or angels and looked so lifelike and happy
that we almost wished we were young again and could join them in their
play!
The rooms more closely connected with the unfortunate
Mary Queen of Scots were of course the most interesting to visitors; and
in her audience-room, where she had such distressing interviews with
John Knox, the famous Presbyterian divine and reformer, we saw the bed
that was used by King Charles I when he resided at Holyrood, and
afterwards occupied on one occasion, in September 1745, by his
descendant Prince Charlie, and again after the battle of Culloden by the
Duke of Cumberland.
WEST DOORWAY, CHAPEL ROYAL
We passed on to Queen Mary's bedroom, in which we were
greatly interested, and in spite of its decayed appearance we could see
it had been a magnificent apartment. Its walls were adorned with emblems
and initials of former Scottish royalties, and an old tapestry
representing the mythological story of the fall of Photon, who,
according to the Greeks, lost his life in rashly attempting to drive the
chariot of his father the God of the Sun. Here we saw Queen Mary's bed,
which must have looked superb in its hangings of crimson damask, trimmed
with green silk fringes and tassels, when these were new, but now in
their decay they seemed to remind us of their former magnificence and of
their unfortunate owner, to whom the oft-quoted words
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
so aptly applied. We wondered how many times her weary
head had passed its restless nights there, and in the many castles in
which she had been placed during her long imprisonment of nineteen
years. Half hidden by the tapestry there was a small door opening upon a
secret stair, and it was by this that Darnley and his infamous
associates ascended when they went to murder the Queen's unfortunate
Italian secretary, Rizzio, in the Queen's supping-room, which we now
visited. There we had to listen to the recital of this horrible crime:
how the Queen had been forcibly restrained by Darnley, her table
overthrown and the viands scattered, while the blood-thirsty
conspirators crowded into the room; how Rizzio rushed behind the Queen
for protection, until one of the assassins snatched Darnley's dagger
from its sheath, and stabbed Rizzio, leaving the dagger sticking in his
body, while the others dragged him furiously from the room, stabbing him
as he went, shrieking for mercy, until he fell dead at the head of the
staircase, pierced by fifty-six wounds; and how one of the assassins
threatened to cut the Queen "into collops" if she dared to speak to the
populace through the window. The bloodstain on the floor was of course
shown us, which the mockers assert is duly "restored" every winter
before the visiting season commences.
Leaving the Palace, we saw Queen Mary's Bath, a quaintly
shaped little building built for her by King James IV, in which she was
said to have bathed herself in white winean operation said to have been
the secret of her beauty. During some alterations which were made to it
in 1798, a richly inlaid but wasted dagger was found stuck in the
sarking of the roof, supposedly by the murderers of Rizzio on their
escape from the palace.
CHAPEL ROYAL, HOLYROOD.
We then visited the now roofless ruins of the Abbey or
Chapel Royal adjoining the Palace. A fine doorway on which some good
carving still remained recalled something of its former beauty and
grandeur. There were quite a number of tombs, and what surprised us most
was the large size of the gravestones, which stood 6 to 7 feet high, and
were about 3 feet wide. Those we had been accustomed to in England were
much smaller, but everything in Scotland seemed big, including the
people themselves, and this was no less true of the buildings in
Edinburgh. There was a monument in one corner of the Chapel Royal on
which was an inscription in Latin, of which we read the English
translation to be:
HERE IS BURIED A WORTHY MAN AND AN
INGENIOUS MASON,
ALEXANDER MILNE, 20 Feb. A.D. 1643
Stay Passenger, here
famous Milne doth rest,
Worthy to be in Ζgypt's
Marble drest;
What Myron or Apelles
could have done
In brass or paintry, he
could do in stone;
But thretty yeares hee
[blameless] lived; old age
He did betray, and in's
Prime left this stage.
Restored by Robert Mylne
Architect. MDCCLXXVI.
The builder of the Palace was Robert Milne, the
descendant of a family of distinguished masons. He was the "master
mason," and a record of him in large letters on a pillar ran
FVN . BE . RO . MILNE . M.M. . I . JYL . 1671.
After leaving Holyrood we walked up Calton Hill, where we
had a splendid view of the fine old city of Edinburgh seated on rocks
that are older than history, and surrounded by hills with the gleaming
Firth of Forth in the distance. The panorama as seen from this point was
magnificent, and one of the finest in Great Britain. On the hill there
were good roads and walks and some monuments. One of these, erected to
the memory of Nelson, was very ugly, and anotherbeautiful in its
incompletenessconsisted of a number of immense fluted columns in
imitation of the Parthenon of Athens, which we were told was a memorial
to the Scottish heroes who fell in the Wars of Napoleon, but which was
not completed, as sufficient funds had not been forthcoming to finish
what had evidently been intended to be an extensive and costly erection.
We supposed that these lofty pillars remained as a warning to those who
begin to build without first sitting down and counting the cost. They
were beautifully proportioned, resembling a fragment of some great ruin,
and probably had as fine an effect as they stood, as the finished
structure would have had.
"MONS MEG."
Edinburgh Castle stood out in the distance on an imposing
rock. As we did not arrive during visiting hours we missed many objects
of interest, including the Scottish crown and regalia, which are stored
therein. On the ramparts of the castle we saw an ancient gun named "Mons
Meg," whose history was both long and interesting. It had been made by
hand with long bars of hammered iron held together by coils of iron
hoops, and had a bore of 20 in.; the cannon-balls resting alongside it
were made of wood. It was constructed in 1455 by native artisans at the
instance of James II, and was used in the siege of Dumbarton in 1489 and
in the Civil Wars. In Cromwell's list of captured guns in 1650 it was
described as "the great iron murderer Meg." When fired on the occasion
of the Duke of York's visit to Edinburgh in 1682 the gun burst. After
this bad behaviour "Meg" was sent to the Tower of London, not, however,
to be executed, but to remain there until the year 1829, when, owing to
the intercession of Sir Walter Scott with King George IV, the great gun
was returned to Edinburgh, and was received with great rejoicings and
drawn up with great ceremony to the castle, where it still remains as a
relic of the past.
On our way we had observed a placard announcing a soirιe
in connection with the I.O.G.T. (the Independent Order of Good
Templars), and this being somewhat of a novelty to us we decided to
patronise it. Accordingly at 7 p.m. we found ourselves paying the sum of
ninepence each at the entrance to the Calton Rooms. As we filed through
along with others, a cup and saucer and a paper bag containing a variety
of cakes were handed to us, and the positions assigned to us were on
either side of an elderly gentleman whom we afterwards found to be a
schoolmaster.
When the tea came round there were no nice young ladies
to ask us if we took sugar and milk, and how many pieces of sugar; to
our great amusement the tea was poured into our cups from large tin
kettles carried by men who from their solemn countenances appeared
fitting representatives of "Caledonia stern and wild." We thought this
method a good one from the labour-saving point of view, and it was
certainly one we had never seen adopted before. The weak point about it
was that it left no opportunity for individual taste in the matter of
milk and sugar, which had already been added, but as we did not hear any
complaints and all appeared satisfied, we concluded that the happy
medium had been reached, and that all had enjoyed themselves as we did
ourselves.
Our friend the schoolmaster was very communicative, and
added to our pleasure considerably by his intelligent conversation, in
the course of which he told us that the I.O.G.T. was a temperance
organisation introduced from America, and he thought it was engaged in a
good work. The members wore a very smart regalia, much finer than would
have suited us under the climatic conditions we had to pass through.
After tea they gave us an entertainment consisting of recitations and
songs, the whole of which were very creditably rendered. But the great
event of the evening was the very able address delivered by the Rev.
Professor Kirk, who explained the objects of the Good Templar movement
and the good work it was doing in Edinburgh and elsewhere. Every one
listened attentively, for the Professor was a good speaker and he was
frequently applauded by his audience.
We had spent a very pleasant evening, and the
schoolmaster accompanied us nearly all the way to our lodgings, which we
reached at 11 p.m.
(Distance walked up to 2 p.m. twenty-four miles.)
Sunday, October 8th.
To judge by what we heard and saw, there were connected
with Edinburgh three great characters who stand out above all others in
historic importanceMary Queen of Scots, John Knox, and Sir Walter
Scott; but we thought and read more about John Knox this day than either
of the others, possibly because it was Sunday. We attended service in
three different churches, and give the following particulars for the
information of our clerical and other friends who "search the
Scriptures," in the hope that they may find in the reading of the texts
food for thought.
EDINBURGH FROM THE CASTLE
In the morning we went to the High Church. Preacher, the
Rev. C. Giffin, M.A. Text. 2 Corinthians viii. 13 and to the end.
In the afternoon to the Tron Church. Preacher, the Rev.
James McGregor, D.D. Text: Isaiah lvii., the last three verses, and
Ephesians ii. and the first clause of verse 14.
In the evening to the Wesleyan Chapel, Nicolson Square.
Preacher, the Rev. Dr. James, President of the Wesleyan Conference.
Text: I Corinthians ii. 1, 2.
The excellence of the sermons, and the able way in which
they had been prepared and were delivered, gave us the impression that
rivalry existed between the ministers of the different churches as to
which of them could preach the best sermon. They were all fine orations,
carefully thought out and elaborated, especially that by Dr. James.
During the intervals between the services we walked about
the city, and again passed the splendid monument to Sir Walter Scott
with the following remarkable inscription, written by Lord Jeffery,
beneath its foundation stone:
This Graven Plate, deposited in the
base of a votive building on the fifteenth day of August in the year
of Christ 1840, and never likely to see the light again till all the
surrounding structures are crumbled to dust by the decay of time, or
by human or elemental violence, may then testify to a distant
posterity that his countrymen began on that day to raise an effigy
and architectural monument to the memory of Sir Walter Scott, Bart.,
whose admirable writings were then allowed to have given more
delight and suggested better feelings to a large class of readers in
every rank of society than those of any other author, with the
exception of Shakespeare alone, and which were, therefore, thought
likely to be remembered long after this act of gratitude on the part
of the first generation of his admirers should be forgotten. He was
born at Edinburgh 15th August 1771: and died at Abbotsford, 21st
September 1832.
We also passed that ancient and picturesque mansion in
the High Street known as the "House of John Knox," in which the
distinguished reformer died in 1572. Born in the year 1505, it was he
who, in the reign of Mary Queen of Scots, stirred Scotland to mighty
religious impulses, boldly denouncing Mary as a Papist and a Jezebel.
How he escaped being beheaded or burned or assassinated was, considering
the nature of the times in which he lived, a mystery almost amounting to
a miracle.
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS
Queen Mary sailed from France and landed at Leith, near
Edinburgh, on August 19th, 1561, where she was welcomed by the Scots as
Dowager of France, Queen of Scotland, and heiress of England, and was "gorgeouslie
and magnificentlie" received,according to Scottish ideas, by the lords
and ladies who came to meet and accompany her to Edinburgh; but,
according to the diary of one of the Queen's ladies, "when they saw them
mounted on such wretched little hackneys so wretchedly caparisoned they
were greatly disappointed, and thought of the gorgeous pomp and superb
palfreys they had been accustomed to in France, and the Queen began to
weep." On their arrival at Edinburgh they retired to rest in the Abbey,
"a fine building and not at all partaking of that country, but here came
under her window a crew of five or six hundred scoundrels from the city,
who gave her a serenade with wretched violins and little rebecks of
which there are enough in that country, and began to sing Psalms so
miserably mis-tuned and mis-timed that nothing could be worse. Alas!
what music, and what a night's rest!" What the lady would have written
if bagpipes had been included in the serenade we could not imagine, but
as these instruments of torture were not named, we concluded they must
have been invented at a later period.
JOHN KNOX'S HOUSE, EDINBURGH.
"We also passed the ancient and picturesque mansion in the High Street
... in which that distinguished reformer died."
Mary had been away in France for about thirteen years,
and during that time she had for her companions four young ladies of the
same name as her own and of about the same age, Mary Fleming, Mary
Bethune, Mary Livingstone, and Mary Seaton, all of whom formed part of
her retinue on her return to Scotland, where they were known as the
"Queen's Marys."
GROTESQUE HEADS ON TRINITY COLLEGE CHURCH.
She was a staunch adherent of the Romish Church, a fact
which accounted for many of her trials and mortifications. Mainly owing
to the powerful preaching of John Knox, many of the people of Scotland,
both of high and low degree, had become fierce opponents of that form of
religion, which they considered idolatrous. The first Sunday after her
arrival was St. Bartholomew's Day, August 24th, and preparations had
been made to celebrate mass in the Chapel Royal, at which the Queen was
to be present. But no sooner was this known, than a mob rushed towards
the edifice, exclaiming: "Shall the idol be again erected in the land?"
and shouting, "The idolatrous priests shall die the death!" On September
2nd the Queen made her public entry into Edinburgh, and on the same day
John Knox had an audience with Mary, who, hearing of a furious sermon he
had preached against the Mass on the previous Sunday in St. Giles's
Church, thought that a personal interview would mitigate his sternness.
The Queen took him to task for his book entitled The
First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regimen of Women,
and his intolerance towards every one who differed from him in opinion,
and further requested him to obey the precepts of the Scriptures, a copy
of which she perceived in his possession, and urged him to use more
meekness in his sermons. Knox in reply, it was said, "knocked so hastily
upon her heart," that he made her weep with tears of anguish and
indignation, and she said, "My subjects, it would appear, must obey you,
and not me; I must be subject to them, and not they to me!" Knox left
Holyrood that day convinced that Mary's soul was lost for ever, and that
she despised and mocked all exhortation against the Mass.
When Mary attended her first Parliament, accompanied by
her ladies, the Duke of Chatelherault carrying the Crown, the Earl of
Argyll the Sceptre, and the Earl of Moray the Sword, she appeared so
graceful and beautiful that the people who saw her were quite
captivated, and many exclaimed, "God save that sweet face!"
During this short Parliament Knox preached in St. Giles's
Church, and argued that they ought to demand from the Queen "that which
by God's Word they may justly require, and if she would not agree with
them in God, they were not bound to agree with her in the devil!" and
concluded with some observations respecting the Queen's rumoured
marriage with Don Carlos of Spain, declaring, "Whenever ye consent that
an infidel, and all Papists are infidels, shall be our head to our
soverane, ye do so far as in ye lieth to banisch Christ Jesus from his
realme; ye bring God's vengeance upon this country, a plague upon
yourselves, and perchance ye shall do no small discomfirt to your
soverane."
JOHN KNOX.
Mary heard of this furious attack upon her, which Knox
admitted had offended both Papists and Protestants, and he was again
summoned to Holyrood. As soon as Mary saw Knox she was greatly excited,
and exclaimed: "Never was prince handled as I am." "I have borne with
you," she said to Knox, "in all your vigorous manner of speaking, both
against myself and my uncles; yea, I have sought your favour by all
possible meansI offered unto you presence and audience whenever it
pleased you to admonish me, and yet I cannot be quit of you. I vow to
God I shall be once avenged."
Knox answered, "True it is, Madam, your Grace and I have
been at divers controversies into the which I never perceived your Grace
to be offended at me; but when it shall please God to deliver you from
that bondage of darkness and error in the which ye have been nourished
for the lack of true doctrine, your majesty will find the liberty of my
tongue nothing offensive. Without the preaching-place, Madam, I am not
master of myself, for I must obey Him who commands me to speak plain,
and flatter no flesh upon the face of the earth."
The Queen asked him again, "What have ye to do with my
marriage, or what are ye in this commonwealth?" "A subject born within
the same, Madam," was the stern reply; "and albeit I be neither Earl,
Lord, nor Baron within it, yet has God made me, how abject soever I may
be in your eyes, a profitable member within the same."
He was entering into some personal explanations, when the
Queen ordered him to leave the Cabinet, and remain in the ante-chamber
till her pleasure should be intimated. Here Knox found himself in the
company of the Queen's Marys and other ladies, to whom he gave a
religious admonition. "Oh, fair ladies," he said, "how pleasing is this
life of yours if it would ever abide, and then in the end that you pass
to Heaven with all this gay gear! But fie upon the knave Death, that
will come whether we will or not, and when he has laid on his arrest,
the foul worms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so fair and
tender; and the silly soul, I fear, shall be so feeble, that it can
neither carry with it gold, garnishing, targetting, pearl nor precious
stones."
Several noblemen had accompanied Knox when he went to see
the Queen, but only Erskine of Dun was admitted to the Cabinet, and Lord
Ochiltree attended Knox in the ante-room while Queen Mary held a
consultation with Lord John Stuart and Erskine lasting nearly an hour,
at the end of which Erskine appeared and accompanied Knox home. Knox
must have been in great danger of losing his life owing to his fearless
and determined daring in rebuking those in high places, and indeed his
life was afterwards repeatedly aimed at; but Providence foiled all
attempts to assassinate him, and in the end he died a peaceful death. On
November 9th, 1572, a fortnight before he died, he preached his farewell
sermon, the entire congregation following his tottering footsteps to his
home. When the time came for him to die he asked for I Corinthians xv.,
and after that had been read he remarked: "Is not that a comfortable
chapter?" There was also read to him Isaiah liii. Asked if he could
hear, he replied: "I hear, I thank God, and understand far better." He
afterwards said to his wife, "Read, where I cast my first anchor." Mrs.
Knox knew what he meant, and read to him his favourite seventeenth
chapter of St. John's Gospel. His friend Bannatyne, seeing that he was
just about to depart, and was becoming speechless, drew near to him
saying, "Hast thou hope?" and asked him if he heard to give them a sign
that he died in peace. Knox pointed upwards with two of his fingers, and
thus he died without a struggle. Truly one of the most remarkable men
that ever lived in Scotland, and whose end was peace.
OLD TOWN FROM CALTON HILL.
A vast concourse of people attended his funeral, the
nobility walking in front of the procession, headed by Morton, who had
been appointed Regent of Scotland on the very day on which Knox died,
and whose panegyric at the grave was: "Here lieth a man who in his life
never feared the face of man."
St. Giles's was the first parochial church in Edinburgh,
and its history dates from the early part of the twelfth century. John
Knox was appointed its minister at the Reformation. When Edinburgh was
created a bishopric, the Church of St. Giles became the Cathedral of the
diocese. A remarkable incident happened at this church on Sunday, July
23rd, 1639, when King Charles I ordered the English service-book to be
used. It was the custom of the people in those days to bring their own
seats to church, in the shape of folding-stools, and just as Dean Hanney
was about to read the collect for the day, a woman in the congregation
named Jenny Geddes, who must have had a strong objection to this
innovation, astonished the dean by suddenly throwing her stool at his
head. What Jenny's punishment was for this violent offence we did not
hear, but her stool was still preserved together with John Knox's pulpit
and other relics.
ST. GILES'S CATHEDRAL, EDINBURGH.
Although three hundred years save one had elapsed since
John Knox departed this life, his memory was still greatly revered in
Edinburgh, and his spirit still seemed to pervade the whole place and to
dwell in the hearts and minds of the people with whom we came in
contact. A good illustration of this was the story related by an
American visitor. He was being driven round the city, when the coachman
pointed out the residence of John Knox. "And who was John Knox?" he
asked. The coachman seemed quite shocked that he did not know John Knox,
and, looking down on him with an eye of pity, replied, in a tone of
great solemnity, "Deed, mawn, an' d'ye no read y'r Beeble!"
As we walked about the crowded streets of Edinburgh that
Sunday evening we did not see a single drunken person, a fact which we
attributed to the closing of public houses in Scotland on Sundays. We
wished that a similar enactment might be passed in England, for there
many people might habitually be seen much the worse for liquor on Sunday
evenings, to the great annoyance of those returning from their various
places of worship.
FOURTH WEEK'S JOURNEY
Monday, October 9th
There were some streets in Edinburgh called wynds, and it
was in one of these, the College Wynd, that Sir Walter Scott was born in
the year 1771. It seemed a strange coincidence that the great Dr. Samuel
Johnson should have visited the city in the same year, and have been
conducted by Boswell and Principal Robertson to inspect the college
along that same wynd when the future Sir Walter Scott was only about two
years old. We had not yet ventured to explore one of these ancient wynds,
as they appeared to us like private passages between two rows of tall
houses. As we could not see the other end, we looked upon them as traps
for the unwary, but we mustered up our courage and decided to explore
one of them before leaving the town. We therefore rose early and
selected one of an antiquated appearance, but we must confess to a
feeling of some apprehension in entering it, as the houses on each side
were of six to eight storeys high, and so lofty that they appeared
almost to touch each other at the top. To make matters worse for us,
there were a number of poles projecting from the windows high above our
track, for use on washing days, when clothes were hung upon them to dry.
We had not gone very far, when my brother drew my attention to two women
whose heads appeared through opposite windows in the upper storeys, and
who were talking to each other across the wynd. On our approach we heard
one of them call to the other in a mischievous tone of voice, "See!
there's twa mair comin'!" We were rather nervous already, so we beat an
ignominious retreat, not knowing what might be coming on our devoted
heads if we proceeded farther. In the event of hostilities the two
ladies were so high up in the buildings, which were probably let in
flats, that we should never have been able to find them, and, like the
stray sheep in the Pass of St. Ninians, we might never have been found
ourselves. We were probably taken for a pair of sporting young medical
students instead of grave searchers after wisdom and truth. We therefore
returned to our hotel for the early breakfast that was waiting for us,
and left Edinburgh at 8.10 a.m. on our way towards Peebles.
QUEEN MARY'S BATH.
We journeyed along an upward gradient with a view of
Craigmillar Castle to our left, obtaining on our way a magnificent view
of the fine city we had left behind us, with its castle, and the more
lofty elevation known as Arthur's Seat, from which portions of twelve
counties might be seen. It was a curiously shaped hill with ribs and
bones crossing in various directions, which geologists tell us are
undoubted remains of an old volcano. It certainly was a very active one,
if one can judge by the quantity of debris it threw out. There was an
old saying, especially interesting to ladies, that if you washed your
face at sunrise on May 1st, with dew collected off the top of Arthur's
Seat, you would be beautiful for ever. We were either too late or too
soon, as it was now October 9th, and as we had a lot to see on that day,
with not overmuch time to see it in, we left the dew to the ladies,
feeling certain, however, that they would be more likely to find it
there in October than on May Day. When we had walked about five miles,
we turned off the main road to visit the pretty village of Rosslyn, or
Roslin, with its three great attractions: the chapel, the castle, and
the dell. We found it surrounded by woods and watered by a very pretty
reach of the River Esk, and as full of history as almost any place in
Scotland.
CRAIGMILLAR CASTLE.
The unique chapel was the great object of interest. The
guide informed us that it was founded in 1446 by William St. Clair, who
also built the castle, in which he resided in princely splendour. He
must have been a person of very great importance, for he had titles
enough even to weary a Spaniard, being Prince of Orkney, Duke of
Oldenburg, Earl of Caithness and Stratherne, Lord St. Clair, Lord
Liddlesdale, Lord Admiral of the Scottish Seas, Lord Chief Justice of
Scotland, Lord Warden of the three Marches, Baron of Roslin, Knight of
the Cockle, and High Chancellor, Chamberlain, and Lieutenant of
Scotland!
The lords of Rosslyn were buried in their complete armour
beneath the chapel floor up to the year 1650, but afterwards in coffins.
Sir Walter Scott refers to them in his "Lay of the Last Minstrel" thus:
There are twenty of Rosslyn's Barons bold
Lie buried within that proud
Chapelle.
ROSSLYN CHAPELTHE "MASTER AND 'PRENTICE PILLARS"
There were more carvings in Rosslyn Chapel than in any
place of equal size that we saw in all our wanderings, finely executed,
and with every small detail beautifully finished and exquisitely carved.
Foliage, flowers, and ferns abounded, and religious allegories, such as
the Seven Acts of Mercy, the Seven Deadly Sins, the Dance of Death, and
many scenes from the Scriptures; it was thought that the original idea
had been to represent a Bible in stone. The great object of interest was
the magnificently carved pillar known as the "'Prentice Pillar," and in
the chapel were two carved heads, each of them showing a deep scar on
the right temple. To these, as well as the pillar, a melancholy memory
was attached, from which it appeared that the master mason received
orders that this pillar should be of exquisite workmanship and design.
Fearing his inability to carry out his instructions, he went abroad to
Rome to see what designs he could find for its execution. While he was
away his apprentice had a dream in which he saw a most beautiful column,
and, setting to work at once to carry out the design of his dream,
finished the pillar, a perfect marvel of workmanship. When his master
returned and found the pillar completed, he was so envious and enraged
at the success of his apprentice that he struck him on the head with his
mallet with such force that he killed him on the spot, a crime for which
he was afterwards executed.
THE "'PRENTICE PILLAR."
We passed on to the castle across a very narrow bridge
over a ravine, but we did not find much there except a modern-looking
house built with some of the old stones, under which were four dungeons.
Rosslyn was associated with scenes rendered famous by Bruce and Wallace,
Queen Mary and Rizzio, Robert III and Queen Annabella Drummond, by Comyn
and Fraser, and by the St. Clairs, as well as by legendary stories of
the Laird of Gilmorton Grange, who set fire to the house in which were
his beautiful daughter and her lover, the guilty abbot, so that both of
them were burnt to death, and of the Lady of Woodhouselee, a
white-robed, restless spectre, who appeared with her infant in her arms.
Then there was the triple battle between the Scots and the English, in
which the Scots were victorious:
Three hosts subdued by one!
Three armies scattered like
the spray,
ROSSLYN CASTLE.
Here, too, was the inn, now the caretaker's house,
visited by Dr. Johnson and Boswell in 1773, the poet Wordsworth and his
sister Dorothy in 1803, while some of the many other celebrities who
called from time to time had left their signatures on the window-panes.
Burns and his friend Nasmyth the artist breakfasted there on one
occasion, and Burns was so pleased with the catering that he rewarded
the landlady by scratching on a pewter plate the two following verses:
My blessings on you, sonsie wife,
You've gien us walth for horn
and knife
Nae heart could wish for
more.
Heaven keep you free from
care and strife.
Till far ayont four score;
And while I toddle on through
life,
I'll ne'er gang bye your
door.
Rosslyn at one time was a quiet place and only thought of
in Edinburgh when an explosion was heard at the Rosslyn gunpowder works.
But many more visitors appeared after Sir Walter Scott raised it to
eminence by his famous "Lay" and his ballad of "Rosabelle":
Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud.
Where Rosslyn's chiefs
uncoffin'd lie.
Hawthornden was quite near where stood Ben Jonson's
sycamore, and Drummond's Halls, and Cyprus Grove, but we had no time to
see the caves where Sir Alexander Ramsay had such hairbreadth escapes.
About the end of the year 1618 Ben Jonson, then Poet Laureate of
England, walked from London to Edinburgh to visit his friend Taylor, the
Thames waterman, commonly known as the Water Poet, who at that time was
at Leith. In the January following he called to see the poet Drummond of
Hawthornden, who was more frequently called by the name of the place
where he lived than by his own. He found him sitting in front of his
house, and as he approached Drummond welcomed him with the poetical
salutation:
"Welcome! welcome! Royal Ben,"
to which Jonson responded,
"Thank ye, thank ye, Hawthornden."
HAWTHORNDEN.
The poet Drummond was born in 1585, and died in 1649, his
end being hastened by grief at the execution of Charles I. A relative
erected a monument to his memory in 1784, to which the poet Young added
the following lines:
O
sacred solitude, divine retreat,
Choice of the prudent, envy
of the great!
By the pure stream, or in the
waving shade
I court fair Wisdom, that
celestial maid;
Here from the ways of men,
laid safe ashore,
I smile to hear the distant
tempest roar;
Here, blest with health, with
business unperplex'd,
This life I relish, and
secure the next.
Rosslyn Glen was a lovely place, almost like a fairy
scene, and we wondered if Burns had it in his mind when he wrote:
Their groves of sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers
exalt the perfume;
Far dearer to me yon lone
glen of green bracken,
Wi' the burn stealing under
the long yellow broom.
PENNICUICK HOUSE COURT
We walked very quietly and quickly past the gunpowder
works, lest conversation might cause an explosion that would put an end
to our walking expedition and ourselves at the same time, and regained
the highway at a point about seven miles from Edinburgh. Presently we
came to the Glencorse Barracks, some portions of which adjoined our
road, and, judging from the dress and speech of the solitary sentinel
who was pacing to and fro in front of the entrance, we concluded that a
regiment of Highlanders must be stationed there. He informed us that in
the time of the French Wars some of the prisoners were employed in
making Scotch banknotes at a mill close by, and that portions of the
barracks were still used for prisoners, deserters, and the like. Passing
on to Pennicuick, we crossed a stream that flowed from the direction of
the Pentland Hills, and were informed that no less than seven paper
mills were worked by that stream within a distance of five miles. Here
we saw a monument which commemorated the interment of 309 French
prisoners who died during the years 1811 to 1814, a list of their names
being still in existence. This apparently large death-rate could not
have been due to the unhealthiness of the Glencorse Barracks, where they
were confined, for it was by repute one of the healthiest in the
kingdom, the road being 600 feet or more above sea-level, and the
district generally, including Pennicuick, considered a desirable
health-resort for persons suffering from pulmonary complaints. We stayed
a short time here for refreshments, and outside the town we came in
contact with two young men who were travelling a mile or two on our way,
with whom we joined company. We were giving them an outline of our
journey and they were relating to us their version of the massacre of
Glencoe, when suddenly a pretty little squirrel crossed our path and ran
into a wood opposite. This caused the massacre story to be ended
abruptly and roused the bloodthirsty instinct of the two Scots, who at
once began to throw stones at it with murderous intent. We watched the
battle as the squirrel jumped from branch to branch and passed from one
tree to another until it reached one of rather large dimensions. At this
stage our friends' ammunition, which they had gathered hastily from the
road, became exhausted, and we saw the squirrel looking at them from
behind the trunk of the tree as they went to gather another supply.
Before they were again ready for action the squirrel disappeared. We
were pleased that it escaped, for our companions were good shots. They
explained to us that squirrels were difficult animals to kill with a
stone, unless they were hit under the throat. Stone-throwing was quite a
common practice for country boys in Scotland, and many of them became so
expert that they could hit small objects at a considerable distance. We
were fairly good hands at it ourselves. It was rather a cruel sport, but
loose stones were always plentiful on the roadsfor the surfaces were
not rolled, as in later yearsand small animals, such as dogs and cats
and all kinds of birds, were tempting targets. Dogs were the greatest
sufferers, as they were more aggressive on the roads, and as my brother
had once been bitten by one it was woe to the dog that came within his
reach. Such was the accuracy acquired in the art of stone-throwing at
these animals, that even stooping down in the road and pretending to
lift a stone often caused the most savage dog to retreat quickly. We
parted from the two Scots without asking them to finish their story of
Glencoe, as the details were already fixed in our memories. They told us
our road skirted a moor which extended for forty-seven miles or nearly
as far as Glasgow, but we did not see much of the moor as we travelled
in a different direction.
"JOUGS" AT A CHURCH, PEEBLESSHIRE.
We passed through Edleston, where the church was
dedicated to St. Mungo, reminding us of Mungo Park, the famous African
traveller, and, strangely enough, it appeared we were not far away from
where he was born. In the churchyard here was a tombstone to the memory
of four ministers named Robertson, who followed each other in a direct
line extending to 160 years. There was also to be seen the ancient "Jougs,"
or iron rings in which the necks of criminals were enclosed and fastened
to a wall or post or tree. About three miles before reaching Peebles we
came to the Mansion of Cringletie, the residence of the Wolfe-Murray
family. The name of Wolfe had been adopted because one of the Murrays
greatly distinguished himself at the Battle of Quebec, and on the lawn
in front of the house was a cannon on which the following words had been
engraved:
His Majesty's Ship Royal George of
108 guns, sunk at Spithead 29th August 1782. This gun, a 32 pounder,
part of the armament of the Royal George, was fished up from the
wreck of that ship by Mr. Deans, the zealous and enterprising Diver,
on the 15th November 1836, and was presented by the Master-General
and Board of Ordnance to General Durham of Largo, the elder Brother
of Sir Philip Charles Henderson Durham, Knight Grand Cross of the
Most Honourable Military Order of the Bath, Knight Commander of the
Most Ancient Military Order of Merit of France, Admiral of the White
Squadron of Her Majesty's Fleet, and Commander-in-Chief of the Port
of Portsmouth, 1836.
Sir Philip was serving as a lieutenant in the Royal
George, and was actually on duty as officer of the watch upon deck
when the awful catastrophe took place. He was providentially and
miraculously saved, but nearly 900 persons perished, amongst them the
brave Admiral Kempenfelt, whose flag went down with the ship.
The wreck of the Royal
George was the most awful
disaster that had hitherto happened to the Royal Navy. William Cowper
the poet, as soon as the sad news was brought to him, wrote a solemn
poem entitled "The Loss of the Royal
George," from which it seems that Admiral Kempenfelt was in his
cabin when the great ship suddenly foundered.
His sword was in its sheath,
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down
With twice four hundred men.
Brave Kempenfelt is gone:
His last sea-fight is fought,
The brave that are no more.
All sunk beneath the wave.
Fast by their native shore!
It was nearly dark when we entered the town of Peebles,
where we called at the post office for letters, and experienced some
difficulty at first in obtaining lodgings, seeing that it was the night
before the Hiring Fair. We went first to the Temperance Hotel, but all
the beds had been taken down to make room for the great company they
expected on the morrow; eventually we found good accommodation at the
"Cross Keys Inn," formerly the residence of a country laird.
We had seen notices posted about the town informing the
public that, by order of the Magistrates, who saw the evil of
intoxicating drinks, refreshments were to be provided the following day
at the Town Hall. The Good Templars had also issued a notice that they
were having a tea-party, for which of course we could not stay.
We found Peebles a most interesting place, and the
neighbourhood immediately surrounding it was full of history. The site
on which our hotel had been built was that of the hostelage belonging to
the Abbey of Arbroath in 1317, the monks granting the hostelage to
William Maceon, a burgess of Peebles, on condition that he would give to
them, and their attorneys, honest lodging whenever business brought them
to that town. He was to let them have the use of the hall, with tables
and trestles, also the use of the spence (pantry) and buttery, sleeping
chambers, a decent kitchen, and stables, and to provide them with the
best candles of Paris, with rushes for the floor and salt for the table.
In later times it was the town house of Williamson of Cardrona, and in
the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries became one of the principal
inns, especially for those who, like ourselves, were travelling from the
north, and was conducted by a family named Ritchie. Sir Walter Scott,
who at that time resided quite near, frequented the house, which in his
day was called the "Yett," and we were shown the room he sat in. Miss
Ritchie, the landlady in Scott's day, who died in 1841, was the
prototype of "Meg Dobs," the inn being the "Cleikum Inn" of his novel St.
Ronan's Well.
THE CHURCH AND MONASTERY OF THE HOLY CROSS, PEEBLES, AD 1261.
There was a St. Mungo's Well in Peebles, and Mungo Park
was intimately associated with the town. He was born at Foulshiels,
Yarrow, in the same year as Sir Walter Scott, 1771, just one hundred
years before our visit, and, after studying for the Church, adopted
medicine as his profession. He served a short time with a doctor at
Selkirk, before completing his course at the University of Edinburgh,
and sailed in 1792 for the East Indies in the service of the East India
Company. Later he joined an association for the promotion of discovery
in Africa, and in 1795 he explored the basin of the Niger. In 1798 he
was in London, and in 1801 began practice as a doctor in Peebles. He
told Sir Walter Scott, after passing through one of the severe winters
in Peebleshire, that he would rather return to the wilds of Africa than
pass another winter there. He returned to London in December 1803 to
sail with another expedition, but its departure was delayed for a short
time, so he again visited Peebles, and astonished the people there by
bringing with him a black man named "Sidi Omback Boubi," who was to be
his tutor in Arabic. Meantime, in 1779, he had published a book entitled Travels
in the Interior of Africa, which caused a profound sensation at the
time on account of the wonderful stories it contained of adventures in
what was then an unknown part of the world. This book of "Adventures of
Mungo Park" was highly popular and extensively read throughout the
country, by ourselves amongst the rest.
THE BLACK DWARF.
It was not until January 29th, 1805, that the expedition
left Spithead, and before Mungo Park left Peebles he rode over to
Clovenfords, where Sir Walter Scott was then residing, to stay a night
with him at Ashestiel. On the following morning Sir Walter accompanied
him a short distance on the return journey, and when they were parting
where a small ditch divided the moor from the road Park's horse stumbled
a little. Sir Walter said, "I am afraid, Mungo, that is a bad omen," to
which Park replied, smiling, "Friets (omens) follow those that look for
them," and so they parted for ever. In company with his friends Anderson
and Scott he explored the rivers Gambia and Niger, but his friends died,
and Dr. Park himself was murdered by hostile natives who attacked his
canoe in the River Niger.
Quite near our lodgings was the house where this famous
African traveller lived and practised blood-letting as a surgeon, and
where dreams of the tent in which he was once a prisoner and of dark
faces came to him at night, while the door at which his horse was
tethered as he went to see Sir Walter Scott, and the window out of which
he put his head when knocked up in the night, were all shown as objects
of interest to visitors. Mungo had at least one strange patient, and
that was the Black Dwarf, David Ritchie, who lies buried close to the
gate in the old churchyard. This was a horrid-looking creature, who
paraded the country as a privileged beggar. He affected to be a judge of
female beauty, and there was a hole in the wall of his cottage through
which the fair maidens had to look, a rose being passed through if his
fantastic fancies were pleased; but if not, the tiny window was closed
in their faces. He was known to Sir Walter Scott, who adopted his name
in one of his novels, The
Bowed Davie of the Windus. His cottage, which was practically in the
same state as at the period of David Ritchie's death, bore a tablet
showing that it had been restored by the great Edinburgh publishers W.
and R. Chambers, who were natives of Peebles, and worded: "In memory D.R.,
died 1811. W. and R. Chambers, 1845."
Dr. Pennicuick, who flourished A.D. 1652-1722, had
written:
Peebles, the Metropolis of the shire,
Six times three praises doth
from me require;
Three streets, three ports,
three bridges, it adorn,
And three old steeples by
three churches borne,
Three mills to serve the town
in time of need.
On Peebles water, and on
River Tweed,
Their arms are proper,
and point forth their meaning,
Three salmon fishes nimbly
counter swimming;
but there were other "Threes" connected with Peebles both
before and after the doctor's time: "The Three Tales of the Three
Priests of Peebles," supposed to have been told about the year 1460
before a blazing fire at the "Virgin Inn."
There were also the Three Hopes buried in the churchyard,
whose tombstone records:
Here lie three Hopes enclosed within,
Death's prisoners by Adam's
sin;
Yet rest in hope that they
shall be
Set by the Second Adam free.
And there were probably other triplets, but when my
brother suggested there were also three letter e's in the name of
Peebles, I reminded him that it was closing-time, and also bed-time, so
we rested that night in an old inn such as Charles Dickens would have
been delighted to patronise.
(Distance walked twenty-five miles.)
Tuesday, October 10th.
This was the day of the Great Peebles Fair, and everybody
was awake early, including ourselves. We left the "Cross Keys" hotel at
six o'clock in the morning, and a very cold one it was, for there had
been a sharp frost during the night. The famous old Cross formerly stood
near our inn, and the Cross Church close at hand, or rather all that
remained of them after the wars. In spite of the somewhat modern
appearance of the town, which was probably the result of the business
element introduced by the establishment of the woollen factories,
Peebles was in reality one of the ancient royal burghs, and formerly an
ecclesiastical centre of considerable importance, for in the reign of
Alexander III several very old relics were said to have been found,
including what was supposed to be a fragment of the true Cross, and with
it the calcined bones of St. Nicholas, who suffered in the Roman
persecution, A.D. 294. On the strength of these discoveries the king
ordered a magnificent church to be erected, which caused Peebles to be a
Mecca for pilgrims, who came there from all parts to venerate the
relics. The building was known as the Cross Church, where a monastery
was founded at the desire of James III in 1473 and attached to the
church, in truly Christian spirit, one-third of its revenues being
devoted to the redemption of Christian captives who remained in the
hands of the Turks after the Crusades.
ST. ANDREWS CHURCH, PEEBLES, A.D. 1195.
If we had visited the town in past ages, there would not
have been any fair on October 10th, since the Great Fair, called the
Beltane Festival, was then held on May Day; but after the finding of the
relics it was made the occasion on which to celebrate the "Finding of
the Cross," pilgrims and merchants coming from all parts to join the
festivities and attend the special celebrations at the Cross Church. On
the occasion of a Beltane Fair it was the custom to light a fire on the
hill, round which the young people danced and feasted on cakes made of
milk and eggs. We thought Beltane was the name of a Sun-god, but it
appeared that it was a Gaelic word meaning Bel, or Beal's-fire, and
probably originated from the Baal mentioned in Holy Writ.
As our next great object of interest was Abbotsford, the
last house inhabited by Sir Walter Scott, our course lay alongside the
River Tweed. We were fortunate in seeing the stream at Peebles, which
stood at the entrance to one of the most beautiful stretches in the
whole of its length of 103 miles, 41 of which lay in Peeblesshire. The
twenty miles along which we walked was magnificent river scenery.
THE SEAL OF THE CROSS CHURCH.
We passed many castles and towers and other ancient
fortifications along its banks, the first being at Horsburgh, where the
castle looked down upon a grass field called the Chapelyards, on which
formerly stood the chapel and hospice of the two saints, Leonard and
Lawrence. At this hospice pilgrims from England were lodged when on
their way to Peebles to attend the feasts of the "Finding of the Cross"
and the "Exaltation of the Cross," which were celebrated at Beltane and
Roodmass respectively, in the ancient church and monastery of the Holy
Cross. It was said that King James I of England on his visits to Peebles
was also lodged here, and it is almost certain the Beltane Sports
suggested to him his famous poem, "Peebles to the Play," one of its
lines being:
Hope Kailzie, and Cardrona, gathered out thickfold,
Singing "Hey ho, rumbelow,
the young folks were full bold."
both of which places could be seen from Horsburgh Castle
looking across the river.
We saw the Tower of Cardrona, just before entering the
considerable village, or town, of Innerleithen at six miles from
Peebles, and although the time was so early, we met many people on their
way to the fair. Just before reaching Innerleithen we came to a sharp
deep bend in the river, which we were informed was known as the "Dirt
Pot" owing to its black appearance. At the bottom of this dark depth the
silver bells of Peebles were supposed to be lying. We also saw
Glennormiston House, the residence of William Chambers, who, with his
brother, Robert, founded Chambers's
Journal of wide-world
fame, and authors, singly and conjointly, of many other volumes. The two
brothers were both benefactors to their native town of Peebles, and
William became Lord Provost of Edinburgh, and the restorer of its
ancient Cathedral of St. Giles's. His brother Robert died earlier in
that very year in which we were walking. We reached Innerleithen just as
the factory operatives were returning from breakfast to their work at
the woollen factories, and they seemed quite a respectable class of
people. Here we called at the principal inn for our own breakfast, for
which we were quite ready, but we did not know then that Rabbie Burns
had been to Innerleithen, where, as he wrote, he had from a jug "a
dribble o' drink," or we should have done ourselves the honour of
calling at the same place. At Innerleithen we came to another "Bell-tree
Field," where the bell hung on the branch of a tree to summon
worshippers to church, and there were also some mineral springs which
became famous after the publication of Sir Walter Scott's novel, St.
Ronan's Well.
TRAQUAIR HOUSE.
Soon after leaving Innerleithen we could see Traquair
House towering above the trees by which it was surrounded. Traquair was
said to be the oldest inhabited house in Scotland. Sir Walter Scott knew
it well, it being quite near to Ashiestiel, where he wrote "The Lay of
the Last Minstrel," "Marmion," and "The Lady of the Lake." It was one of
the prototypes of "Tully Veolan" in his Waverley.
There was no abode in Scotland more quaint and curious than Traquair
House, for it was turreted, walled, buttressed, windowed, and loopholed,
all as in the days of old. Within were preserved many relics of the
storied past and also of royalty. Here was the bed on which Queen Mary
slept in 1566; here also the oaken cradle of the infant King James VI.
The library was rich in valuable and rare books and MSS. and service
books of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries in beautiful
penmanship upon fine vellum. The magnificent avenue was grass-grown, the
gates had not been opened for many years, while the pillars of the
gateway were adorned with two huge bears standing erect and bearing the
motto: "Judge Nocht." Magnificent woods adorned the grounds, remains of
the once-famous forest of Ettrick, said to be the old classical forest
of Caledon of the days of King Arthur.
Here was also Flora Hill, with its beautiful woods, where
Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, lays the scene of his exquisite poem "Kilmeny"
in theQueen's Wake, where
Bonnie Kilmeny gae'd up the Glen,
But it wisna to meet
Duneira's men, etc.
Through beautiful scenery we continued alongside the
Tweed, and noticed that even the rooks could not do without breakfast,
for they were busy in a potato field. We were amused to see them fly
away on our approach, some of them with potatoes in their mouths, and,
like other thieves, looking quite guilty.
Presently we came to a solitary fisherman standing
knee-deep in the river, with whom we had a short conversation. He said
he was fishing for salmon, which ascended the river from Berwick about
that time of the year and returned in May. We were rather amused at his
mentioning the return journey, as from the frantic efforts he was making
to catch the fish he was doing his best to prevent them from coming back
again. He told us he had been fishing there since daylight that morning,
and had caught nothing. By way of sympathy my brother told him a story
of two young men who walked sixteen miles over the hills to fish in a
stream. They stayed that night at the nearest inn, and started out very
early the next morning. When they got back to the hotel at night they
wrote the following verse in the visitors' book:
We fished till night without
a bite.
This was a description, he said, of real fishermen's
luck, but whether the absence of the "bite" referred to the fishermen or
to the fish was not quite clear. It had been known to apply to both.
Proceeding further we met a gentleman walking along the
road, of whom we made inquiries about the country we were passing
through. He told us that the castle we could see across the river was
named "Muckle Mouthed Meg." A certain man in ancient times, having
offended against the laws, was given a choice for a sentence by the King
of Scotland-either he must marry Muckle Mouthed Meg, a woman with a
very large mouth, or suffer death. He chose the first, and the pair
lived together in the old castle for some years. We told him we were
walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End, but when he said he had
passed John o' Groat's in the train, we had considerable doubts as to
the accuracy of his statements, for there was no railway at all in the
County of Caithness in which John o' Groat's was situated. We therefore
made further inquiries about the old castle, and were informed that the
proper name of it was Elibank Castle, and that it once belonged to Sir
Gideon Murray, who one night caught young Willie Scott of Oakwood Tower
trying to "lift the kye." The lowing of the cattle roused him up, and
with his retainers he drove off the marauders, while his lady watched
the fight from the battlement of the Tower. Willie, or, to be more
correct, Sir William Scott, Junr., was caught and put in the dungeon.
Sir Gideon Murray decided to hang him, but his lady interposed: "Would
ye hang the winsome Laird o' Harden," she said, "when ye hae three
ill-favoured daughters to marry?" Sir Willie was one of the handsomest
men of his time, and when the men brought the rope to hang him he was
given the option of marrying Muckle Mou'd Meg or of being hanged with a
"hempen halter." It was said that when he first saw Meg he said he
preferred to be hanged, but he found she improved on closer
acquaintance, and so in three days' time a clergyman said, "Wilt thou
take this woman here present to be thy lawful wife?" knowing full well
what the answer must be. Short of other materials, the marriage contract
was written with a goose quill on the parchment head of a drum. Sir
William found that Meg made him a very good wife in spite of her wide
mouth, and they lived happily together, the moral being, we supposed,
that it is not always the prettiest girl that makes the best wife.
Shortly afterwards we left the River Tweed for a time
while we walked across the hills to Galashiels, and on our way to that
town we came to a railway station near which were some large vineries. A
carriage was standing at the entrance to the gardens, where two
gentlemen were buying some fine bunches of grapes which we could easily
have disposed of, for we were getting rather hungry, but as they did not
give us the chance, we walked on. Galashiels was formerly only a
village, the "shiels" meaning shelters for sheep, but it had risen to
importance owing to its woollen factories. It was now a burgh, boasting
a coat-of-arms on which was represented a plum-tree with a fox on either
side, and the motto, "Sour plums of Galashiels." The origin of this was
an incident that occurred in 1337, in the time of Edward III, when some
Englishmen who were retreating stopped here to eat some wild plums.
While they were so engaged they were attacked by a party of Scots with
swords, who killed every one of them, throwing their bodies into a
trench afterwards known as the "Englishman's Syke." We passed a road
leading off to the left to Stow, where King Arthur and the Knights of
the Round Table were said to have defeated the Heathens. We left
Galashiels by the Melrose Road, and, after walking about a mile and a
half, we turned aside to cross the River Tweed, not by a ferry, as that
was against our rule, but by a railway bridge. No doubt this was against
the railway company's by-laws and regulations, but it served our
purpose, and we soon reached Abbotsford, that fine mansion, once the
residence of the great Sir Walter Scott, the king of novelists, on the
building of which he had spent a great amount of money, and the place of
his death September 21st, 1832.
ABBOTSFORD FROM THE RIVER.
Abbotsford, including the gardens, park, walks and woods,
was all his own creation, and was so named by him because the River
Tweed was crossed at that point by the monks on their way to and from
Melrose Abbey in the olden times.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
We found the house in splendid condition and the garden
just as Sir Walter had left it. We were shown through the hall, study,
library, and drawing-room, and even his last suit of clothes, with his
white beaver hat, was carefully preserved under a glass case. We saw
much armour, the largest suit belonging formerly to Sir John Cheney, the
biggest man who fought at the battle of Bosworth Field. The collection
of arms gathered out of all ages and countries was said to be the finest
in the world, including Rob Roy Macgregor's gun, sword, and dirk, the
Marquis of Montrose's sword, and the rifle of Andreas Hofer the Tyrolese
patriot.
Amongst these great curios was the small pocket-knife
used by Sir Walter when he was a boy. We were shown the presents given
to him from all parts of the kingdom, and from abroad, including an
ebony suite of furniture presented to him by King George IV. There were
many portraits and busts of himself, and his wife and children,
including a marble bust of himself by Chantrey, the great sculptor,
carved in the year 1820. The other portraits included one of Queen
Elizabeth, another of Rob Roy; a painting of Queen Mary's head, after it
had been cut off at Fotheringay, and a print of Stothard's Canterbury
Pilgrims. We also saw an iron box in which Queen Mary kept her money
for the poor, and near this was her crucifix. In fact, the place
reminded us of some great museum, for there were numberless relics of
antiquity stored in every nook and corner, and in the most unlikely
places. We were sorry we had not time to stay and take a longer survey,
for the mansion and its surroundings form one of the great sights of
Scotland, whose people revere the memory of the great man who lived
there.
SIR WALTER SCOTT'S STUDY
The declining days of Sir Walter were not without
sickness and sorrow, for he had spent all the money obtained by the sale
of his books on this palatial mansion. After a long illness, and as a
last resource, he was taken to Italy; but while there he had another
apoplectic attack, and was brought home again, only just in time to die.
He expressed a wish that Lockhart, his son-in-law, should read to him,
and when asked from what book, he answered, "Need you ask? There is but
one." He chose the fourteenth chapter of St. John's Gospel, and when it
was ended, he said, "Well, this is a great comfort: I have followed you
distinctly, and I feel as if I were yet to be myself again." In an
interval of consciousness he said, "Lockhart! I may have but a minute to
speak to you, my dear; be a good man, be virtuous, be religious, be a
good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie
here."
A friend who was present at the death of Sir Walter
wrote: "It was a beautiful dayso warm that every window was wide open,
and so perfectly still that the sound of all others most delicious to
his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly
audibleas we kneeled around his bed, and his eldest son kissed and
closed his eyes." We could imagine the wish that would echo in more than
one mind as Sir Walter's soul departed, perhaps through one of the open
windows, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be
like his."
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting
there;
It is the loneliness in death
That parts not quite with
parting breath,
But beauty with that fearful
bloom,
The hue which haunts it to
the tomb,
Expression's last receding
ray;
A gilded halo hov'ring round
decay.
ABBOTSFORD.
We passed slowly through the garden and grounds, and when
we reached the road along which Sir Walter Scott had so often walked, we
hurried on to see the old abbey of Melrose, which was founded by King
David I. On our way we passed a large hydropathic establishment and an
asylum not quite completed, and on reaching Melrose we called at one of
the inns for tea, where we read a description by Sir Walter of his
"flitting" from Ashiestiel, his former residence, to his grand house at
Abbotsford. The flitting took place at Whitsuntide in 1812, so, as he
died in 1832, he must have lived at Abbotsford about twenty years. He
was a great collector of curios, and wrote a letter describing the
comical scene which took place on that occasion. "The neighbours," he
wrote, "have been very much delighted with the procession of furniture,
in which old swords, bows, targets, and lances made a very conspicuous
show. A family of turkeys was accommodated within the helmet of some preux
chevalier of ancient
Border fame, and the very cows, for aught I know, were bearing banners
and muskets. I assure you that this caravan, attended by a dozen ragged,
rosy, peasant children carrying fishing-rods and spears, and leading
ponies, greyhounds, and spaniels, would, as it crossed the Tweed, have
furnished no bad subject for the pencil."
THE CHANCEL, MELROSE ABBEY.
Melrose Abbey was said to afford the finest specimen of
Gothic architecture and Gothic sculpture of which Scotland could boast,
and the stone of which it had been built, though it had resisted the
weather for many ages, retained perfect sharpness, so that even the most
minute ornaments seemed as entire as when they had been newly wrought.
In some of the cloisters there were representations of flowers, leaves,
and vegetables carved in stone with "accuracy and precision so delicate
that it almost made visitors distrust their senses when they considered
the difficulty of subjecting so hard a substance to such intricate and
exquisite modulation." This superb convent was dedicated to St. Mary,
and the monks were of the Cistercian Order, of whom the poet wrote:
Oh, the monks of Melrose made gude kail (broth)
On Fridays when they fasted;
Nor wanted they gude beef and
ale,
So lang's their neighbours'
lasted.
There were one hundred monks at Melrose in the year 1542,
and it was supposed that in earlier times much of the carving had been
done by monks under strong religious influences. The rose predominated
amongst the carved flowers, as it was the abbot's favourite flower,
emblematic of the locality from which the abbey took its name. The curly
green, or kale, which grew in nearly every garden in Scotland, was a
very difficult plant to sculpture, but was so delicately executed here
as to resemble exactly the natural leaf; and there was a curious
gargoyle representing a pig playing on the bagpipes, so this instrument
must have been of far more ancient origin than we had supposed when we
noticed its absence from the instruments recorded as having been played
when Mary Queen of Scots was serenaded in Edinburgh on her arrival in
Scotland.
ENTRANCE TO MELROSE ABBEY.
Under the high altar were buried the remains of Alexander
II, the dust of Douglas the hero of Otterburn, and others of his
illustrious and heroic race, as well as the remains of Sir Michael
Scott. Here too was buried the heart of King Robert the Bruce. It
appeared that Bruce told his son that he wished to have his heart buried
at Melrose; but when he was ready to die and his friends were assembled
round his bedside, he confessed to them that in his passion he had
killed Comyn with his own hand, before the altar, and had intended, had
he lived, to make war on the Saracens, who held the Holy Land, for the
evil deeds he had done. He requested his dearest friend, Lord James
Douglas, to carry his heart to Jerusalem and bury it there. Douglas wept
bitterly, but as soon as the king was dead he had his heart taken from
his body, embalmed, and enclosed in a silver case which he had made for
it, and wore it suspended from his neck by a string of silk and gold.
With some of the bravest men in Scotland he set out for Jerusalem, but,
landing in Spain, they were persuaded to take part in a battle there
against the Saracens. Douglas, seeing one of his friends being hard
pressed by the enemy, went to his assistance and became surrounded by
the Moors himself. Seeing no chance of escape, he took from his neck the
heart of Bruce, and speaking to it as he would have done to Bruce if
alive, said, "Pass first in the fight as thou wert wont to do, and
Douglas will follow thee or die." With these words he threw the king's
heart among the enemy, and rushing forward to the place where it fell,
was there slain, and his body was found lying on the silver case. Most
of the Scots were slain in this battle with the Moors, and they that
remained alive returned to Scotland, the charge of Bruce's heart being
entrusted to Sir Simon Lockhard of Lee, who afterwards for his device
bore on his shield a man's heart with a padlock upon it, in memory of
Bruce's heart which was padlocked in the silver case. For this reason,
also, Sir Simon's name was changed from Lockhard to Lockheart, and
Bruce's heart was buried in accordance with his original desire at
Melrose.
Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie, who also lies buried in
the abbey, flourished in the thirteenth century. His great learning,
chiefly acquired in foreign countries, together with an identity in
name, had given rise to a certain confusion, among the earlier
historians, between him and Michael Scott the "wondrous wizard and
magician" referred to by Dante in Canto xxmo of the "Inferno." Michael
Scott studied such abstruse subjects as judicial astrology, alchemy,
physiognomy, and chiromancy, and his commentary on Aristotle was
considered to be of such a high order that it was printed in Venice in
1496. Sir Walter Scott referred to Michael Scott:
The wondrous Michael Scott
A wizard, of such dreaded
fame,
That when in Salamanca's Cave
Him listed his magic wand to
wave
The bells would ring in Notre
Dame,
and he explained the origin of this by relating the story
that Michael on one occasion when in Spain was sent as an Ambassador to
the King of France to obtain some concessions, but instead of going in
great state, as usual on those occasions, he evoked the services of a
demon in the shape of a huge black horse, forcing it to fly through the
air to Paris. The king was rather offended at his coming in such an
unceremonious manner, and was about to give him a contemptuous refusal
when Scott asked him to defer his decision until his horse had stamped
its foot three times. The first stamp shook every church in Paris,
causing all the bells to ring; the second threw down three of the towers
of the palace; and when the infernal steed had lifted up his hoof for
the third time, the king stopped him by promising Michael the most ample
concessions.
A modern writer, commenting upon this story, says, "There
is something uncanny about the Celts which makes them love a Trinity of
ideas, and the old stories of the Welsh collected in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries include a story very similar about Kilhwch, cousin
to Arthur, who threatens if he cannot have what he wants that he will
set up three shouts than which none were ever heard more deadly and
which will be heard from Pengwaed in Cornwall to Dinsol in the North and
Ergair Oerful in Ireland. The Triads show the method best and furnish
many examples, quoting the following:
Three things are best when hungsalt
fish, a wet hat, and an Englishman.
Three things are difficult to getgold from the miser, love from the
devil, and courtesy from the Englishman.
The three hardest thingsa granite block, a miser's barley loaf, and
an Englishman's heart.
But perhaps the best known is one translated long ago
from the Welsh:
A
woman, a dog, and a walnut tree,
The more they are beaten, the
better they be.
But to return to Michael Scott. Another strange story
about Michael was his adventure with the witch of Falschope. To avenge
himself upon her for striking him suddenly with his own wand whereby he
was transformed for a time and assumed the appearance of a hare, Michael
sent his man with two greyhounds to the house where the witch lived, to
ask the old lady to give him a bit of bread for the greyhounds; if she
refused he was to place a piece of paper, which he handed to him, over
the top of the house door. The witch gave the man a curt refusal, and so
he fastened the paper, on which were some words, including, "Michael
Scott's man sought meat and gat nane," as directed. This acted as a
spell, and the old witch, who was making cakes for the reapers then at
work in the corn, now began to dance round the fire (which, as usual in
those days, was burning in the middle of the room) and to sing the
words:
"Maister
Michael Scott's man
Sought meat and gat nane."
and she had to continue thus until the spell was broken.
Meantime, her husband and the reapers who were with him were wondering
why the cakes had not reached them, so the old man sent one of the
reapers to inquire the reason. As soon as he went through the door he
was caught by the spell and so had to perform the same antics as his
mistress. As he did not return, the husband sent man after man until he
was alone, and then went himself. But, knowing all about the quarrel
between Michael and his wife, and having seen the wizard on the hill, he
was rather more cautious than his men, so, instead of going through the
door, he looked through the window. There he saw the reapers dragging
his wife, who had become quite exhausted, sometimes round, and sometimes
through the fire, singing the chorus as they did so. He at once saddled
his horse and rode as fast as he could to find Michael, who
good-naturedly granted his request, and directed him to enter his house
backwards, removing the paper from above the door with his left hand as
he went in. The old man lost no time in returning home, where he found
them all still dancing furiously and singing the same rhyme; but
immediately he entered, the supernatural performance ended, very much,
we imagine, to the relief of all concerned.
Michael Scott was at one time, it was said, much
embarrassed by a spirit for whom he had to find constant employment, and
amongst other work he commanded him to build a dam or other weir across
the River Tweed at Kelso. He completed that in a single night. Michael
next ordered him to divide the summit of the Eildon Hill in three parts;
but as this stupendous work was also completed in one night, he was at
his wits' end what work to find him to do next. At last he bethought
himself of a job that would find him constant employment. He sent him to
the seashore and employed him at the hopeless and endless task of making
ropes of sand there, which as fast as he made them were washed away by
the tides. The three peaks of Eildon Hill, of nearly equal height, are
still to be seen. Magnificent views are to be obtained from their tops,
which Sir Walter Scott often frequented and of which he wrote, "I can
stand on the Eildon and point out forty-three places famous in war and
in verse."
Another legend connected with these hills was that in the
"Eildon caverns vast" a cave existed where the British King Arthur and
his famous Knights of the Round Table lie asleep waiting the blast of
the bugle which will recall them from Fairyland to lead the British on
to a victory that will ensure a united and glorious Empire. King Arthur
has a number of burial-places of the same character, according to local
stories both in England and Wales, and even one in Cheshire at Alderley
Edge, close By the "Wizard Inn," which title refers to the story.
MELROSE ABBEY.
Melrose and district has been hallowed by the influence
and memory of Sir Walter Scott, who was to Melrose what Shakespeare was
to Stratford-on-Avon, and he has invested the old abbey with an
additional halo of interest by his "Lay of the Last Minstrel," a copy of
which we saw for the first time at the inn where we called for tea. We
were greatly interested, as it related to the neighbourhood we were
about to pass through in particular, and we were quite captivated with
its opening lines, which appealed so strongly to wayfarers like
ourselves:
The way was long, the wind was cold.
The Minstrel was infirm and
old;
His wither'd cheek, and
tresses gray,
Seem'd to have known a better
day;
The harp, his sole remaining
joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy.
The last of all the Bards was
he,
Who sung of Border chivalry.
We were now nearing the Borders of Scotland and England,
where this Border warfare formerly raged for centuries. The desperadoes
engaged in it on the Scottish side were known as Moss-troopers, any of
whom when caught by the English were taken to Carlisle and hanged near
there at a place called Hairibee. Those who claimed the "benefit of
clergy" were allowed to repeat in Latin the "Miserere mei," at the
beginning of the 51st Psalm, before they were executed, this becoming
known as the "neck-verse."
William of Deloraine was one of the most desperate
Moss-troopers ever engaged in Border warfare, but he, according to Sir
Walter Scott:
By wily turns, by desperate bounds,
Had baffled Percy's best
blood-hounds;
In Eske or Liddel, fords were
none,
But he would ride them, one
by one;
Steady of heart, and stout of
hand.
As ever drove prey from
Cumberland;
Five times outlawed had he
been,
By England's King, and
Scotland's Queen.
When Sir Michael Scott was buried in Melrose Abbey his
Mystic Bookwhich no one was ever to see except the Chief of Branxholm,
and then only in the time of needwas buried with him. Branxholm Tower
was about eighteen miles from Melrose and situated in the vale of
Cheviot. After the death of Lord Walter (who had been killed in the
Border warfare), a gathering of the kinsmen of the great Buccleuch was
held there, and the "Ladye Margaret" left the company, retiring laden
with sorrow and her impending troubles to her bower. It was a fine
moonlight night when
From amid the armιd train
She called to her, William of
Deloraine.
and sent him for the mighty book to Melrose Abbey which
was to relieve her of all her troubles.
"Sir William of Deloraine, good at need,
Mount thee on the wightest
steed;
Spare not to spur, nor stint
to ride.
Until thou come to fair
Tweedside;
And in Melrose's holy pile
Seek thou the Monk of St.
Mary's aisle.
Greet the Father well from
me;
Say that the fated hour is
come,
And to-night he shall watch
with thee,
To win the treasure of the
tomb:
For this will be St.
Michael's night,
And, though stars be dim, the
moon is bright;
And the Cross, of bloody red,
Will point to the grave of
the mighty dead.
"What he gives thee, see thou
keep;
Stay not thou for food or
sleep:
Be it scroll, or be it book,
Into it, Knight, thou must
not look;
If thou readest, thou art
lorn!
Better had'st thou ne'er been
born."
"O swiftly can speed my
dapple-grey steed,
Which drinks of the Teviot
clear;
Ere break of day," the
Warrior 'gan say,
And safer by none may thy
errand be done,
Letter nor line know I never
a one,
Wer't my neck-verse at
Hairibee."
Deloraine lost no time in carrying out his Ladye's
wishes, and rode furiously on his horse to Melrose Abbey in order to be
there by midnight, and as described in Sir Walter Scott's "Lay of the
Last Minstrel":
Short halt did Deloraine make there;
Little reck'd he of the scene
so fair
With dagger's hilt, on the
wicket strong,
He struck full loud, and
struck full long.
The porter hurried to the
gate
"Who knocks so loud, and
knocks so late?"
"From Branksome I," the
warrior cried;
And straight the wicket
open'd wide
For Branksome's Chiefs had in
battle stood,
To fence the rights of fair
Melrose;
And lands and livings, many a
rood,
Had gifted the Shrine for
their souls' repose.
Bold Deloraine his errand
said;
The porter bent his humble
head;
With torch in hand, and feet
unshod.
And noiseless step, the path
he trod.
The archθd cloister, far and
wide,
Rang to the warrior's
clanking stride,
Till, stooping low his lofty
crest,
He enter'd the cell of the
ancient priest,
And lifted his barred
aventayle,
To hail the Monk of St.
Mary's aisle.
"The Ladye of Branksome
greets thee by me,
Says, that the fated hour is
come,
And that to-night I shall
watch with thee,
To win the treasure of the
tomb."
From sackcloth couch the Monk
arose,
With toil his stiffen'd limbs
he rear'd;
A hundred years had flung
their snows
On his thin locks and
floating beard.
And strangely on the Knight
look'd he,
And his blue eyes gleam'd
wild and wide;
"And, darest thou, Warrior!
seek to see
What heaven and hell alike
would hide?
My breast, in belt of iron
pent,
With shirt of hair and
scourge of thorn;
For threescore years, in
penance spent.
My knees those flinty stones
have worn;
Yet all too little to atone
For knowing what should ne'er
be known.
Would'st thou thy every
future year
In ceaseless prayer and
penance drie,
Yet wait thy latter end with
fear
Then, daring Warrior, follow
me!"
"Penance, father, will I
none;
Prayer know I hardly one;
For mass or prayer can I
rarely tarry,
Save to patter an Ave Mary,
When I ride on a Border
foray.
So speed me my errand, and
let me be gone."
Again on the Knight look'd
the Churchman old,
And again he sighed heavily;
For he had himself been a
warrior bold.
And fought in Spain and
Italy.
And he thought on the days
that were long since by,
When his limbs were strong,
and his courage was high
Now, slow and faint, he led
the way,
Where, cloister'd round, the
garden lay;
The pillar'd arches were over
their head,
And beneath their feet were
the bones of the dead.
The moon on the east oriel
shone
Through slender shafts of
shapely stone,
The silver light, so pale and
faint,
Shew'd many a prophet, and
many a saint,
Whose image on the glass was
dyed;
Full in the midst, his Cross
of Red
Triumphal Michael brandished,
And trampled the Apostate's
pride.
The moon beam kiss'd the holy
pane,
And threw on the pavement a
bloody stain.
They sate them down on a
marble stone,
(A Scottish monarch slept
below;)
Thus spoke the Monk, in
solemn tone
"I was not always a man of
woe;
For Paynim countries I have
trod,
And fought beneath the Cross
of God:
Now, strange to my eyes thine
arms appear.
And their iron clang sounds
strange to my ear.
"In these far climes it was
my lot
To meet the wondrous Michael
Scott;
Some of his skill he taught
to me;
And, Warrior, I could say to
thee
The words that cleft Eildon
hills in three,
And bridled the Tweed with a
curb of stone:
But to speak them were a
deadly sin;
And for having but thought
them my heart within,
A treble penance must be
done.
"When Michael lay on his
dying bed,
His conscience was awakened
He bethought him of his
sinful deed,
And he gave me a sign to come
with speed.
I was in Spain when the
morning rose,
But I stood by his bed ere
evening close.
The words may not again be
said
That he spoke to me, on
death-bed laid;
They would rend this Abbaye's
massy nave,
And pile it in heaps above
his grave.
"I swore to bury his Mighty
Book,
That never mortal might
therein look;
And never to tell where it
was hid,
Save at his Chief of
Branksome's need:
And when that need was past
and o'er,
Again the volume to restore.
I buried him on St. Michael's
night,
When the bell toll'd one, and
the moon was bright,
And I dug his chamber among
the dead,
When the floor of the chancel
was stained red,
That his patron's cross might
over him wave,
And scare the fiends from the
Wizard's grave.
"It was a night of woe and
dread,
When Michael in the tomb I
laid!
Strange sounds along the
chancel pass'd,
The banners waved without a
blast"
Still spoke the Monk, when
the bell toll'd one!
I tell you, that a braver man
Than William of Deloraine,
good at need,
Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a
steed;
Yet somewhat was he chill'd
with dread,
And his hair did bristle upon
his head.
"Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross
of Red
Points to the grave of the
mighty dead;
Within it burns a wondrous
light,
To chase the spirits that
love the night:
That lamp shall burn
unquenchably,
Until the eternal doom shall
be."
Slow moved the Monk to the
broad flag-stone,
Which the bloody Cross was
traced upon:
He pointed to a secret nook;
An iron bar the Warrior took;
And the Monk made a sign with
his wither'd hand,
The grave's huge portal to
expand.
With beating heart to the
task he went;
His sinewy frame o'er the
grave-stone bent;
With bar of iron heaved amain,
Till the toil-drops fell from
his brows, like rain.
It was by dint of passing
strength,
That he moved the massy stone
at length.
I would you had been there,
to see
How the light broke forth so
gloriously,
Stream'd upward to the
chancel roof,
And through the galleries far
aloof!
No earthly flame blazed e'er
so bright:
It shone like heaven's own
blessed light,
And, issuing from the tomb,
Show'd the Monk's cowl, and
visage pale,
Danced on the dark-brow'd
Warrior's mail,
And kiss'd his waving plume.
Before their eyes the Wizard
lay,
As if he had not been dead a
day.
His hoary beard in silver
roll'd.
He seem'd some seventy
winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapp'd him
round,
With a wrought Spanish
baldric bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond
the sea:
His left hand held his Book
of Might;
A silver cross was in his
right;
The lamp was placed beside
his knee:
High and majestic was his
look,
At which the fellest fiends
had shook.
And all unruffled was his
face:
They trusted his soul had
gotten grace.
Often had William of
Deloraine
Rode through the battle's
bloody plain,
And trampled down the
warriors slain,
And neither known remorse nor
awe;
Yet now remorse and awe he
own'd;
His breath came thick, his
head swam round.
When this strange scene of
death he saw.
Bewilder'd and unnerved he
stood.
And the priest pray'd
fervently and loud:
With eyes averted prayed he;
He might not endure the sight
to see.
Of the man he had loved so
brotherly.
And when the priest his
death-prayer had pray'd,
Thus unto Deloraine he said:
"Now, speed thee what thou
hast to do,
Or, Warrior, we may dearly
rue;
For those, thou may'st not
look upon,
Are gathering fast round the
yawning stone!"
Then Deloraine, in terror,
took
From the cold hand the Mighty
Book,
With iron clasp'd, and with
iron bound:
He thought, as he took it,
the dead man frown'd;
But the glare of the
sepulchral light,
Perchance, had dazzled the
Warrior's sight.
When the huge stone sunk o'er
the tomb.
The night return'd in double
gloom;
For the moon had gone down,
and the stars were few;
And, as the Knight and Priest
withdrew.
With wavering steps and dizzy
brain,
They hardly might the postern
gain.
'Tis said, as through the
aisles they pass'd,
They heard strange noises on
the blast;
And through the
cloister-galleries small,
Which at mid-height thread
the chancel wall,
Loud sobs, and laughter
louder, ran,
And voices unlike the voices
of man;
As if the fiends kept
holiday,
Because these spells were
brought to day.
I cannot tell how the truth
may be;
I say the tale as 'twas said
to me.
"Now, hie thee hence," the
Father said,
"And when we are on death-bed
laid,
O may our dear Ladye, and
sweet St. John,
Forgive our souls for the
deed we have done!"
The Monk return'd him to his
cell,
And many a prayer and penance
sped;
When the convent met at the
noontide bell
The Monk of St. Mary's aisle
was dead!
Before the cross was the body
laid,
With hands clasp'd fast, as
if still he pray'd.
What became of Sir William Deloraine and the wonderful
book on his return journey we had no time to read that evening, but we
afterwards learned he fell into the hands of the terrible Black Dwarf.
We had decided to walk to Hawick if possible, although we were rather
reluctant to leave Melrose. We had had one good tea on entering the
town, and my brother suggested having another before leaving it, so
after visiting the graveyard of the abbey, where the following curious
epitaph appeared on one of the stones, we returned to the inn, where the
people were highly amused at seeing us return so soon and for such a
purpose:
The earth goeth to the earth
The earth goeth to the earth
The earth builds on the earth
The earth says to the earth,
Still, we were quite ready for our second tea, and
wondered whether there was any exercise that gave people a better
appetite and a greater joy in appeasing it than walking, especially in
the clear and sharp air of Scotland, for we were nearly always extremely
hungry after an hour or two's walk. When the tea was served, I noticed
that my brother lingered over it longer than usual, and when I reminded
him that the night would soon be on us, he said he did not want to leave
before dark, as he wanted to see how the old abbey appeared at night,
quoting Sir Walter Scott as the reason why:
If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale
moonlight;
For the gay beams of
lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins
grey.
When the broken arches are
black in night,
And each shafted oriel
glimmers white;
When the cold light's
uncertain shower
Streams on the ruin'd central
tower;
When buttress and buttress,
alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and
ivory;
When silver edges the
imagery.
And the scrolls that teach
thee to live and die;
When distant Tweed is heard
to rave,
And the owlet to hoot o'er
the dead man's grave,
Then gobut go alone the
while
Then view St. David's ruin'd
pile;
And, home returning, soothly
swear.
Was ever scene so sad and
fair?
I reminded my brother that there would be no moon visible
that night, and that it would therefore be impossible to see the old
abbey "by the pale moonlight"; but he said the starlight would do just
as well for him, so we had to wait until one or two stars made their
appearance, and then departed, calling at a shop to make a few small
purchases as we passed on our way. The path alongside the abbey was
entirely deserted. Though so near the town there was scarcely a sound to
be heard, not even "the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave."
Although we had no moonlight, the stars were shining brightly through
the ruined arches which had once been filled with stained glass,
representing the figures "of many a prophet and many a saint." It was a
beautiful sight that remained in our memories long after other scenes
had been forgotten.
According to the Koran there were four archangels:
Azrael, the angel of death; Azrafil, who was to sound the trumpet at the
resurrection; Gabriel, the angel of revelations, who wrote down the
divine decrees; and Michael, the champion, who fought the battles of
faith,and it was this Michael whose figure Sir Walter Scott described
as appearing full in the midst of the east oriel window "with his Cross
of bloody red," which in the light of the moon shone on the floor of the
abbey and "pointed to the grave of the mighty dead" into which the Monk
and William of Deloraine had to descend to secure possession of the
"Mighty Book."
After passing the old abbey and the shade of the walls
and trees to find our way to the narrow and rough road along which we
had to travel towards Hawick, we halted for a few moments at the side of
the road to arrange the contents of our bags, in order to make room for
the small purchases we had made in the town. We had almost completed the
readjustment when we heard the heavy footsteps of a man approaching, who
passed us walking along the road we were about to follow. My brother
asked him if he was going far that way, to which he replied, "A goodish
bit," so we said we should be glad of his company; but he walked on
without speaking to us further. We pushed the remaining things in our
bags as quickly as possible, and hurried on after him. As we did not
overtake him, we stood still and listened attentively, though
fruitlessly, for not a footstep could we hear. We then accelerated our
pace to what was known as the "Irishman's Trig"a peculiar step, quicker
than a walk, but slower than a runand after going some distance we
stopped again to listen; but the only sound we could hear was the
barking of a solitary dog a long distance away. This was very provoking,
as we wanted to get some information about our road, which, besides
being rough, was both hilly and very lonely, and more in the nature of a
track than a road. Where the man could have disappeared to was a mystery
on a road apparently without any offshoots, so we concluded he must have
thought we contemplated doing him some bodily harm, and had either
"bolted" or "clapp'd," as my brother described it, behind some rock or
bush, in which case he must have felt relieved and perhaps amused when
he heard us "trigging" past him on the road.
LILLIESLEAF AND THE EILDON HILLS.
We continued along the lonely road without his company,
with the ghostly Eildon Hills on one side and the moors on the other,
until after walking steadily onwards for a few miles, we heard the roar
of a mountain stream in the distance. When we reached it we were
horrified to find it running right across our road. It looked awful in
the dark, as it was quite deep, and although we could just see where our
road emerged from the stream on the other side, it was quite impossible
for us to cross in the dark. We could see a few lights some distance
beyond the stream, but it was useless to attempt to call for help, since
our voices could not be heard above the noise of the torrent. Our
position seemed almost hopeless, until my brother said he thought he had
seen a shed or a small house behind a gate some distance before coming
to the stream. We resolved to turn back, and luckily we discovered it to
be a small lodge guarding the entrance to a private road. We knocked at
the door of the house, which was in darkness, the people having
evidently gone to bed. Presently a woman asked what was wanted, and when
we told her we could not get across the stream, she said there was a
footbridge near by, which we had not seen in the dark, and told us how
to find it a little higher up the stream. Needless to relate, we were
very pleased when we got across the bridge, and we measured the distance
across that turbulent stream in fifteen long strides.
We soon reached the lights we had seen, and found a small
village, where at the inn we got some strange lodgings, and slept that
night in a bed of a most curious construction, as it was in a dark place
under the stairs, entered by a door from the parlour. But it was clean
and comfortable, and we were delighted to make use of it after our long
walk.
(Distance walked thirty miles.)
Wednesday, October 11th.
We had been warned when we retired to rest that it was
most likely we should be wakened early in the morning by people coming
down the stairs, and advised to take no notice of them, as no one would
interfere with us or our belongings. We were not surprised, therefore,
when we were aroused early by heavy footsteps immediately over our
heads, which we supposed were those of the landlord as he came down the
stairs. We had slept soundly, and, since there was little chance of any
further slumber, we decided to get up and look round, the village before
breakfast. We had to use the parlour as a dressing-room, and not knowing
who might be coming down the stairs next, we dressed ourselves as
quickly as possible. We found that the village was called Lilliesleaf,
which we thought a pretty name, though we were informed it had been
spelt in twenty-seven different ways, while the stream we came to in the
night was known by the incongruous name of Ale Water. The lodge we had
gone back to for information as to the means of crossing was the East
Gate guarding one of the entrances to Riddell, a very ancient place
where Sir Walter Scott had recorded the unearthing of two graves of
special interest, one containing an earthen pot filled with ashes and
arms, and bearing the legible date of 729, and the other dated 936,
filled with the bones of a man of gigantic size.
A local historian wrote of the Ale Water that "it is one
thing to see it on a summer day when it can be crossed by the
stepping-stones, and another when heavy rains have fallen in the
autumnthen it is a strong, deep current and carries branches and even
trees on its surface, the ford at Riddell East Gate being impassable,
and it is only then that we can appreciate the scene." It seemed a
strange coincidence that we should be travelling on the same track but
in the opposite direction as that pursued by William Deloraine, and that
we should have crossed the Ale Water about a fortnight later in the
year, as Sir Walter described him in his "Lay" as riding along the
wooded path when "green hazels o'er his basnet nod," which indicated the
month of September.
Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine,
To ancient Riddell's fair
domain,
Where Aill, from mountain
freed,
Down from the lakes did
raving come;
Each wave was crested with
tawny foam,
Like the mane of a chestnut
steed.
In vain! no torrent, deep or
broad.
Might bar the bold
moss-trooper's road.
At the first plunge the horse
sunk low,
And the water broke o'er the
saddlebow;
Above the foaming tide, I
ween,
Scarce half the charger's
neck was seen;
For he was barded from
counter to tail,
And the rider was armed
complete in mail;
Never heavier man and horse
Stemm'd a midnight torrent's
force.
The warrior's very plume, I
say
Was daggled by the dashing
spray;
Yet, through good heart, and
Our Ladye's grace,
At length he gain'd the
landing place.
What would have become of ourselves if we had attempted
to cross the treacherous stream in the dark of the previous night we did
not know, but we were sure we should have risked our lives had we made
the attempt.
We were only able to explore the churchyard at
Lilliesleaf, as the church was not open at that early hour in the
morning. We copied a curious inscription from one of the old stones
there:
Near this stone we lifeless lie
No more the things of earth
to spy,
But we shall leave this dusty
bed
When Christ appears to judge
the dead.
For He shall come in glory
great
And in the air shall have His
seat
And call all men before His
throne.
Rewarding all as they have
done.
We were served with a prodigious breakfast at the inn to
match, as we supposed, the big appetites prevailing in the North, and
then we resumed our walk towards Hawick, meeting on our way the children
coming to the school at Lilliesleaf, some indeed quite a long way from
their destination. In about four miles we reached Hassendean and the
River Teviot, for we were now in Teviot Dale, along which we were to
walk, following the river nearly to its source in the hills above. The
old kirk of Hassendean had been dismantled in 1693, but its
burial-ground continued to be used until 1795, when an ice-flood swept
away all vestiges both of the old kirk and the churchyard. It was of
this disaster that Leyden, the poet and orientalist, who was born in
1775 at the pretty village of Denholm close by, wrote the following
lines:
By fancy wrapt, where tombs are crusted grey,
I seem by moon-illumined
graves to stray,
Where now a mouldering pile
is faintly seen
The old deserted church of
Hassendean,
Where slept my fathers in
their natal clay
Till Teviot waters rolled
their bones away.
LEYDEN'S COTTAGE.
Leyden was a great friend of Sir Walter Scott, whom he
helped to gather materials for his "Border Minstrelsie," and was
referred to in his novel of St.
Ronan's Well as "a lamp
too early quenched." In 1811 he went to India with Lord Minto, who was
at that time Governor-General, as his interpreter, for Leyden was a
great linguist. He died of fever caused by looking through some old
infected manuscripts at Batavia on the coast of Java. Sir Walter had
written a long letter to him which was returned owing to his death. He
also referred to him in hisLord of the Isles:
His bright and brief career is o'er,
And mute his tuneful strains;
Quench'd is his lamp of
varied lore,
That loved the light of song
to pour;
A distant and a deadly shore
Has Leyden's cold remains.
The Minto estate adjoined Hassenden, and the country
around it was very beautiful, embracing the Minto Hills or Crags, Minto
House, and a castle rejoicing, as we thought, in the queer name of "Fatlips."
The walk to the top of Minto Crags was very pleasant, but
in olden times no stranger dared venture there, as the Outlaw Brownhills
was in possession, and had hewn himself out of the rock an almost
inaccessible platform on one of the crags still known as "Brownhills'
Bed" from which he could see all the roads below. Woe betide the
unsuspecting traveller who happened to fall into his hands!
"FATLIPS" CASTLE.
But we must not forget Deloraine, for after receiving
instructions from the "Ladye of Branksome"
Soon in the saddle sate he fast,
And soon the steep descent he
past,
Soon cross'd the sounding
barbican.
And soon the Teviot side he
won.
Eastward the wooded path he
rode.
Green hazels o'er his basnet
nod;
He passed the Peel of
Goldieland,
And crossed old Borthwick's
roaring strand;
Dimly he view'd the
Moat-hill's mound.
Where Druid shades still
flitted round;
In Hawick twinkled many a
light;
Behind him soon they set in
night;
And soon he spurr'd his
courser keen
Beneath the tower of
Hazeldean.
The clattering hoofs the
watchmen mark;
"Stand, ho! thou courier of
the dark."
"For Branksome, ho!" the
knight rejoin'd.
And left the friendly tower
behind.
He turn'd him now from
Tiviotside,
And, guided by the tinkling
rill,
Northward the dark ascent did
ride.
And gained the moor at
Horsliehill;
Broad on the left before him
lay,
For many a mile, the Roman
Way.
A moment now he slacked his
speed,
A moment breathed his panting
steed;
Drew saddle-girth and
corslet-band,
And loosen'd in the sheath
his brand.
On Minto-crags the moonbeams
glint,
Where Barnhills hew'd his bed
of flint;
Who flung his outlaw'd limbs
to rest,
Where falcons hang their
giddy nest
Mid cliffs, from whence his
eagle eye
For many a league his prey
could spy;
Cliffs, doubling, on their
echoes borne,
The terrors of the robber's
horn!
We passed through a cultivated country on the verge of
the moors, where we saw some good farms, one farmer telling us he had
900 acres of arable land with some moorland in addition. He was
superintending the gathering of a good crop of fine potatoes, which he
told us were "Protestant Rocks." He was highly amused when one of us
suggested to the other that they might just have suited a country parson
we knew in England who would not have the best variety of potatoes,
called "Radicals," planted in his garden because he did not like the
name. He was further amused when we innocently asked him the best way to
reach Hawick, pronouncing the name in two syllables which sounded like
Hay-wick, while the local pronunciation was "Hoike." However, we soon
reached that town and had a twelve-o'clock lunch at one of the inns,
where we heard something of the principal annual event of the town, the
"Common Riding," the occasion on which the officials rode round the
boundaries. There was an artificial mound in the town called the
"Mote-Hill," formerly used by the Druids. It was to the top of this hill
the cornet and his followers ascended at sunrise on the day of the
festival, after which they adjourned to a platform specially erected in
the town, to sing the Common Riding Song. We could not obtain a copy of
this, but we were fortunate in obtaining one for the next town we were
to visitLangholmwhich proved to be the last on our walk through
Scotland. From what we could learn, the ceremony at Hawick seemed very
like the walking of the parish boundaries in England, a custom which was
there slowly becoming obsolete. We could only remember attending one of
these ceremonies, and that was in Cheshire. The people of the adjoining
parish walked their boundaries on the same day, so we were bound to meet
them at some point en
route, and a free fight, fanned by calling at sundry public-houses,
was generally the result. The greatest danger-zone lay where a stream
formed the boundary between the two parishes, at a point traversed by a
culvert or small tunnel through a lofty embankment supporting a canal
which crossed a small valley. This boundary was, of course, common to
both parishes, and representatives of each were expected to pass through
it to maintain their rights, so that it became a matter of some anxiety
as to which of the boundary walkers would reach it first, or whether
that would be the point where both parties would meet. We remembered
coming to a full stop when we reached one entrance to the small tunnel,
while the scouts ascended the embankment to see if the enemy were in
sight on the other side; but as they reported favourably, we decided
that two of our party should walk through the culvert, while the others
went round by the roads to the other end. There was a fair amount of
water passing through at that time, so they were very wet on emerging
from the opposite end, and it was impossible for the men to walk
upright, the contracted position in which they were compelled to walk
making the passage very difficult. What would have happened if the
opposition had come up while our boundary walkers were in the tunnel we
could only surmise.
Hawick is in Roxburghshire and was joined on to Wilton at
a house called the Salt Hall, or the "Saut Ha'," as it is pronounced in
Scotch, where a tragedy took place in the year 1758. The tenant of the
Hall at that time was a man named Rea, whose wife had committed suicide
by cutting her throat. In those days it was the custom to bury suicides
at the dead of night where the laird's lands met, usually a very lonely
corner, and a stake was driven through the body of the corpse; but from
some cause or other the authorities allowed "Jenny Saut Ha'," as she was
commonly called, to be buried in the churchyard. This was considered by
many people to be an outrage, and the body was disinterred at night, and
the coffin placed against the Saut Ha' door, where Rea was confronted
with it next morning. There was a sharp contest between the Church
authorities and the public, and the body was once more interred in the
churchyard, but only to fall on Rea when he opened his door the next
morning. The authorities were then compelled to yield to the popular
clamour, and the corpse found a temporary resting-place in a remote
corner of Wilton Common; but the minister ultimately triumphed, and
Jenny was again buried in the churchyard, there to rest for all time in
peace.
WILTON OLD CHURCH.
We had now joined the old coach road from London to
Edinburgh, a stone on the bridge informing us that that city was fifty
miles distant. We turned towards London, and as we were leaving the town
we asked three men, who had evidently tramped a long distance, what sort
of a road it was to Langholm, our next stage. They informed us that it
was twenty-three miles to that town, that the road was a good one, but
we should not be able to get a drink the whole way, for "there wasn't a
single public-house on the road."
Presently, however, we reached a turnpike gate across our
road, and as there was some fruit exhibited for sale in the window of
the toll-house we went inside, and found the mistress working at her
spinning-wheel, making a kind of worsted out of which she made
stockings. We bought as much fruit from her as the limited space in our
bags allowed, and had a chat with her about the stocking trade, which
was the staple industry of Hawick. She told us there were about 800
people employed in that business, and that they went out on strike on
the Monday previous, but with an advance in their wages had gone in
again that morning.
The stockings were now made by machines, but were
formerly all made by hand. The inventor of the first machine was a young
man who had fallen deeply in love with a young woman, who, like most
others living thereabouts at that time, got her living by making
stockings. When he proposed to her, she would not have him, because she
knew another young man she liked better. He then told her if she would
not marry him he would make a machine that would make stockings and
throw her out of work and ruin them all. But the girl decided to remain
true to the young man she loved best, and was presently married to him.
GOLDIELANDS TOWER.
The disappointed lover then set to work, and, after much
thought and labour, succeeded in making a stocking machine; and although
it created a great stir in Hawick, where all three were well known, it
did not throw any one out of work, but was so improved upon with the
result that more stockings were made and sold at Hawick than ever
before!
We thanked the old lady for her story, and, bidding her
good-bye, went on our way. Presently we came to the ruins of a castle
standing near the road which a clergyman informed us was Goldielands
Tower, mentioned with Harden by Sir Walter Scott in the "Lay of the Last
Minstrel." He told us that a little farther on our way we should also
see Branxholm, another place referred to by Scott. Although we were on
the look out for Branxholm, we passed without recognising it, as it
resembled a large family mansion more than the old tower we had expected
it to be.
BRANXHOLM TOWER.
It was astonishing what a number of miles we walked in
Scotland without finding anything of any value on the roads. A gentleman
told us he once found a threepenny bit on the road near a village where
he happened to be staying at the inn. When his find became known in the
village, it created quite a sensation amongst the inhabitants, owing to
the "siller" having fallen into the hands of a "Saxon," and he gravely
added to the information that one-half of the people went in mourning
and that it was even mentioned in the kirk as the "awfu'" waste that had
occurred in the parish!

We were not so lucky as to find a silver coin, but had
the good fortune to find something of more importance in the shape of a
love-letter which some one had lost on the road, and which supplied us
with food for thought and words for expression, quite cheering us up as
we marched along our lonely road. As Kate and John now belong to a past
generation, we consider ourselves absolved from any breach of confidence
and give a facsimile of the letter. The envelope was not addressed, so
possibly John might have intended sending it by messenger, or Kate might
have received it and lost it on the road, which would perhaps be the
more likely thing to happen. We wondered whether the meeting ever came
off.
COVENANTER'S GRAVE.
Shortly after passing Branxholm, and near the point where
the Allan Water joined the River Teviot, we turned to visit what we had
been informed was in the time of King Charles I a hiding place for the
people known as Covenanters. These were Scottish Presbyterians, who in
1638, to resist that king's encroachments on their religious liberty,
formed a "Solemn League," followed in 1643 by an international Solemn
League and Covenant "between England and Scotland to secure both civil
and religious liberty." These early Covenanters were subjected to great
persecution, consequently their meetings were held in the most lonely
placeson the moors, in the glens, and on the wild mountain sides. We
climbed up through a wood and found the meeting-place in the ruins of a
towercommonly said to have been built by the Romans, though we doubted
itthe remains of which consisted of an archway a few yard longs and a
few yards square, surrounded by three trenches. It occupied a very
strong position, and standing upon it we could see a hill a short
distance away on the top of which was a heap of stones marking the spot
where a bon-fire was lit and a flag reared when Queen Victoria drove
along the road below, a few years before our visit.
In former times in this part of Scotland there seemed to
have been a bard, poet, or minstrel in every village, and they appeared
to have been numerous enough to settle their differences, and sometimes
themselves, by fighting for supremacy, for it was at Bradhaugh near here
that a deadly combat took place in 1627 between William Henderson, known
as "Rattling Roaring Willie," and Robert Rule, another Border minstrel,
in which, according to an old ballad, Willie slew his opponent, for
Rob Roole, he handled rude.
And Willie left Newmill's
banks
Red-wat wi' Robin's blude.
HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL.
At Teviothead our road parted company with the River
Teviot, which forked away to the right, its source being only about six
miles farther up the hills from that point. In the churchyard at
Teviothead, Henry Scott Riddell, the author of Scotland
Yet, had only recently been buried. Near here also was Caerlanrig,
where the murder of Johnnie Armstrong of Gilnockie, a very powerful
chief who levied blackmail along the Border from Esk to Tyne, or
practically the whole length of Hadrian's Wall, took place in 1530.
Johnnie was a notorious freebooter and Border raider, no one daring to
go his way for fear of Johnnie or his followers. But of him more anon.
The distance from Caerlanrig, where Armstrong was
executed, to Gilnockie Tower, where he resided, was about seventeen
miles, and we had to follow, though in the opposite direction and a
better surfaced road, the same lonely and romantic track that he
traversed on that occasion. It formed a pass between the hills, and for
the first seven miles the elevations in feet above sea-level on each
side of the road were:
To our right:1193. 1286. 1687. 1950. 1714. 1317. 1446.
To our left:1156. 1595. 1620. 1761. 1741. 1242. 1209.
The distance between the summits as the crow flies was
only about a mile, while the road maintained an altitude above the sea
of from five to eight hundred feet, so that we had a most lonely walk of
about thirteen miles before we reached Langholm. The road was a good
one, and we were in no danger of missing our way, hemmed in as it was on
either side by the hills, which, although treeless, were covered with
grass apparently right away to their tops, a novelty to us after the
bare and rocky hills we had passed elsewhere. We quite enjoyed our walk,
and as we watched the daylight gradually fade away before the
approaching shadows of the night, we realised that we were passing
through the wildest solitudes. We did not meet one human being until we
reached Langholm, and the only habitation we noted before reaching a
small village just outside that town was the "Halfway House" between
Hawick and Langholm, known in stage-coach days as the "Mosspaul Inn." It
was a large house near the entrance to a small glen, but apparently now
closed, for we could not see a solitary light nor hear the sound of a
human voice.
How different it must have appeared when the
stage-coaches were passing up and down that valley, now deserted, for
even the railway, which supplanted them, had passed it by on the other
side! In imagination we could hear the sound of the horn, echoing in the
mountains, heralding the approach of the stage-coach, with its great
lamp in front, and could see a light in almost every window in the
hotel. We could picture mine host and his wife standing at the open door
ready to receive their visitors, expectant guests assembled behind them
in the hall and expectant servants both indoors and out; then staying
for the night, refreshing ourselves with the good things provided for
supper, and afterwards relating our adventures to a friendly and
appreciative audience, finally sinking our weary limbs in the good
old-fashioned feather-beds!
But these visions passed away almost as quickly as they
appeared, so we left the dark and dreary mansion whose glory had
departed, and marched on our way, expecting to find at Langholm that
which we so badly neededfood and rest.
The old inn at Mosspaul, where the stage-coaches stopped
to change horses, was built at the junction of the counties of Dumfries
and Roxburgh, and was very extensive with accommodation for many horses,
but fell to ruin after the stage-coaches ceased running. Many notable
visitors had patronised it, among others Dorothy Wordsworth, who visited
it with her brother the poet in September 1803, and described it in the
following graphic terms:
The scene, with this single dwelling,
was melancholy and wild, but not dreary, though there was no tree
nor shrub: the small streamlet glittered, the hills were populous
with sheep, but the gentle bending of the valley, and the
correspondent softness in the forms of the hills were of themselves
enough to delight the eye.
A good story is told of one of the Armstrongs and the
inn:
Once when Lord Kames went for the first time on the
Circuit as Advocate-depute, Armstrong of Sorbie inquired of Lord Minto
in a whisper "What long black, dour-looking Chiel" that was that they
had broc'ht with them?
"That," said his lordship, "is a man come to hang a' the
Armstrongs."
"Then," was the dry retort, "it's time the Elliots were
ridin'."[Footnote: Elliot was the family name of Lord Minto.]
The effusions of one of the local poets whose district we
had passed through had raised our expectations in the following lines:
There's a wee toon on the Borders
That my heart sair langs to
see,
Where in youthful days I
wander'd,
Knowing every bank and brae;
O'er the hills and through
the valleys,
Thro' the woodlands wild and
free,
Thro' the narrow straits and
loanings,
There my heart sair langs to
be.
THE COMMON RIDING, LANGHOLM.
There was also an old saying, "Out of the world and into
Langholm," which seemed very applicable to ourselves, for after a walk
of thirty-two and a half miles through a lonely and hilly country,
without a solitary house of call for twenty-three, our hungry and weary
condition may be imagined when we entered Langholm just on the stroke of
eleven o'clock at night.
We went to the Temperance Hotel, but were informed they
were full. We called at the other four inns with the same result. Next
we appealed to the solitary police officer, who told us curtly that the
inns closed at eleven and the lodgings at ten, and marched away without
another word. The disappointment and feeling of agony at having to walk
farther cannot be described, but there was no help for it, so we shook
the dust, or mud, off our feet and turned dejectedly along the Carlisle
road.
Just at the end of the town we met a gentleman wearing a
top-hat and a frock-coat, so we appealed to him. The hour was too late
to find us lodgings, but he said, if we wished to do so, we could
shelter in his distillery, which we should come to a little farther on
our way. His men would all be in bed, but there was one door that was
unlocked and we should find some of the rooms very warm. We thanked him
for his kindness and found the door, as he had described, opening into a
dark room. We had never been in a distillery before, so we were
naturally rather nervous, and as we could not see a yard before us, we
lighted one of our candles. We were about to go in search of one of the
warmer rooms when the thought occurred to us that our light might
attract the attention of some outsider, and in the absence of any
written authority from the owner might cause us temporary trouble, while
to explore the distillery without a light was out of the question, for
we might fall through some trap-door or into a vat, besides which, we
could hear a great rush of water in the rear of the premises, so we
decided to stay where we were.
The book we had obtained at Hawick contained the
following description of the Langholm "Common Riding," which was held
each year on July 17th when the people gathered together to feast on
barley bannock and red herring, of course washed down with plenteous
supplies of the indispensable whisky. The Riding began with the
following proclamation in the marketplace, given by a man standing
upright on horseback, in the presence of thousands of people:
Gentlemen,The first thing that I am
going to acquaint you with are the names of the Portioners' Grounds
of Langholm: