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i
THE LAND OF LORNE;
OR,
A POET'S ADVENTURES IIST THE
SCOTTISH HEBRIDES,
INCLUDING
THE CRUISE OF THE "TERN" TO THE OUTER HEBRIDES.
BY
ROBERT BUCHANAN.
T^VO 'VOLXJTvlKS IN" ONK,
NEW YORK:
FRANCIS B. FELT & CO., 91 MERCER STREET.
1871.
S^
TO
f fr gogal fiigbrngs
THE PRINCESS LOUISE
THESE PICTUEES OF HER FUTURE HOME
IN THE HEBRIDES
ARE
(■WITH HER ROYAL HIGHNESS* EXPRESS PERMISSION^
INSCRIBED,
ON THE OCCASION OF HER JIARRIAGE,
BY THE AUTHOR.
January, 1871. %
m
THE LAI^D OF LORIO:.
" A LAND of rainbows spanning glens wliose walls.
Rock-built, are hung with many-colored mists ;
Of far-stretched meres, whose salt flood never rests-
Of tuneful caves and playful waterfalls —
Of mountains varying momently their crests.
Proud be this land ! whose poorest huts are halls
Where Fancy entertains becoming guests.
While native song the heroic past recalls."
Wordsworth,
PREFATORY JNOTE.
A SMALL portion of the " Cruise of the Tern " has
appeared in print before, though in a very imperfect
shape ; all the rest of the present work is now pub-
lished for the first time. The pictures of life and
scenery, such as they are, speak for themselves, and
appeal more or less to everybody ; but the narrative
of the Tern's cruise may have a special interest for
yachtsmen, as showing what a very small craft can
do with proper management. The Tern, I believe,
was the smallest craft of the kind that ever ventured
round the point of Ardnamurchan, and thence to
Ultima Thule, or the Outer Hebrides ; but there is
no reason whatever why other tiny yachts should
8 PREFATOEY NOTE.
not follow Bilit, and venture out to the wilds. To
any sportsman desirous of such an expedition, and
able to stand rough accommodation and wild weather,
I can promise glorious amusement, just faintly spiced
with a delightful sense of danger, sometimes more
fanciful than real, frequently much more real than
fanciful.
K. B.
COl^TEl^TS.
PICTURES OF LORNE AND THE ISLES.
CHAPTER I.
TTRST GLIMPSE OF IiORNE.
TAOM.
The "White House on the Hill — The Land of Lome — First Impres-
sions of Oban — The Celtic Workmen — Maclean, Mactavish, and
Duncan of the Pipes — The Lords of Lome and their Descendants^
Battle between Bruce and John of Lome — Dunollie Castle — Glori-
fication of Mist and Bain — An Autumn Afternoon — Old Castles —
Dunstafihage, 17
CHAPTER n.
PICTtJBES IKIiAND.
The Seasons — Cuckoos — Bummer Days — Autumn — Winter — Moor-
land Lochs — The Fir Wood — The Moors and the Sea — Farm-houses
and Ci'ofters" Huts— Traces of former Cultivation on the Hills — The
Ruined Saeters — Graveyard at Dunstafifnage — The Island of Inis-
haJl, . 40
10 CONTENTS.
CHAl^TER IIL
THE HEAKT OF LORNE.
PAOE.
Loch Awe and its Ancient Legend— Summer Days on the Lake — The
Legend of Fraoch Elian— Kilchurn Castle— Effects of Moonhght
and of Storm— View from Glenara— The Pools of Cladich— Duncan
Ban of the Songs— His Coire Cheathaich— His Mairi Ban Og, and
Last Adieu to the Hills— Songs of the Cliildren of the Mist — The
Pass of Awe — The Ascent of Ben Cruachan, 53
CHAPTER rV.
SPORTS ON THE MOORS AND LOCHS.
Grouse and Black-gamo Shooting — A September Day on the Moors —
The Grouso-Shooter—Peat-Bogs— Arrival of Snipe and Woodcock-
Mountain Lochs and other Haunts of Wild Fowl— False and True
Sportsmen, . • 79
CHAPTER V.
THE FIRTH OP LORNE.
The Ocean Queen, or Coffin — Shon Macnab's Race with "the Barber"
— Lachlan FinUy — From Crinan to the Dorus Mhor— Hebridcan
Tides— Scarba — The Gulf of Corrj'vreckan — Its Horrors and Perils
— Luing and the Small Isles — The Open Firth — Easdale and its
Quarriers — Tombs at the Door — Miseries of Calm — Gylon Castle and
the Island of Kerrera— King Haco's Invasion of the Hebrides— A
Puff from the Southeast — The Island of Mull — Johnson and Bos-
well in the Hebrides- ARun to Tobermorj- — Loch Sunart— A Rainy
Day— Ardtoraish Castle— Anchored between Wind and Tide —
Night on the Firth— Troubles of Darkness— Farewell to the Ocean
Queen — Arrival of the Tern 89
CONTENTS. H
CHAPTER VL
THE "TKItN's" FIBST FLIGHT.
PAOE.
Tbo Tern Afloat— Off Ardnamm-chan — First Glimpses of the Isles —
The Cuchullin Hills— General Eeflections— Flashing Forward— The
Partv on Board— The Scaur of Eig— Rum— Birds of the Ocean-
Muck— Sunset on the Waters— Loch Scrcsort, Rum— The Gaelic
Skipper— The Widow— A Climb among the Peaks— View of the
Western Ocean from Rum — The Tei'ii. Weighing Anchor — Kilmory
Bay— First View of Cauua — At Anchor, 121
CHAPTER YTL
CANNA AND ITS PEOPLE.
The Laird of Canna— His Kingly Power— Prosperity of the State —
The Island— The Old Tower— Canna in Storm and in Cahn— The
Milking— Twilight— A Poem by David Gray— Hauntg of the Ocean
Birds— Whispers from the Sea— The Canna People— The Quiet Life
— The Graveyard on the Hill-side, 139
CHAPTER VIIL
EiKADH OF Canna, ' ... 155
i
12 CONTENTS.
THE CRUISE OF THE "TERN."
CHAPTER IX.
NIGHT ON THE MINCH,
TAQB.
Gloomy Prophecies — Terrors of tlic Jlincli — The Vildng — Hamish
Shaw, the Pilot — Leaving Canna Harbor — Pictures of Skye and
the Cnchiillins — Remarks on Sir Walter Scott and his Poems —
Afloat on the Minch — the I'ar-olf Isles — Twilight — Ilamish Shaw
at the Helm — Summer Night — Talk about Ghosts and Supersti-
tions—The Evil Eye— The Death-Cry— Wind Rising— Wind and
Mist — Water Snakes — Midnight — The Strange Ship — Peep o' Day —
The Red Buoy — Anchorage in Loch Boisdale, . ... 189
CHAPTER X.
THE FISHERS OF THE LONG ISLAND.
Loch Boisdale — The Tern at Anchor — The Inn and the Population —
Rain — Boisdale in the Herring Season — Fishing-boats and Camps
— A Niglit in a West-Country Smack— Herring-gutters — Habits of
East-Country Fishermen, 210
CON-JENl-S. 13
CHAPTER XI.
GlilMPSES OF THE OUTER HEBRIDES.
PAGB.
First GlimpH«> — Ttie Uista and Benbccula— Tlieir Miserable Aspects
— Hamish Bhaw — Solemnity of the People — Brighter Glimpses—
The Western Coast of the Island — Winter Storm — The Sound of
Harris — The Norwegian Skipper — The Fjords — Kelp-burners — View
fi'om Kenneth Hill, Loch Boisdalc — A Sunset — The Lagoons —
Characteristics of the People — Civilized and Uncivilized — Miserable
Dwellings — Comfortable Attire — Their Superstitions and Deep Spir-
itual Life, 229
CHAPTEK Xn.
SPORT IN THE \VTIiDS,
The Sportsmen and their Dogs — The Hunter's Badge — ^The Weap-
ons — Shooting in the Fjords — Eiders, Cormorants, Curlews — Duck-
shooting near Loch Boisdale — The Tbvi at Anchor in Loch lluport
— Stai-vation — Wild-Goose Shooting on Loch Bee — The Shepherd's
Gilts — Goose Shooting on Loch Phlogibeg — The Melancholy Loch
— Breeding Places of the Wild Fowl — Eain-Storm—" Bonnie Kil-
tncay" — Short Rations — The Passing Ship — Red Door, Salmon, and
Eagles — Corbies and Ravens — Seal Shooting in the Maddy Fjords
— lit^tlection on Wild Sports in General, 25^
14 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIII.
COASTING SKYE.
PAGE.
Effects of Cruising on Yacht and Yoyagers— Recrossiug the Minch—
Northwest Coast of Skye— Becalmed off Loch Snizort— Midnight —
Lights of Heaven and Ocean — Dawn— Columns of the North Coast
— The Quirang — Scenery of the Northeast Coast — The Stonn —
Portree Harbor, 291
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SAGA OF HACO THE KING.
I. — KING ALEXANDER'S DREAM AND DEATH,
II. — KING HACO GATHERS HIS HOST, .
III. — SAILING OP THE GREAT FLEET, .
IV. — KING HACO'S SAILING SOUTHWARD,
306
303
310
312
V. — THE king's FLEET MEETS WITH A GREAT STORM, . 314
VI. — THE BATTLE OP LARGS, 316
VII. — KING HACO SAILS NORTHWARD, 319
VIII. — KING HACO'S SICKNESS, 322
IX. — KING HACO'S DEATH AND BURIAL, . . . .324
CHAPTER XV.
GLEN SLIGACHAN AND THE CUCHULLINS.
Sconser and Shgachan — Party and Guide — Dawn on the Cuchulhns —
Scuir-na-Gilleau— A Rhapsody on Geology— Fire and Ico— The
Path along the Glen— Hart-o'-Corry— Ben Blaven— A Monologue
on Ossian — Schneider and the Red Deer — First Glimpse of the
"Corryofthe Water"— LochanDhu 327
CONTENTS. 15
CHAPTER XVI.
COKKUISK ; OIJ, THE COKKY OF THE WATEK.
PAGE.
Tho Lone Water — The Region of Twiliglit — Blocs Pe?-c/ies— Hamish
Shaw's Views — The Cavo of the Ghost — Tho Dunvegan Pilot's
Story— Echoes, Mists and Shadows— Squalls in Loch Scavaig-
A Highlander's Ideas of Beauty — Camping out in tho Corry — A
Stormy Dawn— The Fishermen and the Strange Harbor — Loch
Scavaig — Tho Spar Cave — Camasunary, 354
CHAPTER XVIL
Epilogue; The "Tebn's" Lasx Fliohx, 382
THE LAND OF LORNE.
CHAPTER I.
FIRST GLIMPSE OF LORNE.
The Wliite House on the Hill — The Land of Lome — First Impressions of
Oban — The Celtic Workmen — Maclean, Mactavish, and Duncan of the
Pipes — The Lords of Lome and their Descondants — Battle between
Briico and John of Lome — Dunollie Castle — Glorification of Mist and
Rain — An Autumn Afternoon — Old Castles — Dunstaffnage.
When the Wanderer (as the writer purposes to call
himself in these pages, in order to get rid of the perk-
ish and impertinent iirst person singular) first came
to dwell in Lome, and roamed, as is his wont, up hill
and down dale from dawn to sunset, he soon grew
weary of a landscape which seemed tame and color-
less, of hills that, with one or two magnificent excep-
tions, seemed cold and unpicturesque. It was the
springtime, moreover, and such a springtime ! Day
after day the rain descended, sometimes in a dreary
" smurr," at others in a moaning torrent, and when the
clouds did part, the sun looked through with a dismal
and fitful stare, like a face swollen with weeping.
The conies were frisking everywhere, fancying it al-
ways twilight. The mountain loch overflowed its
banks, while far beneath the surface the buds of the
4
18 THE LAND OF LOllNE.
yellow lily were wildly struggliniij upward, and the
overfed burns roared day and night. Wherever one
went, the fanner scowled, and the gamekeeper shook
his head. Lome seemed as weary as the Uists, loeary
but not eerie^ and so without f^iscination. In a kind
of dovecote perched on a hill, far from human habita-
tion, the Wanderer dwelt and watched, while the
gloomy gillie came and went, and the dogs howled
from the rain-drenched kennel. The weasel bred at
the very door, in some obscure corner of a drain, and
the young weasels used to come fearlessly out on
Sunday morning and play in the rain. Two hundred
yards above the house was a mountain tarn, on the
shores of which a desolate couple of teal were trying
hard to hatch a brood ; and all around the miserable
grouse and grayhens were sitting like stones, drenched
on their eggs, hoping against hope. In the far dis-
tance, over a dreary sweep of marshes and pools, lay
the little town of Oban, looking, when the mists
cleared away a little, exactly like the wood-cuts of the
Gity of Destruction in popular editions of the " Pil-
grim's Progress." Now and then, too, the figure of a
certain genial Edinburgh Professor, with long white
hair and flowing plaid, might be seen toiling upward
to Doubting Castle, exactly like Christian on his pil-
grimage, but carrying, instead of a bundle on his
back, the whole of Homer's hexameters in his brain,
set to such popular tunes as "John Brown," and " Are
ye sleepin', Maggie?" Few others had courage to
climb so high, in weather so inclement ; and, won-
derful to add, the professor did not in the least share
the new-comer's melancholy, but roundly vowed in
FIIIBT GLIMPSE OF LOllNE. 10
good Doric that there was no sweeter spot in all the
world than tlie " bonnie land of Lome."
The AVanderer was for a time skeptical ; but, as
the days lengthened, and his eyes accommodated
themselves to the new prospect, his skepticism
changed into faith, his faith into enthusiasm, his
enthusiasm into perfect love and passionate enjoy-
ment.
The truth is, that Lome, even in the summer sea-
son, does not captivate at first sight, does not galvanize
the senses with beauty and brightly stimulate the
imagination. Glencoe lies beyond it, and Morven
just skirts it, and the only great mountain is Crua-
clian. There is no portion of the landscape which
may be described as " grand," in the same sense that
Glen Sligachan and Glencoe are grand ; no sheet of
water solemnly beautiful as Corruisk ; no strange
laajoons like those of the sea-surrounded Uist and
Benbecula ; for Lome is fair and gentle, a green pas-
toral land, where the sheep bleat from a thousand
hills, and the gray homestead stands in the midst of
its own green fields, and the snug macadamized roads
ramify in all directions to and from the tiny capital
on the seaside, with the country carts bearing produce,
the drouthy farmer trotting home at all hours on his
sure-footed nag, and the stage-coach, swift and gay,
wakening up the echoes in summer-time with the
guard's cheery horn. There is greenness everywhere,
even where the scenery is most wild — fine slopes ot
pasture alternating with the heather ; and, though
want and squalor and uncleanness are to be found
here, as in all other parts of the Highlands, comfort-
i
20 THE LAND OF LORNE.
able houses abound. Standing on one of tlie high
hills above Oban, you see unfolded before you, as in
a map, the whole of Lome proper, with Ben Crua-
chan in the far distance, closing the scene to the east-
ward, towering over the whole prospect in supreme
height and beauty, and cutting the gray sky with his
two red and rocky cones. At his feet, but invisible
to you, sleeps Loch Awe, a mighty fresh-water lake,
communicating, through a turbulent river, with the
sea. Looking northward, taking the beautifully-
wooded promontory of Dunollie for a foreground, you
behold the great firth of Lome, with the green flat
island of Lismore extended at the feet of the moun-
tain region of JMorven, and the waters creeping in-
land, southward of the Glencoe range, to forai, first,
the long, narrow arm of Loch Etive, which stretches
many miles inland close past the base of Cruachan ;
and, second, the winding basin of Loch Crei*an, which
separates Lome from Glencoe. Yonder, to the west,
straight across the firth, lies Mull, separated from
Morven by its gloomy Sound. Southward, the view
is closed by a range of unshapely hills, very green in
color and unpicturosque in form, at the feet of which,
but invisible, is Loch Feochan, another arm of the
sea, and beyond the mouth of this loch stretches the
seaboard, with numberless outlying islets, as far as
the lightliouse of Easdale and the island of Scar-
ba. Between the landmarks thus slightly indicated
stretches the district of Lome, some forty miles in
length and fifteen in breadth; and, seen in clear,
brifht weather, free from the shadow of the rain-cloud,
its innumerable green slopes and cultivated hollows
FIRST GLIMPSE OF LORN^. 21
oetoken at a glance its peaceful character. Tliere is,
we repeat, greenness everywhere, save on the tops of
the highest hills — greenness in the valleys and on the
hillsides — greenness of emerald brightness on the
edges of the sea — greenness on the misty marshes.
The purple heather is plentiful, too, its deep tints
glorifying the scene from its pastoral monotony, ])ut
seldom tyrannizing over the landscape. Abundant,
also, are the signs of temporal prosperity — the wreaths
of smoke arising everywhere from humble dwellings ;
the sheep and cattle crying on the hills ; the fishing-
boats and trading- vessels scattered on the firth ; the
flocks of cattle and horses being driven on set days to
the grass-market at Oban.
This same town of Oban, prettily situated along
the skirts of a pleasant bay, and boasting a resident
population of some two thousand inhabitants, has been
fitly enough designated the " key of the Highlands ;"
since, from its quaint quay, composed of the hulk of
an old wreck, the splendid fleet of Highland steamers
start for all parts of the western coast and adjacent
islands. In summer-time a few visitors occupy the
neat villas which ornament the western slopes above
the town, and innumerable tourists, ever coming and
going to the shai-p ringing of the steamboat bell, lend
quite a festive appearance to the little main street.
As a tourist, the Wanderer first made the acquaint-
ance of Oban and its people, and resided among
them for some weeks, during which time there was a
general conspiracy on the part of everybody to reduce
him to bankruptcy; extortionate boatmen, grasping
small tradesmen, greedy car-drivel's, all regarding
22
,THE LAND OF LOKNE.
him as a lawful victim. He was lonely, and the
gentle people toolv him in ; he was helpless, and they
did for him ; until at last he fled, vowing never to
visit the place again. Fate, stronger than human
will, interposed, and he became the tenant of the
White House on the Hill. He arrived in the fallow
season, before the swift boats begin to bring their
stock of festive travelers, and found Oban plunged in
funereal gloom — the tradesmen melancholy, the boat-
men sad and unsuspicious, the hotel-waiters depressed
and servile, instead of brisk and patronizing. The
grand waiter at the Great Western Hotel, one whom
to see was to reverence, whose faintest smile was an
honor, and who conferred a life-long obligation when
he condescended to pour out your champagne, still
lingered in the south, and the lesser waiters of the
lesser hotels lingered afar with the great man. All
was sad and weary, and, at first, all looks were cold.
But speedily the Wanderer discovered that the peo-
ple of Oban regarded him with grateful affection.
He was the firet man who, for no other reason than
sheer love of silence and picturesqueness, had come to
reside among them " out of the season." In a few
weeks, he not only discovered that the extortioners
of his former visit were no such harpies after all, but
poor devils, anxious to get hay while the sun shone.
He found that these same extortioners were the
merest scum of the town, the veriest froth, under-
neath which there existed the sediment of the real
population, which, for many mysterious reasons, no
mere tourist is ever suffered to behold. He found
around him most of the Highland virtues — gentleness,.
FIRST GLIMPGE OF LOllNE. 23
•
hospitality, spirituality. No hand was stretched out
to rob him now. Wherever he went there was a kind
word from the men, and a courtesy from the women.
The poor pale faces brightened, and he saw the sweet
spirit looking forth with that deep inner hunger which
is ever marked on the Celtic physiognomy. Every
day deepened his interest and increased his satisfac-
tion, lie knew now that he had come to a place
where life ran fresh, and simple, and, to a great ex-
tent, unpolluted.
Not to make the picture tender, let him add that
he soon discovered for himself — what every one else
discovers, sooner or later — that the majority of the
town population was hopelessly lazy. There was no
surplus energy anywhere, but there were some individ-
uals who, for sheer unhesitating, imblushing, whole-
sale indolence, were certainly unapproachable on this
side of Jamaica. It so happened that the Wanderer
wanted a new wing added to tlie White House, and
it was arranged with a " contractor," one Angus
Maclean, that it should be erected at a trifling ex-
pense within three weeks. A week passed, during
which Angus Maclean occupied himself in abstruse
meditation, coming two or three times to the spot,
dreamily chewing stalks of grass, and measuring im-
aginary walls with a rule. Then, all of a sudden, one
morning, a load of stones was deposited at the door,
and the workmen arrived — ^men of all ages and all
temperaments, from the clean, methodic mason to the
wild, hirsute hodsman. In other parts of the world
houses are built silently, not so in Lome ; the babble
of Gaelic was incessant. The work crept on, surely
24 THE LAND OF LORNE.
if slowly, relieved by intervals of Gaelic melody and
political debate, during which all labor ceased. An-
gus Maclean came and went, and, of course, it was
sometimes necessary to advise with him as to details ;
and great was his delight whenever he could beguile
the Wanderer into a discussion as to the shape of a
window or the size of a door, for the conversation w;is
sure to drift into general topics, such as the Irish
Land question or the literature of the Highlands, and
the laborers would suspend their toil and cluster
round to listen while Angus ex])lained his " views."
In a little more than a month, the masonry was com-
pleted, and the carpenter's assistance necessary. A
week passed, and no carpenter came. Summoned to
council, Angus Maclean explained that the carpenter
would be up " the first thing in the morning." Two
days afterward, he did appear, and it was at once ap-
parent that, compared with him, all the other inhabit-
ants of Oban were models of human energy. With
him came a lazy boy, with sleep-dust in his round
blobs of eyes. The caqjenter's name was Donald
Mactavish — " a fine man," as the contractor explained,
" tho' he takes a drap." The first day, Donald Mac-
tavish smoked half a dozen pipes, and sawed a board.
The next day, he didn't appear — " it was that showery,
and I was afraid of catching the cold ;" but the lazy
boy came up, and went to sleep in the unfinished
wing. The third day, Donald appeared at noon,
looking very pale and shaky. Thus matters proceed-
ed. Sometimes a fair day's work was secured, and
Donald was so triumphant at his own energy that he
disappeared the following morning altogether. Some
FIRST GLIMPSE OF LORNE. 25
times Donald was unwell; sometimes it was "o'er
showery " Teai*s and entreaties made no impression
on Mactavish, and he took his own time. Then the
slater appeared, with a somewhat brisker stylo of
workmanship. Finally, a moody plasterer strolled
that way, and promised to whitewash the walls " when
he came back frae Mull," whither he was going on
business. To cut a long story short, the new wing to
the White House was complete in three months,
whereas the same number of hands miccht have fin-
ished it with perfect ease in a fortnight.
Thus far, we have given only the dark side of the
picture. Turning to the bright side, we herewith re-
cord our vow that, whenever we build again, we will
seek the aid of those same workmen from Lome. Why,
the Wanderer has all his life lived among wise men,
or men who deemed themselves wise, among great
book-makers, among brilliant minstrels, but for sheer
unmitigated enjoyment, give him the talk of those
Celts — ^flaming radicals every one of them, so radical,
forsooth, as to have about equal belief in Mr. Glad-
stone and Mr. Disraeli. They had their own notions
of freedom, political and social. "Sell my vote?"
quoth Angus ; " to be sure, I'd sell my vote !" And he
would thereupon most fiercely expound his convic-
tions, and give as good a reason for not voting at all
as the best of those clever gentlemen who laugh at
political representation. At heart, too, Angus was a
Fenian, though not in the bad and bloodthirsty sense.
Donald Mactavish, on the other hand, was of a gentle
nature, inclined to acquiesce in all himian arrange-
ment, 80 long as he got his pipe and his glass, and was
■1
26 THE LAND OF LOBNE.
not hurried al>out his work. With playful humor, he
would " draw out" the fiery Angus for the Wanderer's
benefit. Then the two would come suddenly to war
about the relative merits of certain obscure Gaelic
poets, and would rain quotations at each other until
they grew hoarse. They had both the profoundest
contempt for English literature and the English lan-
guage, as compared with their beloved G-aelic. They
were both full of old legends and quaint Highland
stories. The workmen, too, were in their own way as
interesting — ^fine natural bits of humanity, full of in-
telligence and quiet affection Noteworthy among
them was old Duncan Campbell, who had in his
younger days been piper in a Highland regiment, and
who now, advanced in years, worked hard all day as
a hodsman, and nightly — clean, washed, and shaven —
played to him.=;elf on the beloved pipes, till over-
powered with sleep. Duncan was simply delicious.
More than once he brought up the pipes and played
on the hillsides, while the workmen danced. These
pipes were more to him than bread and meat. As he
played them, his face became glorified. Ilis skill was
not great, and his tunes had a strange monotony
about them, but they gave to his soul a joy passing
the glory of battle or the love of women. lie was
never too weary for them in the evening, though the
day's work had been ever so hard and long. Great
was his pride and joy that day, when the house was
finished, and, \vith pipes playing and ribbons flying,
he headed the gleeful workmen as they marched away
to the town.
From that day forward the White House on the
FIIIST GLIMPSE OF LORNE. 2^
Hill remained silent in the solitude. Though the
fiumincr season came, and with it the stream of tour-
ists and -visitors, the Wanderer abode undisturbed.
Far off he saw tlie white gleam of the little town
across the long stretch of field and marsh, but he sel-
dom bent his footsteps thither, save when constrained
by urgent business, ^N^evertheless, faces came and
went, and bright scenic glimpses rose and passed,
while day after day he found his love deepening for
the Land of Lome.
In a certain sense, the whole Hebrides are the Land
of Lome, Skye as much so as Kerrera, Coll and Tiree
and Kum as much as Appin and Awe, Loch Scavaig, and
Loch Eishart as much so as Lochs Feochan and Etive.
The family house of Lome began with a son of Somer-
led, Thane of Argyll and Lord of the Isles, who worried
and bullied the Scottish king, Malcolm, until slain in
battlo at Renfrew. By a daughter of Olaus, King of
Man, Somerled had two sons, Ronald and Dougall, the
first of whom was the ancestor of the Lords of the
Isles, or Macronalds^ and the second of whom be-
queathed his surname to the Lords of Lome, or Mac-
dougalls. Dougall got for his birthright certain main-
land territories in Argyllshire, now known as the
three districts of Lome, but his name and fame
stretched far further and embraced many of the isles.
He resided in the stronghold of Dunstaffnage, with
all the power and more than the glory of a petty
prince. Thenceforward, the Macdougalls of Lome
Increased and multiplied. At the time when Ilaco
invaded the west (12G3) they were great and prosper-
ous, and fierce in forays against the Cailean Mor, or
28 TJdE LAND OF LORNE.
Knight of Loch Awe, from whom comes the ducal
lioiise of Argyll. For year after year the Macdougall
of Lome fought against the dominion of Bruce, wlio
had sh\in the Ked Comyn, Lome's father-in-law,
in the Dominican church at Dumfries; wherefore
Bruce, when his power rose in Scotland, marched into
Argyllshire to lay waste the country. John of Lome,
son of the chieftain, was posted with his clansmen in
the Pass of Awe, a wild and narrow pathway, passing
on helow the verge of Ben Cruachan, and surrounded
hy precipices to all appearance inaccessible. The
military skill of Bruce, however, enabled him to ob-
tain possession of the heights above, whence his
archers discharged a fatal volley of arrows on the dis-
comfited men of Argyll, who were routed with great
slaughter — John, their leader, just managing to
escape by means of his boats on the lake. After this
victory, Bruce " harried " Argyllshire, and besieging
Dunstaffnage Castle, on the west shore of Lome, re-
duced it by fire and sword, and placed in it agamson
and governor of his own. Alaster, the chieftain, at
last 8uV)mitted, but John, still rebellious, escaped to
England. When the wars between the Bruce and
Baliol factions again broke out in the reign of David
II., the Macdougalk, with their hereditary enmity to
the house of Bruce, were again upon the losing side.
I)avid II., and his successor, stripped them of the
greater part of their territories, and in 1434 one Rob-
ert Stuart was appointed to administer their lands
under the title of Seneschal of Lome. In spite of all
this terrible adversity, the Macdougal Is still continued
to exist, oven to floiirish in a private way. They
FIRST GLIMPSE OF LORNE. 29
retained the Castle of Dunollie, witli the titles of
chieftainship over the clan. But in the year 1715.
the irrepressible blood burst forth again, and the Mac-
dougall of the period, having joined the insurrection,
found himself mulcted of his estate. Thirty years
afterward, however, it was restored to the family,
whom sad experience had rendered quiescent during
the rebellion of that period. The present representa-
tive, a quiet major in the army, eats the Queen's
bread, and preserves the family glory in a modest, un-
assuming way. He has a modern house and farm
close to the ruins of Dunollie, the ancient stronghold
of his race.
These same ruins of Dunollie stand on the very
point of the promontory to the northwest of Oban,
and form one of the finest foregrounds possible for all
the scenery of the Frith. There is no old castle in
Scotland quite so beautifully situated. On days of
glassy calm, every feature of it is mirrored in the sea,
with browns and grays that ravish the artistic eye.
There is not too much of it left ; just a wall or two,
lichen-covered and finely broken. Seen from a dis-
tance, it is always a perfect piece of color, iu fit keep-
ing with the dim and doubtful sky; but in late
autumn, when the woods of the promontory have all
their glory — fir-trees of deep black green, intermixed
with russet and golden birches — Dunollie is something
to watch for hours and wonder at. The day is dark,
but a strong silvern light is in the air, a light in
which all the blue pliadows deepen ; while far off in
the west, over green Kerrera, is one long streak of
faint violet, above wliich gather strongly - defined
4
30 THE LAND OF LOUNE
clouds in a brooding slate-colored mass. On Biicli a
day — and such days are numberless in the Highland
autumn — the silvern light strikes strong on Dunoliie,
bringing out every line and tint of the noble ruin,
while the sea beneath, with the merest shadow of the
cold, faint wind upon it, shifts its tints like a sword-
blade in the light, from soft steel-gray to deep, slum-
brous blue. It only wants Morven in the background,
dimly purple with dark, plum-colored stains, and the
swathes of white mist folded round the high peaks, to
complete the perfect picture.
The visitor to the west coast of Scotland is, doubt-
less, often disappointed by the absenceof bright colors
and brilliant contrasts, such as he has been accus-
tomed to in Italy and in Switzerland, and he goes away
too often with a malediction on the mist and the
rain, and an under-murmur of contempt for Scottish
scenery, such as poor Montalembert sadly expressed
in his life of the Saint of lona. But what many
chance visitors despise becomes to the living resident
a constant source of joy. Those infinitely varied
grays — those melting, melodious, dimmest of browns —
those silvery gleams through the fine neutral tint of
cloud ! One gets to like strong sunlight least ; it
dwarfs the mountains so, and destroys the beautiful
distance. Dark, dreamy days, with the clouds clear and
high, and the wind hushed ; or wild days, mth the dark
heavens blowing past like the rush of a sea, and the
shadows driving like mad things over the long grass
and the marshy pool ; or sad days of rain, with dim,
pathetic glimpses of the white and weeping orb; or
nights of the round moon, when the air throbs with
FIRST GLIMPSE OP LORNE. »l
strange electric liglit, and the hill is mirrored dark as
ebony in the glittering sheet of the locli ; or nights of
the Aurora and the lunar rainbow — on days and
nijlhts like those is the Land of Lome beheld in its
glory. Even during those superb sunsets, for which
its coasts are famed — sunsets of fire divine, with all
the tints of the prism — only west and east kindle to
great brightness ; while the landscape between reflects
the glorious light dimly and gently, interposiDg mists
and vapors, with dreamy shadows of the hills. These
bright moments are exceptional ; yet is it quite fair
to say so when, a dozen times during the rainy day,
the heart of the grayness bursts open, and the rain-
bow issues forth in complete semi-circle, glittering in
glorious evanescence, with its dim ghost fluttering
faintly above it on the dark heavens ?
" My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky !"
The Iris comes and goes, and is, indeed, like the sun-
light, " a glorious birth " wherever it appears ; but for
rainbows of all degrees of beauty, from the superb arch
of delicately-defined hues that spans a complete land-
scape for minutes together to the delicate, dying thing
that flutters for a moment on the skirt of the storm-
cloud, and dies to the sudden sob of the rain, the
Wanderer knows no corner of the earth to equal
Lome and the adjacent isles.
Two qualities are necessary to the enjoyment of
these things. The first quality is quiescence, or
brooding-power — the patient faculty of waiting while
images are impressing themselves upon you, of relin-
quishing your energetic identity and becoming a sort
A
31! THE LAND OF LORNE.
of human tarn or mirror. If you want to be
" shocked," galvanized, so to speak, you must go else-
wliere, say to Chimborazo or the North Pole. The
second quality necessary is (to be Hibernian) not al-
together a quality, but the acquired conviction that
rain is beautiful and mist poetical, and that to be wet
through twice or thrice a day is not undesirable. In
point of fact, for actual " downpours " of water, the
Highlands are not much worse than the rest of Great
Britain, but the changes are more sudden and incalcu-
lable. To abide indoors on account of wet or lowering
weather may do very well in Surrey, but it will not
do in Lome ; for if you want to see the finest natural
effects — if you want to get the best sport on land and
water — if you want to do in Lome as Lome does — you
must think no more of rain there tlian you do of dust
in the city. Abolish waterproofs, which were invent-
ed by the devil; away with umbrellas, which were
devised for old women, and are only tolerable when
Leech's pretty girls are smiling under them ; don a
suit of thick tweed, sucb as any cotter weaves, cut a
stick from the nearest blackthorn bush, and sally forth
in all weathers. Let your boots be just easy enough
to let the water " out " when it has managed to get
" in," and you will be quite comfortable. Those wlio
tell you that a damp coat and a wet shoe mean dan-
ger to your health are only talking nonsense. Tight
v/aterproof boots and macintoshes are more fatal
things than cold and rani.
Let it not be gathered from what we have said
that the climate of Lome is bad, and the rain unceas-
ing. On the contrary, there are, nearly every year,
FfUST C>I;IMrSE OF T,Oi;NE. SM
long intervals of dronght, glaring Biimmor clays, when
the landscape " winks through the heat," and the sea
ifc like molten gold. What we mean to convey is,
that some of the finest natural elfacts are vaporous,
and occur only when rain is falling or impending, and
that it is pitiful in a strong man to miss these from
fear of a wet skin. As we write, in the late autumn
season, there is little to complain of on the score of
wet. We have not had a drop of rain for a fortnight.
The days have been bright and short, and the nights
starry and briglit, with frequent flashes of the aurora.
It if the gloaming of the year —
" To ruspet brown
The heather faded. On the treeless hill,
O'er-rusted with the red decaying bracken.
The Bheep crawl slow."
This is the brooding hush that precedes the stormy,
wintry season, and all is inexpressibly beautiful. The
wind blows chill and keen from the north, breaking
the steel-gray waters of the firth into crisp-wliito
waves ; and, though it is late afternoon, the western
sky hangs dark and chill over the mountains of Mull,
while the east is softly bright, with clouds tinted to a
faint crimson. There is no bri<i;htness on anv of the
hills, save to the east, where, suffused with a roseate
flush, stands Ben Cruachan, surrounded by those
lesser heights, beautifully christened the " Shepherds
of Loch Etive," a space of dafibdil sky just above him
and them, and then, a mile higher, like a dome, one
magnificent rose-colored cloud. Thus much it is pos-
sible to describe, but not so the strange vividness of
the green tints everywhere, and the overpowering
•2*
34 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
sense of height and distance. Though every fissure
and cranny of Cruachan seems distinct in the red
light, the whole mountain seems great, dreamy, and
glorified. Walking on one of the neighboring hills,
the Wanderer seems lifted far up into the air, into a
still world, where the heart beats wildly, and the eyes
grow dizzy looking downward on the mother-planet.
In autumn, and even in winter, stillness like this,
dead brooding calm, sometimes steals over Lome for
weeks together, and all the colors deepen and brighten ;
but at such times, as at all others, the finest effects are
those of the rain-cloud and the vapor, and no over-
powdering sense of sunlight comes to trouble the
vision.
Standing on the high hill behind his house, the
Wanderer commands a wondrous view of the whole
firth of Lome, and not least noticeable in the prospect
is the number of ancient ruins. There, to begin with,
is Dunollie, a fine foreground to Morven. Farther
north, close at the mouth of Loch Etive, Dunstaff'nage
stands on its promontory — a ruin on a larger scale,
but, on the whole, less picturesque. Far across the
firth, on the southern promontory of Mull, looking
darkly on the waters of the gloomy sound,
" Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar,
Part the swart liills from Morven's shore,"
looms Duart, the ancient stronghold of the Macleans ;
and fixrther still, scarcely distinguishable in the d'nii
distance,
"Axdtornish, on her frowning eteep
'Twixt earth and heaven hung,"
FinST GLIMPSE OF LORNE. 35
overlooks the same sound. Others there are, shut out
from view by intervening hills and headlands ; indeed,
wherever a bold promontory juts out into the water,
there has been a castle, and more or less of the ruins
remain. 'What light and meaning they lend to the
prospect ! What a fine appeal they have to the human
sentiment, quite apart from their sesthetie beauty,
their delicious coloring. To call them castles is per-
haps less correct than to describe them as private
mansions of castellated form, with certain provisions
against sudden assault. In each of them, of old, dwelt
some petty chief with his family and retainers ; and
at intervals, for some great end, these chiefs could
flock together, as they did on the occasioa of the
betrothal of the Maid of Lome —
" Brave Torquil irom Dunvegan high.
Lord of the misty hills oi Skye
Macneil, wild Barra's ancient thane,
Duart, of bold Clan-Gillian 't^ strain,
Fergus, of Canna's castled bay,
Macduffith, Lord of Colonsay,"
and any number of others — sea-eagles, building their
nests on the ocean headland, and flitting from bay to
bay by night to plunder and to avenge. They seem
to have chosen the sites of their wild dwellings quite
as much for convenience in embarking and for fishing
purposes as for strategical reasons. Few of the old
castles gain any strength from their situation. There
are some, of coui*se, not situated close to the water — •
such as Finlagm, in Isla, which was placed on an in-
land lake, and others on the islaixls of Loch Dochart
and Loch Lomond. Stalker Castle stood on an island
^^ THE LAND OF LORNE.
not mxnh big-gcr than itself; so did Chisamil. None
of these are protected against military attack, many
of them being commanded by rising gronnd, a few
volleys from which would have made short work of
the defenders. Most of them, like Duart yonder,
stand on rocks accessible only on one side, so that thev
are well protected against personal assault. One
thing was never forgotten — ^the dungeon for the ca]>
tive foe.
Dunollie shows to most advantao-e at a distance, iis
a part of the landscape. The ruins consist only of a
portion of the keep, which is overgrown with ivy. But
the view from the promontory is very grand, and close
at hand there is the Dog-Stone {Claeh-a^-choin), a
luige mass of conglomerate rock rising up from the
shore, and identified as the stake to which the £rreat
Fenian king {Uigh na Feinne) used to tie his dog
Bran. Bran ! Fingal ! At the very names, how the
whole prospect changes! The ruins on each liead-
land grow poor and insignificant, and in the large
shadows of the older heroes the small chieftains dis-
appear. The eyes turn to Morven and the " sound-
ing halls of Selma," and, for the moment, all other
associations are forgotten.*
From Dunollie to Dunstaifnage is only a few miles'
walk, and it is one to be undertaken by all visitors to
Oban. The road winds through low hills of thynu;
and heather, past green slopes where sheep bleat and
cattle low, skirting pleasant belts of woodland, and
occasionally fields of waving com, and passes on by
* For remarks on the Ossianic poetry, eee Vol. II . the chapter
on Glen Sligachan.
I'lllST GLIMPSE or LOIINE. 37
the side of Loch Etive to the Pass of Awe ; but leav-
ing it some distance before it reaches tlie loch, you
nmst strike along tlie seashore to the promontory,
or istlimus, on which stands DunstafTnage — a large
square ruin, not very picturesque when so approached,
though commanding a magnificent view. The cus-
todian, who shows visitors over the castle, is a solemn
young Celt, a gardener, who has quite a pretty little
orchard adjoining his cottage. If you press him, he
will give you the history of Dunstafihage in a narra-
tive fully as interesting, and nearly as reliable, as any
tale of fixiry-land, but distrust him, and turn to the
guide-book, an extract from which we give below. ''^
* According to the Pictisli chronicles, Kenneth MacAlpine
transferred the seat of government from Dunstaffnage to Fortc-
viot, in Perthshire, in 843. As the Norwegians began to make
inroads iipon the western coast of Scotland about this time. Dr.
Jamieson thinks it highly probable that, on being deserted by its
royal possessors, Dunstaffnage became a stronghold of the Norse
invaders. For several centuries the place is lost sight of in the
national annals, and only reappears during the eventful reign of
Robert Bruce, who took possession of it after his victory over the
Lord of Lome in the Pass of Awe. At that time it belonged to
Alexander of Argyll, father of John, Jjordof Lome. Old charters
show that the castle and lands of Dunstaffnage were, in 1430,
granted to Dugal, son of Colin, Knight of Loch Awe, the ancestor
of the family in whose possession, as " Captains of Dunstaffnage,"
it has remained to the present day. The existing representative
of the family is Sir Donald Campbell, Bart., of Dunstaffnage. As
a stronghold of the clan Campbell, Dunstaffnage was maintained
down to the rebellions in 1715 and 1745, when it was garrisoned
by the royal forces. The old castle is said to have been disman-
tled by iire, in 1715. The nominal hereditary keeper of the castle
is the Duke of Argyll.
The castle is built in a quadrangular form, 87 feet square with-
38 THE LAND OF LORNE,
Perliaps, instead of engaging the faculties with
doubtful tradition, it is wise to reserve the guide-
book till you reach your home or inn, and to spend
the whole time of your visit in looking at the sur-
rounding prospect. Round the isles beneath the
promontory, the tide boils ominously, setting in to-
ward Conn el Ferry, a mile distant, where Loch Etive
suddenly narrows itself from the breadth of a mile to
that of two hundred yards, causing the waters to rush
in or out, at flood or ebb, with the velocity of a tor-
rent shooting to the fall. If the wind is down, you
can hear a deep sound, just as Sir "Walter describes it :
" The ragiug
Of Connel witli his rocks engaging ; "
for the narrow passage is blocked by a ledge of rock,
" awash" at half tide, causing a tremendous overfall,
the roaring surge of which is audible for miles. Seen
from here, Cruachan seems to have quite altered his pos-
ition — surrounded by the great " Shepherds," he casts
his gigantic shadow over the head of Loch Etive, and
seems in close proximity to the Glencoe range.
Turning westward, you look right across the great
waters of Loch Liimhe, and see the long green island
in the walls, with round towers at three of the angles. The
height of the walls is G6 feet, and their thickness d feet. The
walls outside measure 270 feet ; and the circumference of the
rock on wliich the castle stands is 300 feet. The entrance sea
M ard is l)y a staircase, but it is probable that in ancient times it
was by a drawbridge. A brass guu is preserved on the battle-
ments bearing the date of 1700, showing that it is not a wrecked
trophy of a ship of the Spanish Armada (1588), as is usually re-
ported.
FII18T GblMl'SK OF LOllNE. :?^
of Lismoro, or the Great Garden, stretching snake-
like at the feet of the mountains of Morven ; and, fol-
lowing the chain of these mountains northward,
where thej begin to grow dim in height and distance,
tracing the mighty outlines of Kingairloch and Ard-
gower, you may catch a glimpse, dim to very dreami-
ness — a vague, momentary glimpse, which leaves you
doubtful if you look on hill or cloud — of the monarch
of Scottish mountains — Ben Kevia.
A
40 THE LAND OF LORNE.
CHAPTER II.
PICTITRES INLAND
Tho Season — Cuckoos — Summer Daj-s — Autimin - Winter — Moorland
Lochs — Tlio i.''ii-Woocl — The Moors and the Sea — Farm-tiouscs and
Crofters' Huts — Traces of former Cultivation on the Hills — The Piuined
Saetcrs — Graveyard at DunstaHuage — Tho Island of Inishail.
This is a mai'veloiis land, a scene of beauty, ever
changing, and giving fresh cause for joy and wonder.
Every year deepens the charm. One never tires of
Cruachan and the " Shepherds," or of Dunollie and
Morven, or of the far-off gHmpses of the sea There
are no two days alike. Last year, it seemed that
every possible effect of sun and shadow had presented
itself; and now not a week passes without producing
some scenic loveliness which comes like a revelation.
But the charm is moral as well as aesthetic. The
landscape would be nothing without its human faces.
Humanity does not obtrude itself in this solitude,
but it IS none the less present, consecrating the whole
scene with its mysterious and spiritual associations.
As the year passes there is always something new
to attract one who loves Nature. * AVhcn the winds
ol March have blown themselves faint, and the April
heaven has ceased weeping, there comes a rich sunny
day, and all at once the cuckoo is heard telling his
name to all the hills. IS'ever was such a place ior
PICTUllES INLAND. 41
cuckoos in the world. The cry comes from every tult
of wood, from every hillside, from every projecting
era":. The bird himself, so far from courtinii' retire-
ment, flutters across your path at every step, attended
invariably by half a dozen excited small birds ;
alighting a few yards off, crouches down for a mo-
ment between his slate-colored wings; and finally,
rising again, crosses your path with his sovereign
cry—
" O blithe new-comer, I have heard,
I hear thee, and rejoice !"
Then, as if at a given signal, the trout leaps a foot
into the air from the glassy loch, the buds of the
water-lily float to the surface, the lambs bleat from
the green and heathery slopes, the rooks caw from
the distant rookery, the cock-grouse screams from
the distant hill-top, and the blackthorn begins to
blossom over the nut-brown pools of the burn.
Pleasant days follow, days of high white clouds and
fresh winds whose wings are full of warm dew.
AVherever you wander over the hills, you see the
lambs leaping, and again and again it is your lot to
rescue a poor little one from the deep pool, or stee]>
ditch, which he has vainly sought to leap in follow-
ing liis mother. If you are a sportsman you rejoice,
for there is not a hawk to be seen anywhere, and the
weasel and the foumart have not yet begun to prome-
nade the mountains. About this time more rain
falls, preliminary to a burst of fine summer weather,
and innumerable glow-worms light their lamps in the
marshes. At last, the golden days come, and all
things are busy with their young. Frequently, in the
42 THE LAND OF LORNE.
midsummer, tliere is a drought for weeks together.
Day after day the sky is cloudless and blue ; the
mountain lake sinks lower and lower, till it seems
about to dry up entirely ; the mountain brooks dwin-
dle to mere silver threads for the water-ousel to fly by,
and the young game often die for the lack of water;
while afar off, with every red vein distinct in the
burning light, without a drop of vapor to moisten his
scorching crags, stands Ben Cruachan. By this time
the hills are assuming their glory — the mysterious
bracken has shot up all in a night, to cover them with
a green carpet between the knolls of heather, the
liclien is penciling the crags with most delicate
silver, pui*ple, and gold, and in all the valleys there
are stretches of light yellow corn and deep green
patches of foliage. The corn-crake has come, and his
cry fills the valleys. Walking on the edge of the
corn-field you put up the partridges — fourteen
cheepers the size of a thrush, and the old pair to
lead them. From the edge of the peat-bog the old
cock-grouse rises, and if you are sharp you may see
the young following the old hen through the deep
heather close by. The snipe drums in the marsh.
The hawk, having brought out his young among the
crags of Kerrera, is hovering still as stone over the
edge of the hill. Then, perchance, just at the end of
July, there is a gale from the south, blowing for two
days black as Erebus with cloud and rain ; then going
up into the northwest and blowing for one day with
little or no rain ; and dying away at last with a cold
puff from the north. All at once, as it were, the
sharp sound of firing is echoed from hill to hill ; and
nCTUims INLAND, 43
on every mouiitiiu you see the sporUman climbing
with his dog ranging above and before him, the
keeper following, and the gillie lagging far behind.
It \.-i the twelfth of August. Thenceforth, for two
montlis at least, there are broiling days, interspersed
with storms and showers, and the firing continues
more or less from dawn to sunset.
Day after day, as the autumn advances, the tint of
the hills is getting deeper and richer, and by Octo-
"ber, when the beech-leaf yellows and the oak-leaf
reddens, the dim purples and the deep greens of the
heather ai'e perfect. Of all seasons in Lome the late
autumn is, ])erhaps, the most beautiful. The sea has
a deeper hue, the sky a mellower light. There are
long days of northerly wind, when every crag looks
perfect, wrought in gray and gold and silvered with
moss, when the high clouds turn luminous at the
ed'T^es, when a thin film of hoar-frost gleams over the
grass and heather, when the light burns rosy and
faint over all the hills, from Morven to Cruachan, for
liours before the sun goes down. Out of the ditch at
the roadside flaps the mallard, as you pass in the
gloaming, and, standing by the side of the small
mountain loch, you see the flock of teal rise, wheel
thrice, and settle. The hills are desolate, for the
sheep are being smeared. There is a feeling of frost
in the air, and Ben Cruachan has a crown of snow.
When dead of winter comes, how wondrous look
the hills in their white robes ! The round red ball of
the sun looks through the frosty steam. The far-off
firth gleams strange and ghostly, with a sense of mys-
terious distance. The mountain loch is a sheet of
44 THE LAND OF LORNE.
blue, on which you may disport in perfect solitude
from mom to night, with the hills white on all sides,
eave where the broken snow shows the red-rusted
leaves of tlio withered bracken. A deathly stillnet^s
and a death-like beauty reign everywhere, and few
living things are discernible, save the hare plunging
heavily out of her form in the snow, or the rabbit
scuttling off in a snowy spray, or the small birds pip-
ing disconsolate on the trees and dykes. Then Peter,
the tame rook, brings three or four of his wild rela-
tions to the back door of the White House, and they
stand aloof with their heads cocked on one side, while
he explains their position, and suggests that they, be-
ing hard-working rooks who never stooped to beg
when a living could be got in the fields, well deserve
to be assisted. Then comes the thaw. As the sun
rises, the sunny sides of the hills are seen marked
with great black stains and winding veins, and there
is a sound in the air as of many waters. The moun-
tain brook leaps, swollen, over the still clinging ice,
the loch rises a foot above its still frozen crust, and a
damp steam rises into the air. The wind goes round
into the west, great vapors blow over from the Atlan-
tic, and there are violent storms.
Such is a mere glimpse of the seasons, as they pass
in this pastoral land of Lome ; but what pen or pencil
could do justice to their evei--changing Nvonders?
Wherever one wanders, on hill or in valley, tiiere is
somethins to fascinate and deliirht. Those moorlai.d
lochs, for example 1 Those deep pure pools of dew
distilled from the very heart of the mountains —
changing as the season clianges — ^lying blue as steel
PICTURES INLAND. 4.>
in the bright clear light, or tiirninp: to rich mellow
brown in the times of flood. On all of them the
water-lily blows, creeping up magically from the
under-world, and covering the whole surface with
white, green, and gold — its broad and well-oiled
leaves floating dry in delicious softness in the sum-
mer sun, and its milk-white cups opening wider and
wider, while the dragon-fly settles and sucks honey
from their golden hearts, llow exquisitely the hills
are mirrored, the images only a shade darker than
the heights above ! Perhaps there is a faint breeze
blowing, leaving here and there large flakes of glassy
calm, which it refuses to touch for some mysterious
reason, and tlie edges of which — just where wind
and calm meet — gleam the color of golden fringe.
Often in midsummer, however, the loch almost dries
up in its bed ; and innumerable flies — veritable gad-
flies with stings — make the brink of the water un-
pleasant, and chase one over the hills. In such
weather there is nothing for it but to make off to the
fir-woods, and there to dream away the summer's day,
with the bell-shaped flowers around you in one
gleaming sheet,
" Blue as a little patch of fallen sky,"
and the primroses fringing the tree-roots with pallid
beauty that whitens in the shadow. The wood is
delicious ; not too dark and cold, but fresh and
scented, with open spaces of green sward and level
sunshine. The fir predominates, dark and enduring
in its loveliness ; but there are dwarf oaks, too, with
twisted limbs and thick branches, and the moimtain
46 THE LAND OF LORNE.
ash is there, with its innumerable beads of crimson
coral, and the fluttering aspen, and the birch, whose
stem is penciled with threads of frosty silver, and
the thorns snowed over with delicate blossoms.
But, of course, the great glory of Lome is the open
moor, where the heather blows from one end of the
year to the other. There is something sea-like in
the moor, with its long free stretch for miles and
miles, its great rolling hills, its lovely solitude,
broken only by the cry of sheep and the scream of
birds. Lakes and water-lilies are to be found far
south. There are richer woods in Kent than any in
the Highlands. But the moors of the western coast
of Scotland stand alone, and the moors of Lome are
finest of all. Nowhere in the world, perhaps, does
nature present a scene of greater beauty than that
you may behold, with the smell of thyme about your
feet, and the mountain bee humming in your ears,
from any of the sea-commanding heights of Lome.
Turn which way you will, the glorious moors stretch
before you ; wave after wave of purple heather,
broken only by the white farm with its golden
fields, and the mountain loch high up among the
hills; while the arms of the sea steal winding, now
visible, now invisible, on every side, and the far-off
firth, with its gleaming sail, stretches from the white
lighthouse of Lismore far south to the Isla and its
purple caves. Then the clouds! White and high,
they drift ovcrliead,
" Slow traversing the blue ethereal field,"
and you can watch their shadows moving on the moor
PICTUllES INLAND. 47
for miles and miles, just as if it were the sea ! Nor
is the scene baiTen of such little touches as make Eng-
lish landscape sweet. There are bees humming every-
where, and skylarks singing, and the blackbird whist-
ling wherever there is a bush, and the swift wren
darting in and out of the stone dykes, like a swift-
winced insect. There are flowers too — little unob-
trusive things, flowers of the heath — primroses, tormen-
til, bog-asphodel, and many others. But nothing is
purchased at the expense of freedom. All is fresh and
free as the sea. After familiarity with the moor, you
turn from the macadamized road with disgust, and
will not even visit the woods till the fear of a sun-
stroke compels you. Did we compare the moor to
the sea ? Yes ; but you yourself are like an inhabit-
ant thereof ; not a mere sailor on the surface, but a
real haunter of the deep. What hours of indolence in
the daep heather, so long as the golden weather lasts!
The white farm-house in the center of its yellow
glebe does not altogether suit tlie great free landscape,
but from a distance it serves as a foil to bring out the
rocks and heather. Sweeter far is the crofter's little
hut, so like the moor itself that you only recognize it
by the blue wreath of peat-smoke issuing from its
rude chimney. It is built of rough stones and clods,
thatched with straw and heather, and paven with clay.
Over its outer walls crawls a gorgeous trellis-work of
moss and lichen, richer than all the carpets of Persia ;
and its roof is purple, green, and gold, such as no king
ever saw in the tapestry of his chamber. This may
seem a wild description of what tourists would regard
as a wretched hut, fit only for a pig to live in ; but
48 THE LAND OF LORNE.
find a painter with a soul for color, and ask hhn.
"Why, the very dirty children who stand at the door,
shading their sunburnt faces to look at the passer-by,
have tints in their naked skins and on their raerired
kilts such as would fill a Titian's heart with joy.
Here and there the hut is displaced to give place to a
priggish cottage, with whitewashed walls and slate
roofs ; but the crofters, to do them justice, rather shun
the kind innovation, and prefer their old tenements.
Step into the hut for a light to your pipe, and look
around you. The place is full of delicious peat-smoke,
which at first blinds you, and then, as your eyes ac-
custom themselves to it, clears away, to show you the
old grandfather bending over the flame, the wife stir-
ring the great black pot, and the cocks and hens
perched all around on the beams and rafters. He
who fears foul smells need not be afraid to enter here.
Peat-smoke is the great purifier. It makes all smell
sweet, and warms every cranny of the poor place with
its genial breath.
The pieces of arable land are few, compared to the
long stretches of moorland. The large farms have
many acres of growing grain, and most of the little
crofts have a tiny patch attached to them, from which
they manage to grow a little corn and a few turnips
and potatoes.
But wherever you wander over the moors, you will
see piteous little glimpses of former cultivation — the
furrow-marks which have existed for generations.
Wherever there is a bit of likely ground on the hill-
side, be sure that it has been plowed, or rather dug
with the spade. Standing on any one of the great
PICTURES INLAND. 49
heights, you Bce on cverj buIo of you tho green slopes
marked with the old ridges ; and yon remember that
Lornc in former days was a thickly jwpnlated district.
AVe have heard it stated, and even by bo high an au-
thority as the Duke of Argyll, tliat these marks do
not necessarily indicate a higher degree of jjrosperity
than exists in the same district at present, We are
not so sure of that. Nor may the husbandry have
been so rude ; since the spade must have gone deep
to leave its traces so long ; and busy hands can do
much, even to supply the want of irrigation. Attached
to some of the existing crofts, which work entirely
by hand-lal)or and till the most unlikely ground, we
have seen some of the best bits of crop in the district.
Be that as it may, the fact remains that once upon a
time these hills of heather swarmed with crofts, and
were covered with little fields of grain.
Hemote, too, among the hills, in the most lonely
situations, distant by long stretches of bog and moor-
land from any habitation, you will find here and
there, if you wander so far, a ruin in the midst of
green slopes and heathery bournes. This is the ruin
of the old Shieling, which, in former days, so resound-
ed with mirth and souii;.
" Oil, sad is tlie sliieling.
Gone are its joya !"
as Robb Gunn sings in the Gaelic. Hither, ere
sheep-farming was invented, came the household of
the peasant in the summer-time, with sheep and cat-
tle ; and here, while the men returned to look after
matters at home, the women and young people abode
3
50 THE LAND OF LORNE.
for weeks, tending the young l;inil)s and kids, watch-
ing the inilch-cow, and making butter and clieese that
were rich with the succulent juices of the surrounding
herbage. Then the milk-pan foamed, the distaff went,
the children leaped for joy with the lambs, and in the
evening the girls tried charms, and learned love-songs,
and listened to the tales of their elders with dreamy
eyes. Better still, there was real love-making to be
had ; for some of the men remained, generally unmar-
ried ones, and others came and went ; and, somehow,
in those long summer nights, it was pleasant to sit out
in a flood of moonlight, and whisper, and perhaps
kiss, while the lambs bleated from the pens, and the
silent hills slept shadowy in the mystic light. Ko
wonder that Gaelic literature abounds in " Shieling
songs," and that most of these are ditties of love ! The
shieling was rudely built, as a mere temporary resi-
dence, but it was snug enough when the peat-bog was
handy. In the wilds of the Long Island it is still used
in the old manner, and the Wanderer has many a time
crept into it for shelter when shooting wild fowl.
The Norwegian saeter is precisely the same as the
Scottish shieling, and still, as every traveler knows,
flourishes in all its glory.
We are no melancholy mourner of the past ; rather
a sanguine believer in progress and the future ; but
alas! whenever we look on the lonely ruins among
the hills, we feel inclined to sing a dirge. The " Big
Bed in the Wilderness," as the Gaelic bard named
the saeter and pasture, is empty now — empty and
silent — and the children that shouted in it are buried
in all quarters of the earth ; aye, and many had reason
PICTURES INLAND. 51
to curse the crwoltj of luuu ere tliey died, for they
were driven fortli jicross the watei-s from all that they
loved. Some lived on, to see the change darker and
darker, and then were carried on handy-spokes, in the
old Scottish fashion, to the grave. Many a long sum-
mer day could we spend in meditation over the places
where they sleep.
Highland churchyards are invariably beautiful and
pathetic, but there are two in Lome of perfect and
supreme loveliness.
Adjoining the ancient stronghold of Dunstaffnao-e,
Avhich we have described in a former chapter, there is
a fir-plantation fringing the promontory and over-
looking the boiling tides at the mouth of Loch Etive ;
and in the heart of the plantation are the ruins of an
old chapel, the four roofless walls of which still stand.*
The ivy clings round the moldering walls, and the
square space is filled with tombs and graves, long
grass and weeds. Many dead lie there — dead that
are now literally dust, and dead that only fell to sleep
during the last generation. The old flat tombs, with
their quaint-carved figures and worn-out inscriptions,
were originally used to mark the graves of ancient
chiefs and their families ; but now they do duty as
the gravestones of fishermen and herdsmen. Whole
families of poor folk, who lived and died with the
* The original building, measuring only twenty-four yards by
eiglit, is deformed by a modern addition at the east end, obscuring
the altar window, which appears to have been very graceful, being
in the early English style, with banded shafts and the dog-tooth
ornament. Under the window a triple tablet extends round the
cliapel.
52 THE LAND OF LORNE.
wash of the sea in their ears, rest together here with
the sea-spray on their graves. At all seasons, even on
the hottest summer day, there is a chill exhalation
here, a feeling as of the touch of damp marble. Tlie
trees around snare the golden light, and twine it in
and out of their dark branches till it is turned to faint
silver threads. Flowers grow at the tree-roots, even
in the grassy interstices between the graves ; and fresh
flowers are thrown regularly on the large marble tomb
closed in at the eastern side of the ruin, the last meet-
ing-place of the Campbells of Dunstaffnage.
Still more lovely is Inishail. It is a little island in
the center of Loch Awe — the great fresh-water lake
stretching for miles at the base of Ben Cruachan. At
one extremity there is the ruins of a convent of Cis-
tercian nuns ; at the other, the old burial-place whither
the dead are brought over water to this day. Low
and silent, the isle floats upon the mighty loch, with
its little load of dead. Once in a year, in the summer-
time, the sky falls, and lies in one sheet of delicious
blue-bells over the island, so that it looks a blest place
indeed ; one soft azure stain on the loch, in the long
dreamy days, when the water is a glassy mirror; and
the adjoining Black Isles cast their wooded reflections
deep, deep down into the crystal gulf on which they
swim. In the old days, the dead-boat would move
slowly hither to the melancholy music of the bagpipes,
echoing faint and far over the water ; and still, at
loi2g intervals, it comes, but without the old weird
music.
THE HEART OF LORNE. 68
CIIAl^EU TIT.
THE II EAST OF LORNE.
Loch Awo and its Ancient Legend— Summer Days on the Lake— The
Legend of Fraoch Eilan— Kilchurn Castle — Effects of Moonlight and of
Storm— View from Glcnara— The Pools of Cladich— Duncan Ban of the
gongs— His Coiro Chcathaich— His Mairi Ban Og, and Last Adieu to
the Hills— Songs of tho Children of tho Mist— Tho Pass of Awe— The
Ascent of Ben Cruachan.
Standing on the island of Inishail. you Bee out-
stretched before you one of the loveliest scenes in the
world — the whole glorious expanse of Loch Awe, with
its wooded and castled isles, the dark mouth of the
Pass of Awe, and the towering heights of Ben Crua-
chan. This, indeed, may well be named the Heart
of Lome ; for out of the mighty sheet of water innu-
merable brooks and rivulets stretch like veins to nour-
ish all the land. The great mountain towers above,
" varying momently his crest," and surveying the out-
stretched map of the Hebrides as far north as Canna,
and as far south as the headland of Cantyre.
The ancient legend of Loch Awe is preserved in the
beautiful tale of Bera. In the old dark days, far, far
back in time, when there were great heroes on the
earth, and great sages to guide their arms, Cruachan
stood yonder, as he stands now —
" Struggling with the darkness all day long.
And visited all night by troops of stars ;"
54 THE LAND OF LORNE.
and his scarce accessible lieiolits were covered witli
great deer. All went well till there arose on Orua-
clian a fatal Well, fulfilling certain melancholy proph-
ecy. Bera, the beautiful daughter of Grin an, the
last of the sages of old, was charged to keep watch,
and daily, as the last rays of the sun sank behind the
mountain, to cover the mouth of the well with a mys-
tic stone, marked with the strange runes of the sages.
But Bera was a great huntress ; and one day, after
wandering far in pursuit of a mighty herd of deer, she
returned to her seat so tired out that she fell to sleep
beside the well. The sun sank, but Bera slept on,
and the fatal well remained uncovered. At last, a
thunderclap awoke her, and, springing up, she saw
the raging of a fearful storm ; and, behold ! the fertile
valley beneath herfeet was flooded with a great water,
stretching far out of sight in all directions, lashed to
fury by the wild wind, and illumed by the lightning.
The fatal deed once done, there was no remedy, and
Loch Awe remains to this day, mystically fed and
feeding, the veritable Heart of Lome.
The coach from Inveraray to Oban dashes along
the shores of the lake, waters at Dalmally, and so on
through the Pass of Awe; and the drive is a glorious
one ; but he who would see Loch Awe indeed must
live on its banks for weeks, watch it under all aspects
of wind and cloud, and navigate its endless creeks and
bays in an open boat. Few tourists do linger, save,
of course, anglers, who come in spring after the ordi-
nary loch-trout, and in autumn after the salrno ferox /
but the great lake is full of interest for everybody,
with its gorgeous and unapproachable eftects for the
THE IIKART OF LOllNE. i>i>
painter, its wild old stories for the poet, its castles and
cjraveyards for the antiquarian, and its general air of
fascination for the idler and lover of beauty.
During the Bumnicr drought, Loch Awe is the hot-
test place in Lome. The lake sinks in its bed day
after day, till numberless hidden rocks begin to jut
through the glistering water. No stream breaks the
dead silence with its joyous voice, for every stream is
dry ; and Ben Cruachan is a sheet of red-lEire, sharply
defined at the edges against a sky insufferably blue.
At such times a fresh breeze often blows on the sea-
board a few miles away, but without creeping inland
to the gre it lake, over and around which buzz innu-
merable flies of a venomous species, hovering in thou-
sands round the cattle and driving the bare-legged
herd-boy nearly mad. On the sides of Cruachan the
adders swarm, though tlieyare never found elsewhere
in Lome. But the scene is one of intoxicating beauty,
calling up dreams of far-off Syria and its great lakes
closed in by similar hills of stone, that scorch in the
sunlight. For days together Loch Awe is a mirror
without one speck or flaw, reflecting in its deep bosom
the great clear mountains, the wooded islets, the gray
castles moldering on their promontories ; every shape
and tint of the glorious scene, amid which you wan-
der quietly, or rather, being wise, lie quiescent, just
sheltered bv the irreen bous^h of a tree, hovering^
" Between the dome above and the dome under.
The hills above thee and their ghosts beneath thee !"
till life becomes bo flooded with drowsy light that
consciousness fades into a mere vacant dream, and all
56 THE LAND OF LORNE.
you behold appears beautifully unreal. Delicious it
is in such weather to drift from place to place in a
boat, slowly pulled by some swarthy IIi<);hlandman,
on whose bare head the scorching beams fall harmless,
and who, if he knows you well, may now and then
break silence with some old tale or snatch of song.
Just then the le2;end of Fraoch Eilan M'ill be most ac-
ceptable, for you will have no difficulty in believing
that Loch Awe is a veritable garden of the Ilesper-
ides ; and the boatman will tell you, as he rows round
the little island of Fraoch, how there was once on
that island an enchanted garden, watched by a dragon ;
how the fair Mego longed for the fruit that grew
there ; how Fraoch, her lover, vainly endeavoring to
gratify the longing of his beloved one, swam the lake
and fought the dragon ; and how, alas ! when both
Fraoch and the monster fell dead in fight, fair Mego
died of unutterable grief. It is a story for the bright
days, when the dog-star foams, and up above you the
very hills seem to move in great glorified throbs. In
your drowsy, semi-conscious state, you fully believe it,
and see before you the golden apples dangling, and
the golden dragon glaring — all a glitter of gold ; and
you dip your kerchief in the water, and bind it round
your brows, and dangle your arm up to the shoulder
in the cool water, as the boat glides on, suspended
above a fathomless abyss of gold and blue.
But if Loch Awe can be hot and still, it can also
be cold and wild. In windy weather its enormous
expanse is as furious as a great arm of the sea, and
the squalls plow the water into furrows of snow-
white foam. On a dark day it is the blackest of all
THE HEART OF LORNE. 57
locLs — a very Acheron. But in any and every
wcatlier it preserves Bome kind of beauty, and lias
ever-varying attractions for the lover of nature — for
every man, indeed, who is moved at all by the great
forces of the world.
Perhaps the finest point of vantage in the whole
loch is Kllchurn Castle; and Kilclmm, though beau-
tiful exceedingly in dead-still summer weather, ap-
pears to most advantage when the wind is high and
the waters w' ild. The ruin stands at the upper end of
the lake, on a rock which was originally an island,
but is now a sort of peninsula, connected by a flat al-
luvial meadow with the higher shore ; and though its
stones have been outrageously plundered to supply
materials for a church and an inn at Dalmally,
though every scrap of wood it ever contained has
been pilfered and burnt, enough of the old place still
remains to spiritualize the whole landscape ; a few
crumbling walls being enough for the purpose in
all such cases. Built originally at the time of the
Crusades, in 1440, and occupied by a British garrison
as late as 1745, Kilchurn still abides, and will abide
for many a year to come, if not altogether demolished
by the hand of man. Time has dealt gently with it,
merely penciling the walls with soft lichens and
golden moss ; and so far as time is concerned, it may
be a ghost in the moonlight for a thousand years to
conne.
Of course, Kilchurn is beautiful in moonlight — all
old castles are, especially when they stand close upon
the water; but the effects of moonlight, although
doubtless far more defined than is generally supposed
58 THE LAND OF LORNE.
by people who do not study Kature for themselves,
belonfij more to the imagination than the eye, if, in-
deed, we are not continually moved by moonlight for
peculiar physiological reasons, just as lunatics are
moved, though in less measure. Fault has been
found by Mr. Philip Ilamerton with poets in general,
and Sir Walter Scott in particular, because they
seem to think that the moon " does not respect local
color, but translates everything into black and
white ;"* and the same writer describes very amusing-
ly how he, after reading Scott's lines about Melrose,
and getting into the ruins furtively, his head full of
melodious rhyme, discovered that the " ruins gray "
were red; and was afterward informed "that the
Minstrel was so little in earnest on the subject as
never to have taken the trouble to drive over from
Abbotsford and see Melrose for himself, as he had
so waimly recommended everybody else to see it."
Still, Scott was right, and Ilamerton is wrong, in
spite of the false epithet "gray;" for what Scott
meant to imply was simply that moonlight supplied a
certain imaginative mystery ; a weird, silvern glamor,
* See some remarks on this subject in Mr. Hamerton'a " Paint-
r-r's Camp," an admirable book, in -wliich the attempts to describe
natural effects, from a painter's point of view, are almost painful-
ly lionest and faithful ; painfully bo, because betraying the dis-
satisfaction of an a:'stlietic mind almost convulsed by llio tre-
mendous truths of Nature, driven again and again to the de-
spairing fear that absolute faithfulness to Nature is impossible,
and trying, amidst its despair, to be rational at all hazards, rather
than sentimental over the inadequacy of human effort. The re
suit is a style curiously blending profound artistic feeling with
enormous self-consciousness, and betraying an alarming leaven of
t-echnicality, even in the sphere of ideas.
THE HEAllT OF LORNE. 59
in which all old ruina become most impressive. For
the same reason,
" He who would bco Kilcluirn aright
Must visit it by pale moonlight,"
not on account of the effects of color, though many
of these, as Mr. ITamerton lias finely shown, are most
delicately defined and beautiful, but simply because
moonlight is in esse a more emotional light than sun-
light.
But on some dark day, when Cruachan is black
with shadow, and the rain-cloud driving past, when
the loch is broken into great waves with crestlike
head and hollows as black as ink, and when the wild
lines of the rain shoot down in light over the old ruin,
Kilchum becomes a spirit ; indeed, the almost human
center of the scene. Look which way you will, it is
the cynosure. Wild mists cloud the gorges of the
Pass of Awe, the wind moans in the blackness of
Cruachan, and Kilchurn, with the waves lashing at
its feet, stares through the air like a human face,
strangely relieved against the dazzling greenness of
the meadow which links it to the land. What, in-
deed, are all the effects of moonlight to that desolate
look of loneliness and woe, mingled with secret
strength to resist the elemental strife?
" But a mere footstool to yon sovereign lord,
Huge Cruachan (a thing that meaner hills
Might crush, nor know that it had suffered harm) ;
Yet he, not loth, in favor of thy claim
To reverence, suspe.nds his own ; submitting
All that the God of Nature hath conferred.
All that he holds in common with the stars.
to THE LAND OF LORNE.
To the memorial majcBfy of Time,
Impersonated in lliy calm decay!"
Truly docs the old ruin remain paramount, while
mountains, torrents, lakes, and woods unite to pay it
homage. It is the most perfect foreground possible
for a mountain picture, forming not only a poetic
center of human interest, but a fine scale wherewith
to measure the mighty proportions of the hills and
the wild expanse of troubled waters.
The distance from Inveraray to the banhs of Loch
Awe is about sixteen miles, the first fourteen of which
are chiefly pleasant because every one of them re-
moves you a little farther from Inveraray, that most
depressing offish-smelling Highland towns; but about
two miles from that lake there is a wretched hut, the
owner of which sells — or used to sell until very re-
cently — a very good "dram" to the pedestrian, in-
spired with which fine spirit he is ready to look with
treble rapture on the magnificent view from the top
of the hill above Cladich. Ben Cruachan towers to
the heavens in all his gigantic beauty, with dark
hcatlier-clad flanks and red-tinted crags, and at his
feet the great lake stretches broad and deep, studded
with grassy and woody islets, which are green as
emerald in summer time, and in the winter season
dark-red with the withered bracken and fern. In the
time of snow this scene becomes strange and im})ress-
ing in the extreme. The spectator from the hill has
a feeling of being suspended up in the air, and the
sense of height and distance conveyed by the great
white mountain is almost painful. From the far-olf
cone of Cruachan a white smoke of drift-snow rises
THE HEART OF LORNE. 61
with tlie wind and blows away against the pale ^rcen
of the cloudless sky. The dark-wooded flanks of the
mountain contrast with the white snows and dim
azure shadows of the bare crags and precipices. If
the lake is a dead calm, as is usually the case at such
times, the effect is still more mysterious, as every fea-
ture of the spectral scene is repeated in a fathomless
gulf of crystal clearness.
At the foot of the hill is the little inn of Cladich,
a cozy nest for anglers and all such peace-loving
men ; and close to the inn there is a burn, shaded
with trees and ferns, and fringed in spring-time with
primroses and blue-bells. Oh ! the pools of Cladich !
the nut-brown pools, clear as amber, fed by little
falls foaming as white as snow, and full of tiny trout
that dart hither and thither, with dark shadows on
the bottom of polished rock ! Many a bath have we
taken there of yore, lying for hours like a very fresh-
water Triton, clad as Adam, pipe in mouth ; and
the friend of our boyhood in the next " bath," limbed
like a young fawn, and little thinking of the terrible
City by whose breath he died ! To us, as we write,
Cladich seemed the sweetest spot in the world, and
we could linger on, describing its loveliness, page
after page, calling up memories of long summer days
on the lake, dreamy musings on the wooded Black
Isles, and walks by moonlight among the woods and
falls behind the little inn — an inn with linen milky
white, and the scent of heather in every room, and
sometimes a plate of pansies in fresh water on the
table. But to brood over these happy times would
be to weary the reader. Away from Cladich ! Away
62 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
by tlie road that winds northward along the shores
of the lalco, and, after affording a magnificent view
of Kilcluirn, reaches the village of Dalmally, a pleas-
ant little place, with a good inn, a church, a pictu-
resque bridge, and, best of all, a solid etone monu-
ment to Duncan Ban,
What Burns is to the Lowlands of Scotland, Dun-
can Ban is to the Highlands; and more: for Duncan
never made a poem, long or short, which was not set
to a tune, and he first sang them himself as he wan-
dered like a veritable bard of old. Duncan Macln-
tyre, better known as Donacha Bun, or Fair-haired
Duncan, was born here in Glenorehay in 1724, and
he died at Edinburgh in 1812, in the golden days of
the " Edinburgh Review." His had been a long life,
if not an eventful one. For about forty-five years he
dwelt among these hills, haunting " Coire Cheat-
haich " at all hours, and composing his mountain
music ; and sometimes traveling about the country
to collect subscriptions to his poems, dressed in the
Highland garb, with a checked bonnet, over which
hung a large bushy tail of a wild animal ; a badger's
skin, fastened by a belt, in front ; a hanger by his
side, and a soldier's wallet strajjped to his shoulders.
During these expeditions he was recognized wherc-
ever he went by his peculiar appearance. On one
occasion, a forward young man asked him, " If it was
he that made Ben Dourain ?" "No," replied the old
man, " Ben Dourain was made before you or I were
born ; but I made a poem in praise of Ben Dourain."
" He spoke slowly," writes the recorder of the cir-
cumstance, " and seemed to have no high opinion of
THE HEART OF LOUNE. O^^
his own poems, and said little of Gaelic poetry ; but
said that officeiB in the army told him about the
Greek poets, and Pindar was chiefly admired by
liim."*
When Duncan Ban was forty-four years of age, he
dictated his poems to a clergyman, who wrote them
down for publication. For years they had been
floating in the poet's mind to music of their own, and
many had been carried from mouth to mouth across
the Hebrides. They are simple in form as the hills,
as sweet and gentle in sound as the mountain brooks,
and many are most lengthy and elaborate, just like
Ilio-hland tales, not because the subject is great in
itself, but because the singer is so in love with it
that he could sing about it forever. " Coire Chea-
thaich, or the Misty Corri," is the masterpiece, being
the description of the great corri in Glenorchay,
where Duncan loved to roam. Here it is in English.
Not a word is lost, but any Highlandman will toll
you that no English could convey the unutterable
tenderness and rich music of the original :
COIRE CHEATHAICH; ok, THE GLEN OF THE MIST.
My beauteous corri ! where cattle wander —
My misty corri ! my darling dell !
Mighty, verdant, and covered over
With wild flowers tender of the sweetest smell ;
Dark is the green of thy grassy clothing,
Soft swell thy hillocks most green ajid deep.
The cannach blowing, the darnel growing,
WTiile the deer troop past to the misty steep.
* Mackenzie's " Beauties of Gaelic Poetry."
64 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
Fine for wear is thy beauteous mantle,
Btrongly woven, and ever-new,
With rough grass o'er it, and, brightly gleaming.
The grass all spangled with diamond dew ;
It's round my corri, my lovely corri.
Where rushes thicken and long reeds blow ;
Fine were the harvest to any reaper
Who through the marsh and the bog could go.
Ah, that's fine clothing !— a great robe stretching,
A grassy carpet most smooth and green.
Painted and fed by the rain f r«ni heaven
In hues the bravest that man has seen —
'Twixt here and Taris, I do not fancy
A finer raiment can ever be —
May it grow forever !— and, late and early.
May 1 be here on the knolls to see !
Around Ruadh Awridh what ringlets cluster!
Fair, long, and crested, and closely twined.
This way and that they are lightly waving.
At eveiy breath of the mountain wind.
The twisted hemlock, the slanted rye-grass.
The juicy moor-grass, can all be found.
And the close-set groundsel is greenly growing
By the wood where heroes are sleeping sound.
In yonder ruin once dwelt MacBhaidi,
'Tis now a desert where winds are shrill ;
Yet the well-shaped brown ox is feeding by it
Among the stones that bestrew the hill.
IIow fine to see, both in light and gloaming,
The smooth Clach Fionn so still and deep.
And the houseless cattle and calves most peaceful!
Cirouped on the brow of the lonely steep.
In every nook of the mountain pathway
The garlic fiower may be thickly found—
And out oi\ the sunny t-lopes around it
llau" berries juicy and red and round—
THE HEART OF LORNE. 66
The penny-royal and dandelion,
The downy cannach together lie —
Tliickly they grow from the base of the mountain
To the topmost crag of his crest so high.
And not a crag but is clad most riclily,
For rich and silvern the soft moss clings ;
Fine is the moss, most clean and stainless,
Hiding the look of unlovely things ;
Down in the hollows beneath the summit
Where tlie verdure is growing most rich and deep.
The little daisies are looking upward.
And the yellow primroses often peep.
Round every well and every fountain
An eyebrow dark of the cress doth cling ;
And tlie sorrel sour gathers in clusters
Around the stones whence the waters spring ;
With a splash and a plunge and a mountain murmur
The gurgling waters from earth upleap.
And pause and hasten, and whirl in circles.
And rush and loiter, and whirl and creep !
Out of the ocean comes the salmon.
Steering with crooked nose he hies.
Hither he darts where the waves are boiling —
Out he springs at the glistening flies !
How he leaps in the whirling eddies !
With back blue-black, and fins that shine.
Spangled with, silver, and speckled over.
With white tail tipping his frame so fine 1
Gladsome and grand is the misty corri.
And there the hunter hath noble cheer ;
The powder blazes, the black lead rattles
Into the heart of the dun-brown deer ;
And there the hunter's hound so bloody
Around the hunter doth leap and play.
And madly rushing, most fierce and fearless,
Springs at the throat of the stricken prey.
6G THE LAND OF LORNE.
Oh, 'twas gladsome to go a-liunting
Out in the dew of the sunny morn !
For the great red stag was never wanting.
Nor tlie fawn, nor the doe with never a horn.
And when rain fell and the night was coming.
From the open heath we could svviftly fly,
And, finding the shelter of some deep grotto,
Couch at ease till the night went by.
And sweet it was when the white sun glimmered.
Listening under the crag to stand —
And hear the moorhen so hoarsely croaking.
And the red cock murmuring close at hand ;
"WTiile the little wren blew his tiny trumpet.
And throw his steam off blithe and strong.
While the speckled thrush and the redbreast gaily
Lilted together a pleasant song !
Not a singer but joined the chorus,
Not a bird in the leaves was still.
First the laverock, that famous singer,
Led the music with throat so shrill ;
From tall tree-branches the blackbird whistled,
And the gray bird joined with his sweet " coo-coo ;"
Everywhere was the blithesome chorus.
Till the glen was murmuring through and througli.
Then out of the shelter of every corri
Ccme forth the creature whose home is there ;
First, proudly stepping, with branching antlers.
The snorting red-deer forsook his lair ;
Through the sparkling fen he rushed rejoicing.
Or gently played by his heart's delight —
The hind of the mountain, the sweet brown princess.
So fine, so dainty, so staid, so slight!
Under the light green branches creeping
The brown doe cropt the leaves unseen.
While tlie proud buck gravely stared around him
And stamped his feet on his couch of green ;
THE HEART OE LOIINE. Q*j
Smooth and speckled, with soft pink nostrils.
With beauteous hiiiid, hiy the tiny kid ;
All apart in the dewy rushes,
Sleeping unseen in its nest, 'twas hid.
My beauteous corri ! my misty corri !
What light feet trod thee in joy and pride,
What strong hands gathered thy precious treaaurea.
What great hearts leapt on thy craggy side !
Soft and round was the nest they plundered.
Where the brindled bee his honey hath — *
Tke speckled bee that flies, softly humming.
From flower to flower of the lonely strath.
There thin-skinned, smooth in clustering bunches.
With sweetest kernels as white as cream.
From branches green the sweet juice drawing.
The nuts were growing beside the stream —
And the stream went dancing merrily onward.
And the ripe red rowan was on its brim.
And gently there in the wind of morning
The new-leaved sapling waved soft and slim.
And all around the lovely corri
The wild birds Sat on theirnests so neat,
In deep warm nooks and tufts of heather,
Sheltered by knolls from the wind and sleet ;
And there from their beds, in the dew of iho morning.
Uprose the doe and the stag of ten.
And the tall cliffs gleamed, and the morning reddened
The Coire Cheathaich — the Misty Glen!
One such poem conveys, even in a translation, a bet-
ter idea of the writer's mind than whole chapters of
expository criticism. How the Highlandman broods
over every feature of the darling scene, from the
weird "mountain ruin, where a family once dwelt,"
down to the little wren " flinging off his steam " (a
queer and very favorite Gaelic expression) in the sun-
shine ! Was a brook ever described better, as it
68 THE LAND OF LORNE.
" Pauses and hastens, whirls in circles,
Rushes and loiters, and whirls and creeps ?"
To Duncan the corri is a perpetual feast. With a
painter's eye he hungers over the tints of the moss on
the crags, the blue-black back and silver spangles of
the salmon, the thin-skinned, smooth-clustered nuts on
the green branches, the dark-green eyebrow of cresses
round the mountain well ; and to him also all the
sounds have maddening sweetness : the moorhen
croaking, the thrushes and redbreasts warbling, the
whole glen " breathing a choral strain ; " till at last,
in one supreme poetic flash, he sees the dun doe and
great stag springing up in the dew of a May morn-
ing, and the " red light " flaming on every crag of
the corri. Ilis was no mere song for beauty's sake ;
there was love at the heart of it. To him the corri
meant life and freedom, and the fresh air of the
world — it meant youth and its memories, passion and
its dreams, deep-seated religion and its mystery. The
love he put into " Coire Cheathaich" took another
form in Mairi Ban Og, which is esteemed the finest
love-song in the Gaelic language, and is addressed,
not to his sweetheart — not to a passing mistress, such
as Burns immortalized — but to his wife ; is, in a word,
the epithalamium of Duncan, the Highland forester,
on his marriage with Maiy "of the ale-house." Every
word is warm as sunshine, but holy and pure. IIo
broods over his bride's beauty as he broods over na-
ture, missing no detail, blessing the " clerk-given
right " which makes the beauty all his own. lie de-
scribes the "soft and round maiden with curly hair ; "
her " breath sweet as apples growing ; " her " smooth
THE HEART OF LORNE. 09
lidded " bine eye ; lier body " as pure and white aa
cannach ; " her warm hand, like a lady's; her little
foot in its tiglit-iittin<^ shoe ; he tells us how " I\rairi "
milks the cattle by the river, with the calves leaping
round her ; how she wanders light-footed to the lone
mountain shieling; how she sits " sewing bands and
plain seams," or " working embroidery," in the cau-
dle-light of the cottage, at night; and he adds, with
true Highland pride, how she bears in her veins the
*' blood of the King and MacCailean," and of the
Macdonald " who was chief in Sleat." No love is too
deep for her, no gift too great ; and he will kill for
her " swans, seals, wild geese, and all birds " — nay,
she has but to give the word, and she shall have the
antlers of the best deer in the forest. Nothing is
more remarkable in this love-song than the sacredness
of its passion ; in it Duncan Ban has correctly repre-
sented not only his own feelings, but the popular
Highland sentiment about marriage. In Lome and
Ihe Western Hebrides, the purity of the popular mind
on this subject is most remarkable. The Highlander
may sometimes err through excess of animal passion,
but he is never consciously indecent, and he is utterly
innocent of the "gaudriole."
Happy years had Duncan Ban in Glenorchay,
drinking into his soul every tint of the glorious land-
scape, and loving the more the longer he looked.
For six years he was sergeant in the Bread albane
Fencibles, and when that regiment was disbanded, in
1T99, he procured, by the influence of the Earl of
.Ereadalbane, a place in the City Guard of Edinburgh,
I
'^0 THE LAND OF LORNE.
those poor old veterans bo savagely described hy Fer-
guson in " Leith Kaces" :
" Tlieir etuinps, erst used to filabegp.
Are diglit in epatterdaelies,
Wliase bailant hides scarce fend tlieir legs
Fra weet and weary splashes
0' dirt that day ! "
lie was then seventy-five years of age. About this
time he composed a quaint, long rhyme, in praise of
Dunedin, or Edinburgh ; and the poem, although not
one of his inspired productions, is deeply interesting
from its quaint touches of wondering realism. The
old man, with his sharp hunter's eye, missed nothing,
as he wandered in the strange streets. He describes
the castle, the battery, the abbey, the houses, " wealthy
and great ; " the building of the parliament, where
"reasonable gentlemen" administered justice, with
free power to " hang the offender up high ; " the
swells in the street, with powder in their curled hair,
and a " bunch like silk on the top ; " the pretty
ladies, with stays to keep them straight and thin,
beauty-spots on their faces, strong, tight, and pointed
shoes, with (adds the poet) " heels much too high ; "
the coaches, and the hard-hoofed horses frisking and
prancing, so much finer than any reared on Highland
pastures. All this was pleasing for a time, while it
had the charm of novelty ; but, doubtless, the heart
of the old bard wearied for the hills. Some years
after, on the 19th of September, 1802, he visited
hi3 heme, and wandered a long day among the
scenes he loved bo well, and then and there composed
THE HEAIIT OF LORNE. "71
the most beautiful of all his poems — " The Last Fare-
well to the Hills." He was then seventy-eight years old.
THE LAST ADIEU TO THE HILLS.
Yestreen I stood on Ben Dorain, and paced its dark-gray patli ;
Was there a lull I did not know — a glen, or grassy strath ?
Oh I gladly in the times of old I trod that glorious ground.
And the white dawn melted in the sun, and the red-deer cried
around.
How finely swept the noble deer across the morning hill.
While fearless played the fawn and doe beside the running rill ;
I heard the olack and red cock crow, and the bellowing of the
deer —
I think those are the sweetest sounds that man at dawn may
hear.
Oh ! wildly, as the bright day gleamed, I climbed the mountaiu'a
breast.
And when I to my home returned, the sun was in the west ;
'Twas health and strength, 'twas life and joy to wander freely
there.
To drink at the fresh mountain stream, to breathe the mountain
air.
And oft I'd shelter for a time within some shieling low.
And gladly sport in woman's smile, and woman's kindness know.
Ah ! 'twas not likely one could feel for long a joy so gay !
The hour of parting came full soon — I sighed, and went away.
And now the cankered withering wind has struck my limbs at
last ;
My teeth are rotten and decayed, my sight is failing fast ;
If hither now the chase should come, 'tis little I could do ;
Though I were hungering for food, I could not now pursue.
But though my locks are hoar and thin, my beard and whiskers
white.
How often have 1 chased the stag with dogs full swift of flight I
And yet, although I could not join the chase if here it came.
The thought of it is charming still and sets my heart on flame.
"72 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
Ah ! much &s I have done of old, how ill could I wend now,
By glon, and strath, and rocky path, up to the mountain's browt
How ill could I the mierry cup quaff deep in social cheer !
How ill now could I sing a song in the gloaming of the year I
Those were the merry days of spring, the thoughtless tintes of
youth ;
'Tis Fortune watches over us, and helps our need, forsooth ;
Believing that, though poor enough, contentedly I live,
For George's daughter, every day, my meat and drink doth give.*
Yestreen I wandered in the glen ; what thoughts were in my
head !
There had I walked with friends of yore — where are those dear
ones fled ?
I looked and looked ; where'er I looked was naught but sheep f
sheep I sheep !
A woeful change was in the hill ! World, thy deceit was deep 1
From side to side I turned mine eyes — alas ! my soul was sore —
The mountain bloom, the forest's ])ride, the old men were no
more.
Nay, not one antlered stag was there, nor doe so soft and slight.
No bird to fill the hunter's bag — all, all were fled from sight !
Farewell, ye forests of the heath! hills where the bright day
gleams !
Farewell, ye grassy dells ! farewell, ye springs and leaping
streams!
Farewell, ye mighty solitudes, where once I loved to dwell —
Scenes of my spring-time and its joys — forever fare you well!
After that, Duncan Ban returned to Edinburgh,
and remained in the City Guard till about 180G, when,
having saved a lew pounds from his wages and the
*" George's daughter " was the musket carried by him as a
member of the City Guard, and servant of King George. The
value of his " meat and drink " was fivcpenco or sixpence a day.
THE IIEAUT 01" LOUNK. 73
profits of liis published poems, he was enabled to re-
tire and spend his remaining years without toil of any
kind. lie was eighty-eight years old when he died,
On the IDth of May, 1812, he was buried in the Grey-
friars' Burying Ground, Edinlnirgh ; and a few years
ago the monument was raised to his memory in Glen-
orchay. Ilis fame endures wherever the Gaelic lan-
guage is spoken, and his songs are sung all over the
civilized world. Without the bitterness and intellect-
ual power of Burns, he possessed much of his senti-
ment, and all of his personal tenderness ; and as a
literary prodigy, who could not even write, he is still
more remarkable than Burns. Moreover, the old,
simple-hearted forester, with his fresh love of nature,
his shrewd insight, and his impassioned speech, seems
a far completer human figure than the Ayrshire
plowman, who was doubtless a glorious creature,
but most obtrusive in his independence. Poor old
Duncan was never bitter. The world was wonderful,
and he was content to fill his humble place in it. lie
had " an independent mind," but was quite friendly
to rank and power wherever he saw them ; for, after
all, what were they to Coire Cheathaich, with its nat-
ural splendors ? What was the finest robe in Dun-
edin to the gay clothing on the side of Ben Dorain !
Bm*ns never saw Nature as Duncan Ban saw her ; was
never merged into her, so to speak, never became a
part of flying cloud and brooding shadows ; rather
petted and fondled her like a mistress, with most un-
utterable tenderness, but no awe. Burns was the in-
tellectual being, man, lord of the earth and all its
creatures, their lover till the end, but always their
74 THE LAND OF LORNE.
lord ; bitter witli the world, bitter with his own sins ;
too proud to gauge ale-barrels, but not too proud to
get dead drunk or to debauch women ; hurled down
like a torrent by his own sheer force and strength, a
divine singer, a shameless satirist, the lover of" Mary
in heaven," and the undoubted author of some of the
filthiest " suppressed poems " in the " Merry Muses."*
Duncan Ban " of the Songs " was a silent man, not
specially intellectual, content to hawk his poems
about tlie country, and sing them at the fireside, with
scarce a touch of satire in his whole nature, with a
heart quite pure and fresh to the end, when, as an old
man, he bade the hills " farewell forever." In the
life of Burns we see the light striking through the
Btonn-cloud, lurid, terrific, yet always light from heav-
en. In the life of Duncan Ban there is nothing but
a gray light of peace and purity, such as broods over
the mountains when the winds are laid. Burns was
the mightier poet, the grander human soul ; but many
who love him best, and cherish his memory most ten-
derly, can find a place in their hearts for Duncan Ban
as well.
As we quit the Highland poet's grave, and follow
the highway to the Pass of Awe, there is other music
in our ears besides that of " Coire Cheathaich" and
the " Last Farewell ;" for did not tlic " Children of the
Mist," haunting like mountain deer the secret gorges
of Cruachan, utter many a lyrical plaint full of music
* The woefullest picture in the worhl is the last portrait of
Burns, wliich we regret to sec inserted in Dr. P. II. Waddell's
otherwise invaluable edition of the poet's works. This portrait,
once seen, haunts the beholder for ever.
THE HEART OF LORNE. 75
and heart's agony ? Keaders of tlie " Legend of Mon-
trose " and tlie "Lady of the Lake" know now by
heart the wrongs of tlie Macgregors, the " clan that
was nameless by day;" and Gaelic literature abounds
with songs recording the sufierings and threats of the
bloody outlawed clans — songs most weird and terri-
ble, with frequent glimpses of wild tenderness. One
of the best of these is the " Hills of the Mist," the tra-
dition concerning which states that tlie singer, after
having hidden her hunted kinsmen in a bed within the
mountain shieling, sat down on the floor and crooned
to herself a song bewailing their non-apjpearance :
" Oh, where are my kinsmen ? Oh, where do tliey wander ?
I Avatch for them lonely ; I wait and I ponder."
And the pursuers, listening outside and noting the
terrible agony of her voice (no counterfeit that, for
might not the butchers enter at anv moment and de-
tect her ruse ?) passed on in the darkness without
searching the shieling.
The Pass of Awe is very beautiful, the road wind-
ing high up among the crags and woods and overlook-
ing the wild waters of the river. Close to the bridire
which spans the stream took place the famous fight
between Bruce's followers and those of John of Lome,
when the bodies of the latter, miserably overthrown,
choked and rendered bloody the impetuous flood.
Along this path walked Mrs. Bethune Baliol, escorted
by the exuberant Donald Macleish, on that memorable
occasion when she saw the tree, the waterfall, and the
solitary human figure — " a female form seated by the
stem of the oak, with her head drooping, her hands
1Q THE LAND OF LOIINE.
clasped, and a dark-colored mantle drawn over her
licad, exactly as Judith is represented in the Syrian
medals as seated under her palm-tree."''^ The form
of the miserable woman, still as a corpse or a marble
statue, haunts the eye of the traveler at every step ;
rock, tree, and falling water assume her likeness ; and
the ear is filled with her memorable words of grief —
" My beautiful ! my brave !"
There is no shape of fiction so closely wedded to an
actual scene. The Pass of Awe and the Highland
Widow are inseparable. The one solitary human
soul, in its unutterable dolor, surrounded by somber
crags and corries, and water plunging from pool to
pool with sullen roar, is more truly regent of the
place than all the traditional figures of clansmen and
Children of the Mist.
Following the road along the Pass of Awe, you
reach Tyanuilt, whence the ascent of Ben Cruachan is
tolerably easy. Mountain climbing is always glorious,
be the view obtained at the highest point ever so un-
satisfactory ; for do not pictures arise at every step,
beautiful exceedingly, even if no more complex than
a silver-lichened boulder half buried in purple heather
and resting against the light-blue mountain air ; or a
mountain pool fringed with golden mosses and green
cresses, with blue sky in it and a small white cloud
I'ke a lamb ; or a rowan tree with berries red as coral,
sheltering the mossy bank where the robin sits in his
nest? He who climbs Cruachan will see not only
these small things, but he will behold a series of crag
* Scott's " Highland Widow."
THE HEART OF LOllNE. 77
pictures of iinapproticliable magnificence — coiTies red
and ruffcred, in the dark iissures of wliiclisnow Hnircrs
even as late as June, pyramids and minarets of granite
glistering in the sunshine through the moisture of their
own dew, stained by rain and light into darkly beauti-
ful hues, and speckled by iimumerable shadows from
the passing clouds. There is a certain danger in
roaming among the precipices near the summit, as the
hill is subject to sudden mists, sometimes so dense
that the pedestrian can scarcely see a foot before him ;
but in summer-time, when the heights are clear as
amber for days togetlier, the peril is not worth calcu-
latiu"". On a fine, clear day, the view from the sum-
mit — which is a veritable red ridge or cone, not a fiat
table-land like that of some mountains — is very pecu-
liar. It can. scarcely be called picturesque, for there
is no power in the eye to fix on any one picture ; and^
on the other hand, to liken it to a map of many colors
would be conveying a false impression. The effect is
more that of a map than of a picture, and more like
the sea than either. Tlie spectator loses the delicate
sesthetic sense, and feels his whole vision swallowed up
in immensity. The mighty waters of Awe brood
sheer below him, under the dark abysses of the hill,
with the islands like dark spots upon the surface.
Away to the eastward rise peaks innumerable, moun-
tain beyond mountain, from the moor of Rannoch to
Ben Lomond, some dark as night with shadow, others
dim as dawn from sheer distance, all floating limitless
against a pink horizon and brooded over by a heaven
of most delicate blue, fading away into miraculous
tints, and filling the spirit with intensest awe ; while
"78 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
in tlio west is visible the great ocean, stretching armH
of shining sheen into the wildlj broken coiist, bright-
ening around the isles that sleep upon its breast —
Tiree, Coll, Rum, Canna, Skye — and fading into a
long vaporous line where the setting sun sinks into
the underworld. Turn where it may, the eye ip satis-
fied, overcharged. Such another panorama of lake,
mountain, and ocean is not to be found in the High-
lands. As for Lome, you may now behold it indeed,
gleaming with estuaries and lakes — Loch Linnho, the
Bay of Oban, and the mighty Firth as far south
as Jura, and, northward over the moors, a divine
glimpse of the head of Loch Etive, blue and dreamy
as a maiden's eyes. The head swims, the eyes dazzle.
Are you a god, that you should survey these wonders
in such supremacy? Look which way you will, you
behold immensity — measureless ranges of mountains,
measureless tracts of inland water, the measureless
ocean, lighted here and there by humanity in the
sliape of some passing sail smaller to view than a sea-
bird's wing. For some little time at least the specta-
tor feels that spiritual exhaltation which excludes
perfect human perception ; he yields to a wave of
awful emotion, and bows before it as before God. He
can be sestiietic again when he once more descends to
the valleys.
SPORT ON THE MOO US AND LOCHS. T^
CTTAPTEU W.
SPORT OX TIIK MOORS AND LOCHS.
Grouso and Black-gamo Shooting — A September Day on the Moors — Tho
Grouse-shooter — Peat Bogs — Arrival of Snipo and Woodcock — Moun-
tain Lochs and other Haunts of Wild-fowl — False and Tnio Sportsmen.
Sport on the moors of Lome is what sport should
be — a great deal more like wild-shooting than is gen-
erally the case on the great moors of the north. The
game is not numerous, but strong, wary, full of health
and strength. There is no overcrowding, as on the
Perthshire and Aberdeenshire moors. In addition to
Argyllshire grouse, bright, rufus-breasted, full-chested,
altogether the finest bird to be found in this country,
and beyond all measure superior to the smaller-sized
and darker-plumaged bird of the eastern moors, there
are black -game in abundance, a few partridges, brown
and blue hares, a sprinkling of snipe, and a large
number of wild-fowl, Koe-deers are plentiful in
some districts, but the red-deer is seldom found. The
%alino ferox abounds in Loch Awe, and all the rivers
afibrd more or less salmon angling, while many of the
small mountain lochs are as full of excellent trout as
a pond in Surrey is full of sticklebacks. TVe have
heard greedy sportsmen, used to wholesale butchery
of bird and beast, complain of the barrenness of Lome,
and certainly Lome is barren as compared with the
80 . THE LAND OF LORNE.
great moors fnrther north ; tliongh it has this one
great advantage, tliat it affords excellent sport long
after the birds have packed elsewhere, and not a shot
is to be had except by driving. In Lome, moreover,
the game in no way injures the population — is not
numerous enough to ruin the farmer and poor crofter;
is not valuable enough to be preserved at the cost of
human lives. Any true sportsman will find his appe-
tite fully gratified, though not by enormous " bags."
All his skill will come into requisition — all his lacul-
ties will be duly tested.
Yearly, when the 12th of August dawns, the
sound of shootino; echoes from hill to hill, over the
purple sea of moorland that surrounds the TVTiito
House on the Hill ; and the dogs leap eagerly in (ho
kennel v/henever their master passes; and overhead,
on the top of the knoll, a cock-grouse crows cheerily
in the sunshine. But the Wanderer is not to be tempt-
ed. The 20t]i of August is time enough to touch
grouse in most seasons ; and the black -game should
invariably be left in peace till the 1st of September.
Of course, where the object is merely to secure a
larjie number of birds, the earlier in the season one
commences the better; but it is scarcely conceivable
how any rational being can find pleasure in butcher-
ing a poor bird when it is no bigger than a chicken
and a great deal stupider, and when it is as easily liit
as a target at thirty yards. Grouse-shooting is poor
sport till the birds run well, instead of lying like
Btones at the mere sound of a distant footstep, and till
they rise on the wing, swift and strong as an old cock,
directly after the dog has fairly ennsed them to draw
SrOllT ON THE MOOIiS AND LOGlIiS. «1
together and crouch. Black-game shooting on the
moors is miiuanly sport. Tlie birds won't got up,
and are again and again collared l)y the over-eager
dog, and when they do rise, early in the season, why,
a boy miglit hit them with a pea-shooter as thty^ dash
clumsily away. But black-game shooting at evening
fliglit, when the birds are wild beyond measure, and
come down in hundreds to feed on the corn sheaves, is
quite another sort of sport, worthy of any man with a
clear eye and steady nerves. By this time the young
cock is getting something like his adult plumage, and
is a fair prize, both as an edible and for the sake of
his feathers. He is wonderfully wary and keen-
sighted when feeding on the ground, but will seldom
break his flight. Often on the moors, while lunching
in the shade of some woody knoll, we have been dis-
turbed by a flock of black-game whizzing past, one
after another, a few yards distant, and not altering
their course by an inch, even when they perceived
their danger and saw some of the advance-guard
dropping stone-dead to the flash and report of the
gun.
On some morning in the month of September, the
moor is in all its glory, stretching its mighty billows
in all directions in one streak of luxurious purple and
glittering green, broken up here and there by great
rocks and lichened cra2:s, and all flooded with the lio;ht
of the sun. The sportsman sweats and pants, the
dogs hang out their tongues and work heavily, un-
guided by a breath of wind ; the gillie lies on his
stomach and dips his heated face in every burn ; and
hy midday you have killed perhaps a couple of brace
82
THE LAND OF LORNE.
of birds. Then comes the long delicious siesta hj
the brink of some crystal pool of the stream, and
(after the lightest possible lunch) the pipe or cigar,
in the enjoyment of which you lie on your side in
the dry old heather, and watch the small shadows,
cast by clouds as white as wool, moving noiselessly
and sleepily over the free expanse of the heath —
brooding at times as still as stones — at times hasten-
ing together like a flock of sheep, with the golden
gleam on every side of them. If you are fortunate,
about this time there comes a shower; just a sprink-
ling for a few minutes, soft as dew on the grass at
dawn, scented as a maiden's breath. The moor
sparkles, the air feels fresh and free, and when you
loosen the dogs, they no longer toil wearily with loll-
ing tongues, but work in narrowing runs up the
faintest possible breath of wind, draw swift and
steady to the deep patch whither the pack have run,
and become all in a moment rigid, with fixed eyes
and dilating nostrils. Now and again, in such weath-
er, the best dog in the world will miss his game,
or, running unawares into the thick of them, scat-
ter them like chaff. Of course, as is well known,
each member of the broken pack will, at the begin-
ning of the season, lie like a stone, wherever you
mark it down, and sometimes almost suffer you to
seize it with your hand. As the day advances,
and the heat lessens, the bag increases; and about
sunset, when the birds liave left the springy bogs
and betaken themselves to the dry knolls of young
heather to feed, you will have sport in perfec-
tion.
SPOUTS ON THE MOORS AND LOCHS. 8:3
The signs of a good grouse-shooter are few and un-
mistakable, lie must be a steady walker, not so
swift as to weary the dogs, not slow enough to fij)oil
them, and not given to puffing like a porpoise when
climbing the hillside. He must be a good snap
shot, ready at any moment to take a chance when
it comes, with or without a point ; he must account
for two birds out of every pack that rises ; and he
should kill his birds, dead. He must be silent, for
talking, above all things, spoils sport; sober, for
dram-drinkinsr endanjieis both himself and his com-
panions ; good-humored, or the keepers and gillies
will hate him and spoil his chance whenever they
can ; and, above all, humane, never shooting at a
bird with the faintest chance of merely wounding it
and letting it get away to die. In addition to all
this, he must be a man to whom the moor is familiar
at all seasons, who knows the haunts of birds in all
sorts of weathers, who understands the whole theory
of heather-burning, who is as well acquainted with
every natural sign as the mountain-shepherd him-
self. Most men, of course, leave all things to their
keepers, come to their moor on the 12th, and are
taken about in due course at the beck and nod of
" Donald." Some of those men shoot well ; few of
them are worthy of the name of sportsmen. Merely
to be able to present a gun and knock down a mark
is a feat that any " hedge-popper" can attain. Prac-
tical knowledge, loving observation of nature, power
of silence, take time to grow ; but they are essential.
In addition to them may be mentioned a certain
capacity of enduring physical discomfort, without
84 THE LAND OF LORNE.
which the grouse-shooter is no better than any pigeon-
killer in the suburbs of London.
There are no very bad bogs in Lome, though occa-
sionally, while grouse-shooting, we have seen a broth-
er sportsman disappear almost up to the arm-pits,
and dragged him with some difficulty out of the oozy
earth and green, slimy subterranean pools. In hot
weather, the grouse frequent the parts where the peat
is cut and piled, and drink at the black pools in the
hollows. At this time, the black-game come there
also for the same pm-pose. In a " peat-bog " not
fifty yards square, we have put up from twenty to
thirty black -game singly, each crouching unseen till
fairly run upon by the dog, and consisting of several
old hens and their packs of young. They will lie,
too, in the queerest holes imaginable, on the sides of
ditches. We have seen our setter rigid and moveless
over a hole where only a water-rat might be expect-
ed to dwell, and where a gray hen was huddled up
for the sake of the coolness and shade. The old
cock is never to be found in such places. lie broods
alone and sulky, in some spot where he can have
a free flight out of the way of danger. The most fa-
vorite of all places for young black-game in the heat
of the day are the deep patches of bracken and fern
on the moor, where they can run about with a very
forest of greenness above their heads; but they soon
learn to prefer the corn-fields, from the fact that the
latter combine both food and shelter. Many sports-
men greatly annoy the firmer by covertly sending
their dogs into the standing com, and shooting the
Btartled binls from the edges. This practice is most
SPOUT ON THE MOOKS AND L0CII8. 86
repre]icnsl])lc, and slioiild be discountenanced by all
true sportsmen. Any tiling that interferes, however
Blightly, with the rights of others, should be aban-
doned; and the farmer's crop is of infinitely more
importance to the world than the shooter's game-
bag.
But we arc being betrayed into a treatise on
grouse-shooting, whereas it is merely our intention
to sketch in a general way the possibilities of sport in
Lome.
As the season advances, tlie birds grow scarcer and
scarcer — less and less approachable. A white frost
sometimes tames the red grouse, never the black ; and
both sooner or later form into great packs, which
pass away like a cloud, long ere the sportsman gets
within gun-range. A little may be done by dri\dng,
but not much. Instead of harassing the grouse late
in the season, it is better to turn one's attention to
other game. Hares and rabbits abound in many dis-
tricts, especially the blue hare, which goes to earth
like a cony. About November the local snipe, rein-
forced by legions from the north, swarm in all the
bogs and marshes, unless it is very wet, when they
scatter in every direction over the damp hillsides.
One fine night the little "jacks" arrive, sprinkling
themselves all over the country, and offering chance
after chance, in their peculiar fashion, to blundering
sportsmen. Last of all come the woodcocks, two or
three at a time — first taking to the deep clumps on the
hillside, and afterward selecting winter quarters by
the side of the ninlcts that water the hazel-woods.
Many of them, however, only rest a few days in
^ THE LAND OF LOliNE.
Lome, and then disappear, in all prol)ability winging
farther sonth. Those which linger through the whole
winter often remain to breed in the spring.
The lochs amono; the hills abound in wild-fowl,
many of which breed there. There is one small mere,
not a mile distant from the White House on the Hill,
which we have seen as thickly covered with teal and
widgeon as a duckpond in the Zoological Gardens.
At such times, however, it is exceedingly difficult to
get a shot ; so numerous are the eyes watching, and
so easily do the birds take the alarm, that " sitting-
shots " are out of the question. The best plan is for
the sportsman to place himself in ambush, at one end
of the water, send his man to disturb the birds at
the other, and trust to chance for a shot flying. If
the affair is properly managed, ho may fire five or six
times, as fast as he can load ; and perhaps the teal,
less waiy than the larger duck, may alight on the
water, within a few yards of his ambush. Directly
frost comes, the small lochs are abandoned, and the
wild-fowl betake themselves to the arms of the sea.
In a severe season, when all the fresh-water meres are
frozen over, the salt-water lochs afford excellent sport ;
the better, in our opinion, because the birds are wild
beyond measure, and will test all the shooter's powers
of skill and patience.
We will not detain the reader by any further enu-
meration of the sports of Lome, particularly as our
notion of sport is peculiar, and lias nothing in com-
mon with the ideas of men who delight in slauirhter.
To us, sport is only desirable in so far as it develops
all that is best and strongest in a man's physical na-
SrORT ON THE MOORS AND L0CH8. 87
ture, tries his powers of sclf-patiencc and endurance,
quickens his senses, and increases his knowledge of
and reverence for created things. In bo far as it
renders him callous to suffering and selfish in his en-
joyments, sport is detestable. There are yearly let
loose upon the moors of Scotland a set of men who
are infinitely less noble than the beasts and birds they
murder ; who are brutal without courage, and conceit-
ed without dignity ; who degrade all manly sports by
their abominable indifference to the rights alike of
fellow-men and dumb creatures. Fortunately, all
sportsmen in Scotland are not men of this sort ; a few
fine-souled gentlemen are sprinkled here and there ;
but there is far too much brutal murder on all hands,
by beings who take a savage pleasure in the mere
slaughter of things as tame as hens and sheep. The
true test of a day's sport is not the number of
head secured, but the amount of skill and pluck requi-
site to secure it! Depend upon it, also, the man
who recklessly and wantonly takes away the lives of
dumb things merely for the sake of killing, would, if
his wretched neck was as secure in one case as in the
other, assist with equal pleasure at the massacre of his
fellow-men. Many of the men who joined in the in-
fernal carnival of murder in India some years ago,
and, in so doing, left on this nation a taint which God
will sooner or later avenge on our boasted civilization,
had firet developed the taste for blood in the pheasant
coverts of England and the swarming moors of the
north.
Wild-fowl shooting on the sea-fjords, otter-hunting
on Kerrera, salmon-angling in Loch Awe, sea-fishing
88 THE LAND OP LOBNB,
on the firth — any of these might supply matter for a
separate chapter, if we were to chronicle one tithe of
our experience ; but we are compelled to pass on to
more moving matter, only remarking, in conclusion,
that, although the lover of battues and wholesale
slaughter may find himself better served elsewhere,
the true sportsman will never regret a season spent
with rod and gun, afloat and ashore, on the lochs and.
moors of Lome.
THE FlliTU OF LOJiJNE. 89
CHAPTER V.
THB FIRTH OF LORNE.
The Ocean Queen, or Ooffin — Shon Macnab's Raco with tho Barber —
Lachlan Finlay — From Ci-inan to tho Dorus Mhor — Ilcbridoan Tides —
Scarba— Tlio Gulf of Con->'\-rcckan — Its Horrors and Perils— Luing and
tho Small Isles— Tho Open Firth — Easdalo and its Quan-icrs — Tombs at
tho Door — Miseries of Calm — Gylen Castle and tho Island of Kcrrcra —
King Haco's Invasion of the Hebrides — A Puff from tho Southeast —
Tho Island ot Mull — Johnson and Boswell in tho Hebrides- A Run to
Tobermory — Loch Sunart— A Rainy Day — .\rdtomish Castle — Anchored
bctwocn Wind and Tide- Night on the Firth— Troubles of Darkness —
Farewell to tho Ocean Queen — Arrival of the Tern.
The Firth of Lome stretches from Loch Crinan (a
spot familiar to every Highland tourist) as far as the
entrance to the Sound of Mull ; after passing which,
it changes its name to Loch Linnhe, and creeps north-
ward, ever narrowing till it reaches Bannavie, and
forms the narrow estuary of Loch Eil.
Strictly speaking, only the mainland coast as far as
Loch Crinan appertains to Lome, but in old times
Mull was included, as well as many of the far-off
islands. Be that as it may, the Firth of Lome is a
glorious sheet of salt water, fed by the mighty tides
of the Atlantic, and forming, both on the islands and
on the mainland, a line of sea-coast not easily matched
for loneliness and beauty. Numerous islands, large
and small, stud the waters, forming narrow passages,
through which the tide boils with terrific fury. Great
heights, grassy and rocky, rise everywhere out of the
00 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
sea, casting dark shadows. Everywhere the bhick
teetli of the reef threaten the seaman. Innumerable
bays and land-locked lakes lie close in the shelter of
the coast ; but the anchorages are nearly all bad and
dangerous, on account of the submerged rocks and
the foul bottom.
To see this firtli aright, to enjoyits wondrous scene-
ry in a way quite impossible to the ordinary tourist,
the Wanderer secured the Ocean Queen^ a small yacht
of nine tons, thirty-four feet long, seven and a half
feet beam, and drawing precisely six feet of water aft.
She was the crankiest vessel ever built by the hand
of man, and was speedily known by the nickname of the
Coffin. Her mainsail was an enormous sheet of can-
vas, though luckily somewhat old and tearable ; and
she canned also a gaff-topsail. Her speed, running
before the wind, was very great ; and, beating to
windward, she managed finely as long as she could
carry canvas. She was quite unfit for a dangerous
coast like that of Lome, where the storms are sudden
and the squalls terrific ; but she had a neat little
cabin and snug forecastle, so that she made a toler-
able floating-home. Many a fright did the Wanderer
get in her. Latterly, he managed to render her pret-
ty snug by running in the bowsprit, and sailing her
with the foresail only and single-reefed mainsail ; but,
from first to last, she was as fickle as an unbroken
filly ; her vilest quality of all being her awkwardness
in " coming about," even under the most experienced
management.
Having secured this noble vessel, the Wanderer had
to look about for a suitable person to assist him in
THE FIIITH OF LOIINE. 91
managing her — no difJicult task, it may be imagined,
on a fishing-coast and close to a fishing-town ; but, in
good trutli, lie was doomed to a bitter expcrienoLj.
After trying several impostors, who betrayed them-
selves in a day, he secured the services of Shon Mac-
nab, a gigantic Gael, six feet three in his shoes, and
about twenty years of age. A fine specimen of the sailor
was Shon, with his great red face, flaming whiskers,
and huge hands ; and he knew how to move about
the boat as well as an east-country fisherman, and was
altogether smart at his work, from taking in a reef to
climbing up the rigging to set the gaff-topsail. But
Shon had two most inevitable faults — he was inordi-
nately vain and utterly untruthful. No man knew how
to handle a boat but Shon Macnab ; all his townsmen
were poor pretenders. No one could pilot a boat on the
west coast but Shon ; he knew every rock and shal-
low, and every sideway, from the Mull of Cantyre
to Cape AVrath. Unfortunately, however, Shon had
never been farther from Oban than Ardnamurchan,
and his knowledge of the coast consisted of a sort of
second-sight — very gratifying to the possessor, but
liable to get the confiding owner of a boat into serious
trouble. All went well with Slion for a time ; but at
last, mad with success, he secretly wagered " the Bar-
ber " to race the latter's vessel, an open fore-and-afl
boat, very superior in seaworthiness, from Oban round
the Lady's Rock and back round Kerrera, a distance of
about forty miles. So one day the Wanderer came
down to the shore just in time to see the Ocean Queen
rounding the Maiden Island on her way to the Lady's
Rock, and side by side with her the Barber's boat. It
92 THE LAND OF LORNE.
was blowing half a gale of wind, and the Barber soon
tnmed back to the bay ; bnt Shon, with a picked crew
of Gaels, all wild with whisky, doubtless, still held on
his wild caieer; while the Wanderer, climbing the
heights above the town, watched his vessel, and ex-
pected every minute to see it submerged. A big sea
was rolling in the firth, and the little boat, too sorely
pressed under canvas, was sadly knocked about. She
reached Oban in the afternoon, with only a tear in
the mainsail ; but her planks were slightly strained,
and she was never as tight after that day. Although
Shon begged wildly for pardon, the Wanderer was in-
exorable, and sent him about his business.
For some little time it seemed as if no tit person
would appear to take Shon's place. Several candi-
dates appeared, but were rejected on various scores
— greediness, dirtiness, stupidity, or old age. At
last the Wanderer discerned a small tradesman in the
villa<re, who had been a herring-fisher, and whose
only present occupation was to sit on a sack and whit-
tle wood with a knife, while his wife managed the
shop. Lachlan Finlay was from the " high-hill coun-
try," on the skirts of Morven, and was a true Celt of
the quieter kind — very cold and distant on first acquaint-
ance, but affectionate in the extreme. Every day
that the Wanderer sailed with Lachlan he liked him
better. He wa tolerably good at his work — he was
thoroughly truthful, and as simple-hearted as a child,
lie had the " boating mind" of a boy, and was never
happy without his pocket-knife to work with. His
" pouches" were full of nails, bits of string and other
odds and ends. lie was as clean as an infant, mind
THE FIRTH OV LOllNli. 93
and body, wliilo having a keen perce])t.ioji of the
value of money.
As Laclilan knew nothing of the coast, the Wanderer
had to work liia way about by the government charts,
picking his steps, so to speak, from place to place,
with extreme caution, and ever dreading the hidden
dangers of the iirtli. Many a narrow escape had the
Ocean Queen in those days — at one time swinging to
her doom on the fierce tide of Dunstaffnagc, and only
being saved by superhuman endeavors to tow her
out of the tideway with the punt ; at another, bump-
ing and scratching on the submerged rocks to the
north of the l^Iaiden Island ; sometimes caught in the
open, and having to run for life ; at others drifting in
the darkness on some unknown and dangerous portion
of the coast. One adventure of this sort is as good as
another, and as in the course of a certain cruise we
had an opportunity of seeing the whole scenery of
the firth, let us here chronicle our experience.
We had run up to Crinan to meet a fiiend from the
south. Having taken him on board, we slipped out
of the basin at daybreak, with all canvas set, save the
gaff-topsail, and ran with the light breeze on our
quarter across to the Dorus Mhor, or Big Gate, a
narrow passage formed by the peninsula and islands
of Loch Craignish. At spring-tides, the tide in the
Dorus runs five miles an hour, and, when there is a
breeze, the cross seas are terrific. Running with
wind and tide, the Ocean Queen actually flew ; but
while she was shooting through the Dorus the waves
broke fiercely over her counter, and as the boiling
94 THE LAND OF LOIINE.
tide dragged at her tliis way and that, it was a task
of no ordinary skill to keep her steady with the helm.
The steamship plows her way through the passage,
though sometimes with difficulty, and those who stand
on her deck look down on the boiling gulf in safety ;
hilt it is different with those who sit in a tiny craft,
with the water lapping around and over them, and
the bubbling roar painfully audible. These tide-
ways are ugly indeed to the seaman's eye. IIow the
water hisses and swirls, now like green glass with its.
own motion, now broken into foam, now rushing to
the overfall and plunging down ! IIow the cross-
currents tug at the little craft, as if seeking to drag
her to her doom ! Sometimes a huge coil of seaweed
marks the hidden rock, a floating tangle gives a false.
alarm, whirling on the surface of the waters ahead.
The tides of the DorusMhor and the adjoining Sound
of Scarba are only equaled by the tides of the Kyles
of Skyc.
On the present occasion there was no danger, and
as the dawn blo&somed into full bright day, we left,
the DoruB Mhor behind, and, keeping close along the
mainland, which si retched far along to the right, we
followed the inner channel of the Firth of Lome.
We were soon abreast of Scarba, a single conical
mountain, rising abruptly out of the sea, and fashion-
ing itself into an island about three miles long, very
precipitous and rocky, but having on the eastern side
a series of thinly-wooded declivities, which, in the
gentle light of the summer morning, were touched
Avith tints of quite ethereal beauty. Between Scarba
and Jura, which stretches far to the southward, is a
THE FlRTll OF LORNE 05
narrow Bound, opening on the great dim ocean, and,
looking through the jjassage, we ever and anon
caught a wliite gleam, as of great waves breaking in
the distance. Yonder lay the far-famed Gulf of Cor-
ryvreckan, and it was to escape the force of the tide,
which sets for miles toward the dreaded passage, that
wc were keeping so close to the mainland shore.
Corryvreckan is the Ilebridean Maelstrom, ever re-
garded with fearful eyes by the most daring sailors of
the inland deep. l*oets may be allowed to sing, like
Campbell, of " the distant isles that hear the loud
Corbrechtan roar ; " or, like Scott, of
" Scarba's isle, whose tortured sliore
Btill rings to Corryvreckan's roar ; "
but it is no mere poetical dread that fills our Lachlan's
heart as he leans against the mast and searches the
distance. From infancy upward, the name of yonder
gulf has been to him a word of awe and terror. lie
has heard of great ships being swallowed up whole,
torn into pieces by the teeth of hidden reefs, and
vomited out in fragments miles away on the Islay
shore. He has seen old men turn pale by the very
fireside at the mention of Corryvreckan. He believes
that the ebb tide in Corryvreckan, " when the wind is
from the west, would drown a man-of-war as easily
as the shell of a nut." He has, nevertheless, heard
stories of vessels that have passed safely through the
terrific place ; but these, to him, were no less than
miracles, brought about by a special Providence.
The Wanderer used to smile at the yams of sailors
and fishermen, with their dark accumulation of mystic
00 THE LAND 0¥ LOKNK.
terrors ; but the more he navigated the watere in his
unprofessional way, the less skeptical he grew. In
good truth, familiarity with the sea, instead of breed-
ing contempt, only strengthens the sense of awe. Its
dangers are not forever on the surface ; they i)rescnt
themselves slowly and upon occasion. When the
Wanderer first began to sail small craft, he saw little
or no peril ; now, every day afloat increases his cau-
tion and respect for the elements ; and if he goes on
in the same ratio for a few years longer, he will be
afraid to venture on the water at all. In seafaring
matters, distrust the man who seems stupidly indiffer-
ent to danger, and over-confident. Choose the man
who has his eve cast forever to windward, with that
hungry watchfulness so peculiar to the skilled fisher.
Never forgive him if, in sailing in an open boat, you
catch him fastening the sheet, though only with a
half hitch ; for, be certain, the man wdio does that ia
irreclaimable, and will drown you some day.
Of course, the accounts of Corry vreckan are exag-
gerated — the danger consisting not in the whirlpools,
but in the terrific sea raised by the wind when con-
tending with the tidal wave and the long Atlantic
swell in the narrow passage of the sound. In times
of stonn the place is indeed perilous, and verily caj)a-
ble of drowning a large vessel. Caught in the num-
berless currents, a ship becomes at once unmanage-
able, and must drive whither Fate directs — either to
strike on some corner of the coast, or to spring her
planks and sink to the bottom ; or, perhaps — as hap-
pened on one traditional occasion — to be swept in
safety out of the tide along the Jura shore. In the
THE FIRTII OF LORNE. 9*1
most dangerous part of the gulf, wliere it is a hundred
fathoms deep, there is a submerged pyramidal rock,
rising precipitously to Avithin fifteen fathoms of the
surface, and the result is a subaqueous overfall, caus-
ing in its turn infinite gyrations, eddies, and counter-
currents. There is most danger at the flood-tide,
which sets from the eastward, through the gulf, at
the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, and encoun-
ters the whole swell of the Western Atlantic rolling
into the narrow sound. At turn of tide tliere is a
brief lull, during which, in calm weather, boats have
passed through ; but the attempt is at all times to be
avoided, as the slightest miscalculation as to the tides,
or the sudden rising of the wind, would render escape
impossible. At all times Corryvreckan "roars," the
sound being audible even close to the mainland shore.
The poet Campbell heard it at a distance of many
leagues, at Downie House, close to Loch Crinan. He
compares its effect in calm weather, when all the sur-
rounding seas are still, to the sound of innumerable
chariot-wheels.
Quitting the Peninsula of Craignish, we had
reached the shores of the Island of Luing, which,
with Seil, Shuna, and small isles innumerable, lies so
close to the mainland as almost to form a portion of
the coast of the Nether Lome. Seil is separated from
the mainland by a channel of only a few yards, form-
ing a rapid, river-like sound, two miles in length.
Low and undulating, these isles present few points of
beauty, but up behind them lies Loch Melfort, a salt-
water lake of rare loveliness, surrounded by magnifi-
cent cliffs of ivy-clad gneiss. Out beyond them, to
5
98 THE LAND OF LORNE.
the west, and lyinjr close to and due north of Scarba,
are Lunga and the Black Isles. Closed in on each
side, we were runninf]^ before the wind np the broad
passage known as the Sound of Scarba, and were soon
struggling in the tideway opposite the Black Isles, on
the largest of which a lighthouse is situated. A few
minutes later, however, we were clear of all the isles,
and saw before us the glories of the great firth
stretched out in the golden light of a summer day.
Due west of our little vessel stretched the open At-
lantic, growing dimmer and dimmer in distance, with
a ghostly ship afar, beating southward under full sail;
but down to the northwest, fifteen miles away, rose
the gigantic mountains of Mull, their deep purple
hues mingling with mist upon the peaks ; while far-
ther north yet, the white lighthouse of Lismore
gleamed with the gleam of breaking waves at its
base — and above and beyond mountains innumerable
darkened the distance. Straight before the yacht's
bow the firth sparkled, its waters visible for many a
mile, and a whole fleet <)i' fishing-boats, large and
small, white-sailed and red-sailed, were drifting in
the slack tide, over a broad patch of dead calm, off
the great cliffs of the island of Kerrera, which
mingled with the mainland on the starboard bow.
The breeze that had brought us thus far was dying
fast, and scarcely hud we run three miles ahead, and
got abreast of the little island of Easdale, when it
died away altogether, suddenly as breath from a mir-
ror, and left us rolling about most uncomfortably on
the smooth sea. It is ever thus in summer ; no wind
can be relied on for many hours together ; and henco
THE FIIITII OF LORNE. 99
the great danger of navigating the inland channels,
with their fierce tides.
The boat which conveys the ordinary tourist to
Oban calls at Easdalc, but few strangers pay any at-
tention to the unpicturesquo little island. Easdale is,
nevertheless, worth a visit, for the sake of its slate
quarries, which are perhaps the finest in Scotland ;
still more for the sake of its jjopulation, all depend-
ent on the quarries, all born in the locality, and living
quite isolated there, summer and winter. Many old
Buperstitions that have died their lingering death
elsewhere still flourish here, together with many primi-
tive manners and customs. The men of Easdale are
true Celts — daring boatmen and intense dreamers —
speaking the fine tongue that many southerners deem
nearly extinct, but which still remains the common
and cherished speech of Lornc and the Hebrides. lie
who walks among their houses will note, here and
there, large slabs of stone setup on end. These have
been purchased and preserved — docs the reader guess
for what purpose ? For gravestones ; reserved by the.
owners to mark their own places of rest. Here and
elsewhere in the Hebrides, one not only finds the
islander preparing his own shroud, but buying his
own tombstone. There they stand, daily monitors of
the Inevitable, with the great ocean murmuring for-
ever close to them — a daily preacher of the Eternal.
It is always weary work, waiting for the wind ; to
look this way and that, in dim hope and expectation,
despairingly whistling according to the sailors' super-
stition ; to see the water darken miles off, and the
shadow creepmg nearer and nearer, and then, just as
iOO THE LAND OF LORNE.
you expect yom* sails to fill, miserably dying ; or
worse still, as on the present occasion, to watch with
fierce chagrin the breeze at your back, which for
hours together blows pleasantly a hundred yards be-
liind you, and there, for some mysterious reason,
pauses, and won't come a single inch nearer; or,
worst of all, to drift on the swift current, in spite of
all your efforts, toward some dreaded danger, from
which only a smart "puff" could bear you away in
safety. He who uses a sailing-boat* must recommend
to his spirit many hard virtues, foremost among which
is patience. The wind is ever perverse, and will serve
no man's will. It is most perverse of all on an
island coast like that of the Hebrides. Breezes of all
sorts are bred among the clouds of the hill-tops, and
they are ever rushing down when least expected. An
cx])erienced eye can see them coming, but that is all.
Even in summer, it is impossible to predict the
weather with much certainty.
For hours we drifted on a glassy sea, beguiling part
of the time by popping unsuccessfully at a shoal of
porpoises, which tumbled for some minutes about a
hundred yards from the vessel, in pursuit of the
herring, doubtless, for numberless gulls and terns
screamed in the air or floated like ourselves on the
* A good story is told of the old Clyde bargeman who, eailingf
slowly on the firth, and finding himself pas.scd by the first steam-
boat, watched the latter till almost out of earshot, and then, un-
able to keep silence any longer, bawled out : " Ayo ! get awa' wi'
your DeU'sreek " (Devil's smoke) ; •' I'm just sailing as it pleases
the breath o' God/" And there is something in this idea of tho
"breath of God," after all, apart from the comic connection in
the anecdote.
THE FIIITH OF LOBNE. lOi
■water. Tlic tide still took us in the rip;lit direction,
and we otcw nearer and neare to the fleet of fishinir
boats becalmed off KeiTera; until at last, to our dis-
gust, a nice pnff of wind struck them ahead, and,
beatini^ slowly northward, they drew one by one to-
ward the opposite shores of Mull.
It was now afternoon, a dimly-bright spring after-
noon, and we were floating off Gylen Castle, the
shadow of which was clearly visible in tlie smooth
sea. Gylen, like Dunollie, was an old stronghold of
the Lords of Lome. Its gray tower stands on a preci-
pice overlooking the ocean, in the center of a desolate
bay, which has been washed and torn into the wildest
fonns of crag and scaur by the roll of the Western
Sea. It commands a full view of the boundless At-
lantic. The heights of Kerrera above it are dark and
verdureless, and deepen its look of loneliness and deso-
lation. Even on this summer day it appears pitiful
and lonely ; but in darker days, when it looms through
the sad mist like a ghost, it seems to have a look of
almost human sorrow. Many a wild scene of lif© and
revel has it beheld. Now its only inhabitants are
the owl and the wild-rock pigeon, the latter of which
builds in great numbers among the rocky cliffs of the
island.
This said island of Kerrera, although not strikingly
picturesque in form, possesses such peculiar fascina-
tions as grow upon the imagination. It is separated
from the mainland by a narrow strait or sound, half
a mile wide, at the northern extremity of which lies
the beautiful bay of Oban ; is four miles long and
two miles broad ; and presents an irregular surface of
102 THELANDOFLORNE.
hill and dale, on which can be had a harder daj'ii
walking than anywhere else in Lome. It is a great
luiunt of the otter, and its crags shelter birds of prej
of all descriptions, from the hooded crow to the pere-
grine falcon. But its chief attractions are on tlio
coast, and the way to behold them is to spend the
long day in rowing right round its shores. The cliffa
and outlying islets form themselves into pictures of
rare beauty, shifting with the lights and shadows of
heaven and ocean. The waters on both sides are dan-
gerous for sailing vessels, being sown everywhere with
reefs and shallows ; studded on the outer coast with
many small black islands, in the neigliborhood of
which are all sorts of submerged dangers ; and most
unpleasant of all is the narrow inner sound, which is
full of rocks not all marked in the charts. Beatino-
to windward up the Sound of Kcrrera is disagreeable
work ; the short tacks are so wearisome, besides beinff
full of danger to one not well acquainted with the
coast. The squalls off the coast of the mainland,
when the southeast wind blows, are sharp and sudden,
often striking you straight from the heights without
ruffling an inch of the sound to windward. Woe be-
tide the helmsman who fails to " luff " skillfully at
such times. On certain days, no skill is of much
avail. The puffs come and go, with intervals of calm ;
and just as the vessel has lost all way in the latter,
and is lying dead still, the squall leaps upon her like
a tiger, and she staggers on, lialf drowned, happy to
escape with her mast above water.
One never stands on Kerrera without thinkin<r of
King Haco's memorable invasion of Lome and the
THE FIRTH OF LOUNE. 103
Tsico, which is recorded in our second volume. TIcro,
in Kerrcra, King Alcxanderll. had that weird dream,
when St. Olaf, St Magnus, and St. Cohimha appeared
to him and warned liim to return home to Scotland;
and here the king, having disregarded the warning,
died of a mysterious distemper.* Hither, to the
same anchoiage, doubtless, (Ilorse-shoe Bay?) came
the Norwegian monarch, and found King Dugal and
other Ilebrideans waiting to receive him. From the
Kyles of Skye to Loch Ranza and Loch Long, there
is scarcely a portion of the coast that the great
invasion does not render memorable. Nothing has
changed since then. Tobermory, and Kerrera, and
Loch Ranza, and the other places where the Nor-
wegian vessels lay, are our anchorages to this hour.
Standing on the high cliffs of Kerrera, and gazing
across the Firth of Lome to the opening of the Sound
of Mull, we have often pictured the quaint Nor-
wegian vessels issuing one by one out of the dis-
tance, with "Haco the aired" in the lar<Test — "built
wholly of oak, containing twenty-seven banks of oars,
and adorned with heads and necks of dragons over-
wrought with gold." There is no finer figure in his-
tory than that of Ilaco the King, with his stately
generosity, his deep piety.
' The actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust V
He was a prince indeed, sowing thought and order
wherever he stepped, and when the end was near,
* * Konongr sagdi draumin ; ok fysto flestir at hann skylldi
afto sn 'la. Enn hann villdi Pat egi ; litlu sidarr tok hann sott
ok andadiz. ' (See Vol. II. the '• Saga of Haco the King.")
^04 THE LAND OF 1.0n>;E.
bearing his lingering illness with holy calm. " lie
desired ]Sforwcgian books might be read to him day
and night; first, the ' Lives of Saints,' and when they
were ended, the ^ Chronicles of our Kings from Ilal-
dan the Black,' and so of all Norway's kings, one
after another." Nor did he forget his followers, great
or small, but bequeathed them loving gifts ; and with
his dying breath he left orders for the guidance of
Magnus his son', in dealmg with the people and the
army. Finally, surrounded by the Wise Men of his
kingdom, he passed " from this home's life," leaving
a name and fame that smell sweet to the present day.
The summer calm did not last long, and it was
broken with ominous suddenness. All at once, a low
faint moan was heard, the water darkened in Kerrera
Sound, and the great boom swung over with a violent
tug at the mast as the sail filled. " Take in a reef,
Lachlan, for we're going to have as much as we can
carry !" Lachlan laughed and hesitated, but the
Wanderer, whose experience told him what was com-
ing, brought the boat up to the wind, handed the
helm to his southern friend, and sprang at the reel
points — Lachlan assisting vigorously, though with a
very skeptical air. The wind did come, blowing on
our quarter with considerable force, and it soon be
camo necessary to take oft' the foresail and lower the
peak of the mainsail. Thus eased, the Ocean Queen
bowled round the southern point of Kerrera and out
into the dancing waters of the open firth. Aa she
ran between Kerrera and the islands at it« extremity,
we saw the great eonnorants sitting bolt upright m a
Ion ^ TOW on one ol the Lies witn theii dirty white'
THE FIRTH OF LOIINE. 105
j>atch at the throat like a strect-prcaclier's neck-cloth.
We piisscd just out of gunshot, and fired asahite into
the air above their lieads. A few phinged into the
sea, dived, and emerged a Imndred yards away ; the
greater number took wing and went flapping across
the firth slowly, close to the sea ; but a few great fel-
lows, swollen with fish, merely rolled their long lieada
from side to side, and sat still on their thrones.
The wind was now so strong that it would have
been impossible to carry canvas beating to windward ;
flying with the wind on our quarter and occasionally
lowering the peak to the puffs, we got along capitally,
at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour. IIow the
bright waves danced and sparkled !
" Merrily, merrily bounds the bark.
On a breeze from the southward free.
So shoots through the morning .sky the lark,
Or the swan through the summer sea."
^c>'
The sky brightened, partaking of the wind's glad-
ness. The fleet of fishino; -boats were now runninsr
swiftly toward the Sound of Mull, at the mouth of
which the lisjhthouse of Lismore, with the wild ebb-
tide foaming at its base, stood in bright relief against
the great Morven mountains. Every boat there, big-
or small, was bound for the Long Island or Outer
Hebrides, along the wild shores of which the herring
were flashing, and one and all, after a month's fishing,
would follow the mysteriou3 flight of the fish south-
ward. Noticeable among them was an Isle of Man
"jigger," running neck and neck with a double lug-
sailed boat from Newhaven, while west-country
smacks innumerable lagged behind. There was more
1^^ THE LAND Oi-' LOliNE.
pluck and spirit, more calm resolution to fight with
the great forces of the world, more gentleness of
heart and strength combined, on board that little
fleet, than could readily be found in any camp of war.
There tliey flew, going " as it pleased the breath of
God !" They passed the dark shores of ]\[ull, they
shot one by one round the base of the dark caatlo of
Duart, and they faded, with a last ghostly gleam, in
the dark shadows that slept tlien, and sleep almost
always, on the Sound of Mull.
It had been our original intention to make Oban
that night, but to do so we should have had to beat
considerably to windward, and the breeze was too
strong. AVe were compelled, in despite of our incli-
nation, to run right after the fishing-boats into the
Sound of Mull. The wind had already raised a con-
siderable sea, and we surged forward with the waves
dashing in white foam behind us, sometimes almost
breaking into the cockpit where we sat. We were
soon close under the shadow of Mull, with Kerrera
far away on our weather quarter, and Duart castle
drawing every moment nearer and nearer on the ix)rt
bow. There was no prospect of any first-rate anclior-
age, short of Tobermory, which was thirty miles away
up the Sound. True, there were three lochs, with
tolerable shelter and holding-ground, along the coast
of Mull, which we were skirting, but the entrances
were all more or less dangerous — Loch Buy beino- not
only perilous, but quite unknown to us ; Loch Spelve
partly known, but always perilous on account of sub-
merged rocks in a passage only a few yards wide ; and
Loch Don, exposed to the full force of the sea when
THE FIRTH OF LORNE. 107
the wind blow as it was then blowing. In the Sound
of ]\Iull itself, it was not much better. Duart Bay
and Craignuro were far too open, Loch Aline could
not be well entered against the ebb-tide, and Scall-
astle had one great disadvantage, owing to our igno-
rance of the rock-sown waters which surround it.
However, if the wind continued to blow at that rate,
we should be snug in Tobermory in less than three
hours.
As we flew through the water toward Duart, we
had a fine view of Mull and its mountains, on th©
peaks of which the sun was now pouring soft purple
light. The coasts of the great island, particularly to
the southward, where they are washed by the Atlan-
tic, are wild and precipitous, and assume forms only
less beautiful than the basaltic crags on the northeast
coast of Skye. Inland, all is dreary and unpictu-
resque as compared with other smTounding islands.
Of course, where there are groat hills, with occasional
moorland lochs and frequent glimpses of the sea-arm
winding far into the land, there must be beauty, abid-
ing and ever-varying ; where there is heather, there
must be glorious color; but, taken comparatively^
Mull is uninviting and wearisome, save only to the
sportsman, who will find its moors tolerably abun-
dant in wild-fowl of all kinds and its high coitIcs fre-
quented by the red-deer.
To our mind, by far the pleasantest picture con-
nected with Itlull is that of good old Doctor Johnson
traversing its weary wilds on horseback in company
with Boswell. " Mr. Boswell thought no part of the
Highlands equally terrific ;" but the Doctor was lion-
108 THE LAND OF LORNE.
hearted. If any final proof were wanted that John-
son had in him the soul of a hero, it is to be found in
the chronicle of his northern tour. In tlie autumn
of 1Y73 (after trying in the summer " to learn Dutch^''
and being " interrupted by inflammation of the eyes"),
he set out, an old man of sixty-four, for the Hebrides,
then deemed almost inaccessible. For week after
week he faced hardships and dangers unexampled in
his honest experience ; trudged footsore on endless
moors, lay half-drowned in the bottom of leaky lligh-
ifcnd boats, faced the fury of real Highland storms,
got drunk with mad Highland lairds, and showed at
every step the patience of a martyr and the pluck of
a Boldier. His journal is delicious reading, with its
solemn indifference to barbaric ''scenery," its quaint
pedantic love for antiquities, its calm tone of intel-
lectuality, its deep and fervent piety. Bos well's jour-
nal is still more delightful, full of life and unconscious
humor, abounding in delicious touches. The glimpses
of the oracular conduct and conversation are superb.
Ilow Johnson stood out in the dusky moor at Gle-
nelg, and abused his faithful follower in such terms
that " liozzy " couid sleep little the night after — " Dr.
Johnson's anger had affected me much." How John-
son drank whisky -toddy in Skye and gave his ideas
about a seraglio ;* and liow, when a pretty little lady
* " Thursday, Sept. 10 — After the ladies were gone from table,
>ve talked of the Highlanders not having sheets : and this led us
to consider the advantage of wearing linen."
" JoJtnson — All animal substances are less cleanly than vege-
table. AVool, of which flannel is made, is an animal substance;
flannel, therefore, is not so cleanly as linen. I remember 1 used
THE FIRTH OF LOKNK.' 109
eat on his Icnee and kissed him, the old boy " kept her
on his knee and kissed hei\ while he und she drank
tea," all the company beini^ much " entertained to see
him so grave and pleasant." How he had honor
everywhere, and won love to crown it. How nightly
he tunied his dear, purblind, gentle face to God, and
communed with his own soul, as it was his wont to
do, especially on his birthday.* There are no sweeter
to think tar dirty ; but when I knew it to bo only a preparation
of the juice of the pine, I thought Bono longer. It is not dis-
agreeable to have the gum that oozes from a plum-tree upon your'
fingers, because it is vegetable ; but if you have any candle-
grease, any tallow upon your fingers, you are uneasy till you rub
it off. I have often thought that if I kept a seraglio the ladies
should all wear linen gowns, or cotton — I mean stuffs made of
vegetable substances. I would have no silk ; you cannot tell
when it is clean; it will bo very nasty before it is perceived to be
eo. Linen detects its own dirtiness."
" To hear the grave Dr. Samuel Johnson, ' that majestic
teacher of moral and religious wisdom,' while sitting solemn in
an arm-chair in the Isle of Skye, talk ex cathedra of his keeping
a seraglio, and acknowledge that the supposition had often been
in his thoughts, struck me so forcibly with ludicrous contrast
that I could not but laugh immoderately. He was too proud to
submit, even for a moment, to be the object of ridicule, and in-
stantly retaliated with such keen sarcastic wit, and such a variety
of degrading images, of every one of which I was the object,
that though I can bear such attacks as well as most men, I yet
found myself so much the sport of all the company, that I would
gladly expunge from my mind every trace of this severe retort."
— Boswdl's Tour to the Hebrides.
* The following is among Dr. Johnson's " Prayers and Medi-
tations" :
" Taliskkr, in Skye, Sept. 24, 1773.
"On last Saturday was my sixty-fourth birthday. I might,
perhaps, have forgotten it, had not Boswcll told me of it ; and.
11*^ THE LAND OF LOKNE.
bits of literature in the world than these few notes of
a " Tour to the Hebrides," made in the wild autumn
season by Boswell and Johnson.
It was at Loch Buy, the mouth of which wo had
just passed in the Ocean Queen^ that Johnson met
" a true Highland laird, rough and haughty, and te-
nacious of his dignity, who, hearing my name, in-
quired whether I was of the Johnstons of Glencoe or
the Johnstons of Ardnamurchan." Johnson and
Boswell both record the fact, but the former is silent
about a still more amusing subject. On the morning
what pleased me less, told the family at Dunvegan. The laat
year is added to those of which little use has been made ; I tried
in the summer to learn Dutch, and was interrupted by an inflam-
mation in my eye. I set out in August on this journey to Skye.
I lind my memory uncertain, but hope it is only by a life unme-
thodical and scattered. Of my body I do not perceive that ex-
ercise or change of air has yet either increased the strength or
activity. My nights arc still disturbed by flatulences. My hope
is — for resolution 1 dare no longer call it — to divide my time regu-
larly, and to keep such a journal of my time aa may give mo
comfort on reviewing it. But when I consider my age and the
broken state of my body, I have great reason to fear lest death
should lay hold upon me while I am only yet designing to live.
But I have yet hope.
" Almighty God, most merciful Father, look down upon mo
with ])ity ! Thou hast protected me in childhood and youth ;
suj)port me, Lord, in my declining years. Preserve mo from the
dangers of sinful presumption. Give me, if it be best forme
stability of purposes and tranquillity of mind. Let the year
which I have now begun be spent to thy glory, and to the
furtherance of my salvation. Take not from me thy Holy Spirit,
but as death approaches prepare me to api>car joyfully in thy
presence, for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
THE FIRTII OF LOltNE. Ill
after their arrival, Ladj Lochbuj proposed that he
(the Doctor) shoukl liavc some cold " sheep's head"
for breakfast. Sir Allan " seemed surprised at hi.-i
sister's vulgarity ; but," says Boswell, " from a mis-
chievous love of sport, I took her part, and very
gravely said, ' I think it is but fair to give him an
offer of it, and if he does not choose it, he may let it
alone.' So, when Johnson entered the room, Lady
Lochbuy said to him, ' Do you take any cold sheep's
head, sir?' ' No, IMadam !' ho tliundered, in a tone of
sm-prise and anger." The sequel is perfect, in Bos-
well's own words : " ' It is here, sir,' said she, suppos-
ing he had refused it to save the trouble of bringing
it in. Thus they went on at cross purposes, till he
confirmed his refusal in a manner not to be misunder-
stood ; while I sat quietly by, and enjoyed my success."
Why the good Doctor should have refused a capital
dish, in such a way, is quite beyond the question.
We were soon rounding Duart Point, with the
Lady's Isle and Lismore Lighthouse on our quarter.
The ordinary Highland tourist has an opportunity of
seeing this part of the firth upon the deck of his
steamer, and it is at all times a sight wortli seeing —
the tides between the Lady's Rock and the Light-
house causing innumerable whirls, eddies, and counter-
currents, very similar to those of the Dorus Mhor, and
of course in rough weather raising a very heavy sea.
As we passed, all around rock and lighthouse was
white with foam, save where the eddies whirled the
surface smooth. Leavins; the boiling sheet behind
us, we ran into the Sound of Mull ; past Duart Castle
and Duart i3ay ; past the little village of Craignure
d
112 THE LAND OF LORNE.
aild the wood-fringed hills of Scallastle ; past the
great Highlands '-f Morven, which rose to the right,
with bluff, red-tinted crags descending eheer into the
sea ; past Ai'dtornish Castle on its promontory, and
the tiny entrance to " green Loch Aline's land-locked
bay" — and bre long we were abreast of the outlying
rocks and isles of Salen, with Aros Castle looming
distinct against the sunset, and saw Ben More and
Bcntalloch, the monarchs of Mull, rise up suddenly
behind us, darkening as the sunlight faded. Still the
wind blew on our quarter, and, now in smooth water,
we rushed along, leaving on our right the parish of
Morven, with its fine stretches of green land and bushy
vvood, and on our left the land of Mull, seeming wilder
and more precipitous the nearer we drew to Tober-
mory, It was a glorious race. Ere dark we had
passed several of the fishing fleet, and were fast gain-
ing on some of the others; and still the breeze kept
just steady and strong enough for us to carry can-
vas. Old castles and fantastic headlands faded and
darkened as we sailed. Picture after picture grew
and changed. The moon rose as we passed Calve
Island and swept round to Tobermory Bay ; and here,
as it was necessary to come close up to the wind, the
little vessel half-drowned herself in lying over under
her great sail. Five minutes after, however, the
anchor was down in the bay, and all parties on board
the little yacht turned in, thoroughly exhausted with
the ])leasurc and excitement of the day.
It is not our purpose to describe Tobermory. To
our mind, putting aside the excellence of its bay as an
anchorage, it is simply the ugliest and dreariest place
THE FlllTll OF LORNE. 113
in the islands. The climate is detestable, the rainfall
unceiising, the inns vile, all things abominable. Yet
this h an migcnerous description, since Tobermory
commands a fine view of the mouth of that most
delightful of Highland lakes. Loch Sunart, and of the
adjoining mountains of Ai'dnamurchan." On the
present occasion we were anxious to get back to
Lome as soon as possible. When day broke it was
raining hard, but to our joy the little wind there was
came from the west. As we ran out of the bay, the
dim lights of dawn were dappling the base of the
hills of Ardnamurchan, and the waters of Sunart
loomed dark below, with a still gleam of silvery calm
stretching across the mouth in the neighborhood of
the black Stirks — two small rocky isles. Mighty
veils of gray vapor covered the distant mountains,
save in one distant place to the north, where the dark-
ness was rent by a moist gleam of light and showed
the livid peak of some great hill. Behind us, as we
ran east, the great Ocean loomed, with the slant
shadows of the rain drawn in long streaks between
water and cloud, and the sea glittering below like
dark-blue steel misted with breath. All the heavens
was clouded, but, in Lachlan's parlance, " she was
going to be a good day."
It was a good day, and a long one. The wind
came and went, shifting between west and west-by-
south, often failing altogether; and the rain fell,
more or less, constantly. We made slow work of it,
though we caiTied our gaff-topsail, and though now
and then we got a squall which shook and buried the
boat. By three in the afternoon we were only off the
114 THE LAND OF LORNE.
mouth of Loch Aline, fifteen miles from our starting-
place, floating on the slack tide, and liardly malvinj^
an inch of way. But, nevertlieless, it was a day to be
remembered. Xevcr did the Wanderer feast liis
vision on finer efiects of vapor and cloud ; never did
ho see the hills possessed with such mystic power and
meaning. The "grays" were everywhere, of all
depths, from the dark, slumbei'ous gray of the unbro-
ken cloud-mass on the hill-top to the silvery gray of
the innumerable spears of the rain ; and there were
bits of brown, too, when the light broke out, which
would have gladdened the inmost soul of a painter.
One little picture, all in a sort of neutral tint, abides
in liis memory as lie writes. It was formed by the
dark silhouette of Ardtornish Castle and promontory,
with the winter sky rent above it; and a flood of
white light behind it just reaching the stretch of sea
at the extremity of the point, and turning it to the
color of glistening white-lead. That was all; and
the words convey little or nothing of what the
Wanderer saw. But the efiect was ethereal in the
extreme, finer by far than that of any moonlight.
After we had been becalmed for an hour off the
Sheep Islands, which lie between Loch Aline and
Scallasdale, we saw the water blacken far behind us,
and Lachlan began to whistle up the wind ; but it
was eight miles off and traveling very slowly, though
there seemed plenty of it. It was quite another liour
before it reached us, and then it seemed very unde-
cided whether to blow on or die ; gaining in vigor,
however, it took us by fits and starts to within a mile
of the lighthouse of Lismore ; grew still stronger, and
THE FIUTII OF LOllNE. 115
took U3 anotlier half mile nearer ; and finally, for no
reason that we could discover, refused to go with ua
an inch farther. We were now in the midst of the
fierce ebb-tide setting from the Lady's Rock, witli the
waves leaping round us and the eddies wliirling, and
a roar like thunder in our cars. Then occurred a
succession of Tantalus-tricks of the most aggravating
sort. Where t]^e tide boiled there was not a breath of
wind, and we were whirled backward, this way and
that, till we again reached the black shadow where
the wind was blowing. Then the wind, which was
really strong, drove us again into the tide — which in
its turn a<2;ain drove us backward. This occurred
again and again, in spite of all our skill. The breeze
<^ame on only by inches, though our superstitious
Lachlan whistled madly. By and by we began
drifting rapidly up the broad arm of the firth, which
runs northward between Morvcn and the long green
ish^nd of Lismore, and only by frantic pulling with
the long oars did we get out of the way of an ugly
rock lying half a mile out from the island. By this
time we were miserably wet and cold — and hungry,
too, for we had fared scantily. At last, to our joy, a
breeze came off the Morven shore to reinforce the lazy
breeze from the sound, and we ran on bravely till we
got into the full strength of the tide-way just abreast
of the lighthouse. Here, though the breeze continued,
we stuck, fairly anchored between wind and tide, and,
in spite of all the efforts of the helmsman, whirling
about at the mercy of the elements, with the waves
leaping round us and the foam leaping over us, and
the savage water roaring as if to swallow the little
ilG THE LAND OP LORNE.
boat. " Up with the topsail, Lachlan !" It was done,
and the yacht dived forward a few yards, with her
bowsprit submerged, and the green waves rolling off
lier bows. But the wind was yet no match for the
tide. Now we got forward a short distance ; then we
swept back in an eddy. An hour passed thus. More
than once we were swept so uncomfortably near to
the lighthouse that we had to beat i^p to windward
with the tide — and then we should have foundered
indeed, if Lachlan had not been smart in hauling
down the gaff-topsail. Not for another half hour,
v/hen the tide began to slacken, did we get through
the narrow passage, and by that time all on board
were dripping from head to foot; and the little yacht,
hull and sail, was bathed in salt water. Do you
wonder that our fii-st act, on reaching the smooth
water of the firth, was to get out the whisky-bottie
and serve round the glorious spirit with no niggard
hand?
Out in the open firth the breeze was slack and
fitful, but we crept slowly over toward Oban, the
white smoke of which was visible seven miles away
between the north end of Kcrrera and the woody prom-
ontory of Dunollie. Northward, we saw the long
dark arm of Loch Linnhe — here and there dotted with
isles and rocks — closed in suddenly where the house
of Airds gleamed like a wreath of snow in the midst
of its woody bay, and surrounded on all sides by
mountains slowly darkening in twilight. Dim and
melancholy loomed Dunstaffnage to the east, with
Ben Cruachan and the Shepherds of Loch Etive
blackening behind her. Far southward, off Kerrera,
THE FIRTH OF LORNE. Il7
ttoro was already a ghostly gleam on the ocean, cast
by the invisible moon.
But if wo looked for moonlight wo were doomed
to disappointment. When we had reached the center
of the firth it was quite dark ; and, to add to our
troubles, the wind had died entirely away, as is its
wont on many summer nights, when dead calm lasts
from evening to dawn. There was nothinc^ for it but
to put out the long oars, and pull the little yacht
toward the anchorage, five miles distant. Laclilan
worked one oar manfully, singing a monotonous
Gaelic chant peculiar to him, while the Wanderer
labored at the other. As the mist and darkness
deepened, it became impossible to tell what progress
was being made. Gradually, moreover, the whole
land changed its form, and it became uncertain where
lay the narrow entrance to Oban Bay. He who has
never been afloat on such a night, off such a coast as
that of Lome, can scarcely conceive how mysteriously it
seems to change, eluding the knowledge of the most
experienced pilots. Clouds seem mountains ; shadows,
islands ; islands, shadows ; all is ghostly and con-
fused. For a long time we were steering by what
seemed the Maiden Island, which lies at the mouth of
the entrance to Oban, but we found presently that we
had been looking at a solid bank of mist sleeping in
the silent sea. At last, we found ourselves in the
shadow of Kerrera, but Kerrera is six miles long, and
we knew not what part of the island we were approach-
ing; so that at any moment we might strike one
of those rocks and reefs with which its shores are
sown. It therefore became expedient to let tho
i
118 THE LAND OF LORNE.
yacht lie off, wliile the Wanderer rowed in the punt
toward the land and tried to make out tlie bearings
of the coast. A few strokes of the paddles, and he
was alone in the solid black shadow — literally "dark-
ness visible" — of the island. He rowed on for some
minutes, and then leant on his oars to reconnoiter.
The darkness was awful, the stillness was deathlike,
broken only by the wash of the fathomless water,
and the dreary moan of the sea-birds roosting on
tlie isles. Once or twice the curlew uttered, far off
in the night, his weird, melancholy whistle, as he
flew from one ghostly bay to another ; but neither
by sight nor sound could the Wanderer discover his
precise whereabouts. The more he rowed, the more
the land changed shape and receded. All was mys-
terious darkness. In sheer despair, he turned back
toward the yacht, which was lost in the glQom.
He shouted. The cliffs moaned an answer ; and
a sea-gull screamed. lie shouted again and again.
At last, faint and far away, he heard another voice
crying ; and so guided, he at last got on board the
yacht.
Not for hours after, when the atmosphere became
somewhat clearer, did we succeed in making out the
ehapc of the land, and when we did so, we found we
had drifted far down Iverrera, and were not a hun-
dred yards from one of the worst outlying reefs. It
was weary work pulling along the dark coast of the
island. By the time we got to our anchorage dawn
was breaking ; and just as we hauled down our sails,
a fresh morning breeze sprang up and whistled merri-
ly in the rigging.
THE FIRTH OF LORNE. 119
During tliG little voyage that has just been re-
corded, the Ocean Queen had behaved tolerably, for
the Bimple reason that she had no chance of show-
ing her worst qualities, namely, crankness under
canvas and awkwardness in " comin<i; round." On
other occasions she fully justified her soubriquet
of the Coffin. "Whenever the wind blew hard, she
could not carry a rag of canvas " beating ;" and when
squalls came, it was a miracle she floated at all, so
wildly did she heel over and ship the green water.
She was certainly a prize for any used-up person in
search of a new sensation. Then, again, her clumsi-
ness occasioned other perils. Twice, in the tideway
off the mouth of Loch Etive, she was nearly swept to
destruction because she would not answer the helm.
Once, she was driven like a straw past the great rock
at the mouth of Loch Aline, actually scraping the
weeds thereon, and only escaping by an inch."'^ In
short, she supplied the owner's system with a series
of gratuitous galvanic shocks, which a very dar-
ing person might have deemed pleasant excite-
ment, but which to the Wanderer's mind was any-
thinor but delijxhtful. Even a soldier in war-time is
not always under fire, or he would soon sicken and
grow weary ; but in the Ocean Queen we were ever
* The worst of these sharp boats is this : if they do take the
ground, whether running on a sandbank or striking on a reef,
they liccl over and fill at once, in spite of all your efforts to save
them ; and, in nine cases out of ten, " legs " (or wooden props for
the sides) are quite useless. Now, a broad-bottomed fishing-boat
sits on a rock or mudbank as snugly as a bird, provided she does
not fill, and can wait for the next tide to float her off into deep
water.
120 THE LAND OF LORNB.
more or less in peril, all tlio ferocious el omenta beinpf
leairued airainst a cockshell.
Not without great reluctance, however, did the
Wanderer part with the Ocean Queen. Crank and
fitful as she was, frequently as she had put his life in
danger, he had learned to regard her with affection.
How many a glorious scene he had beheld from tliat
little cockpit ! how many a golden day he had wasted,
stretched full length on that narrow deck ! With all
her faults, the little yacht was beautiful to look upon,
and very snug for her tonnage.
But vv^hen the little Tern came in her place, the
fickleness of man's heart was proven, for the old love
was gone in a moment, and the new love took its
place. The Tern v/as two tons smaller, and belon^^ed
to the same family — being a racer which had won
several prizes ; but she had far better " bearings," be-
ing much shorter in proportion to her beam. She,
too, was of course a toy ; a mere little wind-straw of a
boat, though destined to weather many a storm that
tried bigger vessels. In her tiny cabin, where it was
impossible to sit upright, we were to sleep for manj
months, while exploring the strange shores of the
Hebrides, from Lome to the Long Island. Lachlan
Finlay went back to his shop, there to resume his old
occupation of sitting on a sack and whittling sticks ;
and in his place, when the little Terii was ready for
sailing, her tiny cabin well stocked with all the nec-
essaries for a long cruise, Hamish Shaw, the pilot,
came from his fishing in the Firth of Clyde and
swung up his hammock in the forecastle, just as the
cuckoos were swarming over every hill in Lome.
THE TERN'S PIUST FLIGHT. 121
CHAPTER VL
THE "tern's" FIIiST FLIGHT.
The Urn Afloat — Off Ardnamurchan— First Glimpses of the Islos— Tha
Cuchullia Hills— Gonoral Rolbctions— Flashing Forward — Tlio Partjon
Board — The Scaur of Eig— lium — Birds of tlio Ocean — Muck — Sunset on
the Waters— Loch Scresort, Rum— The Gaelic Skipper — The Widow — A
CUmb among the Peaks — View of the Western Ocean from Rum — Tho
Tern weighing Anchor — Kihnory Bay — First View of Canna — At Anchor.
When the little cutter Tern, agile and beautiful as
the sea-swallow from which she takes her name,
weighed anchor in Tobermory Harbor, and began to
work westward through the Sound of Mull toward
Ardnamurchan, the long; swell comino- in from the
Jo O
Atlantic was beirinnin"; to whiten under a stiff breeze
from the northwest ; and it became a question wheth-
er or not she should fold down her wings and run
back to her nest in the baj.
We looked wistfully to windward, and began to
doubt our wisdom in venturing so far on board so tiny
a craft — seven tons register, open " aft," and rigged
witli a heavy boom and racing mainsail sure to bring
her on her broadside in stormy weather. The gloomy
prognostics of both fair-weather yachtsmen and hard-
weather seamen were sharply remembered, as the big
rollers began to break wildly over our weather-bow,
and the strong wind to lay the decks under to the very
edge of the cockpit " combing." But the Viking in
122 THE LAND OF LORNE.
the blood prevailed. A third reef was taken in the
mainsail, and the little craft was urged on; and
scarcely had she beaten two miles and a half to wind-
w^ard, when the breeze died suddenly away, and the
waters, washing troublously, grew weaker and weaker,
till the tops of the long heaving rollers were almost
calm. A light air and a strong tide soon carried the
Tern outside of Ardnamurchan, where, dripping and
quivering like a thing of life, she has paused nearly
becalmed, with the lonely islands whither she is bound
opening one by one on the dim and shadowy sea.
To the south lies Mull in mist, piling her dull, vast
hills out above the line of breaking foam ; while away
to the southwest, cairn after cairn, looming through
the waters, show where barren Coll is weltering in the
gloomy waste. To the far west, only cloud resting on
cloud, above the dim, unbroken water-line of the
Atlantic. But northward all brightens, for the storm
has passed thence with the wind, and the sunlight has
crept out cold and clear on craggy Rum, whose
heights stretch gray and ghostly against a cloudless
«ky. Hard by, in shadow, looms the gigantic Scaur
of Eig, looking down on the low and grassy line of
Muck,
" Set as an emerald in the casing eea."
JBeyond all these, peeping between Rum and Eig,
penciled in faint and ghostly peaks, hued like the
heron's breast, are the wondrous Cuchullin Hills of
Skye — bom of the volcano on some strange morning
in the age of mighty births. The eye seeks to go on
farther. It rests on those Btill heights, and in a
moment the perfect sense of solitude glides into the
THE TERN'S FIRST FLIGHT. 123
soul; thought Hocrns stationary, brooding over life
subdued.
For a sight such as that words are the merest
pencil-scratches, and for the feeling awakened by such
sights there is no kind of symbol at all. In trying
accurately to describe nature, one glides at once into
the mood of the cicerone ; for the moment of enjoy-
ment has past, and the pain of explanation has begun.
The still power of waters is not quite to be felt until
the very body and blood have known their stormy
might ; and how better know their might than by
slipping out upon the waste in as tiny a vessel as can
live thereon ? The smaller the craft, the fewer the
fellow-beings at hand, the intenser the enjoyment both
of storm and calm. It is a proud pleasure to dash like
a soa-fowl under the very mouth of the tempest, con-
scious of the life in one's veins, drunken as it were
with the excitement and uncertainty of the hour —
awake to every quiver of the little yielding creature
under the wings of which you fly, feeling its panting
breath come and go with your own, till, perchance, it&
wings are folded down close, and it swims with you
for very life before the elements which follow scream-
ing in its track. After a flight so fine, the soul is.
ready for strange, calm waters and melancholy peaks^
fit to feel the pathos and sweetness of things at rest,
ending with that dim, pathetic tremble, amid which we
seem to feel God's shadow in our souls. In this life,
and perhaps in lives beyond, there seems need of some
such preparation for great spiritual peace ; and it is
therefore a poor soul which has not felt some verj
rough weather.
124 THE LAND OP LOllNE.
The British lover of beauty wanders far, but we
question if he finds anywhere a picture more exquisite
tlian opens out, vista after vista, among these wondrous
Isles of the North. Here, year after year, they lie
almost neglected, seen only by the hard-eyed trader
and the drifting seaman ; for that mosaic being,
the typical tom"ist, seldom quits the inner chain of
mainland lakes, save, perhaps, when a solitary " Satur-
day Reviewer " oozes dull and bored out of the mist
at Broadford or Portree, takes a rapid glare at the
chilly Cucliullins, and, shivering with enthusiasm,
hurries back to the south. The heights of Rum, the
kelp-caverns of Islay, tlie fantastic clifik of Eig, scarce-
ly ever draw the sight-seer ; Canna lies unvisited in
the solitary sea; and as for the Outer Hebrides —
from Stomoway to Barra Head — they dwell ever
lonely in a mist, warning off all fair-weather wander-
ers. A little, a very little, has been said about tliese
isles ; but to all ordinary people they are less familiar
than Cairo, and farther off than Calcutta.
Forbidding in their stern beauty, isolated and sea-
surrounded, they possess no superficial fascinations;
their power is one that grows ; their spell is that of the
glamour, liolding only the slowly-selected soul. Not
merely because these isles are so strangely, darkly
lovely, but because we owe to them so much that is
noblest and best in the heart of our modern life, did it
seem fitting to attempt some faint pictures of their
scenery and their people ; and to wander from island
to island, mixing freely with poor folk, seeing and
noting what may afterward pass into noble nourish-
THE TEIIN'8 FIRST FLIGHT. 126
ment for the heart, is the errand of those oti board the
little To^.
" For many a tale
Traditionary round the mountains Inin/^,
And many a legend, peopling tlic dark woods."
As the eye became more and more accustomed to hill
and sea, as the first mood of awe and pleasiire at the
■weird vistas wore away, human figures, group after
group, before invisible, loomed slowly into view ; the
kelp-burner moving blaclcly through the smoke of his
fire on the savage shore ; the herrin-fishers tossing
at their nets, while the midnight sea gleams phospho-
rescent below and the clouds blacken in the lift above ;
the wild, wandering women, foul with the fish they
are gutting, shrieking like the cloud of gulls that
hovers over their heads; the quaint country-folk
streaming down the little ports on holidays and fair-
days ; the shepherd on his hill ; the lobster-fisher in
the quiet bay ; the matron grinding her corn and
weaving her petticoat with instruments hundreds of
years " behind the age " — and all these moving against
BO mighty a background, and speaking a speech
Btranger to common ear than any modern tongue of
Europe — a speech old as the hills and full of their
mysterious music and power. Here surely was some-
tliing for the eye and heart to rest upon, a life subtly
coloring ours through many generations, yet preserved
quite fresh and unchanged by the spirit of the waters —
a life far more surely part of us and om*s than that of
Florence, or Paris, or Wiesbaden.
To lie becalmed in the little Tern off the terrible
Rhu, the Aj-dnamurchan, most di-eaded by those best
126 THE LAND OF LOliNE.
acquainted with Ita mighty tides and fierce waters,
is by no means an unmixed pleasure. Yonder stretches
the ocean, dead-still now, but likely to be roused in an
instant into frenzy ; and, even more to be dreaded,
half a mile on the starboard bow, the gloomy clifis of
the ])oint seem coming nearer, as the fitful eddies of
the tide swing the vessel this way and that. Out go
the long oars, and slowly, very slowly, the Tern draws
from the shore. Two long hours of hard pulling, with
scarcely any perce])tible progress, is not altogether
desirable, even in the presence of a scene so fair ; and
one whistles for the wind more and more impatiently.
At last the waters ripple black to the northward, the
hugh mainsail-boom swings over with a heavy jerk,
and in a minute the Tern flashes ahead, full of new
life, and the sky brightens over a fresh and sparkling
sea, and, with hearts leaping, all canvas set, and the
little kittiwakes screaming in our track, we leave the
mighty Rhu behind.
We are four — the skipper, the pilot, the Wanderer,
and the cook — only the seaman being a sailor by pro-
fession. The skipper, to describe him briefly, is a wild,
hirsute being, generally inclined (as Walt Whitman
puts it) to " loafe and invite his soul." The pilot is
of another turn, a Gaelic fisher, deep in knowledge of
small craft, and full of the dreamy reasonings of his
race. As for the Wanderer —
" A subtle-souled psychologist.
All things he seemed to understand,
Of old or new, or eea or land,
But bis own mind — which was a mist ; "
in other words, he is a nondescript, a mooner on the
THE TERN'S FIRST FLIGHT. 127
skirts of philosophy, whose business it is to take notes
by flood and fell, and cater for the kitchen with rod
and gun. What he provides is prepared to perfection
by the cook, in a den about the size of an ordinary
cupboard, and served up in a cabin where Tom
Thumb might have stood upright, and a shortish man
have just lain at full length. Over the sleeping ac-
commodation let us draw a veil.
As the Tern flies nearer to the mighty Scaur of
Eig, a beetling precipice, towering 1300 and odd feet
above the sea, the sun is sloping far down westward
behind the lofty peaks of Rum ; and in deep, purple
shadow, over the starboard bow, the rugged lines of
the mainland, from Loch Moidart to the Sound of
Sleat, open up, gloam strangely, and fade, ridge after
ridge, away. The distant Cuchullins grow yet more
ghostly against the delicate harebell of the sky,
catching on their peaks the roseate tints of sunset ;
and the mountains of Rum deepen more and more in
under-shadow, as the light flames keener on their
rounded heights. The wind falls again, faint aira
come and go, and the low sound of the sea becomes
full of a strange hush. At such an hour, one remem-
bers with a chill shiver the terrible story of the Cave
of Eig. In the old bloody days, the inhabitants had
given dire offense to the Macleods, and the chief came
over, with all his clan at his heels, to butcher the
offenders. But not a soul was visible — only the white
snow ; for it was winter-time. Every inhabitant — ■
man, woman, and child — had taken refuge in the
great cave. The Macleods were about to return to
their boats when they discovered footprints in the
128 THE LAND OF LORNE.
Bnow. Tracing these, they came to the month of the
great cave. Then, with a devilish ingenuity, the
cruel chief ordered a great fire of turf and fern to be
lit at the mouth of the cavern. There was no escape;
all the poor shrieking folk were suffocated. This is
no mere legend, but horrible truth. Until very re-
cently, the cave was full of human bones, and some
remain still, though the busy hands of visitors have
carried off the most perfect remains. " Something
ails it now — the place is curst 1 " One sees and hears
it all — the flame shining lurid in the white snow, the
black, smoky cloud at the moutli of the cave, the
grimly-grinning caterans piling up the fire with wild
yells, and the wild shrieks of the murdered floating
out upon the winter wind !
" On Scooreigg next a warning light
Summoned licr warriors to the fight ;
A numerous race, ere stern Macleod
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode I
When all in vain the ocean-cave
Its refuge to its victims gave.
The chief, relentless in his wrath.
With blazing heath blockades the path r
In dense and stifling volumes rolled,
The vapor filled the caverncd hold I
The warrior-threat, the infant's plain.
The mother's scream, were heard in vain ;
The vengeful chief maintains his fires.
Till in the vault a tribe expires !
The bcncs which strew that cavern's gloom,
Too well attest their dismal doom."
As we draw close under the lee of Rum, the still
Bea is darkened on every side with patches as of drift-
ing Bea-weed, and there is a still flutter as of innume-
THE TEIIN'S FIRST FLIGHT. 129
rablo little wings. Hither and thither, skimming the
water in flocks of eight or ten, dart the beautiful
Bliearwatcrs {p^ijjini Angtorum of the ornithologists),
seizing their prey from the sea with their tender feet
as they fly ; while under them, wherever the eye rests,
innimierablc marrots and guillemots float, dive, and
rise. All these have their nests among the purple-
shaded clifl's close at hand. The black and green cor-
morants are there too, wary and solitary; and th&
gulls, from the lesser black-backed to the little kitti-
wake, gather thickly over one dark patch of floating
birds astern, where, doubtless, the tiny herring are
darting in myriads. Save for the fitful cry of the
kittiwakes, or the dull, croaking scream of a solitary
tern beating up and down over the vessel, all is
quite still, and the presence of these countless little
fishers only deepens the solitude. Quite fearless and
■unsuspicious, they float within oar's length of the ves-
eel, diving swiftly at the last moment, and coolly
emerging again a few yards distant. Only the cor-
morant keeps aloof, safe out of gun range. Kank
and unsavory as this glutton is, his flesh is esteemed
by fishermen, and he is so often hunted that he ia
ever on the watch for danger.
Low, undulating, grassy, yonder is Muck — the
Gaelic Eilan-na-Muchel, or Isle of Swine — Buchanan's
Lxsula Porcoinim. It is green and fertile, an oasis in
the waste. Muck, Eig, Rum, and Canna form col-
lectively the Parish of Small Isles, with the pastor of
which Hugh Miller took his well-known geologic
cruise. It must be no lamb-hearted man who carries
the gospel over these waters during winter weather.
130 THE LAND OF LOIiNE.
Lower, deeper sinks the sun, till he is totally hid-
den heliind the hills. Haskeval and Haleval, the two
liif^hest peaks of Eum, throw their shadows over the
drifting 7e;vi, while from some solitary bay inland
the oyster-catchers and sealarks whistle in the still-
ness. A night mist coming from the west deepens
the gloaming, and we look rather anxiously after a
harbor. Somewhere, not far away, below the two
peaks, lies a little loch, with safe anchorage ', but no
eyes, except those of a native, could pick it out in the
darkness. We drift slowly upward on the flood-tide,
eagerly eyeing every nook and cranny in the shadowy
mass at our side. Just as the day dawns, we spy the
mouth of the loch, and launching the long oars, make
wearily toward it ; but the anchor is soon down, all
cares are over for the time being, and, after pipes and
grog, all hands turn in for a nap.
Our slumbers are sweet, though short, and ere long
we are up on deck, looking around on Loch Scresort.
Yiewed in the soft, sparkling light of a windless sum-
mer morning, it is as sweet a little nook as ever
Ulysses mooned away a day in, during his memorable
voyage homeward. Though merely a small bay, about
a mile in breadth, and curving inland for a mile and a
half, it is quite sheltered from all winds, save the east,
being flanked to the south and west by Haskeval and
Ilondeval, and guarded on the northern side by a low
range of heathery slopes. In this sunny time the
sheep are bleating from the shores, the yacht lies
double — yacht and shadow — and the still bay is paint-
ed richly with the clear reflection of the mountains :
THE TERN'R FIRST PLIGHT. 131
" Not a feature of tho hills
Is in the mirror slighted."
On the northern point of tlic loch, where the old red
sandatono is piled in toni, fantastic heaps high over
the sea, gulls innumerable sit and bask. " Croak 1
croak ! " cries the monstrous-hooded crow at their
backs, perched like an evil spirit on the very head of
the cliffs, and squinting fiercely at the far-off sheep.
A bee drones drowsily past the yacht, completing the
sense of stillness and pastoral life.
Scattered along the southern side of the bay are a
few poor cottages, rudely built of stone and roofed
with peat turfs, and at the head of the loch is a com-
fortable, whitewashed house, the abode of Captain
Macleod of Dunvegan, the tenant of tho island.
There is, moreover, a rude stone pier, where a small
vessel might lie secure in any weather, and off which
a battered old briirantino is even now unioadinpc oat-
meal and flour. Casting loose the punt, we row over
to the vessel, and begin to chat with the shrewd-look-
ing ancient skipper, who is superintending the passage
of the sacks into a skiff alongside. In that extra-
ordinary dialect called Gaelic-English, which may be
described as a wild mingling of Gaelic, bad Irish, and
Lowland Scotch, he gives us to understand that he is
at once the owner and master of his craft, and that he
cruises from island to island d urine; the summer,
bartering his cargo of food for whatever marketablo
commodities the poor folk of the place may have pre-
pared. His great trade is with the fishers, who pay
him in dried fish, chiefly ling and cod ; but all is fish
that comes to his net, and can be anyhow cashed in
132 THE LAND OP LORNE.
the soutli. Doubtless, tlie odds of the bargains are
quite on his side. In answer to our queries as to the
general condition of the islanders, he shakes his gray
head dismally, and gives us to understand that but
fur him, and for such as he, many a poor household
would jjerish of starvation.
Starvation, however, does not seem the order of the
day in Loch Scresort. On landing, and making for
the first hut at hand, we find the cow, with her calf
by her side, tethered a few yards from the dwelling,
two pigs wallowing in the peat-raire close by, and at
least a dozen cocks, hens, and chickens, running to
and fro across the threshold, where a fi-esh, well-fed
matron, with a smile for the stranger, salutes us in
the Gaelic speech. With that fine old grace of hos-
pitality which has fled forever from busier scenes, she
leads us into her cottage — a " but " and a " ben." The
apartment into which we are shown, despite the damp
earthen floor and mildewy wall, is quite a palace for
the Highlands; for it has a wooden ])rcss bed, wooden
chairs and table, and a rude cupboard, shapen like a
wardrobe ; and the walls are adorned, moreover, by a
penny almanac and a picture cut out of the " Illustra-
ted London News." Drink fit for the gods is speedily
handed round, in the shape of foaming bowls of new
milk fresh from the udder — a cup of welcome invaria-
bly offered to the traveler in any Highland dwelling
tliat can afford it. A few friendly words warm up
the good woman's heart, and she begins to prattle
and to question. She is a childless widow, and licr
"man" was drowned. She dwells here all alone;
for all her relatives have emigrated to Canada, where
THE TERN'S FITtRT FLIGIIT. 133
sho hopes pomo day to join tlicin. On hearini^ that
we have passed through Ghisgow, she asks eagerly if
■we know a woman called Maggie, who sells eggs ; the
woman's surname slie does not remember, but we
must have noticed her, as slie is splay-footed and has
red hair. She has never been farther south than Eig,
and hence her notion of big cities. She longs very-
much to see Tobermory and its great shops — also to
look up a distant kinsman, who has flourished there
in trade. She tells us much of the laird and his fam-
ily — the "folk in the big house;" they arc decent,
pious people, and kind to the poor. Will she sell ua
some eggs ? Well, she has not heard the price of eggs
this season, but will let us have some at fivepence a
dozen. She loads the pilot with a basketful of mon-
Btei-s, and we go on our way rejoicing.
Casting our eyes up the hill as we leave the cot-
tage, we meet a pair of steadfast eyes regarding us
over a knoll a few yards distant; and lo ! the head
and antlers of a noble stac;, a veritable red deer from
the peaks, lie has wandered down to prey upon the
little patch of corn, from which the widow with diffi-
cnlty drives him and his mates many times in the day.
A royal fellow 1 Conscious of his immunity, he stares
coolly at us with his soft yet powerful eyes. We
approach nearer — ^he does not move — a pistol-shot
would stretch him low; but suddenly espying our
retriever, who has lingered behind, lapping up some
spilt milk, he tosses his head disdainfully, and turns
to go. As Schneider, the dog, runs toward him, he
breaks into a trot, then bounds suddenly over a
boulder, and is off at full speed. The dog pursues
134 THE LAND OP LOKNE.
him eap;erly, but tlio fleet-footed one speeds silentlj
away, floating lightly upward to the heights, and
leaving his panting pursuer far behind.
But the eye, following him upward, rests on the
peaks, and is sublimed by a sudden sense of tho
silences broken only by the red deer's splash in some
dark tarn. Fading gradually upward from deep
green to ashen gray, mingling softly into the white
little cloud that poises itself on the highest peak
of all, the mountains lie in tho crystalline air of
a hazeless summer day. Every rock comes out
clear, every stream shows its intense white seam
against the hillside, and the knolls of crimson
heather in the foreground seem visible to the tini-
est leaf.
The temptation is too great, and we arc soon
vigorously facing the lesser range of heights. On
all the knolls around us the white caima-grass waves
in the wind, and the yellow iris peeps among the
green twigs of under-grass, and in the hollows hero,
where the peat is cut and piled for drying, we stop
and pluck bog-asphodel. Higher we speed, knee-
deep now in the purple heather — from which tho
dog scares moor fowl under our very feet. The air
rarefies, full, as it were, of holier, deeper breath.
The deep red of the heather dies away into brown
and green, and yet a few paces farther, only green
herbage carpets the way — boulders thicken, the hilL
side grows still more steep, till at last, quite breathlea..
with exercise and the sharp fine air, we get amon^
the graystone clifife and the hugely-piled boulders of
the peaks.
THE TERN'8 FIRST FLIGHT. 135
The grout, glorious world lica around and beneath
us — mountains, crags, and their shadows in a violet
sea. Close at hand, to the northward, see Canna, with
her grim shark's teeth of outlying rock jutting up
here and there, far out in the westward ocean ; and
behind her tower the Cuchullin Ilills of Skyc, sharp-
ening into peak on peak, blue mists brooding on their
base, but all above snowed over with livid layers of
hypersthene, and seamed with the black-forked bed
of torrents tliat in wild weather twist down like
lightning to the hidden lakes below.
Far down westward on the ocean there is a long
low line, as of cloud, on tlie horizon. That is the
Outer Hebrides, our Ultima Tliule. The low levels
are veiled by distance, but the hills and promon-
tories — now a dull headland, beyond a stretch
of highland — loom here and there through the
mist —
" The dreamy grief of tlio gray sea."
With a feeling distantly akin to that of the old
wanderers of the waters, gazing from their frail
barks at the cloud of unexplored demesne, we eye
our distant quarry. A far flight for the tiny Tem^
on seas so great and strange ! Weary with a long-
reaching gaze, our eye drops downward on the western
side of the isle whereon we stand. The low, grassy
:swell of the Minch breaks in one thin, creamy line
against that awful coast — a long range washed into
cliffs and precipices, and unbroken by a single haven
or peaceful creek. When the mists and vapors
gather here, and the southwester comes pouring in
upon these shores, and the sea rises and roars as it
136 THE LAND OF LOENE.
can roar only on rocky coasts, many a brave ship
goes to pieces yonder. There is then no hope on
tliia side of time. Kot a soul is there to lock on
from the land, and he who drifts living as far as the
Bhore is dashed to pieces on its jagged wall. There
is no pause, no suspense. A crash, a shriek, and noth-
ing remains but spindrift and splintering planks. .
After a long ram'jlc, we regain our punt, and are
soon busy hoisting sail on board the yacht, for a fresh
breeze has sprung up, which should waft us swiftly
on to Canna. Up goes the Tern's white wings, and
we fly buoyantly away, tlie faint scent of honcys^ucJde
floating from the rocks as we round the jagged point
of the bay. It is the last farewell of Loch Scresort —
the last, sweet breath of a sweet place. The sun
shines, the spray sparkles, and with happy hearts and
backward-looking eyes we speed along on the joyful,
gentle sea.
The breeze stiffens, blowing on our quarter, and
the little Tern^ though she carries a double reef in
tlie mainsail, has soon about as much as she can bear;
but cheerily she foams through it, veritably " like a
thing of life," fearless, eager, quivering through every
fibre with the salt fierce play — now dipping with a.
Btealthy motion into the green hollow of the waves,
then rising, shivering on their crest, and glancing
this way and that like a startled bird ; drifting side-
long for a moment as if wounded and faint, with
the tip of lier white wing trailing in the water, and
again, at the wind's whistle, springing up and on-
ward, and tilting the foam from her breast in showers,
of silver spray.
THE tehn's first flight. 137
Though the breeze is so keen, there is neither mist
nor rain. Far away yonder to the west, a slight gray
Btrealv Iiovereovcr the clear sea-line — and from thence,
as from the out-pursed lip of a god, the invisible wind
is blown. All is fresh and clear — the peaks of Hum,
the far-off mainland — all save the white Cuehullins,
which have suddenly clothed themselves with their
own smokes and vapors, through which they loom at
intervals, Titan-like and forlorn. From the blank,
stony stare of hills so ghostly in their beauty, yet so
human in their desolation, one turns to look at Kil-
mory Bay, which opens before us as we round the
northern shores of Rum. It is a little space of shing-
ly sand, yellow and white and glistening, slipped in
between grim crags and under the shadow of the
mountains. The thin cream line of foam stirs not
on its edge, as the deep soft billows roll inward and
lessen over shallows. Above, on the slope of the hill,
there are stretches of grassy mead as green as any in
Kent, and cattle grazing thereon ; and still liigher, the
heights of heather die away into hues of gray moss
and lichen, till the stony peaks are penciled grimly on
the quiet azure of the sky.
Canna is now in full view. The " castled steep,"
as Scott calls its high cliff, towers in deep brown
shadow, surrounded by green heights of pasture, while
below is one long line of torn crags and caves, in the
lee of which, on a stretch of nearly calm sea, the gulls
and guillemots gather, and the solan goose drops like
a stone to its prey. The breeze now strikes nearly
dead ahead, and the Tern has a sore struggle of it
beating onward. Not until she is close in upon the
138 THE LAND OP LORNE.
jagged cliffs docs the narrow entry into the harbor
open, and it is a difficult job, indeed, to pick our way
through the rocks, in the teeth of wind so keen ; but
directly we round the comer of the cliffs, the little
landlocked bay opens safe and calm, and, gliding into
fivc-fathoni water, we cast anchor just oj^posite the
laird's house.
OANNA AND ITS PEOPLB. 139
CHAPTER Vn.
OANNA AND ITS PEOPLE,
Tlio Laird of Canna— Ilia Kingly Power— Prosperity of the State— The
Island— The Old Tower— Canna iu Storm and in Calm— The Milking—
Twilight — A Poem by Davy Gray— Haunts of the Ocean Birds- Whis-
pers from the Sea- The Canna People— The Quiet Life— The Graveyard
on the Hillside.
The Laird of Canna might fitly be styled it3 king ;
for over that lonely domain he exercises quite regal au-
thority, and he is luckier in one respect than most
monarchs — he keeps all the cash. His subjects nmn-
ber four-score — men, women, and children. Some
till his land, some herd his sheep. For him the long-
line fishers row along the stormy coasts of Rum , for
him the wild boore batter out the brains of seals on
the neighboring rocks of Haskeir ; the flocks on the
crags are his, and the two smacks in the bay ; every
roof and tenement for man or beast pays him rent of
some sort. The solid modern building, surrounded
by the civilized brick wall, is his palace — a recent
erection, strangely out of keeping with the rude cabins
and heather houses in the vicinity. Yet the Laird of
Canna is not proud. He toiled hard with his hands
long before the stroke of good fortune which made
him the heritor of the isle, and even now he commuixes
freely with the lowest subject, and is not above board-
ins: a trading-vessel in the bay in his shirt-sleeves. A
140 THE LAND OF LORNE.
Blirewd, active, broad-shouldered man is the laird, still
young, and as active as a goat. Though he sits late
at night among his books, he is up with the grayest
dawn to look after his fields. You meet him every-
where over tlie island, mounted royally on his sturdy
little sheltie, and gazing around him with a face which
says plainly,
" I am monarch of all I survey ;
My right there is none to dispute."
But at times he sails far away southward, in his own
boats, speculating with the shrewdest, and surely
keeping his own. In the midst of his happy sway he
has a fine smile and a kindly heart for the stranger,
as we can testify. The great can afford to be gener-
ous, though, of course, if greatness were to be meas-
ured by mere amount of income, the laird, though a
" warm " man, would have to be ranked among the
lowly. He has in abundance what all the Stuarts
tried in vain to feel — the perfect sense of solitary
sway.
Think of it — dreamer, power-hunter, piner after
the Napoleonic ! A fertile island, a simple people,
sliips and flocks all j^our own, and all set solitary and
inviolate in the great sea ; for how much less have
throats been cut, hearths desolated, even nations
ruined 1 There is no show, no bunkum, no flash-
jewelry of power, but veritable power itself. In old
days, there would have been the gleaming of tartans,
the flashing of swords, the sound of wassail, the inton-
ing of the skald , but now, instead, we have the genu-
ine modem article — a monarch of a speculative turn,
transacting business in his shirt-sleeves. The realm
CANNA AND ITS PEOPLE. Ml
flourishes, too. Each cotter or slieplierd pays his rent
in hibor, and is permitted a plot of ground to giow
potatoes and graze a cow. The fishermen are sup-
ported in the same way. Both sexes toil out of doora
at the crops, and take part in the shearing, but the
women have plenty of time to watch the cow and
weave homespun on their rude looms. All on tho
isle, excepting only the laird himself, belong to tho old
Komish faith, even the laird's own wife and children
beinii; Catholics. There is no bickering;, civil or relicr-
ious. The supreme head of the state is universally
popular, and })raised for his thoughtfulness and gene-
rosity — a cingle example of which is as good as a hun-
dred. It is said to be the custom of many Highland
proprietors, notably those ()f Islay, to levy a rent on
those who burn tho seaweeds and tansiles on their
shore, charging the poor makers about a pound on
every ton of kelp so produced. Not so the Laird of
Canna. " lie charges nothing," said our informant, a
wild old Irish wanderer, whom we found kelp-burning
close to our anchorage ; '' the laird is too dacent a man
to take Tint for tlie rocks .'"
One might wander far, like those princes of Eastern
fable who went that weary quest in search of king-
doms, and fare far worse than here. Though en-
vironed on every side by roclcs and crags, and ringed
by the watery waste, Ganna is fat and fertile, fall of
excellent sheep-pastures and patches of fine, arable
ground. Its lower slopes, in times remote, were en-
, riched by the salt sea-loam, and its highest peaks have
been manured for ages by innumerable sea-fowl.
Huge sheep of the Cheviot breed cover all the slopes,
142 THE LAND OF LORNE.
finding their way to the most inaccessible crags; long
trains of milch-cows wind from tlie hills to the outside
of the laird's dairy, morning and gloaming; and in
the low, rich under-stretchcs of valley are little patches
of excellent corn, where the loud " creek-creek " of the
corn-crake sounds harshly sweet. So much for the
material blessings of the island. Now, let us note
those other blessings which touch the eye and soul.
It is a fish-shaped island, about five miles long and
a mile and a half broad, throwing out, by a small isth-
mus on the western side, a low peninsula of grassy
green. The main island forms a ridge, the cliffs of
which rise on the northern side to about one thousand
feet above the level of the sea, and descend on the
southern side to the shore, by a succession of terraces
of dazzling greenness, supported on magnificent col-
umns of basalt. In the space between the peninsula
(which, being separated from the mainland at high
water, is sometimes called Sandy Island) and the
southeastern point of the mainland, lies the harbor,^
and across the isthmus to the west lies another greater
bay, so sown with grim little islands and sunken rocks
as to be totally useless to navigators in any weather.
The peninsula is somewhat low, but the crags of the.
main island tower to an immense height above the
level of the sea.
In a tiny bay opening to the east, towel's the lofty
rock whereon was situated the old tower, a few frag-
ments of which are to be seen by any one making
the difficult ascent. Here it was that a Lord of the
Isles confined one of his mistresses — a story still
CANNA AND ITS PEOPLE. 143
current in the island, and familiar to strangers from
Scott'tj lines :
" Signal of Ronald's liigli command.
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and land,
From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray,
Like falconnest o'erhanga the bay.
Seek not the giddy crag to climb.
To view the turret scathed by time ;
It is a task of doubt and fear
To aught but goat or mountain deer.
But rest thee on the silver beach,
And let the aged herdsman teach
His tale of former day ;
His cur's wild clamor he shall chide.
And for thy seat by ocean's side
His varied plaid display ;
Then tell, how with their chieftain came.
In ancient times, a foreign dame
To yonder turret gray.
Stem was her lord's suspicious mind.
Who in so rude a jail confmcd
So soft and fair a thrall !
And oft, when moon on ocean slept.
That lovely lady sate and wept
Upon the castle-wall.
And turned her eye to southern climes.
And thought, perchance, of happier times.
And touched hor lute by fits, and sung
Wild ditties in her native tongue.
And still, when on the cliff and bay
Placid and pale the moonbeams play,
And every breeze is mute,
On the lone Hebridean's ear
Steals a strange pleasure, mixed with fear.
While from that cliff he seems to hear
The murmur of a lute.
And sounds, aa of a captive lone
144 THE LAND OP LORNE.
That mourns her woes in tongue unknown.
Strange is the tale — but all too long
Already hath it staid the song —
Yet who may pass them by,
That crag and tower in ruins gray.
Nor to their hapless tenant pay
The tribute of a sigh?"
There is scarcely an old ruin in the north but is
haunted by some spirit such as this — and there is a
ruin on every headland.
Canna is the child of the great waters, and such
children, lonely and terrible as is their portion, seldom
lack loveliness — often their only dower. From the
edge of the lapping water to the peak of the highest
crag, it is clothed with ocean gifts and signs of power.
Its strange under-caves and rocks are colored with
rainbow hues, drawn from glorious-featured weeds;
overhead, its cliffs of basalt rise shadowy, ledge after
ledge darkened by innumerable little wings ; and
high over all grow soft greenswards, knolls of thyme
and heather, where sheep bleat and whence the herd-
boy crawls over to look into the raven's nest. On a
still summer day, when the long Atlantic swell is
crystal smooth, Canna looks supremely gentle on her
image in the tide, and out of her hollow under caves
comes tlie low, weird whisper of a voice ; the sunlight
glimmers on peaks and sea, the beautiful shadow
quivers below, broken here and there by dri.ting
weeds, and the bleating sheep on the high swards
soften the stillness. But when the winds come in over
the deep, the beauty changes — it darkens, it flashes
from softness into power. The huge waters boil at
the foot of the crags, and the peaks are caught in
CANNA AND ITS PEOPLE. 145
mist ; and the air, full of a great roar, gathers around
Canna's troubled face. Climb the crags, and the
horrid rocks to westward, jutting out here and there
like sharks' teeth, spit the lurid white foam back in
the glistening eyes of the sea. Slip down to the
water's edge, and amid the deafening roar the spray
rises fa above you in a hissing shower. The whole
island seems quivering through and through. The
waters gatlier on all sides, with only one long, glassy
gleam to leeward. No place in the world could seem
fuller of supernatural voices, more powerful, or more
utterly alone.
It is our fortune to see the island in all its moods ;
for we are in no haste to depart. Days of deep calm
alternate with days of the wildest storm. There is
constant change.
Everywhere in the interior of the island there are
sweet pastoral glimpses. On a summer afternoon,
while we are wandering in the road near the shore, wo
see the cattle beginning to flock from the pastures,
headed by two gentle bulls, and gathering round the
dairy house, where, in "short-gowns," white as snow,
the two head dairymaids sit on their stools. Tlie kine
low softly, as the milk is drawn from the swelling
udder, and now and then a calf, desperate with thirst,
makes a plunge at his mother and drinks eagerly with
closed eyes till he is driven away. Men and children
gather around, looking on idly. As we pass by, the
dairymaid offers us a royal drink of fresh, warm milk,
and with that taste in our lips we loiter aw^ay. Now
we are among fields, and we might be in England —
so sweet is the scent of hay. Yonder the calm sea
7
146 THE LAND OF LORNE.
glimmers, and one by one the stars are opening like
forget-me-nots, with dewdrops of light for reflections
in the water below. Can this be Canna ? Can this be
the solitary child of the ocean? Hark ! That is the
corn-crake, crying in the com — the sound we have
heard so often in the southern fields ! As we listen,
our eyes are dim indeed, for we are murmuring the
tender rhyme of the poet of Merkland — lines never
yet published till now, but treasured up by us as
Bomething passionately sweet. It seema his very
voice we hear, murmuring them in the twilight.
THE CORN-CRAKE.
I've listened now a full half-hour,
Nor knew that voice possessed the power
Of Lethe's fabled wave to bless
My spirit with forgetful ness.
The night is calm as my desire.
I see the stars, yet scarcely see.
So sweetly melteth all their fire
Into the blue serenity.
The mountains mingle with the haze.
And the three glorious sycamores
That stand before three cottage doors,
And throw warm sliadows on the floors
On beautiful sunshiny days.
Come out in firmer, blacker lines,
Where softly bright a crescent shines.
A famous crescent is it still
Which seems to love this Merkland 11111
As well as ever Helicon,
And shines with as intent a will
On Luggie, as it ever shone
On Castaly in days of yore.
When poesy was deepest lore
And love the customary glee ;
A land — a land of Arcady.
CANNA AND ITS PEOPLE. 1 U
But whether in that land of dreams,
When sun had Bct and many streams
Were mingling in one miirnmrous moan,
Through alder coverts flowing on.
Thy voice, dear Corn-crake ! sounded through
The calmness, when the dear cuckoo
Had fallen asleep in shady glen,
Far from the paths of mortal men,
I cannot tell ; yet I uphold
That never a more vernal cry,
From lawn or air, or hedge or wckkI,
Filled all the eager, hungry sky,
Or charmed a sylvan solitude.
O Corn-crake I will you never weary ?
You cry as if it were thy duty.
And thy voice were all thy beauty.
Do you cry that I may hear thee ?
Not a bird awake but thee.
Except, across the dim, dim sea.
The voluptuous nightingale,
Singing in an orange dale
Ey a word, by a tone, we are carried into a dream ;
the nightingale sings, and the Scottish poem dies
away among all the perfumes of the south !
"When there is little or no sea, it is delightful to pull
in the punt round the precipitous sliores, and come
upon the lonely haunts of the ocean-birds. There is
one great cliif, with a huge rock rising out of the
watere before it, which is the favorite breeding
haunt of the puffins, and while swarms of these little
creatures, with their bright, parrot-like bills and plump,
white breasts, flit thick as locusts in the air, legions
darken the waters underneath, and rows on rows sit
brooding over their young on the dizziest edges of the
i
148 THE LAND OF LORNE.
cliff itself. The noise of wings is ceaseless, there is
constant coming and going, and so tame are the birds
that one might almost seize them, either on the water
or in the air, with the outstretched hand. Discharge
a gun into the air, and, as the liollow echoes roar up-
ward and inward to the very hearts of the caves, it
will suddenly seem as if the tremendous crags were
loosening to fall ; but the dull, dangerous sound you
hear is only the rush of wings. A roclc farther north-
ward is possessed entirely by gulls, chiefly the smaller
sj^ecies ; thousands sit still and fearless, whitening the
summit like snow, but many hover with discordant
scream over the passing boat, and seem trying with
the wild beat of their wings to scare the intruders
away. Close in shore, at tlie mouth of a deep, dark
cave, cormorants are to be found, great black " scarts,"
their mates, and the young, preening their glistening
j)lumage leisurely, or stretching out their snake-like
necks to peer with fishy eyes this way and that.
They are not very tame here, and should you present
a gun, will soon flounder into the sea and disappear;
but at times, when they have gorged themselves with
fish, so awkward are they with their wings, and so
muddled are their wits, that one might run right
abreast of them and knock them over with an oar.
Everywhere below, above, on all sides, there is noth-
ing but life — birds innumerable, brooding over their
eggs, or fishing for the young. Hero and there a lit-
tle fluff of down, just launched out into the great
world, paddles about, bewildered, and dives away
from the boat's bow with a faint, troubled cry. On
the outer rocks gulls and guillemots, puffins on the
CANNA AND ITS PEOPLE. 149
cratrs, and comiorants on tlic ledt2;es of the caves.
The poor reflective hnnian beinc:, brought into the
sound of such a life, gets quite scared and dazed. Tlic
air, the rocks, the waters, arc all astir. The face
turns for relief upward, where the blue sky meets the
Bumrait of the crags. Even yonder, on the very ledge,
a black speck sits and croaks ; and still further up-
ward, dwarfed by distance to the size of a sparrow-
hawk, hovers a black eagle, fronting the sun.
There is something awe-inspiring, on a dead calm,
day, in the low, hushed wasli of the great swell that
forever sets in from the ocean ; slow, slow it comes,
with the 'regular beat of a pulse, rising its height,
without breaking, against the cliff it mirrors in its
polished breast, and then dying down beneath with a
murmuring moan. What power is there ! what dread-
ful, fatal ebbing and flowing ! No finger can stop
that under-swell, no breath can come between that
and its course ; it has rolled since Time began — the
same, neither more nor less, whether the weather be
still or wild — and it will keep on when we are all dead.
Bah! that is hypochondria. But look! what is that
floating yonder, on the glassy water ?
" Oil ! is it fish, or weed, or floating hair,
0' drowned maiden fair?"
No ; but it tells as clear a tale. Those planks formed
lately the sides of a ship, and on that old mattress,
with the straw washing out of the rents, some weary
sailor pillowed his head not many hours ago. "Where
is the ship now? AVhere is the sailor? Oh ! if a
magician's wand could strike these waters, and open
1">^^ THE LAND OF LOKNE.
them up to our view, what a sight should we see —
the slimy hulls of ships long submerged; the just
sunken fisli-boat, with ghastly faces twisted among
tlie nets ; the skeleton suspended in the huge under-
grass and monstrous weeds; the black shapes, the
flesliless faces, looming green in the dripping foam
and watery dew ! Yet how gently the swell comes
rolling, and how pleasant look the depths this sum-
mer day — as if Death were not, as if there could be
neither storm nor wreck at sea !
More hypochondria, perhaps. Why the calm sea
should invariably make us melancholy we cannot tell,
but it does so, in spite of all our efforts to be gay.
Walt Whitman used to sport in the great waters as
happily as a porpoise or a seal, without any dread,
with vigorous animal delight; and we, too, can enjoy
a glorious swim in the sun, if there is just a little
wind, and the sea sparkles and freshens full of life.
But to swim in a dead calm is dreadful to a sensitive
man. Something mesmeric grips and weakens him.
If the water be deep, he feels dizzy, as if he were sus-
pended far up in the air.
We are harping on delicate mental chords, and for-
getting Canna ; yet we have been musing in such a
mood as Canna must inevitably awaken in all who
feel the world. She is so lonelv, so beautiful : and
the seas around her are so full of sounds and sights
that seize the soul. There is nothing mean, or squalid,
or miserable about Canna; but she is melancholy
and subdued — she seems like a Scandinavian Ilavfru,
to sit with her hand to her ear, earnestly listening to
the sea.
CANNA AND ITS PEOPLE. 1-'>1
Tliat, too, is what first strikes one in tlio Canna
people — their melancholy look ; not grief-worn, not
sorrowful, not passionate, but simply melancholy and
subdued. We cannot believe they are unhappy be-
yond the lot of other people who live by lal)or, and it
is quite certain that, in worldly circumstances, they
are much more comfortable, than the Highland poor
are generally. Nature, however, with her wondrous
secret influences, has subdued their lives, toned their
thoughts, to the spirit of the island where they dwell.
This 18 more particularly the case with the women.
Poor human souls, with that dark, searching look in
the eyes, those feeble flutterings of the lips ! They
speak sad and low, as if somebody were sleeping close
by. When they step forward and ask you to walk
into the dwelling, you think (being new to their
ways) that some one has just died. All at once,
and inevitably, you hear the leaden wash of the sea,
and you seem to be walking on a grave.
" A ghostly people ! ' exclaims the reader ; " Keep
me from Canna ! " That is an error. The people do
seem ghostly at first, their looks do sadden and de-
press ; but the feeling soon wears away, when you
find how much quiet happiness, how much warmth
of heart, may underlie the melancholy air. When
they know you a little, ever so little, they brighten,
not into anything demonstrative, not into sunniness,
but into a silvern kind of beauty, wliich we can only
compare to moonlight. A veil is quietly lifted, and
you see the soul's face ; and then you know that
these folk are melancholy, not for sorrow's sake, but
just as moonlight is melancholy, just as the wash of
152 THE LAND OF LORNE.
water is melancholy, because tliat is the natural ex-
pression of their lives. They are capable of a still,
heart-suffering tenderness, very touching to behold.
We visit many of their houses, and hold many of
their hands. Kindly, gentle, open-handed as melting
charity, we find them all ; the poorest of them as hos-
pitable as the proudest chieftain of their race. There
is a gift everywhere for the stranger, and a blessing
to follow — for they know that after all he is bound
for the same bourne.
Theirs is a quiet life, a still passage from birth to
the grave; still, untroubled, save for the never-silent
voices of the waves. The women work very hard,
both indoors and afield. Some of the men go away
herring-fishing in the season, but the majority find
employment either on the island or the circumjacent
waters. We cannot credit the men with great energy
of character; they do not seem industrious. An act-
ive man could not lounge as they lounge, with that
total abandonment of every nerve and muscle. They
will lie in little groups for hours, looking at the sea,
and biting stalks of grass — not seeming to talk, save
when one makes a kind of grunting observation, and
stretches out his limbs a little farther. Some one
comes and says : " There are plenty of herring over in
Loch Scavaig — a Skye boat got a great haul last
night." Perhaps the loungers go off to try their
luck, but very likely they say: " AVait till to-morrow
— it may be all untrue;" and in all probability, be-
fore they get over to the fishing-ground, the herrings
have disappeared.
Yet they can work, too, and with a will, when they
CANNA AND ITH PEOPI.E. 153
are ftxirly set on to work. They can't speculate, tliey
can't searclv for profit ; the shrewd man outwits tlieni
at every turn. Tlicy keep poor — but, keeping poor,
tlicy keep good. Their worst fault is their dreami-
ness; but surely as there is light in heaven, if there
be blame here, God is to blame here, who gave them
dreamy souls ! For our part, keep us from the man
who could be born in Oanna, live on and on with that
ocean-murmur around him, and elude dreaminess and
a melancholy like theirs !
" Ball ! " cries a good soul from a city ; " they are
lazy — like the Irish, like Jamaca niggers ; they are
behind the age ; let them die ! " You are quite right,
my good soul ; and if it will be any comfort to you to
hear it, they, and such as they, are dying fast. They
can't keep up with you ; you are too clever, too great.
You, we have no doubt, could live at Canna, and es-
tablish a manufactory there for getting the sea turned
into salt for export. You wouldn't dream — not you I
Ere long these poor Highlanders will die out, and
with them may die out gentleness, hospitality, charity,
and a few other lazy habits of the race.
In a pensive mood, witli a prayer on our lips for
the future of a noble race destined to perish locally,
we wander across the island till we come to the little
graveyard wliere the people of Canna go to sleep. It
is a desolate spot, commanding a distant view of the
Western Ocean. A rude stone wall, with a clumsy
gate, surrounds a small square, bo wild, so like the
stone-covered hill-side all round, that we should not
guess its use without being guided by the fine stone
mausoleum in the midst. That is the last home of
15-i THE LAND OF LOUNE.
the Lairds of Canna and their kin ; it is quite modern
and respectable. Around, covered knee-deep with
grass, are the graves of the islandere, with no other
memorial-stones than simple pieces of rock, large
and small, brought from the seashore and placed aA
foot-stones and head-stones. Rugged as water tossing
in the wind is the old kirkyard, and the graves of the
dead therein are as the waves of the sea.
In a place apart lies the wooden bier, with hand-
spokes, on which thej carry the cold men and womea
hither ; and bj its side — a sight, indeed, to dim the
eyes — is another smaller bier, smaller and lighter, used
for little children. Well, there is not such a long
way between parents and offspring; the old here are
cliildren too, silly in worldly mutters, loving, sensitive,
credulous of strange tales. They are coming hither,
faster and faster ; bier after bier, shadow after shadow.
It is the tradesman's day now, the day of progress, the
day of civilization, the day of shops ; but high as may
be your respect for the commercial glory of the nation,
stand for a moment in imagination among these graves,
listen to one tale out of many that might be told of
those who sleep below, and join me in a prayer for
the poor islandei-s whom tliey are carrying, here and
in a thousand other kirkyards, to the rest that is with-
out knowledge and the sleep that is without dream.
EIUADH OP CANNA. 158
CHAPTER ym.
KIBADn OF CANNA.
" She was a woman of a steadfast miud,
Tender and deep in her excesa of lovo ;
Not speaking much, pleased ratlier with the joy
Of her own thoughts."
Wordsworth's " ExcTmaiON."
There was a man named Ian Macraonail, who lived
at Canna in the sea. In the days of his prosperity
God sent him issue — five lads and a lass. Now Ian
had great joy in his five sons, for thej grew up to be
fine young men, straight-limbed, clean-skinned, clever
with their hands ; and in the girl he had not joy, but
pain, for she was a sickly child and walked lame,
through a trouble in the spine. Her name waa
Eiradh, and she was born to many thoughts.
AVhen she was born she cried ; nor did she cease
crying after long days ; and folk seeing that she waa
so sickly a child, thought that she would die soon.
Yet Eiradh did not die, but cried on, so that tho
house was never quiet, and the neighbors, when they
heard the sound in the night, said, " That is Ian Mac-
raonail's bairn ; the Lord has not yet taken her away."
When she was three years old she lay in the cradle
still, and could not run upon her feet ; and then foul
sores came out upon her head. After they burst, she
had sound sleeps, and her trouble passed away.
156 THE LAND OF LORNE.
The mother's heart was glad to sec the little one
grow stiller and brighter every day, and try to prattle
like other children at the hearth ; and she nursed her
little care, slowly teaching her to move upon her feet.
Afterward they taught her how to use a little crutch,^
of wood, which Ian himself cut in the long wintei
nights when he was at home.
Ian Macraonail was a just man, and his house was
a well-doing house ; but Eiradh saw little of her fa-
ther's face. In the summer season, he was far away,
chasing the herring on the great sea, and even on the
stormy winter days he was fishing cod and ling with
a mate on the shores of Skye and Mull. When he
came home he was wet and slee]iy, and all the children
had to keep very still. Then Eiradh would sit in a
corner of the hearth, and see his dark fa^e in the pcat-
snioke. If he took her upon his knee, she felt afraid
and cried ; so that the father said, " The child is stupid ;
take her away." But when he took her young brother
upon his knee, the boy laughed and played with his
beard.
For all that, the mother held Eiradh dear above all
her other children, because she was sickly and had
given her so much care.
Ian had built the house with his own hands, and it
looked right out upon the sea. All the day and night
the water cried at the door. Sometimes it was low
and still and glistening ; and it was pleasant then to
sit out on the sand and throw stones into the smooth
and glassy tide. But oftenest it was wild and loud,
shrieking out as if it were living, dashing in the sea-
weed and plariks of ships, and seeming to say, " Come
EIRADll OF CANNA. 157
out here, come out here, thut I may cat you up alive !"
All the night long he cried on, while the wind tore at
the roof of the house, and would have carried it far
away, if the straw ropes and heavy stones had not been
there to hold it down.
Then Eiradh would hide her head under the blankets
and think of her father upon the sea.
The water cried at the door. When Eiradh's eldest
brother grew up into a strong youth, he went away
with his father upon the sea. lie stayed away so long
that his face grew strange. When he came home he
was sleepy and tired, like his father, and said little to
his sister and brothers. But one day he brought
Eiradh home a little round-eyed owl, like a little old
woman in a tufted wig. Eiradh was proud that day.
AVhen the calliach opened its mouth and roared for
food, she laughed and clapped her hands ; and she
made the bird a nest in an old basket, and fed it with
lier own hands. She loved her great brother very
much after that, and was happy when he came home.
The water cried at the door. One day Eiradh's
second brother joined his father and brother upon the
sea, and ever after that was sleepy and tired like the
others when he came home.
The mother said to Eiradh, " That is always the
way — boys must work for their bread." But Eiradh
thought to herself, " It is the sea calling them away.
I shall soon not have a brother left in the house."
The water cried at the door, till all Eiradh's five
brothers went away. Then it was very lonely in the
dwelling, and the days and nights were long and dull.
When the fishers came home, their faces were all
158
THE LAND Ol' LOllNE
Strange to her, and thej SGetned great, rougli men,
wliilo she was only a little sicklj child. But thej
were kind. Thej told her wild stories about the sea
and the people thej had seen, and laughed out loud
and merrj at the wonder in her great, staring cjes.
Thej told her of the great whales and the sea-snakes
that have manes like a horse and teeth like a saw ;
and how the old witch of Barra smoked her pipe over
her pot p.nd sold the fishermen winds.
One night, when Eiradh was twelve years of age,
she sat with her mother over the fire, waiting for her
father and brothers to come home in the skiff from
Mull, It was a rainy night, late in the year. Now,
the mother had been ailing for many days with a
heaviness and ])ain about the heart, and she said to
Biradh: "I feel sick, and I will lie down upon the
bed to rest a little." Eiradh kept very still, that her
mother might sleep, and the pot, with the supper in
it, bubbled ; the rain went splash-splash at the door,
till Eiradh fell to sleep herself. She woke up with a
loud cry, and, looking round her, saw her father and
brothers in the room. The steam was coming thick
like smoke from their clothes, their faces were white,
and they were talking to one another. She called to
them not to make a noise, because mother was sleep-
ing; but her father said in a sharp voice, " Take the
girl away ; she is better out of the house 1" Then a
neighbor woman stepped forward, out of the shadow
of the door, and said, " She shall go with me." When
the woman took her by the hand and led her to the
other house through the rain, she was so frightened
she could not say a word. The woman led her in
EIRADH OF CANNA. 109
and bade her seat herself beside the fire, where a man
sat smoking his pipe and mending his nets. Then
Eiradh heard her whisper in liis ear, as she passed
him, "This is lame Eiradh with the red hair; her
mother has just died."
It seemed to Eiradh that the ground was suddoidy
drawn from under her feet, and she was walking high
up in the air, and all around her were voices crying,
" Eiradh ! Eiradh with the red hair! yourmother has
just died." When that passed away, a sharp thread
was drawn through her heart, and she could scarcely
cry for pain; but when the tears came, they did her
good, washing the pang away. But it was like a
dream.
It was like a dream, too, the day the woman took
her by the hand and led her back to the house. The
sea was loud that day — loud and dark — and it seemed
to be saying, " Eiradh ! Eiradh ! your mother has just
died." The home was clean and still ; father was sit-
tinir on a bench beside the fire in his best clothes,
looking veiy white. When she went in he drew her
to him and kissed her on the forehead, and she sobbed
sore. The woman said, " Come, Eiradh," and led her
aside. Something was lying on the bed all white, and
there was a smell like fresh-bleached linen in the air ;
then the woman lifted up a kerchief, and Eiradh saw
her mother's face dressed in a clean cap, and the gray
hair brushed down smooth and neat. Eiradh 's tears
stopped, and she was afraid — it looked so cold. The
woman said, '' Would you like to kiss her, Eiradh,
before they take her away ?" But Eiradh drew her
breath ti^ht, and cried to be taken out of the house.
160 THE LAND OF LOIINE.
That niglit slie slejjt in the neighbor's house, and
tlie next day her mother was taken to the graveyard
on the liiU, Eiradh did not see them take her away ;
but in the afternoon she went home and found the
house empty. It was clean and bright. Tiie peat-
fire was blazing on the floor, and there were bottles
and glasses on the press in the corner. By and by
her father and brothers came in, all dressed in their
best clothes, and with red eyes ; and many fishermen
— neighbors — stood at tlic door to take the parting
glass, and went away quite merry to their homes.
But the priest came and sat down by the fire with
her father and brothers, and patted Eiradh on the
head, telling her not to cry any more, because her
mother was happy with God. She went and sat on
the ground in a corner, looking at them through her
tears. Iler father was lighting his pipe, and she heard
him say, 'She was a good wife to me;" and the
priest answered, " She was a good wife and a good
mother ; she has gone to a better place." Eiradh
wondered very much to see them so quiet and hard.
With that, the days of Eiradh's loneliness began.
She had no mother to talk to her in the long nights
when her father and brothers were away upon the
sea ; but she used to go to the neighbor-woman's
house and sleep among the children. Oftener than
ever before, she loved to sit by the water and listen,
playing alone, so that her playmates used to say,,
" Eiradh is a stupid girl, and likes to sit by herself."
One day she went to the graveyard on the hill and
searched about for the place where her mother was
laid. The grass was long and green, and there were
EIRADH OF CANNA. 161
great woods everywhere ; but there was one place
where the earth had been newly turned, and blades
of youni^ grass were beginning to creep through the
clav. She felt sure tliat her mother must be sleeping
there. So she sat down on the grave and began to
knit. It was a clear, bright day, the sheep were cry-
ing on the hills, and the sea far off was like a glass ;
and it was strange to think her mother was lying
down there, so nenr to her, with her face up to the
sky. Eiradh began wondering how deep she was ly-
ino- and whether she was still dressed in white. Her
thoughts made her afraid, and she looked all aromid
her. Though it was daytime, she could not bear to
stay any longer, for she had heard about ghosts. As
she walked home on hor crutch, she looked round
her very often, fancying she heard some one at her
back.
Though Eiradh* Nicraonail was a sickly girl, she
was clever and quick, and she soon began to take a
pleasure in the house. The neighbor-woman helped
about the place and taught Eiradh many things — how
to cook, how to make cakes of oatmeal on the brander,
and how to wash clothes. She was so quick and
willing, and longed so much to please her father and
brothers, that they said, "Eiradh is as good as a
woman in a house, though she is so young." Then
Eiradh brightened, full of pride, and ever after that
kept the home clean and pleasant, and forgot her
griefs.
There was a man in Canna, a little old man with a
club foot, who got his living in many ways, for he
could make shoes and knew how to mend nets, and
162 THE LAND OF LORNE.
besides, he Wcos a learned man, having been taught, ai,
a school in the south. Some of the children used to
go to him in the evenings, and he taught them how to
read ; but he was so sharp and cross that sometimes
he would have nothing to say to them, though they
came. Now and then, Eiradh went over to him, and
he was gentler with her than with the rest, because
she had a trouble of the body like himself. He
learned her her letters, and afterward, with a wooden
trunk for a desk, made her try to write. Often, too,
he came over to her in the house, and smoked his pipe
while she knitted ; but if her father, or any of her
brothers came in, he gave them sharp answere and soon
went away, while they laughed and said, " It is a pity
that his learning does not make him more free." He
was a strange old man, and believed in ghosts and
witches. Eiradh liked to sit and listen to his tales.
He told her how the bagpipes played far off when any
one was going to die. He told her of a young man in
Skye, who could cause diseases by the power of the
evil eye, and of a woman in Barra, who used to
change into a hare every night and run up to the top
of the mountains to meet a spirit in black by the side
of a fire made out of the coffins fo those who died in sin.
He had seen every loophole in Skipness Castle full of
cats' heads, with red eyes, and every head was the
head of a witch. He believed in dreams, and thought
that the dead rose every night and walked together
by the side of the sea. Often in the dark evenings,
when Eiradli was sittinf]^ at his knee, he would take
his pipe out of his mouth and tell her to listen ; if she
listened very hard in the pauses of the wind, she would
EIRADH OF CANNA. 103
hear something like a, voice crying, and he told lier
that it was the spirit of the poor lady who died in the
tower, walking up and down, moaning and wringing
its hands.
As Eiradh grew older she had so much to do in the
house that she thouirht of these thin{rs less than before.
But when she sat by hei"self knitting, and the day's
work was over, voices came about her that belonged
to another land, and she grew so used to them that
their presence seemed company to her, and she waa
not afraid. By the time that she was seventeen years
of age God's strength had come upon her, and she
could walk about without her crutch. She had red
hair, her face wa^ w^hite and well-favored, and her
eyes were the color of the green sea.
One night, when her father and brothers were
sleeping with her in the house, Eiradh Kicraonail had
a dream. She thought she was standing by the sea,
and it was full of moonlight and the shadows of the
stars. While she stood looking: and listenino;, there
came up out of the sea a black beast like a seal, fol-
lowed by five young ones, and they floated about in
the light of the moon with their black heads up,
listening to a sound from far away like the music of a
hai-p. All at once the wind rose and the sea grew
rough and white, and the lift was quite dark. In
a little time the distant music grew louder and the
wind died away. Then Eiradh saw the beast floating
about alone in the white moonliorht, and bleatius like
a shee^^ when robbed of its lamb ; and at last it gave a
great cry and stretched itself out stiif and dead, with
its speckled belly shining uppermost and tlie herring-
1G4 THE LAND OF LORNE.
8yle playing round it like flashes of silver light. With
that she awoke, and it was dark night ; the wind was
crying softly outside, and she could hear her father
and brothers breathing heavy in their sleep.
The next day, when her father and brother sat
mending their nets at the door, she told them her
dream. They only laughed, and said it was folly put
into her head by the old man who taught her to read.
But she saw that they looked at one another, and
were not well pleased. All that day the dream
troubled her at her work, and whenever she heard the
sheep bleat from the hill-side she felt faint. The
next night she said a long prayer for her father
and brothers, and slept sound. The dream did not
come again, and in a few days the trouble of it wore
away. But when the news came that they were
catching herring in Loch Scavaig, and the fisher-
man and his sons began preparing their boat to
sail over and try their chance, all Eiradh's fears came
back upon her twenty-fold. It was changeful weather
early in the year; there were strong winds and a
great sea.
The day before the boat went away Ian had the
rheumatic trouble so sore in his bones that he could
not rise out of his bed ; and he was still so sick next
day that he told the young men to go away alone, for
•fear of missing the good fishing. They went off with
a lio-ht heart — four strong men and a tall lad.
Ian Macraonail never saw his sons any more.
Three days afterward, news was brouglit that the
boat had laid over and filled in a squall, and that
every one on board had been drowned in the sea.
EIllADH OF CANNA. 105
Then Eiradh knew that her strange dream had
partly come true, but that more was to couie true yet.
The water cried at the door. Ian sat like a frozen
man in the house, and when Eiradh looked at hiia
her tears ceased — she felt afraid, llo scarcely said a
word, and did not cry, but he paid no heed to his
meat. He looked like the man on the hill-side when
the voice of God came out of the burninir bush.
Again and agjain Eiradh cried, " Father !" and looked
into his face, but he held up his hand each ti.uo to
warn her away. A thread ran throu'rh her heart at
this, for she had always known ho loved her brothers
best, and now he did not seem to remember her at all.
She went outside the house, and looked ut the crying
water, and hated it for all it had done. Her heart
was sad for her five brothers who were dead, but it
was saddest of all for her father who was alive.
The priest came, and prayed for the dead. Ian
prayed, too, with a cold heart. Afterward the priest
took him by the hand, looking into his eyes, and said,
*' Ian, you have suffered sore, but those the Lord loves
are born to many troubles." Ian looked down, and
answered in a low voice, " That is true ; I have noth-
ing left now to live for." But the priest said, "" You
have Eiradh, your daughter; she is a good girl."
Ian made no answer, but sat down and smoked his
pipe. Eiradh went out of the house, and cried to
herself.
Now, that day Ian Macraonail put on his best
black gear and the black hat with the broad crape
band. The black clothes made him look whiter. He
took his staff, and went up over the hiU on to the
166 THE LAND OF LORNE.
cliffs, over the place where the black eagle builds, and
stood close to the edge, looking over at Loch S^avaig,
where tlie lads were di'owned. While he stood there,
a shepherd that knew him came by, and, seeing him
look so wild, fancied that he meant to take the short
road to the kirkyard. So the man touched him on
the shoulder, saying, " lie sleeps ill that rocks himself
to sleep. We are in God's hands, and must bide his
time." Ian knew what the shepherd meant, and shook
his head. '* I have been a wdl-doing man," he said,
" and mine has been a well-doing house. I have drunk
a bitter cup, but the Lord forbid that I should do the
sin you think of." So the ehepherd made the sign of
the blessed cross, and went away.
After that Ian wore his black gear eveiy day, and
every day he went up on the high cliffs to walk. He
ate his meat quite hearty, and he was gentle with
Eiradh in the house ; but he stared all around him
like a man at the helm in a thick mist, and listened
as the man at the helm listens in the mist for the wind
that is coming. It was plain that he took little heart
in his dwelling, or in the good money he had saved.
One day he said, " AVhen I go again to the herring-
fishing, I must pay wages to strangers I cannot trust,
and things will not go well." The day after that, at
the mouth of lateness, the}'^ fomid him leaning against
a stone, close over the place where the black eagle
builds; and his heart was turned to lead, and his
blood was water, and there were no pictures in his
eyes.
Now Eiradh Nicraonail was alone in the whole
world.
EIRADH or CANNA. 107
II.
When Ian was in the narrow house where the fire
is cold and the grass grows at the door, Eiradh sold
the boats and the nets, and all but the house slio
Jived in ; and when she counted the good money, she
found there was enough to keep her from hunger for
a little time. In these days she liad little heart to
work in the house and in the fields, and every thne
she thought of tliose who were lying under the hill
she f^lt a salt stone rise in her tliroat. In the long
nights, when she was alone, voices came out of the
sea, and eyes looked at her — she heard the wind
calling, and the ghost of the lady crying up in the
tower — and she thought of all the strange things the
old man had told her when she was small. Often
her heart was so troubled that she had to run
away to tlie neighbors, and sit among them for
company. She often said, "I would rather be far
away than here, for it is a dull place;" and she
planned to take service on some farm across the
water.
The women bade her wait and look out for a man,
but Eiradh said, " The man is not born that would
earn meat for me." She was dull and down-looking
in these days, speaking little, but her bodily trouble
was all gone, and she was clean-limbed and had a
soft face. More than one lad looked her way, and
would have come courting to her house at night,
but she barred the door and would let no man in.
One night, when a fisher lad got in, and came laugli-
ino: to her bedside, he was sore afraid at the look
of her face and tlie wordi of her mouth, though
168 THE LAND OF LORNE.
she only cried, " Go away this night, for the love
of my father and mother. I am sick and heavy with
sleejx"
Tliese were decent and well-doing lads, 8hei)herd8
earning good wages, but Eiradh liad a face to frigliten
them away.
The winter after Ian Macraonail died, Calum
Eachern, the tailor, came north to Canna. The folk
had been waiting for him since long, and there was
much work to be done — so that Calum was busy
morning and night in one house or another; but
tliough he had been busier, his tongue could never
have kept still. Every night people gathered in the
place where he worked, and those were merry times.
He was like a full kist, never empty ; his tales were
never done. He had the story of the king of
Lochlan's daughter, and how Fionn killed the great
bird of the red beak, and many more beside. He
loved best to tell about the men of peace, with their
green houses under the hillside, and about the
changeling bairns that play the fairy pipes in the
time of sleep, and about the ladies with green gowns,
that sit in the magic wells and tempt the herdboys
with silver rings. He had that many riddles they
were like the limpets on the sea-.shore. He knew old
songs, and he had the gift of making rhymes himself
to his own tune. So the coming of Calum Eachern
was like the playing of pipes at a wedding on a sum-
mer day.
Calum was little, narrow in the shoulders, and
short in the legs. His face was like a china cu]) for
neatness. He had a little turued-up nose, and white
EIRADH OF CANNA. 160
teetli, and lio shaved his beard clean every day. lie
had a little twinkling eye like a fox's, and when ho
talked to you he cocked his head on one side, like a
sparrow on a dyke.
One night, he was at work in a neighbor's house,
and Eiradli went in with the rest. Calum sat
on his board, and some were looking on and listen-
ing to his talk. When Eiradh went in, he put hia
head on one side and looked at her, and said in a
rhyme —
" What did the fox say?
' Huch ! huch 1 huch !' cried the fox ;
' Cold are 017 bones this day —
« I have lent my skin to cover the head
Of the girl with the red hair."'
All the folk laughed, and Eiradh, laughed, too.
Then she sat down on the floor by the fire, and
hearkened with her cheek on her hand. Calum
Eachern was like a bee in the time of honey. He
stitched, and sang, and told tales about the men of
peace, and the land where jewels grew as thick as
chuckie-stones, and gold is as plenty as the sand of
the sea. Whenever Eiradh looked up, he had his
head on one side, and his eyes were laughing at her.
By and by he nodded, and said :
" What did the sea-gull say ? '
' Kriki ! kriki!' cried the sea-gull ;
' Hard it is to hatch my eggs this day —
I have lent my white breast
To the girl with the red hair,' "
Then he nodded again, and said :
IVO THE LAND OF LORNE.
" What did the heron say ?
' Kray ! kray 1' (said the heron;
' Poor is my fishing in the loch this day —
I have lent my long, straight leg
To the girl with the red hair.' "
With that, he flung down the shears and laughed
till the tears were in his eyes. Eiradli felt angry and
ashamed, and went away.
But for all that, she was not ill pleased. Listening
to Oalum Eachern had been like sitting out of doors
on a bright, sunny day. It made her heart light. All
the niffht long she thought of his talk. She had nev-
DO O
er heard talcs like those before — all about brightness
and a pleasant place. When she went to sleep, she
dreamed she was in an enchanted castle, all made
of 'silver mines and ])recious stones, and that Calum
Eachern was showing her a fountain full of gold fish,
and the fountain seemed to fall in rhyme. All at
once, Calum laughed so loud that the castle was
broken into a thousand pieces, and when she woke up
it was bright day.
The day after that, who should come into the house
but Calum Eachern. "A blessing on this house ! "
said he, and he sat down beside the fire. Eiradh was
putting the potatoes in the big pot, and Calum pointed
at the pot, and said :
" Totoman, totoman,
Little black man.
Three foot under
And bonnet of wood !"
Eiradh laughed at the riddle. Then Calum,
seeing she was pleased, began to talk and sing,
putting his head on one side and laughing. All at
EIIIADH OF CANNA. 171
once he said, looking quite serious, "It's not much
company you will be having here, Eiradli Nicra-
onail."
" That's true enough," said Eiradh.
" It's a dull house that is without the cry of hairns,
I'm thinkiniT,"
" And that's true, too," said Eiradh.
" Then why don't you take a man ? " said he, look-
ing at her very sharp.
Eiradh gave her head a toss, and lifted up tlic lid
of the pot to look in.
" Your cheek is like a rose for redness," said Caluni.
" Are ye ashamed to answer ? "
At that Eiradh lifted up her head and looked him
straight in the face.
" The man is not born that I heed a straw," said
she.
Calum laughed out loud to hear her say that, and a
little after he went away.
Eiradh did not know whether she was pleased or
angry, and all that night she had little sleep. She
did not like to be laughed at, and yet she could not
be rightly angry with such a merry fellow as Calum.
It seemed strange to her that he should come to the
house at all.
It seemed stranger, the next night, when Calum
came in again, and sat down by the fire.
" How does the Lord use you this night, Eiradh
Nicraonail ? "
" The Lord is good," answered Eiradh.
^* Can you read print ? " he said, smiling.
'* Ay," answered Eiradh, " print, and writing too.'*
172 THE LAND OF LORNE.
" And that's a comfort,'' said Calum. " But IVe
brought you somebody to sit with ye by the fire in the
long nights."
" And what's he like ? " asked Eiradh, thinking
Calum meant himself.
" He's not over fine to look at, but he's mighty
learned. He's a little old man with a leather skin,
and his name written on his face, and the marks o'
thumbs all over his inside."
" And where is he this night ? "
" This is him, and here he is, and many a merry
thing he'll teach you, if you attend to his talking,"
said Calum ; and he gave her a little book in the
Gaelic, very old, and covered with black print ; and
soon after that he went away.
"When he was gone, Eiradh sat down by the fire
and turned over the leaves of the book that he had
given her, and it seemed like the voice of Calum talk-
ing in her ear. There were stories about the fairies
and the men of peace, and shieling songs of the south
country, and riddles for the fireside in the south coun-
try on Ilalloween. Eiradh read till she was tired,
and some of the stories made her laugh afterward, as
she sat by the fireside with her cheek on her hand. She
could not help thinking that it would be fine to live
in the south country, where there was corn growing
everywhere, and gardens full of flowers, and no sea.
After that Cahnn Eachern came often to the house,
and Eiradh did not tell him to stay away. Some of
the folk said : " Calum Eachern has a bad name," and
bade Eiradh beware, because he had a false tongue.
Eiradh laughed, and said: " I fear the tongue of no
EIRADn OF CANNA. IT.3
man." Every night she read the printed book, till
ehe knew it from the first page to tlie last, and when
Bhe was ah)ne, she wonld sing hits of tlie songs to
Calum Eachem's tunes. Sometimes she wouhl stand
on the seashore, and look out across the water, and
wonder what like was the country on the other side
of the Rlui. In those davs she was sick of Canna, and
thought to herself: " If I was living in the south
country, I should not be afraid of them that are
dead ; " and she remembered Calum's words : " It's
not much company you will be having here, Eiradh
I*Jicraonail."
One night there was a boat from Tvree in the har-
bor, and when Caliun came in late, Eiradh knew that
he had been drinking with the Tyree men. Ilis face
was red, and his breath smelt strong of the drink.
He tried hard to get his will of her that night, but
Eiradh was a well-doing girl, and pushed him out of
the house. She was angry, and fit to cry, thinking of
the words : " Calum Eachem has a bad name." That
night she had a dream. She thought she was walk-
ing by the side of the sea, on a light night, and she
had a bairn in her arms, and she was giving it the
breast. As she walked, she could hear the ghost of
the lady crying in the tower. Then she felt the babe
she carried as heavy as lead, and it spoke with a man's
voice, and had white teeth ; and when she looked at
its face, it was Calum's face, laughing, all cocked on
one side. With that she woke.
When she saw Calem next, he hung down his
head, and looked so strange and sad that she could
not help laughing as she passed by. Then he ran
174 THE LAND OF LORNE.
after, and she turned upon hiui full of anger. But
Calum had a smooth toniijue, and she soon forgot her
anger listening to one of his tales. She liked him
best of all that day, for he was quiet and serious, and
never laughed once. Eiradh thought to herself:
*' The man is no worse than other men, and drink
will change a wise man into a fool."
Calum never tried to wrong her again, but one night
he spoke out plain, and asked her to marry him, and
go home with him in a Canna boat to the south. It
was a long; while ere Eiradh answered a word. She
sat with her cheek on her hand, looking at the fire,
and thinking of the night her mother died, and of her
father and brothers that were drowned, and of the
voices that came to her out of the sea. It was a
rough night, and the wind blew sharp from the east,
and she could hear the water at the door. Then
she looked at Calum, and he had a bright smile,
and held out his hand. But she only said : " Go
away this night ; " and he went away without a word.
All night long she thought of his words : " It's a
dull house without the cry of bairns," and she remem-
bered the days when her mother used to nurse her,
and her father cut her the crutch of wood with his
own hands. Next morning the sea was still, and the
light was the color of gold on the land beyond the
Rhu. That day the folk seemed sharp and cold,
and more than one mocked her with the name of
Calum ; so that she said to herself, " They shall not
mock me without a cause ; " and when Calum came
to her the next night, she said she would be his
good wife.
EIHADII Ol' OANNA.. l'''''^
Soon after that Calum Eacliern and Eiradh Nic-
raonail were married by the priest from Skye ; and
the day they married they went on board a Canna
smack that was sailing south. An okl man from
Tyree was at the helm, and she sat on her kist close
to him. Calum sat up by the mast with the men,
who were all Canna lads, and as thoy all talked to-
gether, Calum whispered something and laughed, and
all the lads looked at her and laughed too. Ciilum
was full of drink. He had a bottle of whisky in
the breast of his coat, and as the boat sailed out of
the bay, he waved it to the folk on shore, and
laughed like a wild man.
Now Eiradh felt sadder and sadder as she saw Can-
na growing farther and farther away ; for she thought
of her father and mother, and of the graveyard on
the hill. The more the thought, the more she felt
the tears in her eyes and the stone in her tliroat.
Going round the Rhu she had the sea-sickness, and
thought she was going to die. Though she had dwelt
beside the sea so many years, she had never sailed on
the water in a boat.
III.
AYhere Calum Eachern lived, the folk had strange
ways, and many of them had both the Gaelic and the
Eno-lish. Their houses were whitewashed, and roofed
with slate, and there was a long street, with shops
full of all things that man could wish, and there was a
house for the sale of drink. The roads were broad,
and smooth as your hand, and on the sides of the
1V6 THE LAND OF LORNE.
hiJls were fields of com and potatoes. The sea was
twenty miles away, but there was a burn, on the
banks of which the women used to tread their clothes.
Eiradh thought to herself, " It is not as fine a country
as Calum said."
Calum's house was the poorest house there. It had
two rooms, and in the front-room Calum worked;
the back-room was a kitchen, with a bed in the wall.
Eiradh had brought with her some of the furniture
from her father's house, and plenty of woolen woof
made by her mother's own hands ; and she soon made
the place pleasant and clean. They had not been
home a day when the laird came in for the back rent
that was due, and Eiradh paid the money out of her
own store. She had the money in a stocking inside
her kist, and some of it was in copper and silver, but
there were pound notes, quite ragged and old with be-
ing kept so many years.
It would take me a long winter's night to tell all
that Eiradh thought in those days. She was like one
in a dream. She felt it strange to see so many people
coming and going in and out of the shops and houses,
and the crowds on market-days, and the great heap of
eheep and cattle. The folk were civil and fair-spoken,
but most of the men drank at the public-house. There
was a man next door who would get mad-drunk every
night he had the money, and it was a sad sight to see
his wife's face cut and bruised, and the bairns at her
side ciying for lack of food. Many of the men were
weavers, and walked lame, as Eiradh used to do, and
had pale, sickly faces, black under the eyes. The
Gaelic they had was a different Gaelic from that the
EIRADH OV CANNA. 177
folk had in Canna, and sometimes EIradli conld not
understand it at all.
Kow, it was not lonp^ ere Eiradh found that Calum
had a bad name in the place for drinking ; and be-
sides, he had beguiled a servant lass the year before,
under the promise of marriage. Eiradh thought of
the night when lie had come drunk to the house, but
she said nothing to Calum. She would sit and watch
him for hours, and wonder she had thought him so
bright and free ; for she soon saw he was a double
man, with a side for his home and another for stran-
gers; and the fii*st side was as dull as the second was
bright. lie never raised his hand to her in those
days, and was sober ; but he would sit with a silent
tongue, and sometimes give her a strange look. Eiradh
thought to herself, " Calum is like the south country,
and looks brightest to them that are farthest away."
Ayear after they had come to the south coimtry, Cal-
um turned his front room into a shop, and made Eiradh
look after it while he was at work. The goods were
bought with her own good money, and were tea, sugar,
tobacco, and meal. The first month Eiradh got all
her money back. It was pleasant to sit there and
sell, and know that she made a profit on each thing
she sold ; and Calum was light and merry, when he
saw that his idea had turned out well. Eiradh's
health was not so good in those days, and she had no
children.
After that came days of trouble, for Calum grew
worse and worse. He would take the money that
Eiradh had earned, and spend it in the public-house ;
and when he came home in drink, he raised his hand
8*
lis THE LAND OF LORNE.
to lier more than once. Then Eiradh thought to her-
self, " My father did not love me, but he never struck
me a blow ; there is not a man in Canna who would
lift his hand to a woman." After tliat she took no
pleasure in trade, but would sit with a sick face and
a silent tongue, thinkincc of Canna in the sea. Calum
liked her the less because she did not complain. One
day he told her he did not many her for herself, but
for the money she had saved ; and this was a sore
thing to say to her ; but though the tears made her
blind, she only looked at him and did not answer a
word. There was some of the money left in her kist,
but she never cared to look at it after what Calum
had said.
After the day he married Eiradli, Calum had never
left his home to work through the country as he once
did. But one night late in the year he said he must
go south on business, and in the morning he went
away. Eiradh never saw him again on this side the
narrow house. lie went straight to the big city of
Glasgow, and there he met the lass he had beguiled
the year he married Eiradh, and the two sailed over
the seas to Canada. The news came quick to Eiradh
by the mouth of one who saw them on the quay.
One would need the tongue of a witch to tell all
Eiradh's thoughts in those days. The first news
seemed like the roar of the sea the time her brothers
died, and the words stopped in her ears like the cry-
ing of the water day and night. Slie felt ashamed to
show herself in the street, and she could not bear the
comfort of the good wives ; for they all said, " Calum
had ever a bad name," and she remembered how tlie
EIRADII OF CANNA. Il9
folk in Canna had used the same words. She would
sit with her apron over her face, and greet* for hours
with no noise. It seemed dreadful to he there in the
south country, without friend or kindred, and the folk
havino* a different Gaelic from her own. She felt
sick and stupid, just like herself when she would cry
night and day from the cradle, without strength to
run upon her feet. She thought to herself, " I may
cry till my heart breaks now, but no one heeds;"
and the thought brought up the picture of her mother
lying in the bed all white, and made her cry the
more. Kow, in those days voices came about her
that belonged to another land, and the faces of her
father and mother went past her like the white break-
ing of a wave on the beach in the night. She had
dreams whenever she slept, and in every one of her
dreams she heard the souirh of the sea.
But Eiradh Eachern was a well-doing lass, and had
been bred to face trouble when it came. Her lirst
thought was this : " I will go back to Canna in the
sea, and w^ork for my bread in the fields." But when
she looked in the kist, she found that Calum had been
there and taken away all the good money out of the
stocking, and a picture beside of the Virgin Mary, set
round with yellow gold and precious stones the
color of blood. Now, this grieved Eiradh most.
She did not heed the money so much, but the picture
had belonged to her mother, and she would not have
parted with it for hundreds of pounds. She felt a
sharp thread run through her heart, and she was sick
for pain.
* Weep.
180 THE LAMU OF LORNE.
It is a wonder how much trouble a strong man
or woman in good health can bear when it comes.
Eiradii thought to herself at first, " I shall die; " but
she did not die. The Lord was not willing that she
should be taken away then. He spared her, as he
had spared her in her sickness when a bairn at the
breast.
One day a neighbor came in and said, "Will
you not keep open the shop the same as before?
You have always paid for your goods, and those that
sent them will not press for payment at first."
Now, Eiradh had never thought of that, and her
heart lightened. That same day she got the
schoolmaster to write a letter, in the English, to
the big city, asking goods. The next week the
goods came.
Then Eiradh thought, "God has not forsaken
me," and worked hard to put all in order as before.
Many folk came and bought from her, out of kind-
ness at first, but afterward because they said she
was a just woman, and gave full value for their
money. All this gladdened her heart. She said,
" God helps those that are fallen," and every penny
that she earned seemed to have the blessing of
God.
In those times she would lock up the house when
the day was done, and walk by herself along the
side of the burn ; for the sound of the water seemed
like old times ; and when the moon came out on the
r^rcen fields, they looked for all the world like smooth
water. Yoices from another land came to her, and
spirits passed before her eyes ; so that she often thought
EIRADH OF CA'NNA. 181
to hereelf, " I wonder how Canna looks this night,
and whether it is storm or calm ?"
I might talk till the snmmcr came, and not tell
you half of the many thoughts Eiradh had in the
south country. She loved to sit by herself, as when
she was a child; and the folk thought her a dull
woman, with a white face. The women said, " Calum
Eachern's wife has the greed of money strong in her
heart, but she is a just-dealing woman." It was
true that Eu-adh found pleasure in trade, and would
not sell to those who did not come to buy money in
hand. Every piece she saved she put in the stocking
in the old kist, and every week she counted it out in
her lap.
So the time passed, and sometimes Eiradh could
hardly call up right the memory of Calum's face. It
seemed like a dream. These were the days of her
prosperity, and every week she saved something, and
every second Sabbath she saw the priest. Now, the
folk in those parts had a religion of their own, and
did not believe in the Virgin Mary or the Pope of
Rome. Some of them were worse than that, and did
not believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. All the chil-
dren had the English as well as the Gaelic ; and the
preachings were in the English, and the English was
taught in the school. But all the time she lived in
the south Eiradh could not speak a word of that
tongue. It seemed to her like the chirping of birds,
with little meaning and a heap of sound.
All the years Eiradh sat in the shop, the Lord
drew silver threads in her hair, and made lines like
pencil-marks over her face ; and when she was thirty-
182 THE LAND OF LORNE.
five years of age her sight failed her, and she had to
wear glasses. She had little sickness, but she stooped
in the shoulders, and had a dry cough. In those days
she did not go out of the house at night, but sat over
the fire reading the book Caluin had given her long
years before. The leaves of the book were all black
and torn, and many of the pages were gone. Every
time she looked at it she thought of old times. She
had little pleasure in the tales and riddles of the
south country — all about brightness and a pleasant
place ; for she thought to herself, " The tales are all
lies, and the south country looks brightest far off, and
the folk do not believe in the Virgin Mary or the
saints," For all that, she liked to look at the old
book ; and let her thoughts go back of their own ac-
cord, like the flowing of water in a bum. Best of all,
she loved to coimt the bright money into her lap, and
think how the neighbors j^raised her as a just-dealing
woman who throve well.
lY.
The years went past Eiradh Eachem like the waves
breaking on the shore, and the days were as like each
other as the waves breaking, and she could not coimt
them at all. She was like the young maii that went
to sleep on the Island of Peace, and had a dream of
watching the fairy people, and when he woke he was
old and frail upon his feet. Eiradh was fifty years of
age when she counted the money in her kist for the
last time, and found that she had put by a hundred
and twenty pounds in good money. That night she
EIRADII OF CANNA. 183
sat with the heap of money in her lap, and the salt
tears running down her elieeks, and her bottom-lip
quivering like the witliercd leaf on the bough of a
tree.
Now, all these years Eiradh had one thought, and
it was this: "Before I die, I will go back to Canna
in the sea." Every day of her life slie fancied she
saw the picture of the green cliffs covered with goats
and sheep, and the black scarts sitting on the weedy
rocks in a row, and the sea rising and falling like
the soft breasts of a woman in sound sleep. Every
ni<iht of her life she had a dream of her father's
house by the shore, and the water crying at the
door. It seemed ever calm weather to her thoughts,
and the sea was kinder and sweeter than when she
was a child. Eiradh often thought to herself, " The
water took away my five brothei*s, and close to the
water my father and mother closed their eyes ;" and
the more she thought of them sleeping, the less she
was afraid.
So when she had saved one hundred and twenty
pounds in good money, she felt that she could abide
no longer in the south country. The more she tried
to stay a little longer, the more voices from another
land came to her, saying, " Eiradh, Eiradh ! go back
to Canna in the sea." At last she had a dream ; and
she thought she was lying in her sowe* in a dark
land, waiting to be laid in the earth. All at once she
felt herself rocking up and down, and heard the sound
of the sea crying, and when she put out her hand at
* Sliroud.
184 THE LAND OF LOIINE.
her side it was dripping wet. Then Eiradh knew
that she was drifting in a boat, and tlie boat was a
coffin witli the lid off, and thougli there was a strong
wind she floated on the waves like a cork. All nijxht
long she floated and never saw land ; only a light
shining far, far ofi", over the dark water. When she
woke she was sore troubled, and said to herself, " It is
my wraith that I saw, and unless I haste I may never
see my home again."
After that she never rested till she had sold the
trade of her shop in the south country, and all she
kept to herself was the old kist full of her clothes and
the money she had saved. But she made a pouch of
leather with her own hands, and put the money in it,
and fastened the pouch to her waist underneath her
clothes, and the only thing in the pouch beside the
money was the old book in the Gaelic Calum had
given her when she was a young woman.
I have told you that the place was twenty miles
from the sea. One day she put her kist in a cart that
was going that way, and the day after she took the
road. It was a fine morning, early in the year.
"When she got to the top of the hill, and saw the place
below her where she had lived so long, all asleep and
still, with the smoke going straight up out of the
houses, and not a soul in the street, it seemed like a
dream. As she went on, the country was strange,
but it looked finer and bonnier than any country she
had ever seen. Now, her heart was so light that day
that she could walk like a strong man. The sun came
out, and the birds sang, and the land was green, and
wherever she went the sheep cried. Eiradh thought
EIRADII OF CANNA. 185
to herself, "My dream was true after all, and the
south country is a pleasant place."
For all that she was weary hif^ to see Canna in the
sea, and wondering if it was the same all those years.
She counted on her fingers the names of the folks she
knew, and wondered how many were dead. Every
one of them seemed like a friend. She was keen to
hear her own Gaelic again after so many years in a
foreign land.
She walked twelve miles that day, and slept at a
farm by the road at night. The next day she saw
the sea.
It was good weather, and the sea was covered with
fishing-boats and ships. She could hear the sough of
the water a long way off, and it seemed like old
times. There was a bit village on the shore, full of
fisher-folk, and the houses minded her of those where
she was born. There were skiflfs drawn up on the
shore, and nets put out to dry, and the air was full of
the smell of fish.
She slept in the house of a fisher-woman that night,
and the next day a fishing-boat took her out to catch
the big steamboat to Tobermory. It was the first
time that Eiradh had seen a boat like that, and it
seemed to her like a great beast panting and groan-
ing, and swimming through the water with fins and
tail. It was full of the smell of fish, and the decks
were covered with herring-barrels, and where there
were no herring-barrels there were cattle and sheep.
In one part of the boat there was a long box like a
coffin, covered over with a piece of tarpaulin to keep
it dry ; and one of the sailors told Eiradh that it held
186 THE LAND OF LORNE.
the dead body of an old man fro:n Skye, who had
died on the Firth o' Clyde, and was being carried
home to be buried with his kindred at home. Eiradli
said, "It is a sad thing to be buried far away from
kindred ;" and she thought to herself, " If I had died
in the south country, there would have been no kin
or friend to carry me to Canna in theeea."
Neither wind nor tide could keep the big steam-
boat back ; so wonderful are the works of the hand of
man, when God is willing. Late at night Eiradh
landed at Tobermory in Mull, but the moon was
bright, and she saw that the bay was full of fishing-
boats at anchor. Eiradh wondered to herself if any
of the boats were from Canna.
She got a lodging in the inn that night, and the
next morning she went down to the shore. There
were heaps of fishennen on the beach, and many of
them passed her the sign of the day, but none of them
seemed to have her own Gaelic. Then Eiradh said,
"Is there a Canna boat in the bay?" and they said,
" Ay," and pointed out a big smack with her sails up,
and a great patch on the mainsail. The skipper of the
smack was on shore, and his name was Alastair. He
was a big black- whiskered man, with large silly eyes
like a seal's. Eiradh minded him well, thouirh ho
was a laddie when she left, and went up and called
him by his name, but he stared at her and shook hia
head. Then Eiradh said, "Do you mind Eiradh
JSTicraonail, who dwelt in the small house by the sea ?"
and the man laughed, and asked after Calum Eachern.
Eiradh told him her troubles, and got the promise of
a passage to Canna that day.
\
EIllAJjll or CANNA. 187
In the afternoon it l)lc\v hard from the cast, but
Eiradli went on board the smack with lier hist.
They ran out of tlio Sound of Mull with the wind, and
kept in close to the E,hu, for the sake of smootli water.
Kiradh felt a heavines;^ and pain about her heart, and
sat on the kist with her head leanino; aijainst the side
of the boat. She had a touch of the sea-sickness, but
that passed away.
Alastair steered the smack on Ihe west side of Eiir,
and the squalls came so sharp off the Scaiir that they
had to take down the topsail. As they sailed in the
smooth water on the lee side of Eig Eiradh asked
about the Canna folk she had known, and most of
thetn were dead and buried. Then she asked about
the old man who had taught her to read and write,
and he was dead too. Many of the young folk had
gone away across the ocean, to work among strangers
and wander in a foreign land.
The heart of Eiradh sank to hear the news ; for she
thought to herself, " Every face will be as strange as
the faces in the south." Then Alastair, seeing she
put her hand to her heart, said, " What ails ye, wife ?
are you sick?" Eiradh nodded, and leant her head
over the boat, looking at the sea.
A little after that the smack rounded the north end
of Rum, and Eiradh saw Canna in the sea, just as
she had left it Ions: aa:o. There was a shower all over
CD "
the ocean, but the green side of Canna was shining
with the light through a cloud. Eiradh looked and
looked ; for there was not an inch of the green land
but she knew by heart.
The wind blew fresh and keen, and they had to
1S8 THE LAND OF LORNE.
lower the pealc of the mainsail running for the har-
bor. Eiradh saw the tower, all gray and wet in the
rain, and she thought she heard the lady's voice call-
ins: as in old times. Then she looked over to the
month of Loch Scavaig, thinking to herself, " There
is the place where my brothers were lost !" and that
brought up the picture of her father, sitting dead on
the cliffs and looking out to sea. Eiradh's eyes were
blind with tears, and she could not see Canna any
more ; but as they ran round into the bay, her eyes
cleared, and she saw lier home close by the water-side,
with the roof all gone, and the walls broken down, and
a cow looking out of the door.
A little after that, when the anchor was down and
the mainsail lowered, Alastair touched Eiradh on the
arm, thinking she was asleep, for she was leaning back
with her face in her cloak. Then he drew back the
cloak and saw her face with a strange smile on it, and
the eyes wide open. Though he was a big man, he
was scared, and called out to his mates, and an old
man among them said, " Sure enough she is dead."
So they carried her body ashore in their boat, and put
it in one of the houses, and sent word to the laird.
Eiradh Eachern had died of the same disease that
killed her mother. She had o'er many thoughts to
live long, and she knew the name of trouble. In her
kist they found her grave-clothes all ready made and
neatly worked with her own hands, and they buried
her on the hill-side close to her father and mother.
May the Lord God find her ready there to answer to
her name at the Last Day I
^IQHT ON TKE MINCU. 181)
CHAPTER IX.
NIGHT ON THE MTNOH.
Gloomy Prophecies— TeiTora of the llincb— The Viking— Hamish Shaw,
the Pilot— Leaving Cauna Harbor — Pictures of Skye and the Cuchul-
lins — Remarks on Sir Walter Scott and his Poems — Afloat on the Minch
^The Far-off Isles — Twilight — Ilamish Shaw at the Helm — Summer
Night — Talk about Ghosts and Superstitions — The Evil Eye— The
Death-Cry — Wiud Rising — Wind and Mist— Water-Snakes— Midnight—
The Strange Ship — Peep o' Day — The Red Buoy — Anchorage in Loch
Boisdale.
" She is a poor thing, a bit toy ! " said the captain
of the Lowland trader, regarding the Tern from the
deck of his big vessel, while we lay in Canna harbor.
" She's no' for these seas at all ; and the quicker ye
are awa' hame wi' her round the Khu ye'll be the
wiser. She should never hae quitted the Clyde."
Set by the side of the trader's great hull, she cer-
tainly looked a " toy " — so tiny, so slight, with her
tapering mast and slender spars. To all our enumer-
ation of her good qualities, the captain merely replied
an incredulous " oomph," and assured us that, were
she as " good as gold," the waters of the Minch would
drown her like a rat, if there was any wind at all.
Few yachts of twice her tonnage, and twice her beam,
ever dared to show their sails on tlie outside of Skye,
and the wiser they, tliought the captain. Why,
even he, in his great vessel, which was like a rock in
100 THE LAND OF LOUISE.
the water, had seen such sights out there as had
made his hair stand on end ; and he launched into a
series of awful tales, showing how he had driven
from the point of Sleat to Isle Omsaj, "up to his
neck " in the sea ; how a squall off Dunvegan Head
liad carried away his topmast, broken liis mainsail-
boom, and swept his decks clean of boats and rubbish,
all at one fell crash ; and he added numberless other
terrific things, all tending to show that we were like-
ly to get into trouble, When he heard that we actu-
ally purposed crossing to Boisdale, and beating up
along the shores of the Long Isles, as far as Storno-
way, he set us down as madmen at once, and conde-
scended to no more advice. After that, till the mo-
ment we sailed, he regarded us from tlie side of his
vessel in a solemn sort of way, as if we were people
going to be hung, and well deserving of our fate.
Ton see, he was getting gray and cautious — his blood
lacked phosphorus, his heart fire.
He frightened us a little, though. The Wanderer,
wlio had planned the expedition, looked at the skipper,
or the Viking, as we got into the habit of calling
him, because he wasn't like one. The Viking, who
had never before ventured with a yacht beyond the
Clyde, was very pale, and only wanted encourage-
ment to turn tail and fly. But Ilamish Shaw, the
pilot, setting his lips together, delivered himself so
violently against flight, vowed so staunchly that, hav-
ing come thus far, we must proceed, or be forever-
more branded as jjretenders, and finally swore round-
ly by his reputation as a seaman to carry us safely
through all difiiculties, that even the Viking shook
NIGHT ON THE, MINCH. 191
his liorrent locks, and became, for tlie instant, nearly
as reckless as he looked. " Nothinj?," said the Yikinir,
in a glow of intense ardor, " nothing gives me so much
pleasure as tearing through the sea, with the wind
blowing half a gale, and the boat's side buried to tlie
cockpit-combing,"
We had all great confidence in Hamish Shaw, for
two very good reasons : first, because he had long
been accustomed to sailing all sorts of boats in those
waters; and second, because he was thoroughly
plucky, steady as a rock, and cool as snow, in times
of peril. Again and again, during the voyage, did
we find reason to bless ourselves that we had such a
man on board. He was fond of talk, and had much
to say well worth listening to, but at critical moments
he was like the sphinx, only rather more active. To
sec him at the helm, with his eye on the water, stead-
ily helping the little craft through a tempestuous sea,
bringing her bow up to the billows, and burying it in
them whenever they would have drowned her broad-
side, or sliai'j)ly watching the water to windward,
with the great mainsail-sheet in his hand, shaking
her through the squalls oif a mountainous coast —
these are things worth seeing, things that make one
proud of the race. As for the Viking, although he
had considerable experience in sailing in smooth
water, and although he was a very handy fellow in
the ship-carpenter's line, he was nowhere when it be-
gan to blow. The Wanderer could do a little in an
emergency, but his nautical knowledge was very
slight, just enabling him to distinguish one rope from
another, if he was not particularly hurried in his
192 THE LAND OF LORNE.
movements. ITow, the cook (as you have guessed
from the beginning) was a lady, and, of course, could
be of no use on deck in bad weather, although, as
Hamish Shaw expressed it, she showed a man's spirit
throughout the whole voyage.
In plain point of fact, there was only one thorough-
bred sailor on board, only one man thoroughly com-
petent to act on his own responsibility during a great
emergency ; and as he had only one pair of hands,
and could not be everywhere at the same moment,
'twas a miracle that the Tern escaped destruction on
more than one occasion. But (as the female novel-
ists used to say) we anticipate.
As the distance from Canna to Loch Boisdalo, the
nearest pomt in the outer Hebrides, was about thirty
miles, all quite open water, without the chance of any
kind of harbor, and as the Tern^ even with a fair
wind, could not be expected to run more than five or
six miles an hour in a sea, it was advisable to choose
a good day for the passage. As usual in such cases,
we began by being over-cautious, and ended by being
over-impatient. This day was too calm, that day was
too windy. We ended by doing two things which we
had begun by religiously vowing not to to do — never
to start for a long passage except at early morning ;
never to venture on such a passage without a fair
wind. "We weighed anchor at about two o'clock in
the afternoon, with the wind blowing nothwest —
nearly dead in our teeth.
But it was a glorious day, sunny and cheerful ; the
clouds were high and white, and the waters were
sparkling and flashing far as the eye could see. The
NIGHT ON THE MINCH. 193
little Tern seemed to catcli the f^lee. Directly the wind
touched her white wings, she slipped through the har-
bor with rapid flight, plunged splashing out at the
harbor mouth, and was soon swimming far out in the
midst of the ocean, happy, eager, tilting the waves
from her breast like a beautiful swimmer in his
strength. Next to the rapturous enjoyment of having
wings one's self, or being able to sport among tlie waves
like a great northern diver, is the pleasure of sailing,
during such weather, in a boat like the Tern. The
blood is sparkling, but the brain is at work, beating
steady as a pulse, under thoughts that come and go
like the glimmer of foam and light.
Canna never looked more beautiful than that day —
her cliffs were wreathed into wondrous forms and
tinctured with deep ocean-dyes, and the slopes above
were rich and mellow in the light. Beyond her was
Kum, always the same, a dark beauty with a gentle
heart. But what most fascinated the eye was the
southern coast of Skye, lying ou the starboard bow
as we were beatinj; northward. The Isle of Misf*^
was clear on that occasion, not a vapor lingering on
the heights, and although it must be admitted that
much of its strange and eerie beauty was lost, still
we had a certain gentle loveliness to supply its place.
Could that be Skye, the deep coast full of rich, warm
under-shadow, the softly-tinted hills, " nakedly visible,
Avithout a cloud," sleeping against the " dim, sweet
harebell-color" of the heavens? Where was the
* This name is purely Scandinavian — Sky signifying " cloud ;"
■wlience, too, our own word " sky," the under, or vapor, heaven-
9
104 THE LAND OF LORNE.
thunder-cloud, tlie weeping shadows of the cirrus, the
white flashes of cataracts through the black smoke of
rain on the mountain-side? Were those the Cuchul-
lins — the ashen-gray heights turning to solid amber
at the peaks, with the dry seams of torrents softening
in the sunliglit to golden shades ? Why, Blaven,
witli its hooked forehead, would have been bare as
Primrose Hill, save for one sliglit white wreath of va-
por that, glittering with the hues of the prism, float-
ed gently away to die in the delicate blue. Dark
were the headlands, yet warmly dark, projecting into
the sparkling sea and casting summer shades. Skye
was indeed transformed, yet its beauty still remained
spiritual, still it kept the faint feeling of the glamour.
It looked like witch-beauty, wondrous and unreal.
You felt that an instant might change it — and so it
might and did. Ere we had sailed many miles away,
Skye was clouded over with a misty woe, her face
was black and wild, she sobbed in the midst of the
darkness with the voice of falling rain and moaning
winds.
Sir Walter Scott, in his notes made during a High-
land tour, describes this western coast of Skye as
" highly romantic, and at the same time displaying a
richness of vegetation in the lower ground to which we
have hitherto been strangers ;" adding, " We passed
three salt-water lochs, or deep embayments, called
Loch Bracadale, Loch Einort, and Loch , and
about eleven o'clock opened up Loch Scavaig. We
were now mider the western termination of the high
range of mountains called Guillen, or Quillin or
Ooolin, whose weather-beaten and serrated peaks we
NIGHT ON THE MINCII. li»3
luui admired at a distance from Dunvogan. They
sank hero npon the sea, but with the same bold and
peremptory aspect which their distant appearance
Indicated. The tops of the ridge, apparently inacces-
sible to human foot, were rent and split into the most
tremendous pinnacles. Toward the base of these
bare and precipitous crags, the ground, enriched by
the soil washed down from them, is comparatively
verdant and productive." And he goes on, in the
same gazetteer style, to describe Loch Scavaig and
Loch Corruisk, just as if he were Brown or Robinson,
and not the second name in the great roll of glorious
creators. Nor is he much more felicitous in his treat-
ment of the same theme in verse. This is his poetic
description of Loch Corruisk, and it is quoted with
enthusiasm in every guide-book :
" Awhile tlieir route they silent made.
As lucu who stalk for mountain-deer,
Till the g(X)d Bruce to Ronald said,
' St. Mary ! what a scene is here I
I've traversed many a mountain-strand,
Abroad, and in my native land.
And it has been my lot to tread
Where safety more than pleasure led.
Thus, many a waste I've wandered o'er,
Clomb many a crag, crossed many a moor.
But, by my halidome,
A Bcene bo rude, so wild as this,
Yet so sublime in barrenness,
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press
Where'er I happ'd to roam.'
196 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
XIV.
" Xo marvel thus the Monarch spake ;
For rarely human eye has known
A scene so stern as that dread hike,
Witli its dark ledge of barren stone.
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway
Hath rent a strange and shattered way
Through the rude bosom of the hill,
And that each naked precipice,
Sable ravine, and dark abyss.
Tells of the outrage still.
The wildest glen, but this, can show
Some touch of Nature's genial glow ;
On high Benmore green mosses grow.
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencoo,
And copse on Cruchan-Ben ;
But here — above, around, below,
On mountain or in glen —
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower.
Nor aught of vegetative power,
The weary eye may ken.
For all is rocks at random thrown,
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone.
As if were here denied
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew.
That clothe with many a varied hue
The bleakest mountain-side.
XV.
' And wilder, forward as they wound.
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound.
Huge terraces of granite black
Afforded rude and cumbered track ;
For from the mountain hoar.
Hurled headlong in some night of fear,
When yelled the wolf, and fled the doer.
Loose crags had toppkid o'er ;
MIGHT O^ TJIE MINCJl. li>7
And RonK", chanco-poiscd and balanced, lay
So that a Btrii^lin^ arm niij^ht sway
A mass no liost could raise,
In Nature's range at random thrown,
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone
On its i)recarious base.
The evening mists, with ceaseless change,
Now clothed the mountains' lofty range.
Now left their foreheads l)are,
And round the skirts their mantle furled.
Or on the sable waters curled,
Or on the eddying breezes whirled,
Dispersed in middle air.
And oft, condensed, at once they lower.
When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower
Pours like a torrent down ;
And when return the sun's glad beams.
Whitened with foam a thousand streams
Leap from the mountain's crown."
Bmcc might sv/ear himself lioarse " by his hali-
dome" crc we could admit that the above was mucli
more than the dryest verbiage. Yet the general fea-
tures of the landscape are caught as in a photograph,
with a bald fidelity which is characterestic of all Sir
AValter's efforts in verse, and is noteworthy as having
won for itself the special praise of Mr. Ruskin. "We
shall have something to say of Corruisk in good time,
and it will not be difficult to deny that "Walter Scott
felt the spirit of the wild scenes at all — so totally out
of harmony with nature is his verbose enumeration of
details. Sliakspeare, with his faultless vision, would
not have failed to see Con'uisk as it is, and to picture
it in true emotional colors, but perhaps only Shelley,
of all our poets, could have felt it to the true spiritual
height and blended it into music, thought, and dream.
108 THE LAND OF LORNE.
AVith the same felicity in prose and verse, Sir "Wal-
ter, in the already-quoted extract from his journal,
talks of the Coolins having a ^^ peremptory aspect^
which their distant appearance indicated " (\vc cannot
construe this sentence), and in an easy, general way,
speaks of the scenery of the neighborhood as " highly
romantic." Is "peremptory," then, the adjective to
apply to yonder peaks ? Do the ghost-world, the
strange dreams we have in sleep, the creeping thoughts
we have in death-chambers, the whisperings we liave
from that " undiscovered country " — do all these
things, any of these things, strike us as being " per-
emptory V There is a perkish, commonplace, preten-
tious air about that word, as applied to beautiful
mountains. Like that other word, " romantic," it
should be cut out of the poetic vocabulary. The bea-
dle is " peremptory," and the sensation scenes at met-
ropolitan theaters are " highly romantic."
AVe were flying along quickly, and the breeze was
heading us less and less. The sea still sparkled, far
as the eye could see, a flashing surface —
" Dappled o'er with shadows flung
From many a brooding cloud ;"
the wool-white cloud above, the soft shadow below.
There was no danger, and the Viking was like a lion.
All went merry as a marriage-bell. Picture after
picture rose up, grew into perfect loveliness, and faded
like a fairy palace into the air. Now it was Mac-
Icod's Maidens, the three sister peaks on the western
coast of Skye, linked together by a dim rainbow, and
glimmering brightly through a momentary shower;
NIGHT ON TIIK MINCIl. 1^9
again, it was the far-oiTmoiitli of Loch Bracndalc, rich
in the darkest purple tints, with a real red-sailed fish-
ing-hoat in the foreground, to bring out the picture,
just as Turner would have placed it on the canvas ;
and still again, it was the ('uchullins, already wreathed
in mist, magnified to still more gigantic size by their
own darkness, and looking as forlorn as if no sunlight
had ever fallen on their livid brows.
But more frequently, with keener interest, witli
more anxious longing, our eyes were turned west-
ward — to the far-off isles whither we were bound.
We could see them better now, misted over by dis-
tance — part of the Barra highland, the three great
hills of Uist, and, dimmest of all, the high hills of
Harris. As the vapors shifted on the coast, the shape
of the land changed ; what liad looked like moun-
tains, drifted awav before the wind ; what had seemed
a cloud, outlined itself darkly and more darkly ; and,
strange to say, the whole coast seemed, as we drew
nearer, to retreat itself farther away, insomuch that
when we had beaten ten or twelve miles of the actual
distance to Loch Boisdale, the outer Hebrides looked
as distant as ever, and we almost thought there must
have been some mistake in our calculation of the num-
ber of miles across.
It was a strange feeling — riding out there in the
open Minch in that little boat, and knovring that a
storm, if it did catch us, would leave us little time to
say our prayers. The vessel was too small and crank
to " lie to," and, running before the wind, she would
have drowned herself in no time. True, we had ex-
temporized a kind of wooden scuttle for the cockpit,
200 THE LAND OF LORNE.
v/liicli inight be of service in a sea, and did actually
save us from some peril ; but the boat, as llamish
Shaw expressed it, wanted " body," and would never
live out bad weather in the open. It was a wonder
llamish ever accompanied us at all, he had such pro-
found contempt for the Tem^ quite agreeing with the
skipper in Canna that she was merely a toy, a play-
thing. "We suppose, however, that he had confidence
in himself, and knew that if any one could save her
at a pinch, he could,
AVe had started so late, that before we were half-
way across it was growing quite dark. It promised
to be a good night, however. The worst of our situa-
tion just then was that the wind was beginning to
fail, and we were making very little way through the
rouffh roll of the sea.
One certainly did not feel comfortable, tumbling
out there in the deepening twilii;;ht, while the land on
either side slowly mingled itself with the clouds.
After taking our bearings by the compass, and getting
a drop of something warm, we could do nothing but
eit and wait for events. The Yiking was beginning
to feel unwell. Shivering, he looked to windward,
seeing all sorts of nameless horrors. Twenty times, at
least, he asked llamish what kind of a night it prom-
ised to be. Twice he rushed down to examine the
weather-glass, an aneroid, and, to his horror, it was
slowly sinking. Then he got lights, and buried him-
self among the charts, feebly gazing at a blank space
01 paper labeled, " The Minch." At last, unable to
disguise it any longer, he began to throw out dark
hints that we were doomed ; that it was madness sail-
NIGHT ON THE MlNClI. '-^01
ing at night j that he had seen it from the beginning,
and sliouhl not have ventured so far ; tliat ho knew
from the color of the sky that we sliould have a storm
that night; and that, only let him get safe back
'round the Ehu," no temptation on earth should
'hire him again beyond the Crinan Canal.
But Hamish Shaw was in his glory. lie loved
Bailing at night, and had been constantly nrging us
into it. He had learned the habit as a fisherman — it
was associated with much that was wildest and noblest
in his life — and he was firmly persuaded that he could
see his way anywhere in the waters, by night as well
as by day. Owl-like, wakeful and vigilant, he sat at
the helm, with his weather-beaten face looming
through his matted ringlets, his black pipe set be-
tween his teeth, and his eye looking keenly to wind-
ward. He was not a sentimental man ; he did not
care nmch for " scenery ;" but do you think there was
no dreamy poetry in his soul, that he had no subtle
pleasure, concealed almost from himself, as the heaven
bared its glittering breast of .stars, and the water that
darkened beneath reflected back the light, and the
wind fell softly, till we could hear the deep breathing-
of the sea itself? What memories drifted across his
brain ! — of wild nights at the herring-fishing, of rain,
Bnow, and wind, and of tender niglits in his Highland
home, when he went courting, in Highland fashion, to
the lassie's chamber-door ! He is a strange study,
Hamish Shaw. To hear him speak directly of any
scene he has visited, you would not credit him with
any insight. But he sees more than he knows. His
life is too full to take in separate effects, or to wonder
9*
202 THE LAND OF LOllNE.
anew. "What light he throws for us on old thoughts
and stipei-stitions, on tender affections of the race !
His speech is full of water and wind. lie uses a fine
phrase as' easily as nature fashions a bud or a leaf.
He speaks in natural symbols, as freely as he uses an
oar. His clear, fresh vision penetrates even into the
moral world, quite open and fearless even there, where
the best of us become purblind.
"We have tried again and again, for our own
amusement, to reproduce a few specimens of Shaw's
English. He is a true Gael, and speaks a foreign
tongue, acquired in early youth. His language is at
once remarkable for its obscurity and the frequent use
of big words, and yet for a strange felicity of verbal
touch. He attaches a certain meaning of his own to
words, and tries hard to be explicit. For example,
speaking once of the Gaelic speech, and becoming
warm in its praise, " The Gaelic," he said, " is a kind
of guttural language, a principal and positive lan-
guage ; a language, d'ye see ? full of himoledge and
essoice.^^ It would be difficult to find anything ob-
scurer than the beginning of the explanation, or more
felicitous than its conclusion. The one word "es-
sence " is perfect in its terse expression of meaning.
" I'm of the opinion," said llamish, quietly survey-
ing the heavens, " that the night will be good. Yen's
a clear sky to windward, and there's nae carry. I
would a heap sooner sail a craft like this by night than
by day — the weather is more settled between gloam-
ing and sunrise; and ye have one great advantage —
the light is aye gaining on ye, instead o' the dark-
ness."
NIGHT ON THE MINCH. ^03
" J3ut, Shaw, man," cried the Viking, " we arc
creeping closer and closer to the land, and it will be
a fearful businesa making it out in the mirk."
Shaw shrugged his shoulders.
" If we canna see it, we maun just smell it," ho
said. "It's useless to fash your head."
" A coast sown with rocks as thick as if they had
been shaken out of a pepper-box 1 Reefs here, dan-
ger everywhere ! And not a beacon nearer than Illui
Ilunish lighthouse ! O my God ! "
And the Viking wailed.
By this time the summer night had quite closed in ;
Canna and Skye had long faded out of sight behind
us, but we could still make out the form of the land
ahead. The wind was rising again, and blowing
gently on our quarter, so that we bade fair to make
the coast of the Long Island sooner than was advisa-
ble. Still, it would have been injudicious to remain
longer than was necessary out in the open ; for a
storm might come on by morning, and our fate bo
sealed. The best plan was to creep to within a couple
of miles of the land, and hang about until we had
sufficient daylight to make out our situation. It was
even possible, if it did not get much darker, that wo
might even be able to distinguish the mouth of Loch
Boisdale in the night.
The Viking plunged below to the charts, and, to
while away the time, the Wanderer began talking to
the steereman about superstition. It was a fine eerie
situation for a talk on that subject, and the still sum-
mer night, with the deep, dreary murmur of the sea,
powerfully stimulated the imagination.
204 THE LAND OF LOBNE.
"I say, ITamisli," said the Wanderer, abruptly,
" do you believe in ghosts? "
Ilamish puffed his pipe leisurely for some time be-
fore replying,
"I'm of the opinion," he replied at last, beginning
with the expression habitual to him, "I'm of the
opinion that there's strange things in the world. I
never saw a ghost, and I don't expect to see one. If
the Scripture says true — I mean the Scripture, no'
the ministers — there has been ghosts seen before my
time, and there may be some seen now. The folk
used to say there was a Ben-sheein Skipness Castle —
a Ben-shee with white hair and a mutch like an old
wife — and my father saw it with his own een before
he died. They're curious people over in Barra, and
they believe stranger things than that."
" In witchcraft, perhaps ? "
" There's more than them believes in witchcraft.
When I was a young man on board the Petrel (she's
one of Middleton's fish-boats, and is over at Ilowth
now), the winds were that wild there seemed sma*
chance of winning liame before the new year. Weel,
the skipper was a Skye man, and had great faith in an
auld wife who lived alone up on the hillside ; and
without speaking a word to any o' us, he went up to
bid wi' her for a fair wind. He crossed her hand wP
siller, and she told him to bury a live cat wi' its head
to the airt wanted, and then to steal a spoon from
some house and get awa'. He buried the cat, and
he stole the spoon. It's curious, but, sure as ye
live, the wind changed that night into the northwest,
and never shifted till the Petrel was in Tobermory.''
KIGllT ON THE MINCH. 206
"Once lot me be llio hero of an affair like that,"
cried tlic Wanderer, " and I'll believed in the devil for-
ever after. But it was a queer process."
" The ways o' God are droll," returned Shaw, seri-
ously. " Some say that in old times the witches made
a cause wav o' whales from E,liu llunisli to Dun vegan
Head, There are auld wives o'er yonder yet who
hae the name of going out with the Deil every night
in the shape o' blue hares, and I kenned a man who
thouo-ht he shot one wi' a siller button. I dinna be-
lieve all I hear, but I dinna just disbelieve, either.
Ye'vo heard o' the Evil Eye ? "
" Certainly."
" When we were in Canna, 1 noticed a fine cow and
calf standing by a house near the kirkyard, and I said
to the wife as I passed (she was syning her pails at
the door) : ' Yon's a bonnie bit calf ye hae witlv the
auld cow.' ' Aye,' said she, ' but I hope ye dinna
look at them o'er keen ' — meaning, yo ken, that may-
be I had the Evil Eye. I laughed, and told her that
was a thin.fi that ne'er belong't to me or mine. That
minds me of an auld wife near Loch Boisdale who had
a terrible bad name for killing kye and doing mischief
on corn. She was gleed," and had black hair. One
day, when the folk were in kirk, she reached o'er her
hand to a bairn that was lying beside her, and touched
its cheek wi' her finger. Weel, that moment the
bairn (it was a lassie, and had red hair) began greet-
ing, and turning its head from side to side, like folk
in fever. It kept on sae for days. But at last auither
* She equinted.
206 THE LAND OF LORNE.
woman, who saw what was wrang, recommended
eight poultices o' kyedung (one every night) from the
innermost kye i' the byre. They gied licr the poul-
tices, and the lassie got weel."
" That was as strange a remedy as the buried cat,"
observed the Wanderer ; " but I did not know such
people possessed the power of casting the trouble on
human beings."
Haniish puffed his pipe, and looked quietly at the
sky. It was some minutes before he spoke again.
" There was a witch family," he said at last, " in
Loch Carron, where I was born and reared. They
lived their lane,* close to the sea. There were three
o' them — the mither, a son, and a daughter. The
mither had great lumps all o'er her arms, and sae had
the daughter ; but the son was a clean-hided lad, and
he was the cleverest. Folk said he had the power o'
healing the sick, but only in ae way, by transferring
the disease to him that brought the message seeking
help. Once, I mind, a man was sent till him on
horseback, bidding him come and heal a fisher who
was up on the hill and like to dee. The warlock
mounted his pony, and said to the man, ' Draw back
a bit, and let me ride before ye.' The man, kenning
nae better, let him pass, and followed ahint. TJiey
had to pass through a glen, and in the middle o' the
glen an auld wife was standing at her door. AVhcn
she saw the messenger riding ahint the warlock, she
screeched out to him as loud as she could cry — ' Ride,
ride, and reach the sick lad first, or ye're a dead man,'
* Their lane — alone.
IflGIIT UN THE MINCn. 207
At that the warlock looked black as thunder, and
<i^alloped his pony ; but the messenger being better
mounted, o'ertook hiui fust, and got first to tlie sick
man's bedside. In the niglit the sick man died. Ye
see, the warlock had nae power of shifting the com-
plaint but on hira that brought the message, and no'
on him, if the warlock didna reach the house before
the messenjjer."
Here the Viking emerged with the whisky-bottle,
and Hamish Shaw wet his lips. We were gliding
gently along now, and the hills of Uist were still
dimly visible. The deep roll of the sea would have
been disagreeable, perhaps, to the uninitiated, but we
were hardened. While the Yiking sat by, gazing
gloomily into the darkness, the Wanderer pursued
his chat with Shaw, or, rather, incited the latter to
further soliloquies,
" Do you know, Hamish," he said, slyly, " it
seems to me very queer that Providence should suf-
fer such pranks to be played, and should entrust
that marvelous power to such wretched hands.
Come, now, do you actually fancy these things have
happened V
But Hamish Shaw was not the man to commit him-
self. He was a philosopher.
" I'm of the opinion," he replied, " that it would
be wrong to be o'er positive. Providence docs as
queer things, whiles,"^ as either man or woman. There
was a strange cry, like the wdiistle of a bird, heard
every night close to the cottage before Wattie Mac-
* At times.
208 THE LAND OF LORNE.
Icod's smack was lost on St. Jolin's Point, and Wattie
and liis son drowned; then it stoppit. Whiles it
comes like a sheep crying, whiles like the sound o'
pipes. I heard it mysel' when my brither Angus died,
lie had been awa' o'er the country, and his horse had
fallen and kickit him on the navel. But before we
heard a word about it, the wife and I were on the
road to Angus' house, and were coming near the
burn that parted his house from mine. It was night,
and bright moonlight. The wife was heavy at the
time, and suddenly she grippit me by the arm, and
whispered, 'Wheesht ! do ye hear?' I listened, and
at first heard nothing. 'Wheesht, again!' says
she ; and then I heard it plain — like the low blowing
o' the bagpipes, slowly and sadly, wi' nae tune. ' O
Ilamish,' said the wife, ' wha can it be ?' I said nae-
thing, but I felt my back all cold, and a sharp thread
running through my heart. It followed us along as
far as Angus' door, and then it went awa'. Angus
was sitting by the fire ; they had just brought him
hame, and he told us o' the fall and the kick. lie
was pale, but didna think much was wrang wi' him,
and talked quite cheerful and loud. The wife was
Bick and frighted, and they gave her a dram ; they
thought it was her trouble, for her time was near,
but she was thinking o' the sign. Though we knew
fine that Angus wouldna live, we didna dare to speak
o' what we had heard. Going hame that nicht, we
heard it again, and in a week he was lying in hia
grave."
The darkness, the hushed breathing of the sea, the
BOugh of the wind through the ngging, greatly deej)-
NIGHT ON THE MINCII. 209
ened the effect of this tale; and the Yiking listened
intently, as if he expected every moment to hear
a similar Bound presaging his own doom, Ilamisli
Shaw showed no emotion, lie told his talc as mere
raatter-of-fact, with no elocutionary effects, and kept
his eye to windward all the time, evidently looking
out for squalls.
"For God's sake," cried the Yiking, "choose some
other subject of conversation. We are in bad
enough plight already, and don't want any more
liorrors."
" What ! afraid of ghosts ?"
"No, dash it!" returned the Yiking ; "but — but —
as sure as I live, there is storm in yon sky !"
The look of the sky to windward was certainly not
improving ; it was becoming smoked over with thick
mist. Though we were now only a few miles off the
Uist coast, the loom of the land was scarcely visible ;
the vapors peculiar to such coasts seemed rising and
gradually wrapping everything In their folds. Still, as
fa]' as we could make out from tiie stars, there was no
carry in the sky.
" I'll no' say," observed Hamish, taking in every-
thing at a glance — " I'll no say but there may be wind
ere morning ; but it will be wind off the shore, and we
hae the hills for shelter."
" But the squalls ! the squalls !" cried the Yiking.
" The land is no' so high that ye need to be
scared. Leave you the vessel to me, and I'll take her
through it snug. But we may as weel hae the third
reef in the mainsail, and mak' things ready in case o'
need."
210 TUE LAND OF LORNE.
This was soon done. The mainsail was reefed, and
the small jib substituted for the large one ; and after
a glance at the compass, Ilamish again sat quiet at
the liclm
" Earra," he said, renewing our late subject of
talk, " is a great place for superstition, and sac is
Uist. The folk are like weans, simple and kindly.
There is a Ben-shee weel known at the head o' Loch
Eynort, and anither haunts one o' the auld castles o*
the great Macneil o' Barra. I hae heard, too, that
whiles big snakes, wi' manes like hoi'ses, come up into
the fresh- water lakes and lie in wait to devour the
flesh o' man. In a fresh-water loch at the Harris
there was a big beast like a bull, that came up ae
day and ate half the body o' a lad when he was
bathing. They tried to drain the loch to get at the
beast, but there was o'er muckle water. Then they
baited a great hook wi' the half o' a sheep, but the
beast was o'er wise to bite. Lord, it was a droll
fishing ! They're a curious people. But do ye no'
think, if the seas and the lochs were drainit dry,
there would be all manner o' strange animals that
nae man kens the name o' ? There's a kind o'
water-world — nae man kens what it's lilce — for the
drown'd canna see, and if they could see, they
couldna speak. Ay !'' he added, suddenly changing
the current of his thoughts, " ay ! the wind's rising,
and we're no far off the shore, for I can smell the
land."
By what keenness of sense Ilamish managed to
" smell the land " we had no time just then to inquire,
for all our wits were employed in looking after tho
NIGHT ON THE MINCH. 211
safoty of the Tern. She was bowling along under
three-reefed mainsail and stormjib, and was getting
just about as much as she could bear. With the rail
under to the cockpit, the water lapping heavily
against the cooming, and ever and anon splashing
right over in the cockpit itself, she made her way fast
tlirough the rising sea. In vain we strained our eyes
to discern the shore —
" The blinding mist came down and hid the land
As far as eye could see !"
All at once the foggy vapors peculiar to the country
had steeped everything in darkness ; we could gues.-i
from the helm where the land lay, but how near it
was we were at a loss to tell. What with the whist-
ling wind, the darkness, the surging sea, we felt quite
bewildered and amazed.
The Wanderer looked at his watch, and it was past
midnight. Even if the fog cleared off, it would not
be safe to take Loch Bolsdale without good light, and
there was nothing for it but to beat about till sunrise.
This was a prospect not at all comfortable, for we
might even then be in the neighborhood of dangerous
rocks, and if the wind rose any higher, we should be
compelled to run before the wind, God knew whither.
Meantime, it was determined to stand off a little to
the open, in dread of coming to over-close quarters
with the shore.
Ilamish sat at the helm, stern and imperturbable.
We knew by his silence that he was anxious, but he
expressed no anxiety whatever. Ever and anon, he
slipped down his hand on the deck to leeward, feeling
212 THE LAND OF LORNE.
how near the water was to the cockpit, and as there
Beemed considerable danger of foundering in the
heavy sea, he speedily agreed with us that it would be
wise to close over the cockpit hatches. That done, all
was achieved that hands could do, save holding the
boat with the helm steady and close to the wind — a
task which Ilamish fulfilled to perfection. . Indeed,
we were in no slight danger from squalls, for the
wind was off the land, and nothing saved us, when
struck by heavy gusts, but the firmness and skill of
the helmsman. lie had talked about smelling the
]and, but it is certain that he seemed to smell the
wind ; almost before a squall touched her, the Tern
was standing up to it tight and firm, when ever so
Blijjht a fallinoj off might have stricken us over to the
mast, and perhaps (for the cockpit hatches were a
Bmall protection) foundered us in the open sea.
We will draw a veil over the sufferings of the Vi-
king. He was a wreck by this time, too weak even
to scream out his propliccies of doom, but lying antic-
ipating his fate in the forecastle hammock, with the
grog at his side and his eyes closed des])airingly
against all the terrors of the scene. The cook was
lying in tlie cabin, very sidk — in that happy frame of
mind when it is a matter of indifference whether we
float on or go to the bottom. The Wanderer, drenched
through, clung close beside the pilot, and strained
his eyes against wind and salt spray into the darkness.
It would be false to say that he felt comfortable, but as
false to say that he was frightened. Though dread-
fully excitable by nature, he was of too sanguine a
temperament to be overpowered by half-seen perils.
NIGHT ON THE MINOH, 213
On the whole, though the situation was precarious,
he had by no moans made up his mind to be drowned ;
and there was 8omethin2: so stiinulatinjx in the bravo
conduct of the little sliip, wliich seemed to bo fight-
ing out the battle on her own account, that at times
he felt actually light-hearted enough to sing aloud
a verse of his favorite " Tom Bowling." No man,
however, could have sat yonder in the darkness,
amid the rush of wind and wave, and failed to
tremble at times, thinking of the power of God ; so
that, again and again, thi'ough the Wanderer's mind,
with a deep sea-music of their own, rolled the verses
of the Psalm — " They that go down to the sea in
ships, that do l)usiness in great waters ; these see the
works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. For
he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which
lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the
heaven, they go down again to the depths ; their soul
is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro,
and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits'
end. Then they cry unto the Lord in. their trouble,
and he bringeth them out of their distresses. lie
maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof
are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet;
so he bringeth them unto their desired haven. Oh
that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and
for his wonderful works to the children of men !"
It was now so dark that we could see nothing on
any side of us, save the glitter of the crests of the
waves, and the phosphorescent glimmer of the beaten
water behind the keel. The wind was pretty steady,
and the squalls not too frequent. We were running
214 THE LAND OF LORNE.
through the darkness at considerable speed, burying
oar bowsprit in every wave, and washing our decks as
clean as salt water could make them. So low was the
Tern^s rail, and so close to the sea, even on the weath-
er side, that it was almost like being dragged through
the water bodily with the chilly waves lapping round
one's waist.
Suddenly, out of the darkness ahead, shot a sharp
glimmer of light; then there was a loud sound like
the creaking of cordage and noise of sails ; and then,
before we could utter a cry, a large brig dashed across
our bows, running with a free sheet before the wind.
Ghostly and strange she looked in the mist, driving at
tremendous speed, and churning the sea to sparkling
foam. With a loud oath, namish shoved the helm
hard-a-port, and brought the head of the Ter^n up to
the wind. We had narrowly escaped a collision.
With fascinated eyes we watched the brig dash on
until it was swallowed up in the darkness, and when
it was quite gone, drew a heavy breath of relief.
" Lord, that was a close shave !" muttered Shaw,
drawing his cuff across his mouth, as is his manner
when agitated. " AVha would hae thought o' meeting
strange craft hereabouts ? We'd may-be better rig out
the mast-head lantern, in case o' mair accidents."
Tills was soon done, and although the lantern burnt
blue and dim, we felt more secure. After so narrow
an escape, what reasonable creature would have
refused to drink his own health in the water of life?
The grog-bottle was passed round, and never was a
*' nip of the screech " received with more affectionate
unction.
NIGHT ON THE MINOH. 215
It was a weary work, tliat waiting in the dark-
ness. The wind sang, the water sobbed, the sail
moaned, until the Wanderer began to get sleepier
and sleepier, and at last, wet as he was, sank off into
a doze, wherein he was just half conscious of the
boat's motion through the water, and half dreaming
of things far away. Suddenly he was startled by a
roar in his ear, and rubbed his eyes wildly, listening.
It was Ilamish Shaw saying quietly :
" It's beirinninij: to get Vmht. I see the loom o' the
land."
Shivering like a half- drowned rat in the cold, damp
air of the dawn, and dashing the wet hair out of his
weary eyes, the Wanderer stared all round him, and
saw, when his obfuscated wits were able to concen-
trate themselves, that it was nearly daybreak, though
all was dark above. A dim, silvern, misty glimmer
was on the sea, and about two miles to the westward
the land lay black in a mist like the smoke nearest
the funnel of a new-coaled steamer. The Yiking was
poking his head through the cabin-hatch, and gazing
shoreward.
" Can ye mak' out the shape o' these hills ? " he
asked of the pilot. " Loch Boisdale should be here-
abouts."
Hamish shook his head.
" We maun creep in closer to mak' certain," he re-
plied. "It's o'er dark yet. Yon bit place yonder —
where you see a shimmer like the gleam o' herring-
scales — ^looks like the mouth of the loch, but we
maun creep in cannie and get mair light,"
Althouo-h Shaw had been herrin^r-tishing on the
21G THE LAND OF LORNE.
coast for many jeare, he was not so familiar witli tho
coast as might have been expected. He knew its
general outline, but had not made close observation
of details. "With the indifference peculiar to tho
fishers, he had generally trusted to Providence and
his own sagacity, without making any mental note of
his experiences. So it was not until we had twice or
thrice referred to the chart that he remembered that
just south of Boisdale, about half a mile from shore,
there was a dangerous reef called Mackenzie Kock,
and that above this rock there was a red buoy, which,
if descried in the dim light, would be a certain index
to the whereabouts of the mouth of the loch.
" Tam Saunders put the Wild Duck on that rock
when I was up here in the Gannet^^ said Hamish ;
"but she was as strong as iron — different frae this
wee bit shell o' a thing — and they keepit her fixit
there till the flood, and then floated her off wi' scarce
a scratch. We'll just put her about, and creep in
shore on the other tack."
Though the day was slowly breaking, it was still
very misty, and a thin, cold " smurr " was beginning
to dreep down in the sea. The wind was still sharp
and strong, the sea high, and the squalls dangerous;
but we knew now that the worst of our troubles must
be over. As we approached closer to the shore, we
noticed one great bluff, or headland, from which tlic
land receded on either side, leaving it darkly promi-
nent ; and a reference to the chart soon convinced us
that this headland was no other than the Khu Ilordag,
which lies a few miles to the south of Loch Boisdale.
So we put about again, and slipped up along the land,
NIGHT ON THE MINCH. 217
lying very close to the wind. It was soon clear that
the dawn, although it had fully broken, was not going
to favor us with a brilliant exhibition, nor to dispel
the dangerous vapors in which the shore was shroud-
ed. The whole shape of the land was distorted. One
could merely conjecture where solid earth ended and
inist began — all was confusion. No sun came out —
only the duil glimmer through the miserable " smurr "
betokened that it was day.
Suddenly, with » shriek of joy, the YiKing discov-
ered tlie buoy, and pointed it out through the rain.
Yes, there it was, a red spot in a circle of white foam,
about a quarter of a mile on the weather-quarter.
With thia assistance, it was decided that the spot
which Shaw had compared to the " gleam of herring-
scales " was indeed the mouth of the loch. Never did
voyagers hail the sight of haven with greater joy I
It was a run of nearly a mile up to the anchorage,
and the passage was by no means a safe one ; bu'
Hamish, once in the loch, knew every stone and
shallow perfectly. When we cast anchor, the thin
" smurr " had changed into a heavy rain, and all the
scene around was black and wild. But what cared
we ? The iire was lighted in the forecastle, Ilamish
put on the kettle, and the kettle began to sing. Then,
after donning dry clothes, we sat do-svn as merry as
crickets. The Wanderer dozed smilingly in a corner.
The Viking swore roundly that it had been the "j oi-
liest night " he had ever spent, and that such experi-
ences made him in love with sailing. Ilamish Shaw,
to whom all the glory of the night belonged, first lit
his black cutty pipe, and rested his head against the
10
218 THE LAND OF LOIiNE.
side of the forecastle, and then, in an instant, dropped
off, heavy as a log, worn out with fatigue, and still
gripping the cutty firmly between his teeth as he
alept.
THE I'lHHMUS OF THE LONG ISJLAND. '^1^
CHAPTER TT,
THE FISHERS OF THE LONG ISLAND.
Loch Boisdale — Tho Tern at Anchor — The Inn and the Population — Baiu
— Boisdalo in tho Herring-Season— Fishing-boats and Camps — A Might
in a West-Country Smack — Herring-gutters — Habits of East-Country
Fishermen.
The Tent's first anchorage in the Outer Hebrides
was at Loch Boisdale, and it was there that tlie
dreary landscape of the Long Island began to exer-
cise its deep fascination over the Wanderer's mind.
We lay at the usual place, close to the pier and inn,
in the full enjoyment of the ancient and fish-like
smell wafted to us from the curing-places ashore.
The herring-fishers had nearly all departed, save one
or two native crews, who were still laboring leisure-
ly ; but they had left their debris everywhere — skele-
tons of huts, piles of peat, fish-bones, scraps of rot-
ten nets, even broken pots and dishes. One or two
huts, some entirely of wood, stood empty, awaiting
the return of their owners in the following spring.
The whole place was deserted — ^its harvest-time was
over. When we rowed ashore in the punt, the popu-
lation — consisting of two old men and some dirty lit-
tle boys — received us in grim amazement and silence,.
until the advent of the inn-keeper, who, repressing all
outward symptoms of wonder, bade us a sly welcomo.
220 THE LAND OF LORNE.
and showed us the way to li is establishment. The ob-
vious impression was that we were insane ; the tiny
craft in wliich we had come over, our wild and hag-
gard appearance, and, above all, the fact that we had
actually come to Loch Boisdale for pleasure (a fact un-
precedented in the mind of the oldest inhabitant), all
contributed to strengthen this belief. The landlord
was free and inquisitive, humoring us cunningly, as
keepers do mad people, receiving all our statements
calmly and without contradiction, answering all our
questions in the easy manner found useful in dealing
with idiots and infants, never thinking it worth while
to correct us when we were wrong. As he sat chat-
ting with us over a glass of whisky, in a mildewy room
of the inn, tlie inhabitants dropped in one by one;
first, the two old men, then a little boy, then a tipsy
fisherman, and so on, till the room was full of specta-
tors, all with their mouths wide open, and all, without
sign of ordering or drinking anything, staring at
the strangers. This volley of eyes became at last
so unbearable that it was thought advisable to di-
rect it elsewhere by ordering " glasses round ; " an
act of generosity which, however grateful to the
feelings, was received without enthusiasm, though
the mouths and eyes opened still wider in amaze.
The advent of the whisky, however, acted like
a charm, and the company burst into a torrent of
Gaelic.
The result of a long conversation with the popu-
lace — which in number and appearance bore about
the same relation to a respectable community that a
stage "mob" in "Julius Csesar " would bear to the
THE FIHIIEIiS OF THE LON<* ISLAND. 221
real article — was not particularly edifying. These
gentlemen were cynical on the merits of Loch Bois-
(lale ; its principal beauties, in their opinion, be-
ing ague, starvation, and weariness. For any per-
son to remain there, ever so short a time, who
could by any possibility get out of it, was a thing
not to be credited by common sense. The inn-keeper,
however, tried to convey to us his comprehension
that we had come there, not for pleasure, but " on a
discovering manner," by which mystical Celticism he
meant to say that we were visitors come to make
inquiries, possibly with a view to commerce or sta-
tistics. He shook his head over both country and
people, and seemed to think our expedition was
a waste of time.
For three days after that, it rained as it can rain
only in the Long Island ; and when at last, tired out
of patience, we rushed ashore, our friend the innkeep-
er received us with a deprecating smile. "With keen
sarcasm, we demanded if it were always " that sort of
weather " in Loch Boisdale ; but he replied quite
calmly, "Ay, much aboot." But when we sat down
over usquebaugh, and the rain, still plashing darkly
without,
" Witli its twofold sound.
The clash hard by, and the murmur all round !"
showed that the weather was little likely to abate that
day, the landlord seemed to think his credit at stake,
and that even Loch Boisdale was appearing at a dis-
advantage. To console him, we told him that story
of the innkeeper at Arrochar which poor Hugh Mac-
donald used to retail with such unction over the
222 THE LAND OF LORNE.
toddy. An English traveler stayed for some days at
Arrochar, and there had been nothing but rain from
morn to night. The landlord tried to keep up his
guest's spirits by repeated prophecies that the weather
was " about to break up ;"" but at last, on the fifth
day, the stranger could endure it no longer. " I say,
landlord, have you ever — now, on your honor — have
you ever any other sort of weather in this confounded
place?" The landlord replied humbly, yet bitterly,
*' Speak nae mair, sir, speak nae mair. I'm just per-
fectly ashamed of the way in which our weather's be-
having !" But the Loch Boisdale landlord seemed to
think the tale too serious for laughter.
As we have noted above, the herring harvest was
over. Twice in the year there is good fishing — in the
spring and in the autumn ; but the autumn fishing is
left quite in the hands of a few native boats. The
moment the spring-fishing ends, Loch Boisdale sub-
sides into torpor. All is desolate and still ; only the
fishy smell remains, to remind the yawning native of
the glory that is departed.
A busy sight, indeed, is Loch Boisdale or Storno-
way in the herring season. Smacks, open boats, skiffs,
wherries, make the narrow waters shady ; not a creek,
however small, but holds some boat in shelter. A
fleet, indeed! — the Lochleven boat from the east coast,
with the three masts and the three huge lugsails ; the
Newhaven boat, with its two lugsails ; the Isle of
Man "jigger;" the beautiful Guernsey runner, hand-
some as a racing yacht, and powerful as a revenue
cutter; besides all the numberless fry of less notice-
able vessels, from the fat west-country smack, with its
THE nSlIEKS OF THE LONG I«LAND. 223
comfortable fittinj:^s, down to the miserable Arraii
wherry.^ Swarms of seagulls float everywhere, and
the loch is so oily with the fishy deposit that it
requires a strong wind to ruffle its surface. Every-
where on the shore and hillsides, and on the number-
less islands, rises the smoke of camps. Busy swarms
surround the curing-houses and the inn, while
the beach is strewn with fishermen lying at length,
and dreaming till work-time. In the afternoon, the "
fleet slowly disappear, melting away out into the
ocean, not to re-emerge till long after the gray of the
next dawn.
Did you ever go out for a night with the herring-
fishers ? If you can endure cold and wet, you would en-
joy the thing hugely, especially if you have a boating
mind. Imagine yourself on board a west-country
Bmack, running from Boisdale Harbor with the rest
of the fleet. It is afternoon, and there is a nice, fresh
breeze from the southwest. You crouch in the stern,
by the side of the helmsman, and survey all around
you with the interest of a novice. Six splendid fel-
lows, in various picturesque attitudes, lounge about
the great, broad, open hold, and another is down
* The Arran wherry, now nearly extinct, is a wretched-looking^
thing, without a bowsprit, but with two strong masts. Across t\\(~.
foremast is a bulkhead, and there is a small locker for blankets
and bread. In the open space between bulkhead and locker birch
tops are thickly strewn for a bed, and for covering there is a huge
woolen waterproof blanket ready to be stretched out on spars.
Close to the mast lies a huge stone, and thereon a stove. The
cable is of heather rope, the anchor wooden, and the stock a stone.
Rude and ill-found as these boats are, they face weather before
which any ordinary yachtsman would quail.
224 THE LAND OF LORNE.
in the forecastle boiling coffee. If you were not there,
half of these would be taking their sleep down below.
It seems a lazy business, so far ; but wait ! By sun-
set the smack has run fifteen miles up the coast, and
is going seven or eight miles east of Rhu Ilunish light-
house ; many of the fleet still keep her company,
steering thick as shadows in the twilight. How the
gulls gather yonder ! The dull plash ahead of the
boat was caused by the plunge of a solan goose. That
the herrings are hereabout, and in no small numbers,
you might be sure, even without that bright, phos-
phorescent light which travels in patches on the water
to leeward. !N^ow is the time to see the lounging
crew dart into sudden activity. The boat's head is
brought up to the wind, and the sails are lowered in
an instant.* One man grips the helm, another seizes
the back rope of the net, a third the " skunk " or
body, a fouith is placed to see the buoys clear and
heave them out, the rest attend forward, keeping a
sharp look-out for other nets, ready, in case the boat
should run too fast, to steady her by dropping the
anchor a few fathoms into the sea. When all the nets
are out, the boat is brought bow on to the net, the
"swing" (as they call the rope attached to the net)
secured to the smack's " bits," and all hands then
lower the mast as quickly as possible. The mast
lowered, secured, and made all clear for hoisting at a
moment's notice, and the candle lantern set U]> in the
* There is fashion everywhere. An east country boat always
(^li(X)tH across the wind, of course carrying some sail ; while a
west-country boat shoots before the wind, with bare poles.
THE FIHIIEIIH or Till-; LONG 18LAND. "'2.'>
iron Htund made for the purpose of h(ddiu^ it, llie
crew leave one look-out on deck, with instructions to
call them up at a fixed hour, and turn in helow for a
nap in their clothen ; unless it so happens that your
brilliant conversation, seasoned with a few bottles
of whisky, should tempt them to steal a few more
hours from the summer night. Day breaks, and every
man is on deck. All hands are busy at work, taking
the net in over the bow, two supporting the body, the
rest hauling the back rope, save one who draws the
net into the hold, and another who arranges it from
Bide to side in the hold to keep the vessel even.
Tweet ! tweet ! — that thin, cheeping sound, resem-
bling the razor-like call of the bat, is made by dying
herrings at the bottom of the boat. The sea to lee-
ward, the smack's hold, the hands and arms of the
men, are gleaming like silver. As many of the iish
as possible are shaken loose during the process of
hauling in, but the rest arc left in the net until the
smack gets on shore. Three or four hours pass away in
this wet and tiresome work. At last, however, the
nets are all drawn in, the mast is hoisted, the sail set,
and while the cook (there being always one man hav-
ing this branch of work in his department) plunges
below to prepare breakfast, the boat makes for Loch
Boisdale. Everywhere on the water, see the fishing-
boats making for the same bourne, blessing their luck
or cursing their misfortune, just as the event of the
night may have been. All sail is set, if possible, and
it is a wild race to the market. Even when the
anchorage is reached, the work is not quite finished ;
10*
220 THE LAND OF LORNE.
for the fish have to be measured out in "cran" baskets,*
and delivered at the curing-station. By the time that
the crew have got their morning dram, have arranged
the nets snuglj in the stern, and have had some her-
rings for dinner, it is time to be off again to the har-
vest-field. Half the crew turn in for sleep, while the
other half hoist sail and conduct the vessel out to sea.
Huge, indeed, are the swarms that inhabit Boisdale,
afloat or ashore, during the harvest ; but, partly be-
cause each man has his business on hand, and partly
because there is plenty of sea-room, there are few
breaches of the peace. On Sunday night, the public-
house is crowded, and now and then the dull roar
ceases for a moment, as some obstreperous member is
shut out summarily into the dark. Besides the reg-
ular fishermen and people employed at the curing sta-
tion, there are the herring-gutters — women of all ages,
many of whom follow simply the fortunes of the
fishers from place to place. Their business is to gut
and salt the fish, which they do with wonderful dex-
terity and skill.
Hideous, indeed, looks a group of these women,
defiled from head to foot with herring garbage, and
laughing and talking volubly, while gulls innumerable
float above them, and fill the air with their discordant
screams. But look at them when their work is over,
and they are changed indeed. Always cleanly, and
generally smartly, dressed, they i)arade the roads and
wharf. Numbers of them are old and ill-favored,
* A cran holds rather more than a herring-barrel, and the aver
age value of a cran-meaaure of herrings is about one pound ster-
ling.
THE FISHERS OF THE LONG ISLAND. 227
but you will sec among them many a blooming
cheek and beautiful eye. Their occupation is a profit-
able one, especially if they be skillful ; for they are
paid according to the amount of work they do.
It is the custom of most of the east-country fishers
to bring over their own women — one to every boat,
sleeping among the men, and generally related to one
or more of the crew. We have met many of these
girls, some of them very pretty, and could vouch for
their perfect purity. Besides their value as cooks,
they can gut herrings and mend nets ; but their chief
recommendation in the eyes of the canny fishermen is
that they are kith and kin, while the natives are
Btrangers " no' to be trusted." The east-country fish-
erman, on his arrival, invariably encamps on shore,
and the girl or woman " keeps the house " for the
whole crew.
For the fisherman of the east coast likes to be com-
fortable. He is at once the most daring and the most
careful. He will face such dangers on the sea as
would appall most men, while at the same time he is
as cautious as a woman in providing against cold and
ague. How he manages to move in his clothes is a
matter for marvel, for he is packed like a j)atient after
the cold-water process. Only try to clothe yourself in
all the following articles of attire : pair of stockings,
pair of stockings over them half up the leg, to be cov-
ered by the long fishing-boots ; on the trunk, a thick
flannel, covered with an oilskin-vest; on the top of
these, an oilskin-coat ; next, a mighty muffler to -wind
round the neck, and bury the chin and mouth ; and
last of all, the sou'wester ! This is the usual costume
228 THE LAND OF LOIINE.
of an east-country iishennan, and he not only breathes
and lives in it, but manages his boat, on the whole,
better than any of his rivals on the water. He drags
himself along on land awkwardly enough ; and on
board, instead of rising to walk, he rolls, as it were,
from one part of the boat to the other. He is alto-
gether a more calculating dog than the west-country
man, more eager for gain, colder and more reticent in
all his dealings with human kind.
On our arrival at Loch Boisdale in the Tem^ there
was nothing to redeem the cheerless gloom of the
place. We lingered only a few days, during which it
blew a violent gale; and then, slipping out of the har-
bor with the first light, began to work northward
along the coast.
GLIMPSES 01'' THE OUTEE IIEBllIDES. ii^O
CHAPTER XI.
GLIMPSES OF TUB OUTEK HEBRTOES.
First Glimpee — The Uists and Benbecula — Their Miserable Asixjcts — Ham-
ish Shaw— Solomnity of tho People— Brighter Glimpses- The Western
Coast of the Island— "Winter-Storm— Tho Sound of Harris— Tho Norwe-
gian Skipper— Tho Fjords— Kelp-burners-View from Kenneth Hill,
Loch Boisdale — A Sunset — The Lagoons — Charaeteristics of tho Pecv
pie — Civilized and Uncivilized — Miserable Dwellings — Comfortable At-
tire — Their Superstitions and Deep Spiritual Life.
A DREARY sky, a dreary fall of rain. Long, low
flats, covered with tlieir own damp breath, through
which the miserable cattle loomed like shadows.
Everywhere lakes and pools, as thickly sown amid the
land as islands amid the Pacific waters. Huts, wretch-
ed and chilly, scarcely distinguishable from the rock-
strewn marshes surrounding them. To the east, the
Minch, rolling dismal waters toward the far-off heads
of Skye ; to the west, the ocean, foaming at the lips,
and stretchino; barren and desolate into the rain-
charged clouds.
Such was the first view of Ultima Thule, and such,
indeed, are the Outer Hebrides during two or three
days out of the seven. Theirs is the land of Utgard-
Loke, a lonely outer region, not dear to the gods.
There are mountains, but they do not abound, and are
230 THE LAND OF LORNE.
unadorned with the softer colors which beautify the
inner and more southerly isles. There are no trees,
and few flowers. Two-thirds of the herbage lacks the
exquisite softness of the true pasture. The peat-bog
supplies the place of the meadow, the gi'ay boulders
strew the hills in lieu of red heather. The land is
torn up everywhere into rocky fjords and desolate la-
goons. Where the sea does not reach in an arm, the
fresh water comes up and deepens in countless lakes
and pools. There are few song-birds, even the thrush
being rare ; but the wild-goose screams overhead, and
the ice-duck haunts the gloaming with its terribly hu-
man " Calloo ! calloo ! "
The islands of Uist, with Benbecula between, ex-
tend from the Sound of Harris as far south as Barra,
and appear to have originally formed one unbroken
chain ; and still, indeed, at low ebbs, a person might
almost walk dryshod from Loch Boisdale to Loch
Maddy. On the eastern side, and here and there in
the interior, there are high hills, such as Ilecla and
Ben Eval ; and everywhere on the eastern coast reach
long arms of tlie sea, winding far into the land, and
sometimes, as in the case of Loch Eport, reaching to
the very fringe of the Western Ocean. The land is,
for the most part, low and unfertile, but there are a
few breezy uplands and fine moors. All along the
western side of the islands stretches a blank coast-line,
unbroken by loch or haven, however small ; and above
it rises a broad tract of hillocks, composed of snow-
white sand and powdered sea-shells, and covered by
dry green pasture. Washed and winnowed out of
the deep bed of the ocean, driven in and piled up by
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTER IIEBUIDE8 2:J1
the great waters, the sands and shells gather year
after year, and, mixing with the moister soil of tlie in-
terior, yield an arable and fertile soil.
To the mind of Ilamish Shaw, who has been here
many a year herring-fishing, these features of the land
are quite without interest or excuse. " It's a poor,
miserable country," he avers ; " little use to man ! "
And this, by the way, is the standard by which Shaw
measures all the things of this world — their greater or
less utility to the human. lie has a sneer for every
hill, however high, that will not graze sheep. A sea-
gull or a hawk he would destroy pitilessly, because it
cannot be converted into food. He is angry with the
most picturesque fjords, until it can be shown that
the herring visit them, or that the hill-burns that flow
into them afford good trout. All this is the more re-
markable in a man so thoroughly Celtic, so strangely
spiritual in his reasonings, so pure with the purity of
the race. There is a fresh life grafted on his true na-
ture. Inoculated early with the love for commerce*
he most admires cultivated land-scenery of any kind
but that original nature which delights in the wild
and picturesque is still unconsciously nourished by the
ever various sea whereon he earns his bread.
Hamish Shaw's charge against the Long Island is
substantial enough ; the country is poor, and neither
fat nor fertile. The harvest is very early and very
poor. There is an excellent shield against cold, in the
shape of beds of excellent peat, sometimes twenty feet
in depth, and tliere is a certain provision against fam-
ine in the innumerable shell-fish which cover the num-
berless shores. The tormentil, properly pounded and
232 THE LAND OF LORNE.
prepared, fnrnislies a iirst-rate tan for cow or horse
leather, of which tlie people make shoes. The land is,
for the most part, little better than waste land, but
there is good pasturage for sheep.
The people, on the first view, seem slow and listless,
overshadowed, too, with the strange solemnity of
the race. There is no smile on their faces. Young
and old drag their limbs, not as a Lowlander drags
his limbs, but lissomly, with a swift, serpentine mo-
tion. The men are strong and powerful, with deep-
set eyes and languid lips, and they never excite them-
selves over their labor. The women are weak and
plain, full of a calm, domestic trouble, and they work
harder than their lords. " A poor, half-hearted peo-
ple ! " says the pilot ; " why don't they till the land
and fish the seas ? "
Here, again, the pilot has his reasons. The people
are half-hearted — say, an indolent people. They do
no justice to their scraps of land, which, poor as they
be, are still capable of great improvement ; but their
excuse is that they derive little substantial benefit
from improvements made where there is only yearly
tenure. They hunger often, even when the fjords op-
posite their own door are swarming with cod and
ling; but it is to be taken into consideration that only
a few of them live on the seashore or possess boats.
They let the ardent east-«ountry fishermen carry oif
the finest hauls of herring. Their work stops when
their mouths are filled, and yet they are ill-con-
tent to be poor.
All this, and more than this, is truth, and sad
tiuth. Ilamish has a strong bill against both coun-
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTER HEBRIDES. 233
try and ])eopl(3. But there is another and finer
Bide to tiic truth. The watery wastes of IJist
gather powerfully on the imagination, and the curi-
ous race that inhabit them grow upon the heart.
At the first view, as we have said, all is dreary
— sky, land, water; but, after a little time, after
the mind has got the proper foreground for these
new prospects, the feeling changes from one of to-
tal depression into a sense of peculiar magic. In-
stead of dull, flat pools, the lagoons assume their
gloiy of many-colored weeds and innumerable water-
lilies; out of the dreary peat-bog rise delicate va-
pors that float in fantastic shapes up the hill-side ;
the sun peeps out, and the mossy hut sends its
blue smoke into the clear, still air; all changes,
and every nook of the novel prospect has a beauty
of its own.
His must be a strange soul who, wandering over
these hillocks, and gazing westward and seaward
in calm weather, is not greatly awed and moved.
There is no pretense of effect, no tremendousness,
no obtrusive sign of power. The sea is glassy
smooth, the long swell does not break at all, until,
reaching the smooth sand, it fades softly, with deep,
monotonous moan. Here and there, sometimes close
to land, sometimes far out seaward, a horrid reef
slips its black back through the liquid blue, or a sin-
gle rock emerges, tooth-like, thinly edged with foam.
Southward loom the desolate heights of Barra, witli
crags and rocks beneath, and although there is no
wind, the ocean breaks there with one broad and
friglitful flash of white. The sea-sound in the air is
234 THE LAND OF LORNE.
faint and solemn ; it does not cease at all. But what
deepens most the strangeness of the scene, and weighs
most sadly on the mind, is the pale, sick color of the
sands. Even on the green heights, the wind and rain
have washed out great hollows, wherein the powdered
shells are drifted like snow. You are solemnized as
if you were walking on the great bed of the ocean,
with the serene depths darkening above you. You are
ages back in time, alone with the great forces antece-
dent to man ; but humanity comes ])ack upon you
creepingly, as you think of wanderers out upon that
endless waste, and search the dim sea-line in vain for a
sail.
Calm like this is even more powerful than the
storm. Under that stillnesB you are afraid of some-
thing — nature, death, immortality, God. But at the
rising of the winds rises the savage within you : the
blood flows, the heart throbs, the eyes are pinched close,
the mouth shut tio:ht. You can resist now as mortal
things resist. Lifted up into the whirl of things, life
is all ; the stillness — nature, death, God — is naught.
Terrific, nevertheless, is the scene on these coasts
when the stonn-wind rises,
" Blowing the trumpet of Euroclydon."
Westward, above the dark sea-line, rise the purple-
black clouds, driving with a tremendous scurry east-
ward, while fresh vapors rise swiftly to fill up the
rainy gaps they leave behind them. As if at one
word of command, the watei-s rise and roar, their white
crests, towering heavenward, glimmering against tlie
driving mist. Lightning, flashing out of the sky,
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTER HEBRIDES. 235
shows the lonij line of lire.akei'S on the flat Band, tlic
reefs beyond, the foamy tumult around the rocks
southward. Thunder crashes afar, and the earth re-
verberates. So mighty is the wind at times that no
man can stand erect before it; houses are thrown
down, boats lifted up and driven about like faggots.
The cormorants, ranged in rows along their solitary
cliffs, eye the wild waters in silence, starving for lack
of fish, and even the nimble seagull beats about,
screaming, unable to make way against the storm.
These are the winter gales — the terror alike of
Imsbandmen and fishers. The west-wind begins to
blow in October, and gradually increases in strength,
till all the terrors of the tempest are achieved.
Hail-storms, rain-storms, snow-storms alternate, with
the terriffc wind trumpeting between ; though the
salt sea-breath is so potent, even in severe seasons, that
the lasroons seldom freeze and the snow will not lie.
The wild, wandering birds — the hooper, the bean-
goose, the gray-lag, all the tribes of ducks — gather to-
gether on the marshes, sure of food here, though the
rest of the north be frozen. The great Arctic seal sits
on ITaskier and sails through the Sound of Harris.
xVbove the wildest winds are heard the screams of
birds.
Go, in December, to the Sound of Harris and on
some stormy day gaze on the wild scene around you ;
the whirling watei's, sown everywhere with isles and
rocks — ^liere the tide foaming round and round in an
eddy powerful enough to drag along the largest ship —
there a huge patch of seaweed staining the waves, and
betraying the lurking reef below. In the distance
236 , THE LAND OF LORNE.
loom tlie hills of IlarriB, blue-white with snow, and
hidden ever and anon in flying mist. Watch the ter-
rors of the great sound — the countless reefs and rocks,
the eddies, the furious, wind-swept waters ; and pray
for the strange seaman whose fate it may be to drive
helpless thither. Better the great ocean, in all its ter-
ror and might. Tet, through that fatal gap, barks,
though unpiloted, have more than once driven safely.
Into Loch Maddy, while we were lying there, dashed
a water-logged vessel, laden with wood, from Norway,
('aught by tempests oif the Butt of Lewis, she had run
down the western coast of the Outer Hebrides, and was
in dire distress, when, as a last resource, it was deter-
mined to take the Sound. No man on board knew
the place, and it was impossible to send on shore for a
pilot. On they di*ove, the skipper working with his
men, the lead-line constantly going, the watches at
bow and at masthead singing out whenever any dan-
gerous spot loomed in view. All along the coast gath-
ered the island people, expecting every moment to see
the vessel dashed to pieces ; and to the skipper's fren-
zied eye they were wreckers watching for their prey.
For a miracle, the vessel went safely through, w^ithout
BO much as a scratch. The skipper, with bleeding
hands and tearful eyes, brought his ship into Maddy.
All his stores were gone, save a few barrels of gin,
and tliese he contrived to exchange for common nec-
essaries. Though it was still wild weather, and though
his vessel was quite unseaworthy, he was bent on
pushing forward to Liverpool. Off he went, and after
a day's absence returned again, wild and anxious. He
had beaten as far as Barra Head, and being checked
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTEIl lIEBllIirES. 237
there bv ;i gale from tho southwest, had been com-
])elled to return as he had come. Again he drove
forth, and disappeared ; and again he reappeared,
wikler than ever, but as indomitable. The wind had
once more checked him off Barra, and hurled him
back to Loch INladdv. lie started a third time, and
did not return. It is to be hoped that he reached his
destination in safety, and that when he next goes
afloat, it will be in a better vessel.
To the mind of a seaman, such coasts as that of
the Long Island can scarcely look attractive or kindly ;
for his quick eye perceives all the danger, all the
ghastly plotting against his life. Yet in the summer-
time the broad and sandy western tracts are very
beautiful in their luxuriant vegetation, covered with
daisies, buttercups, and the lesser orchids, brightly
intermingled with the flowers of the white clover.
They are quite pastoral and peaceful, despite their
proximity to the great waters.
Indeed, the place is full of attractions, directly the
vulgar feeling is abandoned, and the mind, instead of
waiting to be galvanized by some powerful effect,
quietly resigns itself to the spirit of the scene. Sight-
seeing is like dram-drinking, and the sight-seer, like
the dram-drinker, is not particular about the quality,
so lonoj as the dose of stimulant is strong and stiff.
The typical tourist, who goes into ecstasies over tho
Trossachs, and crawls wondering under the basaltic
columns of Stafla, would not, perhaps, be particularly
stimulated at first by a pull up one of the numberless
fjords which eat their winding way into the eastern
coasts of the Outer Hebrides. The far-off hills around
238 t- THE LAND OF LORNE.
8kiport and Maddy are not tall enougli for such a
modern, and tlie sea is dull, not being sensational, but
old-fashioned. We, on the other hand, who find it
unnecessary to rush far for wonders, and who are apt
to be blind to nature's more obtrusive beauties, have
a greater liking for these quaint old fjords than for
the showy Trossachs or the splendid Glencoe. To
float through them alone, in a small boat, on a quiet
smnmer gloaming, is marvellously strange and eerie ;
for they are endless, arm growing out of arm just as
tlie bourne seems reached ; winding and interwinding,
sometimes only a few feet in depth, at others broad
and deep — and at every point of vantage there is
something new to look upon. Some idea of the
windings of the tides may be gained from the state-
ment that Loch Maddy in North Uist, although
covering only ten square miles, possesses a line of
coast which, measuring all the various islands, creeks,
and bays, has been calculated to ramify over three
Imndred miles. For picturesque sea depths, swarm-
ing with rare aquatic plants, and for variety of strange
sea-birds, these fjords are unmatched in Britain ; and
they are characterized by wonderful effects of sun and
mist, rainbow apparitions, fluent lights and shadows.
Pleasant it is, in still weather, to lean over the boat's
side and watch the crystal water-world in some
quiet nook, vari-colored with rocks, weeds, and
floating tangle, and haunted by strange images of
life. You are back in the great crustacean era, when
man was not. Innumerable shell-fish, many of rare
beauty, surround you ; wondrous monsters, magnified
by the water, stare at you with their mysterious eyes.
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTEll HEBKII>feS. 239
till lIumaiHty fodes out of sight. When you niiso
your head, you arc dazzled, and ahnost tremble at the
new sense of life.
Ever and anon, in the course of these aquatic
rambles, you meet a group of kelp-burners gathered
on a headland or promontory ; and a capital study
it would make for an artist with some little Rem-
brandtish mastery over the shadows. Clouding the
background of cold, blue sky, the thick smoke rises
from their black fire, and the men move hither and
thither, in and out of the vapor, raking the embers
together, piling the dry seaweed by armsful on to the
sullen flames. As they flit to and fro, their wild
Gaelic cries seem foreign and unearthly, and their
unkempt hair and ragged garments loom strangely
through the foul air. On the hill slope above them,
where a rude road curves to the shore, a line of carts,
each horse guided by a woman, comes creaking down
to the wood-strewn beach to gather tangle for drying.
The women, with their coarse serge jtetticoats kilted
high and colored handkerchiefs tied over their heads,
stride like men at the horses' heads, and shriek the
beasts forward.
Standing on Kenneth Hill, a rocky elevation on the
north side of Loch Boisdale, and looking westward
on a summer day, one has a fine glimpse of Boisdale
and its lagoons, stretching right over to the edge of
the Western Ocean, five miles distant. The inn and
harbor, with the fishing-boats therein, make a fine
foreground, and thence the numerous ocean fjords,
branching this way and that like the stems of sea-
weeds, stretch g-listenino; westward into the land. A
240 THE LAND OF LORNE.
little inland, a number of liuts cluster, like beavere'
houses, on the site of a white hisihwaj ; and along
the highway peasant men and women, mounted or
afoot, come wandering down to the port. Far as the
eye can see the land is quite flat and low, scarcely
a hillock breaking the dead level until the rise of a
row of low sandhills on the very edge of the distant
sea. The number of fjords and lagoons, large and
small, is almost inconceivable ; there is water every-
where, still and stagnant to the eye, and so constant
is its presence that the mind can scarcely banish
the fancy that this land is some floating, half-sub
stantial mass, torn up in all places to show the sea
below. The higliway meanders through the marshes
until it is quite lost on the other side of the island,
where all grows greener and brighter, the signs of
cultivation more noticeable, the human habitations
more numerous. Far away, on the long black line
of the marshes, peeps a spire, and the white church
gleams below, with school-house and hovels clustering
at its feet.
A prospect neither magnificent nor beautiful, yet
surely full of fascination ; its loneliness, its piteous
human touches, its very dreariness, win without
wooing the soul. And if more be wanted, wait for
the rain — some thin, cold " smurr" from the south,
which will clothe the scene with gray mist, shut out
the distant sea, and brooding, over the desolate la-
goons, draw from them pale and beautiful rainbows,
which come and go, dissolve and grow, swift as the
colors in a kaleidoscope, touching the dreariest
snatches of water and waste with all the wonders of
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTER HEBRIDES. '^41
the prism. Or if you be a fair-weather voyager,
afraid of wetting your skin, wait for the sunset. It
will not be such a sunset as you have been accustomed
to on English uplands or among high mountains, but
something suUener, stranger, and more sad. From a
long, deep bar of cloud, on the far-off ocean horizon,
the sun will gleam round and red, hanging as if
moveless, scarcely tinting the deep, watery shadow of
the sea, but turning every lagoon to blood. There
will be a stillness as if Nature held her breath. You
will have no sense of pleasure or wonder — only hushed
expectation, as if something were going to happen ;
but if you are a saga-reader, you will remember the
death of Balder, and mutter the rune. Such sunsets,
alike yet ever different, we saw, and they are not to
be forgotten. Then most deeply did the soul feel
itself in the true land of the glamour, shut out wholly
from the fantasies of mere fairyland or the grandeurs
of mere spectacle. The clouds may shape them-
selves into the lurid outlines of the old gods, crying
Suinken i Gruua er
Midgards stad !
the mist on the margins of the pools may become the
gigantic mtch-wife, spinning out lives on her bloody
distaff, and croaking a prophecy ; but gentler things
may not intrude, and the happy sense of healthy life
dies utterly away.
Pleasant it is, after such an hour, to wander across
the bogs and mai-^hes, and come down on the margin
of a little lake, while the homeward passing cattle low
in the gloaming. You are now in fairyland. With
11
242 THE LAND OF LORNE.
young buds yellow, and flowers as M'hite as snow,
floating freely among the floating leaves, the water-
lilies gather, and catch the dusky silver of the moon.
The little dab-chick cries, and you see her sailing, a
black speck, close to shore, and splashing the pool
to silver where slie dives. The sky clears, and the
still spaces between the lilies glisten with stars whose
broken rays shimmer like hoarfrost and touch with
crystal the edges of leaves and flowers. You are a
child at once, and think of Oberon.
Neither more nor less than we have described them
are the Outer Hebrides ; a few mountains, endless
stretches of peat bogs and small lagoons, a long tract
of shell-sand hillocks, all environed, eaten into, and
perpetually shapened afresh by the never resting sea —
" Hebrid itslcs.
Set far amid the melancholy main."
Like all such children of the sea, thev flit from mood
to mood, sometimes terrible, sometimes miserable,
peaceful occasionally, but never highly gay. Half the
year round they are misted over by the moist oceanic
rains — in winter the sea strews them anew with sea-
weeds, shells, and drift timber — and for a few davs in
the year they bask in a glassy sea and behold the
midsummer sun.
The rafters of most of the dwellings on the seashore
are composed of the great logs of drift-wood which
find their way over the ocean to the western coasts —
mighty trees, with stumps of roots and branches still
remaining, wafted from the western continents. Many
of these trunks are covered with the foliage of sea-
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTER HEBllIDES. 213
weed, and adorned with barnacles — wliicli, it is Btill
popularly believed, are geese in the embryo. Others
arc the masts and yards of ships.
As has before been noted, the people of these isles
are very poor. Their chief regular occupation, not a
very profitable one now, is the manufacture of kelp ;
but they work during a portion of tiie year at the cod,
ling and herring fisheries. At certain seasons of the
year, they reap an excellent harvest out of the cuddies,
or young lithe, which appear on the coast in numbers
nearly as great as the herring fry. They are taken by
thousands in long bag nets tied to the end of a long
pole. In hard times the people subsist almost entirely
on shell-fish, such as cockles and mussels, which
abound on the endless sea-coast. Most of them have
small crofts, and a few of them are able to keep cows.
Here and there reside wealthy tacksmen, who rent
large farms, employ a good deal of labor, and people
the wastes with cattle and sheep. These tacksmen
rule the land with quite arbitrary sway. In their
hands lies the welfare of the population. Many of
them appear to be honest, kindly men, but there are
evidences that some of them still keep their depen-
dents as " scallags," in virtual slavery.
Walk from one end of the Uists to the other and
you will not meet a smiling face. It is not that the
people are miserable, though they might be happier ;
nor is it that they are apathetic, though they could be
more demonstrative. With one and all of them life
is a solemn business ; they have little time for sport
— indeed, their disposition is not sportive. You must
not joke with them — they do not understand; not
244 THE LAND OF LORNE.
because they are stupid, not because they are
suspicious of your good faith, but merely because
their visions, unlike the visions of brilliant races, are
steady rather than fitful— seeing the world and things
under one changeless ray of light, instead of by
wonderful flashes. From the beginning to the end
they have the same prospect, without summer, with-
out flowers. AVild mirth-making in such a world
would look like mountebanking among graves.
Yet how tender they are ! how exquisitely fresh and
kind ! They are the most home-loving people in the
world ; that is one of the chief reasons why they do
not venture more on the water at greater distances
from the family croft. One meal under the dear old
roof, with the women and the little ones gathered
aroundabout, is sweeter than a dozen at a distance or
on board ship ; hard fare and sorry sleeping in a hut
on the waste, where the wife can rear her young and
the old mother spin in the ingle, is to be preferred to
fine service and good clothes anywhere else in the
world. There is an old Gaelic saying common here,
" A house without the cry of bairns is like a farm
without kye or sheep." Next to this love of home,
this yearning to be the center of a little circle, there
dwells in the people of the islands a passionate fond-
ness for localities. Uist is brighter to most than any
promised land, however abundant the store of milk
and honey. They know the place is bare and deso-
late, they know that it becomes a sore, sore pinch to live
on the soil, but they know also that their fiithers lived
here before them, wedded here, died here, and (they
fervently believe) went virtuously to heaven from
GLIMTSES OF THE OUTER HEBRIDES. 245
here. True, some of the younger and livelier spirits
express their willingness to emigrate, and do emigrate
occasionally, exhilnting under the influence of licjuor
plentifully distributed all the signs of exhilaration ;
but such are exceptions, corrupted youngsters, canglit
too early by the yellow itch of gold. Nothing is
more noticeable in these islands than the demoralizing
influence of civilization on the race. The farther one
recedes from the seaports, from the large farms of the
wealthy tacksman, from the domain of the shopkeeper
and the schoolmaster, the brighter do the souls of the
cotters grow, the opener their hands, the purer their
morjfls, and the happier their homes. Whenever the
great or little Sassenach comes, he leaves a dirty trail
like the slime of the snake. He it is who abuses the
people for their laziness, points sneeringly at their
poor houses, spits scorn on their wretchedly cultivated
scraps of land ; and he it is who, introducing the noble
goad of greed, turns the ragged domestic virtues into
well-dressed prostitutes, heartless and eager for hire.
In the whole list of jobbers, excepting only the
" mean whites " of the Southern States of America,
there are few paltrier follows than the men who stand
by Highland doors and interpret between ignorance
and the great proprietors. They libel the race they
do not understand, they deride the aflections they are
too base to cultivate, they rob and plunder, and
would exterminate wholly, the rightful masters of the
soil. Thev are the acrents of civilization in such
places as the Outer Hebrides; so that, if God does
not help the civilized, it is tolerably clear that the
Devil will.
240 THE LAND OF LOIINE.
In the islands, beware of the civilized. The
cultivated islander, like the Sassenach, gives you
nothing in kindliness, charges you double for every-
thing, and sees you go without any grief save that
of lialf-satisfied greed. liecollect, nevertheless, that
he is doing well, tills his ground well, and by-and-by,
perhaps, will keep a little store, going on from little
to biff tradino;, till he owns both land and boats.
The poor, uncivilized islander, on the other hand,
makes you welcome to his hearth, gives you " bite
and sup " of the best, talks to you with free heart
and honest sympathy, and is only hurt and pained
if you try to repay hospitality with money. No
matter how poor the hut, the stranger must have
something — if not a drink of milk, the croft being
too poor to support a cow, at least a draught of
water in a clean basin. And the smile that sweetens
such gifts is like Christ's turning water into wine.
AYe shall not soon forget the pain and indignation
of an old islander, while telling of his experience
once in the Lowlands. He had been walking far,
and was very thirsty, when he descried a snug
cottage, with a clean, sonsy housewife standing on
the thresliold. " Good wife," he said, after the
usual greeting, " I am very dry ; can you give me
a drink of milk ? " " We have nae milk," was the
reply. " A drink of water then," said the wanderer.
" Aweel," said the woman, "if you like i'll show ye
the ^/_?<?//, but we hoe to fetch tlie water ourseVs ! "
"My father and my mother," Baid our informant,
after recounting the anecdote — " my father and my
mother would liave risen screeching from their graves,
GLIMPSEH OF THE OUTER IIEB1UDE8. 247
had I greeted the stranger at their door witli such a
speech."
Such are some of the people's virtues — philopro-
genitiveness (rather a doubtful virtue this in tlie eyes
of some political economists!), honesty, hospitality.
[N^ote, too, a few of tlieir faults, or, as some would
say, their vices. Their stanchest friend cannot say
that they are over-clean. They will sometimes litter
like pigs, when by a little trouble they might live like
human beings ; and they do not always comb their
hair. Then, again, they don't and won't go in for
" improvements." The house their parents lived in
is good enongh for them — a herring-barrel is good
enough for a chimney, clay is good enough for a
floor. They would feel chilly in a bigger dwelling.
They are used to the thick peat-smoke, the pig by
the fire, the hens on the rafters — perhaps, too, in the
season, the oalf in a corner. A philosopher may say
— " Why not ? "
One picture of a cottage may be as good as a
dozen. Imagine, then, a wall, five or six feet thick,
tapering inward, and thereon, springing about a foot
within the outer edge of the wall, a roof of turf and
thatch, held down by heather ropes set close together,
and having at either ends great stones abont twenty
pounds in weight. The interior is divided by a
wooden partition into two portions, the " but " and
the " ben." The calf is in a corner, and the hens
roost on the beams overhead. The floor is clay,
baked hard with the heat of the peat fire. The roof
is soot-black, having a hole in the top, with a herring
barrel for a chimney. From the center descends a
248 THE LAND OF LOIINE.
heavy chain, with a hook at the end whereon to hang
the great black kettle. The mistress of the house
squats on her hams at the door, and, leaning her
cheek on her hands, watches you approach. The pig
is paddling in the puddle close by. Perhaps, if the
house is prosperous, the pony is grazing a short
distance, with his forelegs tied to prevent his run-
ning away.
A stranger, wandering here, will be struck by the
fact that, although the dwellings are bo wretched, the
dress of the poor inhabitants is remarkably good,
showing few signs of poverty. Almost, all wear home-
spun, and as much of it as possible — stout, coarse
tweeds for the men, and thick flannels for the women.
Nearly every house has a spinning-wheel, many
houses possess a loom ; a few have both ; and a busy
sight it is to see the comely daughter working at the
loom, while the mother spins at her side, and even
the man knits himself a pair of stockings while he
smokes his pipe in the corner. The men, as well as
the women are excellent weavers.
Another point that will strike a stranger, in the
Uists especially, is the enormous number of ponies.
Where they come from, what they are useful for, we
have been unable to find out ; but they literally
swarm, and nnist be a serious encumbrance to the
population. We were offered a splendid little filly
for thirty shillings.
Thus far nothing has been said of the dec]), inner
life of this people. Little as we have seen, and less
as we understand, of that^ we see and underetand
enough for great emotion. Put the spiritual nature
GLIMrSES OF THE OUTER IIEBIIIDES. '-^-^9
aside in estimating capabilities, and you exclude all
that is greatest and most signilicant. Now, directly
the mental turn of the islanders is apprehended, it is
clear at a glance why they must inevitably sink and
perish in the race with the southerner or east-
countryman. They are too ruminant by nature, too
slow to apprehend new truths. They are saddened
by a deep, clinging sense that the world is haunted.
They have faith in witchcraft, in prophecy, in
charms. If a stranger looks too keenly at a child,
they pray God to avert " the evil eye." They believe
that gold and gems are bidden in obscure corners
of the hills, but that only supernatural powers know
where. Tliey have seen the " Men of Peace," or Scot-
tish fays, with bhie bonnets on their heads, pushing
from shore the boat that is found adrift days after-
ward. Some of their old women retain the sec-
ond sight. Strange sounds — sometimes like human
voices, at others like distant bagpipes — are heard
about their dwelhngs when any one is going to die.
they tremble at the side of " fairy wells." They
have the Gruagach, or Banshee. In short, they have
a credulous turn of mind, not entirely disbelieving,
even when they know the evidence to be very
doubtful, for they aver that the world is fuller of
wonders than any one man knows.^ In their daily
life, at births, at weddings, at funerals, they keep
such observances as imply a deep sense of the pa-
* MacCulloch, writing in 1824 speaks of such superstitions as
virtually extinct over all the Highlands. " The EQghlanders,"
he says, " now believe as much as their Pictish and Saxon neigh-
bors ; " and he proceeds, in his usual silly fashion, to rake up all
11*
250 THE LAND OF LORNE.
tlietic nature of human ties. The voices of winds
and waters are in their hearts, and they passionately
believe in God.
It is still the custom, in the TJists and in Barra, to
gather together on the long winter nights, and listen
to the strange stories recited by aged men and women.
These stories have been handed down from generation
to generation, and are very curious indeed, dealing
with traditions obviously originating in pre-historic
periods.* The listeners know all about Ossian and
Fingal, and regard them almost as real beings. Here
and there in the islands reside men famous for their
good stories, of which they are very proud. Some of
them are familiar with ancient poems, full of sea
sounds and the cries of the wind. With these stories
and poems — tales of enchanted lands and heavenly
music — they keep their hearts up in a desolate and
lonely world ; but on all such subjects they are very
silent to the stranger, until he has managed to win
their confidence and disarm their pride.
the large names he can muster, for the purpose of showing that
their superstitions were always plagiarisms of the most common-
place kind With his usual felicity in quoting at random, he
throws no light whatever on the subject. We wonder if he ever
came in contact with a Celt of the true breed. Doubtless ; but,
lacking insight, he saw no speculation in the visionary eyes. Even
a long night s talk with Ilamish Sliaw would have had no effect
on this queer compound of pedantry and skittishness — this man
of prodigious Latinisms and elephantine jokes. Yet his letters
were addressed to Walter Scott, who was doubtless much edified
by their familiarity and endless verbiage.
* For a full feast of Highland legends of the traditional kind,
consult Mr. Campbell's " Popular Tales."
GLIMPSES OF THE OUTER HEBRIDES. 251
With such ;i people, religion is naturally a vital
thing, important us life itself. The poor women will
travel miles on miles to hear mass, or (if Protestants)
to take the communion. It is held an evil thing to
miss religious ceremonial on the Sabbath. In all af-
fairs of joy or sorrow, there is one straight appeal to
the Fountain-IIead — the Lord God who reigns in
heaven. Dire is the suffering that can be borne when
the Bufferer is told by the priest that it is "God's
will."
What dullness ! what a civilization ! How inferior
are these benighted beings to their instructors — the
petty tradesmen and the small factors ! How blessed
will the islands be when the present demoralizing in-
fluences are withdrawn, and the paupers possess in
their place the huckster's scales and the grocer's tal-
low candle !
'2[)2 THE LAND 01'' LOllNE.
CHAPTER Xn.
BPORT IN THE WILDS.
Sealguir thu mar a "nihai-bhas thu GeadJi a's Corr' a's Orotach.—''
Bportsman, when killest thou goose, and heron, and cniley/f "—IIigfda7id
Froverb.
The Sportsmen and their Dog— The Hunter's Badge— The Weapons-
Shooting in the Fjords— Eiders, Cormorants, Ciu-lcws- Duck-Shooting
near Loch Boisdale— The Tern at Anchor in'Lock Huport— Starvation—
Wild-Goosc Shooting on Loch Bee— The Shepherd's Gifts— Goose-Shoot-
ing on Loch Phlogibeg — TheMdancholy Loch— Breeding-Places of the
Wild-Fowl— Rain-storm — "Bonny Kilmeny " — Short Rations— Tho
Passing Ship— Red Deer, Salmon, and Eagles — Corbies and Ravens—
Seal-Shooting in the Maddy Fjords— Reflection on Wild Sports in Gen-
eral.
If the gentle reader be a sportsman of the usual
breed, serious, professional, perfect in training, a dead
shot at any reasonable distance, and at any object,
from a snipe to a buffalo, it is with no respectful feel-
ings that he will hear of our hunting raids through
the Iligliland wilds. We were three — the Wanderer,
Hamish Shaw, and the dog Schneider, so named in a
fit of enthusiasm, after seeing Mr. Jefferson's " Kip
Yan Winkle." The Wanderer would have been a
terrible fellow in the field if he had not been short-
sighted, and in the habit of losing his spectacles. As
SPORT IN THE WILDS. 253
it is, he was at least terribly in earnest, and could con-
trive to hit a large object, if he did not aim at it witli.
any particular attempt to be accurate. Hamish Shaw
was not great at flying game, but he was mightily
successful in sneaking up for close shots at unsus-
pecting and sitting conies, and his eye was as sharp as
a backwoodsman's in picking up objects at a distance.
The third member of the party, Schneider, the dog, was
of the gentler sex, wayward, willful, for the lack of
careful training during her infancy, apt to take her
own way in hunting matters, until brought to a due
sense of decorum by a vigorous application of the
switch. She was, in fact, a noble specimen of the
species Briggs, having been trained by the Wanderer
himself, with the usual triumphant result in such
cases ; so that, if no sheep caught her eye, and a keen
watch was kept upon her movements, she could be de-
pended on for a stalk or a chase quite as much as
either of her masters. Though she could not point or
set, she was a tolerable retriever, and few dogs of any
kind could match her for long and steady labor in the
water.
Now, it was the fixed detemiination of the Wander-
er, on again roaming northward, once and forever to
prove his title to the hunter's badge, by killing, ac-
cording to the requirements of the old Highland for-
mula, a red deer, a salmon, an eagle, a seal, and a
wild-swan, every one of which he religiously swore to
Bkin and stuff as eternal credentials, testifying unmis-
takably that he was a man of prowess in the field.
All these, of course, had to be slain single-handed, un-
aided by any more complicated weapons of destruc-
254 THE LAND OF LORNE
tion than the rifle, the fowling-piece, and the rod.
Cunningly enough, he had fixed on Uist and the ad-
jacent islands as an excellent place to begin his labors,
and perhaps achieve the crowning honors of them all.
The red deer, he knew, were certainly not numerous
there; but the system of stalking them places the
possibilities strongly in favor of the hunter, who lies
securely hidden, close to one of the paths the game
is sure to take when driven by boatmen from the ad-
jacent small islands where they feed. Salmon were
plentiful in the great lochs communicating with the
sea, and in some of the larger rivers. The lesser seals
swarmed at all times, while during winter even the
great Arctic monster brooded on Ilaskeir, and played
splashingly at leapfrog through the Sound of Harris.
Here and there, hovering over the inaccessible peaks,
poised the eagle, in all the glory of his freedom, while
the ravens croaked jealously on the shadowy crags
below. As for the hoopers, solitary specimens had
been known to alight on the lonely lochans even dur-
ing the sunny season, and in winter the huge migra-
tants landed in swarms — no very difficult mark for the
hunter's bullet or " swan-post."
These were the mighty game, the hierarchy of the
hunter's heaven — ^beautiful, distant, not readily to be
won, until drawn down by the music of the whizzing
ball. But the Wanderer was not proud ; he had an
eye to lesser game, and being inoculated at that time
with the least bit of the naturalist's enthusiasm, he
longed greedily for additions to his museum. Where-
fore the eider-duck, and the merganser, and the grebe,
and all the various tribes of sea-birds and land-birds?.
SPOirr IN THE WILDS. 255
were carefully marked for addition to the list of speci-
mens culled by that steadfast hand. Then there was
the cabin-table to be catered for ; and rapturously was
it noted that wild-ducks, and plovers, and moor-fowl,
and conies were numerous in all the islands, and that
the monster wild-goose, a still more noble quarry, was
breeding in seeming security in the hearts of all the
greater moorland lochs.*
* In that curious and scarce little book on the Western Hebri-
des, published by the Rev. John Lane Buchanan, in 1793, there is
a marvelous account of the ornithological treasures to be found
in the islands. The naivete with which the reverend gentleman
retails his wonders is very comical :
•' The species of land and sea-fowls over all this country," he
begins, " are too many to be mentioned in so limited a work as
this. Tarmachans, plovers, blackbirds, starlings (or dimddan),
red muir cocks and hens ducks and wild-geese by thousands,
particularly on the plains of South Uist, and elsewhere ; wood-
cocks, snipes, ravens, carrion-crows, herons, bats, owls, all kinds
of hawks and eagles, so large and strong, that they carry off
lambs, kids, fawns, and the weaker kind of sheep and foala.
They have been known to attack even cows, horses, and stags ;
and their nests are frequently found to be plentifully supplied
with fish, which, in what are called plays of fish, they pick up
from tlie surface of the sea.
'' A species of robbery, equally singular and cruel, was lately
practised in this country very commonly, and sometimes at this
day, in which the eagles are the principal actors. The thieves,
coming upon the eaglets in their nests, in the absence of their
dams, sew up the extremity of the great gut ; so that the poor
creatures, tortured by obstructions, express their sense of pain in
frequent and loud screams. The eagle, imagining their cries to
proceed from hunger, is unwearied in the work of bringing in
t'resh prey, to satisfy, as he thinks, their craving appetites. But
all that spoil is carried home by the thieves at night, when they
come to give a momentary relief to the eaglets, for the purpose
ct prolonging, for their own. base ends, their miserable existence.
25u THE LAND OF LORNE.
Tliese were the weapons : a Snider rifle, a double-
baiTel breech-loader, good for stopping small game on
the hillsides ; and a long shoulder duck-gun. Big Ben-
jamin by name, good for any or every thing at a hun-
Tliis infernal practice is now wearing fast away, being strictly
watched by the gentlemen, and severely punished. Mr. Mac-
Kenzie, for every eagle killed in Lewis, gives a half-crown. One
of those large eagles was taken in the Isle of Hemes, at Tarbert,
together with a large turbot, in which the animal had fastened
its talons, when asleep at the surface of the water, so as not to be
able to disengage them. The eagle, with his large wings ex-
panded like sails, drove before the wind into the harbor, where
lie was taken alive (his feet being entangled in the turbot) by the
country people.
" Birds of passage, of several kinds, are seen over all the isles.
Swans, cuckoos, swallows, lapwings, plovers, etc., and wild-fowls.
of several kinds, rendered tame, are often seen about the yards,
dunghills, and doors of houses, among the poultry.
" The Bishop Carara, or Bunubhuachil, is larger than any goose,
of a brown color, the inside of the wing white, the bill long and
broad. It dives quicker than any other bird. It was never known
to fly, the wings being too short to carry a weight seldom under
but often above, sixteen pounds.
" The black cormorant is not held in much estimation by the
islanders ; but such as have white feathers in their wings, and
white down on their bodies, are famous for making soup or broth
of a delicate taste and flavor.
" The Western Hebrid(>s abound in solan-geese, seagulls, and
singing-ducks, of a size somewhat less than that of common ducks.
They are constantly employed, eithe'' in diving for sand-eels,
which are of a speckled color, like leeches, or in sitting together
in flocks, and singing, which is heard at the distance of half a
mile, and is accounted very pleasing music.
" The duck calh^d the Crawgiabh, is larger than a Muscovy
duck, and almost tame — you may approach very near it before it
takes wing — and is frequently kept by gentlemen among tlie
other poultry.
SPOKT IN THE WILDS. 257
clred yards, and certain, if loaded with the duo amount
of shot and powder, to stretch low the unwary shoot-
er with its sharp recoil. Theii there was the rod, a
slight tiling, but clever and pliant, besides being very
portable, and the six or seven kinds of Hies — the dark
wild-drake's wing, with white tip, being found the
" Rain-Ooose. — This fowl is always heard at a great distance
betote a storm ; it is almost as large as a goose.
" DrUlechaii, or Water-Magpie. — This bird is larger than a land-
magpie, beautifully speckled, with a long, sharp, and strong bill,
red as blood. It nevei swims, but Hies from place to place, fol-
lowing the ebb, picking up spout-fish. They are silent during
the flow of the tide, and begin to whistle the moment it turns.
" Stamngs. — This bird appears in spring on these coasts, about
the size of a hawk, with long, sharp-pointed wings, extremely
noisy and daring. They are speckled, but the prevailing color is
white.
" Fasgatar. — This bird is of blackish-blue, as large as a hawk,
and is constantly pursuing the starnags through the air, to force
them to throw out of their mouths whatever they have eaten ;
and the vile creatures catch every atom of wlip.t the others throw
out before it reaches the water. It will sometimes venture to sit
on any boat, if the passengers have provisions, and throw out
any, by way of encouraging its approaches.
" Wild Daves. — Every cave and clift is full of wild doves."
The above needs a little comment. The eagle story may be
taken at its worth ; but the rain-goose and the Bishop Carara
fairly puzzle us — unless by the latter is meant the loon. The
driUedian, which has a bill "as red as blood," and which
whistles " at the turn of the tide," is, of course, the little seapie,
or oyster-catcher. The starnags may be a species of gull, and
the fasgaiar, the herring-hawk, so hateful to honest fishers.
As for the singing-duck, the only bird at all answering to the de-
scription is the ice-duck, whose strangely eerie cry is perhaps
" pleasing," but, assuredly, very melancholy. " Calloo ! calloo ! "
it moans aloud during windy weather, in a voice like the cry of
a child in mortal pain.
258 THE LAND OF LORNE.
finest for trout in all those gloomy waters. Besides
these, there was the telescope, taken in preference to
a binocular field-glass, as being at once more power-
ful and more sportsmanlike — but voted a bore in the
sequel, always getting lost if carried in the hands, and
when slung over the shoulders by a strap, constantly
dangling forward in the way of the gun when the
shooter stooped, or suddenly loosening at the critical
moment, before firing, to scare the purposed victim
away with a savage rattle !
There were two ways of hunting — on foot, over the
moors, and on water, through the winding fjords. Of
the two, we preferred the latter — deeming it the more
enjoyable, and less wearisome to the body.
Floating hither and thither with the lug-sail, a
light air guiding the punt surely, though slowly, to-
ward the victims, Ilamish at the helm, Schneider fret-
ting in the bottom, the Wanderer crouching with
cocked gun in the bows, we soon accumulated speci-
mens of the many species of ducks, the male and fe-
male eider, the black guillemot, the herring-hawk, the
black scart and green shag, and the calloo. All and
each of these birds we roasted and tasted after the
skinning, having determined to give a fair trial to
every morsel that fell to rod or gun ; out of them all,
the only eatable birds were the eiders, and to devour
them, with a relish would require an appetite. As
for the scart, angels and ministers of graco defend us
from that taste again 1 The rakings of greasiest ship's
pantry, the scrapings of the foulest cook's colander,
mingled with meat from the shambles and stinking
fish from the seashore, could not surpass its savor 1
yroKT IN Till: wilds 259
Yet the fislienneii praise it hugely, and devour it
with greed. At St. Kilda, where the chief diet of tlie
iiiliabitaiits consists of sea-fowl, and elsewhere over all
the islands, the birds are prized as food exactly in
proportion to their fishy and oily taste ; the stronger
the savor, the more precious the prize.
Of all common birds that fly, commend us to the
curlew ; for we are by no means of that tribe of
sportsmen who like an easy prey, and in our eyes
the more difficult the chase the more glorious the
sport. The curlew has two noble qualities. Kept
till the right minute, cooked to a turn, delicately
basted, and served with sweet sauce, it equals any
bird that flies, is more delicate than the grouse,
richer than the partridge, and plumper than the
snipe. Then, still better, it is, without any exception
whatever, the most difficult of all English birds to
catch unawares, or to entice bv any device within
shooting distance. It is the watchman of birds — the
shyest, the most vigilant, the most calculating. It
knows better than yourself how far your gun can
carry; and with how mocking and shrill a pipe it
rises and wheels away, just as you fiatter yourself it
is within gunshot ! Poor will be your chance at the
wild-duck on the shore, if the whaup be near ; for his
sharp eye will spy you out, as you crawl forward face
downward, and at his shrill warning, "whirr" will
sound the wings of the quacking flock, as they rise
far over your head, and you rise shaking oif the dirt
and cursing the tell-tale. When a band of curlews
alight, bo sure that not one avenue of approach is un-
guarded ; look with a telescope, and mark the outly-
260 THE LAND OF LORNE,
ing guards — one high up on a rock, another peering
round the comer of a cliff, a third far up on the land,
and a last straggler perha})S passing over your own
head with a whistle to his brethren. In all our sport-
ing experience — and it has been, long, if not glorious —
we have known only one of these birds to have
been shot sitting^ and this one was slain on a hillside
by Hamish Shaw, who strapt his gun upon his back,
and crawled through the heather on his stomach, like
a snake!
Let the sportsman who has distinguished himself
on the moors or among the turnip iields, and boasts
loudly of his twenty brace, try his hand at a day's
curlew shooting, and if on a first or second trial he
bags enough dinner for a kestrel, we will call him the
prince of shooters. In the breeding season only is it
possible to shoot this bird easily, without an accurate
knowledge of its habits, or much experience of its
wary arts ; but who destroys the bird-mother or her
tender mate ?
The Wanderer and Hamish Shaw slew many a
whaup in the fjords at Boisdale, Nowhere in the
Highlands were these birds so plentiful — they gathered
in great flocks, literally darkening the sky ; but no-
where, also, were they shyer and wilder, for the num-
berless pairs of eyes told hugely against the shooter.
A little was done by seeking concealed station, and
having the birds driven as much as possible in that
direction ; but tlje most successful plan was to row the
punt Slowly to the spot where the birds thronged the
rocks, with their heads and bodies all turned one way,
and when they arose screaming, to run the chance of
SPORT IN THE WILDS. 261
picking oir solitary individuals at long distances. It
was found that the culew always felt himself perfectly
safe flying at eighty or ninety yards; and, with
careful shooting and proper loading, Big Benjamin
could do wonders at that distance at any tolerably-
sized bird on the wing.
In the greater inland locl>6 of Boisdale, while the
Tern was flying in the harbor, the wild-duck were
plentiful, and they were vigorously hunted on two
occasions by our sportsmen and the dog. It was not
such easy work as duck-shooting often is, for all the
shores of the lochs were covered with deep sedge and
reeds, stretching out far into the water, and afi'ording
safe cover to innumerable coots and dabchicks, as
well as to the ducks themselves. Schneider, however,
performed famously, swimming and forcing his way
through the green forest, till he startled many a bird
to the open.
Enough of such ignoble chronicling of small beer.
"Wliaups, wild-ducks dabchicks — these are to be found
on every moor and lochan south, as well as north, of
the Tweed. But what says the reader to the wild-
goose ? A more noticeable fellow sm'ely, and well
worthy of the sportsman's gun. Even far south in
England, in severe weather, you have been startled
by the loud " quack, quack, quack," above your head,
and looking upward, you have seen, far up in the air,
the flock flying swiftly, in the shape of a wedge,
wending, God knows whither, with outstretched necks,
in noble flight. The tame-goose, the fat, waddling,
splay-footed, hissing gosling, all neck and bottom, is
an eye-sore, a monstrosity, fit only for the honor's of
262 THE LAND OF LOENE,
onion-stuffing and apple-sauce, at the Christmas season ;
but his wild kinsman is Hyperion to a satyr, noble
as well as beautiful, winged like an eagle, powerful as
a swan, not easily to be slain by Cockney gun, not
easily to be surpassed in his grand flight by Cockney
imagination. Now, we had long known that the
wild-goose bred in the wilds of Uist, and we longed
to take him in his lair ; and pursue him we did at
last, under circumstances most clearly warranting
bird-slaughter, if ever such circumstances occuiTed in
our chequered lifetime.
We had been storm-staid for a week in Loch Hu-
port, a lonely sea-fjord, about midway between Loch
Boisdale and Loch Maddy, affording a snug anchor-
age in one of its numerous bays — Macpherson's Bay
by name. So wild were the squalls for days that we
could not safely get on shore with the punt, although
we were anchored scarcely two hundred yards from
land. Kow, by sheer blockheadedncss, having calcu-
lated on reaching Loch Maddy and its shops at least
a fortnight before, we had run short of nearly every-
thing — bread, biscuits, sugar, tea, coffee, drink of all
kinds ; and but for a supply of eggs and milk, brought
off at considerable peril from a lonely hut a few miles
away, we should have been in sore distress indeed.
At last, the "Wanderer and Ilamish Shaw went off for
a forage, with guns and dog, determined, if all else
failed, and they could not purchase supplies, to do
justifiable murder on a helpless sheep. Though the
wind was still high, they sailed up Loch Huport with
the punt and lug-sail, and having reached the head of
the loch, and drawn the boat up high and dry, they
SPOliT IN THE WILDS. 263
Bet ofi' on foot with Big Benjamin and the double-
barrel.
About five hundred yards distant, and communicat-
ing with Loch lluport by a deep, artificial trench,
nearly passable by a boat at high tide, lies anotlier
smaller loch of brackish water, wliich, in its turn, com-
municates, through reedy shallows, with a great loch
reaching almost to the Western Ocean. Dean Monro,
who visited the place long ago, speaks of the latter
as famous for its red mullet — " ano fish the size and
shape of ane salmont ; " and it stitl abounds in both
fresh-water and ocean fishes :
" For to this lake, by night and day
The great sea-water finds its way.
Through long, long windings of the hills.
And drinks up all the pretty rills.
And rivers large and strong." *
The smaller loch was only about half a mile broad,
so the sportsmen determined to separate, each taking
one of the banks ; Hamish Shaw shoulderino; Big Ben-
jamin,which was heavily charged with the largest drop-
shot, and the Wanderer the double-barrel. Shortly
after the parting, the "Wanderer saw an aged Celt,
who was fishing for sethe with bait — coarse twine for
a line, and a piece of cork for a float ; and this worthy,
after recovering from the shock of seeing an armed
Sassenach at his shoulder, averred that there were
plenty of " geeses " up the loch. " The geeses is big
and strong, but she'll only just be beginning to flee
awa' " — a statement which we intei-preted to mean
* Wordsworth's " Highland Boy."
264 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
that the young birds were fully fledged, and able to
rise upon their wings.
The shores of the Loch were boggy and covered
with deep herbage, with great holes here and there
as pitfalls to the unwary pedestrian ; and the "Wan-
derer stumbled along for about a mile without seeing
80 much as the glint of a passing wing. At last, he
perceived a small and desolate island, over which
two black-backed gulls hovered, screaming at the sight
of the stranger. From a corner of this island rose
a duck, and sped swiftly, out of gunshot, down the
water. The Wanderer waded, sure that it must
wheel ; and wheel it did, after flying five hundred
yards, and passed back close over its head. Down it
came, plump as a stone. Alas ! only a good duck,
with its buff breast and saw-toothed bill ; and a
mother too, for out from the weedy point of the
island, diving in unconcern, paddled her uve young,
earning their own living already, though they were
only wingless little lumps of down. The wanderer
bagged his bird disappointedly, for he had been on
short rations for days, and had made sure of a mallard.
A cry from Ilamish Shaw! He was standing
across the water, pointing backward up the Loch, and
shouting out a sentence, of which only one word —
" geese t" — was audible. The Wanderer crept
stealthily to the water's edge, and espied a number
of large birds seated on the water a quarter of a mile
away. The telescope soon proving the blissful truth
that these were " the geese," it was hurriedly arranged
in pantomime that Hamish should creep back and
press the birds gently forward, without approaching
SrORT IN Til''. WILDS. 2G5
SO close as to compel them to rise, while the Wan-
derer, with hi>i (log, crouched behind a rock on the
water's edge, ready to attack the unwary ones as
they swam past. " To heel, Schneider — down ! "
With burning eyes and panting breath crouched the
dog ; for, thank heaven ! it was one of her good days,
and not a sheep was nigh.
It was one of those periods of awful suspense known
only to the man who shoots — a quarter of an hour of
agony — the knees soaking in muddy weeds, the per-
spiration rolling down the cheeks — an unaccountable
and fiercely resisted desire to sneeze suddenly taking
possession of the nose — one eye, in an agony, glaring
command on the animal, the other peering, at the
approaching game. And now, horror of horrors !
it is beginning to mizzle. The spectacles get
misted over every minute, and they are wiped with
a hand that trembles like an aspen leaf. Suppose
the piece, at the last moment should refuse to
go off? A bad cartridge, on this occasion, means
no less than semi-starvation ! There they are —
little more than a hundred yards away — a mighty
gander, gray headed and jaunty, leading the way,
a female a few yards behind, then another gander
and his wife, and lastly four fat young geese, nearly
as big as their parents, but duller in their attire and
far less cm*ious in their scrutiny of surrounding
objects. Hush! the first gander is abreast of us — we
have to hold down the dog by main force. We do
not fire, for our hearts are set on the young brood ;
they will be tender — papa will be tough. Perdition !
Schneider, driven to frenzy, and vainly trying to
12
260 THE LAND OF LOBNE.
escape, utters a low and hideous wliine — the old
ganders and geese start in horror — tliey flutter,
splash, rise — and there is just time to take rapid aim
at one young goose, just dragging itself into the air,
when the dog plunges into the water, and the whole
portly covey are put to rout.
As the smoke of the gun clears away, all the
geese are invisible but one, which lies splashing on
the surface, mortally wounded; him Schneider ap-
proaches to secure, but, appalled by a hiss, a beat of
the wings, a sudden sign of showing fight, turns off
and would retreat ignominiously to shore. She has
never tackled such a monster since a certain eventful
day when she was nearly murdered by another
wounded bird, also a goose, but of a different kind —
a solan, or a gannet. Dire is the language which tlie
Wanderer hurls at her head, fierce the reproaches,
bitter the taunting reminiscences of other mishaps by
flood and field ; till at last, goaded by mingled shame
and wrath, the dog turns, showing her teeth, de-
spatches the foe with one fell snap, and begins trailing
him to shore. Meanwhile, the Wanderer hears a
loud report in the distance — crash ! roar ! — unmis-
takably the voice of Benjamin, adding doubtless to
the list of slain.
Flushed with triumph, for at least one meal was
secure, the Wanderer slung the spoil over his
shoulder, patted the dog in forgiveness of all sins,
and made his way over to the other side as rapidly
as possible. Arrived there, he looked everywhere for
Ilamish, but saw no sign of that doughty Celt. At
last his eye fell on something white lying among the
SrOIlT IN THE WILDS. 267
heather ; and lo ! an aged gander, blood-stained,
dead as a stone. Then, emerging from the deep
herbage, rose the liead of Shaw — a ghastly sight ;
for the face was all cut and covered with blood. An
old story ! Held in hands not well used to his ways,
Big Benjamin had taken advantage of the occasion,
and, uttering his diabolical roar, belging forwards
and kicking backwards, had slain a gander, and
nearly murdered a man at the same time.
A little water cleared away the signs of battle,
but Hamish still rubbed his cheek and shoulder,
vowing never to have any more dealings with such
a gun so long as he lived. After a rest and a drop
of water from the flask, tracks were made homeward,
and just as the gloaming was beginning, the fruit of
the forage was trimnphantly handed over to the cook
on board the yacht.
Blessings do not come singly. By the side of the
yacht, and nearly as big as herself, was a boat from
shore, offering for sale new potatoes, fresh milk, and
eggs. On board were a shepherd and his wife, who,
living in an obscure bay of the loch, had only just
heard of the yacht's arrival. The man was a little
red-headed fellow, wiry and lissome ; his wife might
have passed for a Spanish gipsy, with her straight
and stately body, her dark, fine features and glit-
tering black eyes, and the colored handkerchief
setting oif finely a complexion of tawny olive.
Kindly and courteous, hearing that a " lady " was
on board, they liad brought as a present to her
two beautiful birds — a young male kestrel and a
young hooting owl, which from that day became
268 THE LAND OF LORNE.
members of the already too numerous household
on board the Tefrn. The kestrel lives yet — a nau-
tical bird, tame as possible, never tired of swinging
on a perch on the deck of a ship ; but the owl,
christened " The Chancellor," on account of his wig,
disappeared one day overboard, and was in all
probability drowned.
The shepherd was a mountaineer, and was well ac-
quainted with the ways and haunts of birds. He
knew of only one pair of eagles in that neighborhood,
and from his vague description, translated to us by
Ilamish Shaw, we could not make out to what
precise species of eagle he referred. He had harried
the nest that spring, but the young had died in his
hands, and he was afraid the old birds would forsake
the mountain. In answer to our questions about
sport, he said that the small lochans close by attract-
ed a large number of birds, but if we wished a
genuine day of wild-fowl-hunting, we must go to Loch
Phlogibeg, two miles in the interior, where the geese
were legion. He recommended us to get the punt
carried across the hills — a feat which might speedily
be achieved by vigorous work on the part of four
strong men.
As it was still too windy next morning to think of
lifting anchor and urging the yacht farther on her
journey up the open coast, the punt was taken to
shore at an early hour by Ilamish and the Wanderer ;
and an aged shepherd and his son, living in a cottage
on the banks of the fjord, were soon persuaded to
assist in carrying the boat overland. It was warm
work. The hills were steep and full of great holes
SrORT IN THE WILDS. 260
between the lieather, and the earth was sodden with
rain which had fallen during the night. Fortunately,
however, there intervened, between the sea and Loch
Phlogibeg, no less than four smaller lochs, over which
the punt was rowed successively, thus reducing the
land journey from two miles to little more than half a
mile. And lovely, indeed, were these little lochans of
the hills, nestling among the hollows, their water of
exquisite limpid brown, and the water-lilies floating
thereon so thickly that the path of the boat seemed
strewn with flowers. Small trout leaped at intervals,
leaving a ring of light that widened and died. From
one little pool, no larger than a gentleman's drawing-
room, and appareled in a many-colored glory no
upholsterer could equal, we startled a pair of beautiful
red-throats — but the guns were empty, and the prize
escaped. There were ducks also, and flappers num-
berless — stately herons, too, rising at our approach
with a clumsy flap of the great black wings, and
tumbling over and over in the air, when out of the
reach of danger, in awkward and unwieldy play.
What is stiller than a heron on a promontory ?
Moveless he stands, arching his neck and eyeing the
water with one steadfast gaze. Hours pass — he has
not stirred a feather ; fish are scarce ; but sooner or
later, an eel will slip glittering past that very spot,
and be secured by one thrust of the mighty bill. He
will wait on, trusting to Providence, hungry though
he is. Not till he espies your approach does he
change his attitude. "Watchful, yet still, he now
stands sidelong, stretching out his long neck with a
270 THE LAND OF LOllNE.
serpentine motion, till, unable to bear the suspense
any longer, he rises into the air.
At last, all panting, we launched the punt on
Phlogibeg. Delicious, indeed, at that moment, would
have been a drop of distilled waters, but the last
whisky-bottle had been empty for days, and was not
to be replenished in those regions. Having despatched
the Highlanders liomeward, with a promise from
them to aid in the transport of the boat on the return
journey next day, the Wanderer and his henchman
prepared the guns and set oif in search of sport.
Loch Phlogibeg is a large and solitary mere, in the
heart of a melancholy place. Around it the land
undulates into small hills, with bogs and marshes
between, and to the southeast, high mountains of
gneiss, with crags and precipices innumerable, rise
ashen gray into the clouds. All is very desolate —
the bare mountains, the windy flats, the ever-somber
sky. There is not a tree or shrub ; instead of under-
wood, stones and boulders strew the w^aste. The
mere itself is black as lead ; small islands rise here
and there, heaped round with rocks and stones, and
covered inside with deep, rank grass and darnel.
Everywhere in the water jut up pieces of rock — some-
times a whole drift-reef, like a ribbed wall ; and at the
western end are the ruins of a circular tower, or dune,
looking eerie in the dim twilight of the dull and
doleful air.
But now we are afloat, pulling against a chill, moist
wind. Hark ! The air, which was before so still, is
broken by unearthly screams. The inhabitants of the
lonely place are up in arms, yelling us away from
SrOIlT IN THE WILDS. 2*71
their nests and young. Look at tlic terns, pulsing up
and down in the air with that strange, spasmodic
l)eat of the wings, curving the little black head down-
ward, and uttering their endless creaking croak.
Why, that little fellow, swift as an arrow, descended
almost to our faces, as if to peck out our eyei5; we
could have struck him witli a staff"! Numberless
gulls, large and small, white and dark, all hovering
liither and thither, above our heads, now unite in the
chorus; and two of the large, black-backed species
loin the flying band, but, unlike the rest, voice their
indignation only at long intervals. The din is fright-
ful ! all the fiends are loose ! Yet numerous as are
the criers in the air, they are only a fraction of the
swai-ms visible in the loch — flocks of them sitting
moveless on the island shores, solitary ones perching
on the straggling rocks where they protrude through
the water, others floating and feeding far out from
land. See yonder monster gull, perched on a stone ; she
looks huge as an eagle, with back as black as ebony,
breast as white as snow, and large and glistening eyes ;
she does not move as we approach, but her frantic mate
hovers above us and tries to scream us away. Though
sorely tempted to secure so magnificent a bird, we
spare her, partly for the sake of her young, partly
(and more selfislily) for fear of frightening from the
loch other and more precious game. Note tlfe
smaller and darker plumaged birds, paddling swiftly
here and there close to the rocks ; they are young
gulls, recently launched out on the great water of
life.
All this life only deepens the desolation of the
2'?2 THE LAND OF LOBNE.
meie. There is a hollow sadness in the air, which
the weird screech of the birds cannot break.
But the geese — where are they ? Not one is visible
as yet ; we have not even heard a quack. Is it, indeed,
to be a wild-goose chase, but only in the figurative
sense, not literally ? No — for Hamish, with his lynx-
Jike eye, has picked out the flock afar away; he points
them out again and again — there! and there! — but
the Wanderer, wipe his spectacles as he will, can see
nothing. With the telescope, however, he at last
makes them out — a long line upon the water, number-
less heads and necks. What a swarm ! Surely all
the geese of Uist have gathered here this day to dis-
cuss some solemn business ! It is the very parliament
of geese — grave, traditional — beginning and ending,
like so many of our own parliaments, in a " quack."
Hush ! Now to steal on them slowly with muffled
oars. Some, the older birds, will rise, but surely out
of all that mighty gathering a few will be our own !
As we approach, the geese retreat — they have
spied UB already, and wish to give us a wide berth.
Two or three have risen, and winged right over the
hill. Never mind ! push forward. So swiftly do they
Bwim, that the boat does not gain a foot upon them,
but they cannot pass beyond the head of the loch up
yonder, half a mile away, and there, at least, we shall
come upon them. Ilark ! they are whispering ex-
citedly together, and the result of the conference is
that they divide into two great parties, one making
toward a passage between some islands to the left,
the other keeping its straight course up the mere.
Conscious of some deep-laid scheme to baulk us, we
8P0RT IN THE WILDS. 273
follow the band tliat keep straight forward — forty
ganders, geese, and goslings, flying swiftly for life.
Faster! faster! we are gaining on them, and by the
time they reach that promontory, we may fire. Now
they arc beginning to scatter, some diving out of
sight, and many rising high on wing to fly round the
land. They have rounded the proiacmtory, doubtless
into some secret bay — not a bird isTisible. Yes, one I
For a miracle, he is swimming straight this way. His
dusky plumage and crestless head prove him a juve-
nile ; and surely nature, when she sent him into this
world of slayers and slain, denied him the due propor-
tion of goose's brains. Is he mad, or blind, or does
he want to fight? He is only fifty yards away, and
rising erect in the water, he flaps the water from his
short wings and gazes about him with total unconcern.
A moment afterward, and he is a dead gander.
Not a moment is to be lost ; quick — ^round the
promontory— or the flock will be heaven knows
where. Too late ! Not a bird is to be seen. "VVe
are close to the head of the loch, with a full view of
all the corners ; not a solitary feather. They can-
not all be diving at the same time. Tet we can
swear they did not rise on the wing ; had they done
so, we could not have failed to perceive them. Two
score geese suddenly invisible, swallowed up in an
instant, without so much as a feather to show they
once were ! Hamisli Shaw scratches his head, and
the Wanderer feels awed ; both are quite unable to
account for the mystery.
You see, it is their first real Wild-Goose Day, and
j^eing raw sportsmen, actually accumulating their
12*
2'7'i THE LANT> OV LORNF,.
knowledge bj pci*sonal experience, and utterly reject-
ing the adventitious instruction of books, they are un-
aware that the young wild-goose, when sore beset on
the water, has a sly knack of creeping in to shore, and
betaking himself for the time being to the shelter of
tlio tliick heather, or the deep, grassy boghole. But
now the mystery is clear ; for yonder is the last of the
stragglers, running up the bank as fast as its legs can
carry it, and disappearing among the grass above.
Taliyho ! To shore, Schneider, and after it ! The dog
plunges in, reaches the bank, and disappears in pur-
suit. Rnmning the boat swiftly in to shore, we land
and follow with the guns. Half running, half flying,
screaming fiercely, speeds the goose, so fast that the
dog scarcely gains on her, and making a short, sharp
turn, rushes again to the water, plunges in, dives, and
reappears out of gunshot. But his companions —
where are they ? Gone, like the mist of the morning.
Though we search every clump of heather, every peat-
hole, every water-course, and though Schneider, seem-
ing to smell goose at every step, is as keen as though
she were hunting a rat in his hole, not a bird do we
discover. Can they have penetrated into some sub-
terranean cave, and there be quacking in security?
Forty geese — vanished away ! By Jupiter, we have
been befooled !
Somewhat tired, we rest for a time on the water-
side. The mere is silent again, untroubled by the
screaming birds or the murderous presence of man.
A drift-mist is passing rapidly against the upper parts
of the mountains yonder, and the crags look terrific
through its sickly smoke, and the wind is getting
srOKT IN TIIK WILDS. 275
lii"licr. Hark! la that distant tluinder? or is it the
crumbling down of crags among the heights? It is
neither. It is the hollow moan of the western ocean,
beating in on tlie sands that lie beyond these deso-
late flats. One feels neither very wise nor very grand,
caught by such a voice in the wilderness, caught —
hunting geese. Had it been a red deer, now, or an
eagle, or even a seal, that w^e were pursuing ; but a
goose — how harmonize it with the immensities ? Of
course, it is merely association ; for, in point of fact,
the wild-goose is a thoroughly noble bird, a silence-
lover, a high soarer, an inhabitant of the lonely mere
and desolate marsh, a proud haunter of the weedy
footprints of the sea.
Yes, the wind is rising. Dark clouds are driving
up to westward, and the surface of the mere begins to
whiten here and there with small, sharp waves. It
looks like the beginning of a spindrift gale, but the
weather is very deceptive in these latitudes, and it
may mean nothing after all. It will be better, how-
ever, to be making tracks over the hills.
Up goes the lugsail, and we drive down the loch
with frightful speed. Down with it ; for the water
is sown with rocks, and if we touch a stone while
going at that speed, the punt's side wiU be driven into
splinters. We fly fast enough now, without sail or oar.
Ha ! yonder are the geese round that point, all gath-
ered together again, and, doubtless, conversing ex-
citedly about their recent terrific adventures. Before
they can scatter much, we have rounded the point and
are down upon them. Bang goes Big Benjamin!
Bang! bang! goes the double-barrel. Four fine
276 THE LAND OF LOENE.
young birds are secured, two of them due to Ben the
monster. We have just dragged them into the boat,
when the rain begins to come down, while the wind
is still flogging the water with pitiless blows.
And 80, wet and weary, we drew up the punt in a
sheltered creek, and turned her over. Hard by were
some rude huts, built of peat turfs and wood — the
summer abodes, or shielings, of the shepherds, who
bring their flocks over here for the pasture ; and in
one of these we left our oars, mast, sail, and other ar-
ticles. Then shouldering our spoil, we put our backs
to the wind and rain, and dashed along, through bog
and over ditch, till we arrived at the shepherd's hut
on the side of Loch Huport.
There, on the threshold, greeting us with a smile,
was a Highland lass, in the clean short-gown and col-
ored petticoat, with hair snooded carefully and bare
feet as white as alabaster. She was, without doubt,
the sweetest maiden that we had yet met in our
Iliffhland rambles. Like her of whom Wordsworth
Fung —
" A very sliower
Of beauty was her earthly dower ;"
and it was ghostly beauty, the spiritual sweetening
the earthly. The features were not faultless ; the nose
was perhaps a little inclined to heaven, but the eyes I
What depth they had ? What limpid serenity and
far-searcliing thought ! They were sorrowful eyes —
had doubtless been washed with many tears. What
struck us most about this creature was her strange
whiteness and purity — her linen was literally like
snow, her face was pale, her bai-e arms and legs were
SPORT IN THE WILDS. 277
like marble — it was cleanliness almost oppressive,
giving to her a wild, fantastic influence, finely in
keeping with those eerie- wilds. If an artist could
have seen this maiden, painted her in her habit as she
lived, and written beneath, " Bonnie Kilmeny," he
would have been hailed as a great ideal painter.
Janue Hogg would have screamed and run, at seeing
tlie heroine of his superb poem so incarnated, so sent
to grace the wilds with witch-beauty :
" Als still was her luke, and als still was her ee,
Als the stillness that lay on the emeraut lee.
Or thi! mist that sleips on a waveless sea. . . .
And oh . her beauty was fayir to see,
But still and steadfast was her ee !"
Yet we just now called her a maiden. Maid she
was none, as we afterward discovered, but a mother —
the shepherd's daughter-in-law. Whence, then, that
maiden whiteness, so coldly spiritual ? that alabaster
body, so " purified from child-bed taint ?" They
were not of this earth ; the woman's soul, like Kil-
meny's, was in the " land of thocht," and morning and
even was washing the body clean in the delicate dews
of dream.
Unfortunately, Kilmeny, as we mean to call her till
the world's end, " had no English," and Hamish Shaw
had to intei-pret for her pensive lips ; but, after all,
those deep eyes needed no interpreters; they told
their own strange tale. It was very commonplace, of
course — would we have some milk? and had we had
good sport ? and was the Wanderer an Englishman ?
and whence had the yacht come ? But the wi'etched
but, the tbick peat-smoke — nay, even tbe ragged
278 THE LAND OF LORNE.
urchin in the corner — could not shake us out of a
dream, such power liad one exquisitely expressive face
in startling thewajworn spirit and making it tremble.
There was a message of some sort, a sudden light out
of another world — what message, what light ? was an-
other question — but it was beautiful !
" She met me, stranger, upon life's rough way,
And lured me toward sweet death, as night by day
Winter by spring, or sorrow by sweet hope
Led into life, light, peace. An antelope.
In the suspended impulse of its lightness.
Were less ethereally light ; the brightness
Of her divinest presence trembles through
Her limbs, as underneath a cloud of dew
Embodied in the windless heaven of June,
Amid the splendor-winged stars, the moon
Burns inextinguishably beautiful."
Yes, that was it ; she " lured toward sweet death."
When the Wanderer thinks of her now, it is often
with a cold chill — as of one laid out, in a snowy
winding-sheet, prinked with white lilies from the
lochans. It is only a fancy, but the eyes still haunt
him. Perhaps the woman is dead.
" Who is the goose now ?" we hear the reader ex-
claim ; and perhaps he is right. It was, at all events,
a strange ending to our Wild-Goose Day. The shep-
herd, with some difficulty, for the wind was high,
rowed us in his clumsy skiff to the yacht, where wc
soon turned in, and dreamed about Kilmeny.
Two wild days of rain and wind had to pass away
ere we could get across to Loch Phlogibeg for the
punt. At last, however, we went over, shot a few
moor- geese, and brought the punt back through a
SPOUT IN THE WILDS. 279
drenching mist. It only remains to bo added that,
with the assistance of Schneider and the hawk, wa ate
np every goose we slew, and if we had had sometlimg
to swallow with tlie same, even a crust of bread or a
biscuit, would have found the flesh delicious. But
man cannot live on goose alone, however young, how-
ever tender. How did we crave a scrap of bread, and
a drop of whisky, or tea to wash it down ! %
Though we had goose galore, and eggs, and milk,
that was all Loch Iluport could do for us ; and, really,
it might have been much worse, and we were un-
grateful beings to crouch frowningly and mutter
about starvation. Hamish Shaw was the bitterest,
for he was out of tobacco, and to him, as to many
another water-dog, life without tobacco was accursed
torture. He had tried tea, till that was quite ex-
hausted. Then he attempted a slice of boot-leather,
and rather liked it — only, if he had persisted in
smoking that kind of stufl", he would soon have had
to go barefoot. The Wanderer recommended ^;^ffi,
but the idea was rejected with indignation.
Just as the weather was beofinnins: to clear, a larjije
ship put into the loch, for a rest after weeks of bad
weather, and by boarding her we procured a few
supplies — a little tea, some tobacco, and a number of
weeviled biscuits. Now, the presence of a large
A^essel acts like magic in a solitary place. No sooner
had the ship' entered the loch than the region,
which had previously seemed uninhabited, became
suddenly populous, and numerous skiffs rowed out
laden with natives. The skipper did what the
Yankees would call a " smart " thing with the
280 T^E LAND OF LORNE.
natives on that occasion. Having need of hands to
get in his anchors, wliich had dragged, he paid them
off in biscuits of the finest quality, telling them to
return next day, and (if they pleased) he would take
in exchange for biscuits any quantity of dried fish
they liked to bring. The natives were of course de-
lighted, and the skipper secured a splendid lot of fish
for the southern market. But conceive the disgust of
the poor deluded Celts on examining their prize of
dearl^'-coveted bread — for the biscuits were full of
weevils, and worth scarcely a penny a pound.
" All this far you have been digressing ! " cries the
impatient reader. " We have heard more than we
want to hear about ducks and geese, and hunger and
thirst; but what of the red deer, the eagle, the
sdmon, the hooper, the seal ? " Well, as to -the red
deer, we may or may not have been the death of many
a forest king — their antlers may or may not be hang-
ing over the chimney-piece in our smoking-room —
but we did not get so much as a glimpse of a deer in
the wilds of the Long Island. The salmon had not yet
ascended the rivers, and the wild swans were rearing:
that year's young in the distant north. More than one
eagle we beheld, floating among the mountain peaks
on the eastern coast, and dwarfed by distance to the
size of a wind-hover; but mighty would have
been the hunter who could reach and slay the sky-
loving birds in their glory. Indeed Yew have ever
killed an eagle in its full pride of strength and flight.
It is the sickly, half-starved, feeble bird that inad-
vertently crosses the shepherd's gun, and yields a
lean and unwholesome body to the. stuffer's arts.
SPORT IN THE WILDS. '2bl
Such ail one we buw low down on the crags of Ben
Eval, passing with a great heavy heat of the wing
from rock to rock, now hovering for an instant over
some ohject among the heather, then rising painfully
and drifting along on the wind. We had no gun
with us that day, or we think that, hy cautiously
stalking among the heights, we might have made
the bird our own ; and, indeed, our hearts were sad
for the great bird, with that fierce hunger tearing at
his heart, while, doubtless, the yellow eyes burnt
terribly through the gathering films of death. Out
of the hollow crags gathered six ravens, rushing with
hoarse shrieks at the fallen king, and turning away
-with horrible yells whenever he turned towards them
with sharp talon and opened beak ; attracted by the
noise, flocked from all the surrounding pastures the
hideous hooded crows, with their sick gray coats and
sable heads, cawing like devils ; and these, too, rushed
at the eagle, to be beaten back by one wave of the
wrathful wings. It was a sad scene — power eclipsed
on the very throne of its glory, taunted and abused by
carrion,
" Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,"
yet preserving the mournful sliadows of its dignity
and kingly glory. Every movement of the eagle
was still kingly, nor did he deign to utter a sound ;
while the crows' and ravens were detestable in every
gesture — mean, groveling, and unwieldy^ — and their
cruel cries made the echoes hideous. Round the
shoulder of the hill floated the king, with the
imps of darkness at his back. We fear his day of
282 THE LAND OF LORNE.
death, so nii2;li at Land, wa-i to be very sad. Better
that the passhig sliepherd should put a bullet through
his heart and carry him away to deck some gentle-
man's hall, than that he should fall spent yonder, in-
sulted at his last gasp, torn at by the fiends, seeing
the leering raven whet his beak for slaughter, and
the corby perched close by, eager to pick out the
golden and beautiful eyes.
" By too severe a fate,
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high, estate,
And welt'ring in his blood ;
On the bare earth exposed he lies.
With not a friend to close his eyes."
"VVe were not loathe to see him go. It would have
required a hard heart to take advantage of him, in
the last forlorn moments of his reign.
Just as he passed away, there started out from the
side of a rock a ghastly apparition, glaring at us with
a face covered with blood, and looking as if it meant
murder. It was only a sheep, and for the moment it
amazed us, for it seemed like the ghost of a sheep,
horrid and forbidding. Alas ! though it glared in
our direction, it could not see ; its poor, gentle eyes
had just been destroyed, the red blood from them was
coursing down its cheeks ; and it was staggering,
drunken with the pain. It was the victim of the
hoody or the raven, ever on the watch for the unwary,
ready in a moment to dart down on the sleeping
lamb or the rolling sheep, and make a meal of its
eyes ; then, with devilish chuckle, to track the blind
and tottering victim hither and thither, as it feels it.s
SrOKT IN THE WILDS. '2^^
feeble way ainon<!j tho lieights, until, standing on the
edge of some high rock, it can be startled, with a
wild beat of the wings and a hoarse shriek, right
down the fatal precipice to the rocks beneath ; and
there the murderer, while a dozen others of his kind
gather around him in carnival, croaks out a discordant
grace, and plunges his reeking beak into the victim's
heart.
Though we slew a raven and a half a dozen corbies,
having after that night sworn a savage vendetta
against the murderous kind, no eagle died by our hand ;
neither eagle, nor red deer, nor hooper, nor salmon.
So far the search for the hunter's badge in Ultima
Thule was a wretched failure, ending only in humilia-
tion and despair. But we have at least taken one
step in the right direction ; for we can avow, by
Diana and by Nimrod, or (if the reader likes it
better) by the less classic shade of Colonel Hawker,
that we killed a seal, and did so under circumstances
which may, we fancy, be quite as well worth relat-
ing as any other sporting matter recorded in these
pages.
It was up among the fjords of Maddy that the seal
began to attract our attention. They were floating
about in considerable numbers, coming quite close to
the yacht at times, but always keeping well aloof
whenever there was the slightest smell of powder. So
one day the punt was got ready. Big Benjamin and
the rifle put on board, and the Wanderer and hia
henchman started off" up the fjords.
There was a stifi" breeze from the east, and the little
boat shot swiftly with the lugsail through the island
284 THE LAND OF LORNE.
waters. Every now and then the head of a seal
popped up out of gunshot, floated for some minutes
exactly like an oscillating leather bottle, and then
was drawn slowly out of sight — still like a bottle, with
the neck (or snout) upwards. The creeks were full of
female eider and gool -ducks, each female followed by
five or six fluffs of down in various stages of develop-
ment ; and on one headland, which smelt as strongly
of stale fish as a lierring-boat, a whole covey of
cormorants, sitting bolt upright, like parsons in black
coats and dingy neckcloths, were basking in the
sunlight. The sea-larks twittered everywhere, the
oyster-catchers whistled, the curlews screamed ; and
the gulls, scattered all around as thick as snowflakes,
completed the chorus with their constant cries.
There was a rocky point, well up the principal
fjord, which we had ascertained to be a constant
resort of the seals, and on which, only the day before,
an eye-witness had seen no less than forty, old and
young, taking their noonday siesta all at once. To-
ward this point we ran with the fresh breeze, not
firing a shot on the passage, but watching warily
ahead ; and at last, when in full view of the rocks
and about a quarter of a mile distant, we liauled
down the lugsail and " lay to " reconnoitering. Ilamish
Shaw's quick eye discovered seals at once, and the
telescope soon showed that he was right. There they
were, three or four at least in number, sunning
themselves snugly on the very outermost rocks of the
promontory, ready, on the slightest alarm, to slipHko
eels into the water. What was to be done ? Shoot-
ing them from the boat was impos=ibV : a nearer
SPORT IN THE WILDR. 285
approach on the water would soon scatter them to
tlie deeps. However, by careful stalking, a good shot
miffht be had from the land. About a hundred
yards behind tlie siesta, rise knolls of deep grass, in-
termingled with great boulders, and among these
there must be many a capital point of vantage. Luck-
ily, the knolls were well to leeward of the seals, and
there was no chance of the wind playing traitor. Be
it noted, that a seal, although not particularly sharp-
sighted, has as fine a nose as a stag for any foul
scent — such as that exuded, as Dean Swift vowed
and as delicate monsters know, by the murderous
monster man.
Leaving Ilamish in charge of the punt, the Wan-
derer shouldered the rifle and made a long detour
inland, not venturing to turn his face until he was
well to leeward of his quarry. Then, strapping
the rifle on his back in backwoodsman fashion, and
throwing himself down on his hands and knees, he
began crawling slowly toward the hidden point.
Ah, my Grub Street friends, how little do ye think
of the discomforts of the wilds ! The ground was
squashy as a sponge, and full of horrible orifices,
where the black rain-water gathered and grew stag-
nant. The Wanderer's knees were soon soaking, and
ever and anon he plunged up to the elbows in a
puddle, treacherously covered vritli green. I3e sure
lie muttered no blessings Again and again he was
on the point of rising erect, but was checked by the
reflection that it was now impossible to mend matters,
and that so much might be achieved by pushing on.
He was soon close to the knolls, which, instead of
2SC THE LAND OF LORNE.
affording such good cover as he had anticipated, lay
pretty well exposed to the view of the black gentle-
men on the promontory. Ila ! there they were,
their tails cocked up in the air like a Yankee's legs,
but resting on nothing. It was immediately quite
clear that, to get within shot of all or any of them,
the Wanderer must learn something from his ancient
enemy, the snake, and do the rest of the stalking on
his stomach.
Did you ever try to perform this feat — to lie straight
down on your face, keep your whole body and legs
stiff, and wriggle yourself forward with your ell)ows
and breast, just as you have seen the clown in the
pantomime when he has designs on the pasteboard
leg of mutton in the flat ? If you are fat, don't
attempt it ; it is fatiguing if you are lean. But add
to the difficulties of the feat the inconveniences of
doing it in a ])lace as wet as a sponge, and thereby
drenching your whole person with the green water
of the damp morass, and you have some idea of the
Wanderer's situation. N^othing daunted, however, he
oozed — literally oozed — through the long grass,
brushing the dirt with a dip of his nose, and glaring
through his spectacles at the prey. Satan himself
could not have manas-ed better. The Wanderer had
his reward, for the seals, unsuspicious of danger,
remained as motionless as stones.
Five were visible — three very large, two smaller —
all seated less than a hundred yards away. Creeping
behind a large rock, which afforded a tolerable rest
for the rifle, the Wanderer breathed a space, for he
was quite exhausted witli his labor, and then pre-
SrOHT IN THE WILDS. 287
pared to fire, lie trembled very much, partly witli
fatigue, partly with teiTor, lest he might miss ; but
getting two in line, and aiming as steadily as liis
nerves would allow, he pulled the trigger. A sharp
crack, and all was over. The smoke curled up from
the muzzle of the gun, and for a minute he thought
that he had missed. But no ! all the monsters had
disappeared but one, whicli was floundering w^ildly
among the rocks, and making for the sea. The
AVandcrer ruslied down, ready to finisli the work
with the butt end of his rifle, but before lie could
reach the spot the seal had plunged into the sea.
Forgetting, in his excitement, to load again, he saw it
rise and sink with short, painful dives, and, at last,
with a deep breatli, it turned over on its back,
floundered, and sank in the bubbles of its own
dying breath. By the time that Hamish came
round with the punt no seal was there ; and, indeed,
the rascal seemed to receive with a look of in-
credulity the news that any one had even been hit
at all. lie rowed over the spot indicated, looking
do\vn for the white gleam of the seal's belly, but the
water was very deep, and the slahi one was lost
beyond all hope of recovery.
That, reader, was the seal we slew. We certainly
did not " ])ag " him, but wc nevertheless accredit our-
selves with the glory of his death ; and no taunts of
the ill-disposed shall make us change our opinion.
Having cleared the state-lounge of its occupiers,
and sought in vain for other loungers on shore, we
detennined to drift about, in the hope of getting
chance shots from the boat. The water was full of
288 THE LAND OF LORNE.
seals, and the black heads were still coming and
going in all directions. Now, it was a fixed and de-
termined superstition of Ilamish Shaw that the seal,
heing fond of music, can often be lured within gun-
shot by whistling ; and it was a pretty sight, finely
illustrating the pleasures of the imagination, to see
the Wanderer and his henchman, guns in hand,
whistling softly to attract the attention of some black
head oscillating out of range. Neither being very
musical, but producing a sound like the grating
described by Milton on
" Scrannel pipes of wretched straw,"
their melody did not seem to have much efiect ;
until suddenly, about fifty yards away, a gray old
fellow popped his head through the water and
stretched out his neck for a good stare in our direc-
tion. Shaw continued softly whistling, and both
took aim and fired. There was a great splash in the
water, and the seal was gone.
It is the opinion of a capital writer on field-sports,
Mr. John Colquhoun of Bute, that " all swimming
seals, if hit at all, are shot through the head, and
immediately spread out on the surface, giving ample
time to row up and seize a flipper," and that con-
sequently all stories of seals shot swimming, and
suddenly submerged in deep water, are at the best
exceedingly doubtful. It does, indeed, seem reasonable
to avow that only the head of a swimming seal can
be hit, the head being the only part visible ; but the
bullet may not necessarily reach the brain, and death
may not be immediate.
SrOllT IN THE WILDS. 289
Thus ended, not gloriously, our sport in the
Wilds. None of the great trophies were won,
though keen had been the chase, but something
better had been gained — the fresh se;ise of new life.
Cold and exposure, damp and hunger, rain and wind,
daily acted as tonics to exhausted nature ; and the
Wanderov, who had swallowed enough iron to make
a gun-barrel and enough strychnia to poison a
boarding-school, was renewed like ^son by the
rough process of nature herself. To the weary and
exhausted, he recommends such a cure Avith con-
fidence Fight with the elements from morn to
night, fear neither cold nor wet, defy the elements —
and the cure will come of itself. Nerve-exhaustion
(nervousness is another thing, and means merely
weak-mindedness) is the one thing that must not be
coddled and humored.
There is another question, however, raised by the
benevolent — the cmelty of sport as blended with the
sorrow of things that feel. Now, we are not among
those enthusiasts who avouch that the fox and hare
enjoy being hunted, and that nothing is more glori-
ous to a red deer than being shot on the hillside ;
and we will yield to no man in love for dumb
things — we hold them so dear, and have so many of
them around us, that we are laughed at by all our
friends. Sport, be it granted, is a savage instinct,
yet it is none the less a natural one. All true sports-
men love animals better than men who do not love
sport. Well, as to wild-shooting. It has, in our eyes,
this grand recommendation — it combines a maximum
of hard labor and skill with a minimum of slaughter;
13
290 THE LAND OF LORNE.
for, in the eyes of the wild-shooter, a prize is precious
precisely in proportion to the difficulty of capture.
Pheasant-shooting is like shooting in a hen-house;
pai-tridge-shooting is mere murder of the innocents ;
grouse-shooting is sometimes as bad ; all these have
for their main object the filling of an enormous bag.
But in -wild-shooting, not only are you forced to con-
tend with mountainous difficulties, and taken into
scenes of extraordinary excitement, but you are amply
satisfied with little or nothing as a recompense. One
precious ornithological prize is " bag " enough for a
fortnight. You cannot help admitting that some of
your feelings and deeds are savage, but you have the
eatisfaction of knowing that the odds are always
twenty to one against you, and that whatever you win
is secured by a drudgery quite out of proportion to
the value of the capture.
COASTING SKYE. 291
CHAPTER Xm.
COASTING 8KYE
EfiFects of Cruising on Yacht and Voyagers— Rc-croesing the Minch—
Northwest Coast of Skye— Becalmed oif Loch Snizort— Midnight-
Lights of Heaven and Ocean— Dawn— Columns of the North Coast—
The Quirang— Scenerj' of the Northeast Coast— The Storr— rortreo
Harbor.
Devious, yet persistent as a crow which flies weari-
ly homeward against pitilessly beating rain and
wind — now staggering along a good mile, now drift-
ing backward, overcome by some blast of more than
common fury — the little yacht made her way along
the rock-sown coast of the Long Island. All the ele-
ments seemed leagued against her, and we flitted
along, from anchorage to anchorage, in a dense and
rainy mist — literally, "darkness visible." Such a
tiny, stubborn, desolate, rain-bedraggled, windstraw
of a vessel never before ventured into so inhospitable
a region ; for the wild sea-weed grew upon her and
trailed around her in slimy masses ; her sails were
torn by the sharp teeth of the wind ; her ropes rotted
by the insidious and mildewy slime ; her once bright
pennon was a rag — and altogether, but for the ex-
quisitely delicate contour, which no dirt or raggedness
could spoil, she might have been taken for some mis-
292 THE LAND OF LORNE.
erable wherry of the isles. But the whirlwind spared
licr, the waves melted their wrath against her, and
the beating rain only tightened her timber ; and, not
to be daunted by damp, whirljiool, hurricane, or any
other of the powere of that eerie region, she persisted in
her cx])lorations as devotedly as any little lonely lady
in "Wonderland. As for the voyagers, they had long
since abandoned all attempts to look civilized. Their
clothes hung upon them like those suits with which
Jews tempt seafaring-men in Whitechapel. Hamisli
Shaw's black, corkscrew ringlets were wildly matted
togetlier, and his face was bristling all over. Even
Schneider, the dog, looked disreputable ; for the salt
water and sea air had taken all the gloss and curl out
of her coat, and her poor eyes were closed up with a
sort of influenza. Kot without pleasure, at last, did
we turn homeward, leaving the Long Island to its
loneliness and gloom.
Our first intention had been to cruise along the
coast of the Outer Hebrides as far as Stornoway ; but
we had spent so much time in navigating the south-
em parts of the Long Island that we paused at Loch
Maddy, and, after spending a week in examining the
surrounding ^ords and islands, thought it high time
to recross the Minch It was now late in August,
and the gales of wind were daily becoming more fre-
quent in occurrence, longer-lasting, and stronger
while they lasted. One morning, therefore, we left
Loch Maddy, with a brisk breeze from the north, and,
lying close to the wind, steered straight across the
Minch, in the direction of the northern cliffs of Skye.
Dim in distance, Skye loomed before us — the north-
COASTING SKYE. '^^-^
cm crags, the great lieights of Dunvegan, !Maclcod's
Maidens, and the shadowy Cuchidlins — and far away
eastward, the faint outline of the mainhind was trace-
able for many a mile. The day was gray and dreamy,
the wind steady as could be, the waves rising and
falling with a deep, slumbrous murmur, most assuring
to the mariner. One had nothing to do but steer the
boat, and let her work her way lightly and steadily
over the easy waters, as they broke in dark, foam-
edged masses to the soutli.
Although there seemed little perceptible speed on
the vessel, she gained mile after mile swiftly enough,
and the mouth of Loch Maddy, with its rocky islands,
began rapidly to mingle with the gray line of sea,
while Skye grew darker and darker as we approached,
the sleepy masses of mist gathering on all its heights
as far as eye could reach.
Early in the afternoon, we passed Dmivegan Head,
and then Vaternish Point; but by this time the
breeze had grown very faint indeed, and when we were
in the middle of the great mouth of Loch Snizort, the
wind ceased altogether. For hours we rolled about
on a most uncomfortable sea, till the sun sank far
away across the Minch, touching with red light the
hazy outline of the Long Island. Then, all in a mo-
ment, as it were, the eyes of heaven opened, very dim
and feeble, and the night — if night it could be
called — came down with a chilly sprinkle of invisible
dew. All round the yacht the sea burnt, flashed and
murmured, lit up by innumerable lights. Wherever
a wave broke there was a phosphorescent gleam.
The punt astern floated in a patch as bright as moon-
294 THE LAND OT LOKNK.
liglit ; and every time the counter of the yacht struck
tlie water, the latter emitted a flush like sheet-light-
ning. The whole sea was alive with millions of mir-
aculous creatures, each with a tiny light to pilot him
about the abysses. Here and there the medusa moved
luminous, devouring the minute creatures that swarm-
ed around it, terrible in its way as the Poulp that Vic-
tor Hugo has caricatured so immortally ; * and other
creatures of volition, to us nameless, passed mysteri-
ously; while ever and anon a shoal of tiny sethe
would dart to the surface, and hover in millions
around the yacht. Though there was no moon, the
waters and the sky seemed full of moonlight. The
silence was profound, only broken by a dull, heavy
sound at intervals — whales blowing off the headland
of Dun vegan.
Midnight, and no breeze came. The sky to the
north unfolded like a flower blossoming, and the
Northern Lights flitted up from the horizon, flashing
like quicksilver, and filling the sight with a peculiar
thrill of mesmeric sensation. Lights gleaming on the
ocean, the eyes of heaven glittering, the Aurora flash-
ing and fading — with all these the sense seemed over-
bm-thened. Now and then, as if the pageant were
incomplete, a star shot from its sphere, gleamed, and
disappeared.
There was nothing for it but to roll about on the
shinins; sea till the wind came. Leaving Ilamish at
the helm, the Wanderer crept into the cabin, and was
soon fast asleep, in spite of the lurching of the yacht.
* " Les Travailleurs de la Mer."
COASTING SKYE. 205
He was awakened by the familiar sound of the water
rushing past a vessel under sail ; and, without open-
ing his eyes, he knew that the yacht had got a
breeze. Creeping out into the cockpit, he saw the
waters quite black on every side ; darkness every-
wliere, save where the first cold sparkle of day was be-
ginning to peep above the far-off mountains of the
mainland.
"We were in luck ; for the breeze was from the
northwest, and just enough for us to carry. When day
broke, red and somber, we were off Ilunish Point,
and saw on every side of us the basaltic columns of the
coast flaming in the morning light, and behind us, in
a dark hollow of a bay, the ruins of Duntulm Castle,
gray and forlorn. The coast views here were beyond
expression — magnificent. Tinted red with dawn, the
fantastic cliffs formed themselves into shapes of the
wildest beauty, rain-stained and purpled with shadow,
and relieved at intervals by slopes of emerald, where
the sheep crawled. The sea through which we ran
was a vivid green, broken into thin lines of foam, and
full of innumerable medusae, drifting southward with
the tide. Leaving the green, sheep-covered island of
Trody on our left, we slipt past Aird Point, and sped
swift as a fish along the coast, until we reached the
two small islands off the northern point of Loch Staf-
fin — so named, like the island of Staffa, on account of
its columnar ridires of coast. Here we beheld a si<rht
which seemed the glorious fabric of a vision — a range
of small heights, sloping from tlie deep green sea,
every height crowned with a columnar clrff of basalt,
and each rising over each, higlier and higher, till they
296 THE LAND OF LORNE.
ended in a cluster of towerincj columns minarets, and
spires, over which hovered wreaths of delicate mist,
suffused with the pink light from the east. AVe were
looking on the spiral })illars of the Quirang. In a
few minutes the vision had faded ; for the yacht was
flying faster and faster, assisted a little too much by a
savage puff from off the Quirang's great cliffs ; but
other forms of beauty arose before us as we went.
The whole coast from Aird Point to Portree forms a
panorama of cliff-scenery quite unmatched in Scot-
land. Layers of limestone dip into the sea, which
washes them into horizontal forms, resembling gigan-
tic slabs of white and gray masonry, rising, sometimes,
fitair above stair, water-stained, and hung with many-
colored weed ; and on these slabs stand the dark cliffs
and spiral columns, towering into the air like the fret-
work of some Gothic temple, roofless to the sky ;
clustered sometimes together in black masses of eter-
nal shadow ; torn open here and there, to show glimpses
of shining lawns sown in the heart of the stone, or
flashes of torrents, rushing in silver veins through the
darkness; crowned in some places by a green patch,
on which the goat feed, small as mice; and twisting
frequently into towers of most fantastical device that
lie dark and spectral against the gray background of
the air. To our left, we could now behold the island
of Rona, and the northern end of Paasay. All our
faculties, however, were soon engaged in contemplat-
ing the Storr, the highest part of the northern ridge
of Skye, terminating in a mighty insulated rock or
monolith, which points solitary to heaven, two thou-
sand three hundred feet above the sea, while at its
COASTING SKYE. . 297
base, rock and crag have been torn into the wildest
forms by the teeth of earthquake, and a great torrent
leaps foaming into the sound. As we shot past, a
dense white vapor enveloped the lower part of the
Storr, and towel's, pyramids, turrets, monoliths were
shooting out above it, like a supernatural city in the
clouds.
Weary and exhausted as we were, we gazed on pic"
ture after picture with rapt eyes, looking little at Raas-
ay, which was closing us in upon the left. At every
hundred yards, the coast presented some new form of
perfect loveliness. We were now in smooth water.
The red dawn had grown into a dull-gray day, and
the wind was coming so sharp off the land that we
found it necessary to take in a reef. We had scarce-
ly beaten into Portree, in the teeth of the most severe
squalls, when the bad weather began in earnest, with
some clouds from the northwest, charged like mighty
artillery with wind and rain. Snug at our anchor-
age, we smiled at the storm, and heartily congratulated
ourselves that it had not caught us off the perilous
heads of Skye.
Portree is the capital of Skye, and, like all High-
land capitals, is dreary beyond endurance, and with-
out a single feature of interest. After lingering a day
to rest our weary bodies, we left the harbor on a rath-
er black-looking forenoon, with the intention of slip-
ping down to Loch Sligachan, a distance of only some
eight or nine miles, and of lying for a little time in
the immediate neighborhood of the wonderful Cuchul-
lins. The little Teryi had carried her mainsail nearly
all the journey in the open, and now, for the first and
29B THE LAND OF LOllNE.
•
second time, we lashed down the boom ana put on
the "trysail" — just for the purpose of shifting com-
fortably down to Sligachan. Fortunate for us, as the
event proved, tliat we did so — for we left without a
pilot, and were destined to be blown on somewhat
sharply by the mighty Cuchullins.
Tlie wind was ahead, and had fallen so much that
the beating down was very slow work indeed ; and we
had, therefore, full leisure to examine all the fine
"glimpses" in the narrow sound — the mighty clifis of
Skye, piled up above us on the starboard side, the un-
dulating isle of Raasay to the left, the gigantic Storr
astern, and Ben Glamaig rising darkly over the star-
board bow. Xothing could be wilder and more fan-
tastic than some of the shapes assumed by the Skye
cliffs, nothing finer than some of their shadowy tints.
Contrasted wdth them, Dun-Can, of Raasay, on the
top of which the oracular Doctor and Boswell danced
a jpas de deux, looked like a mere earthen sugar-loaf
beaten flat at the top. All under Dun-Can stretched
a brown and rocky country, pastoral and peaceful
enough in parts, and having even green slopes and
bright heathery glades, together with fine pieces of
artificial woodland, through which glittered the water-
fall—
" A silver pleasure in the heart of twilight ! "
Strange looked the Storr behind us, rising solitary
into the sky, with its satellite pinnacles and towers
lying underneath in the dark-blue shade.
Our eyes turned with most eagerness, however, to-
ward Ben Glamaig, now scarcely visible in a thick,
COASTING SKYE. '^09
t
purple mist. Cloud after cloud was settling on liis sum-
mit, sinkinfir lower and lower, to mantle him from fore-
head to feet ; and the long, thread-like film of the fall-
ing rain was drawn down his darkness with faint gleams
of light ; yet the sea about us was quite quiet, and the
wind was ominously still, llamish Shaw cocked his
eye up at the giant in true sailor style, but delivered
it as his judgment that " the day would be a fine day,
tlio' we micht may-be liae a shoioe?' y " and llamish had
reason on his side, for the giants of Skye sometimes look
very threatening when they mean no harm, and very
friendly when they are drawing a great breath into
their rocky lungs, preparatory to blowing your boat
to the bottom of the sea.
Altogether, it was with not quite comfortable feel-
in o-s that we drew nearer and nearer to the mouth of
Sligachan. The place bore an ugly name — there waa
dano-er above and danger under — rocks below and
squalls above. Eight across the mouth of Loch Sliga-
chan stretches a dangerous shoal, leaving only a pas-
sable of a few yards, and to sail through this at all it is
necessary to have the tide in your favor. Then, as
you enter, you must look out for " Bo Sligachan " — a
monster lying in wait, just under water, to scrunch
your planks behind his weedy jaws. Then, again, be-
ware of sq^iolls! Down the almost perpendicular
sides of Ben Glamaig, down the beds of the torrents,
inaudible till it has sprung shrieking upon you, comes
the wind. Talk about wind ! Tou know nothing
whatever on that subject, unless you have been in a
boat among these mountains. Huge skifFs have been
lifted out of sheltered nooks made expressly for their
300 THE LAND OF LORNE.
»
reception — ^lifted up, twirled rapidly in the air like
straws, and smaslied to fragments in an instant. If a
hen ventures to open her wings sometimes, up she
goes in the air, whisks round and round for a moment,
and comes down with the force of a bullet — dead.
The mail-gig, which runs at the foot of Ben Glamaig,
on a road well sheltered from the worst fury of the
blast, has sometimes to stand to face the wind for
minutes together, knowing that it would certainly be
upset if the squalls caught it broadside. Not very
long ago, a great schooner was capsized and foundered
at anchor here, by a sudden gust, just because she
happened to have one or two empty herring-barrels
piled upon her deck. Next to Loch Scavaig, for fury
of sudden squalls, comes Loch Sligachan. In the lat-
ter you have only the breath of Glamaig, but at Sca-
vaig, you must prepare for the combined blasts of all
the Cuchullins — all the giants gathering together in the
mist, and manifesting a fury to which Polypheme's
passion against Ulysses was a trifle.
But it was summer-time, and we anticipated noth-
ing terrific, otherwise we should certainly not have
ventured yonder in so frail and tiny a thing as the
Tern. We had already falsified all the dire predic-
tions which greeted us on setting forth, and followed
us throughout our journey — we liad crossed and re-
crossed the Minch, penetrated into the wild fjords of
the Long Island, beaten round the northeast coast of
Skye in the open sea — all in a poor little crank craft
not seven tons burden, seven feet beam, rigged for
racing, and intendedonly for river-sailing in very mild
weather. Our good fortune, instead of turning our
COASTING SKYE. 301
•
brains, had made lis more cautious than when we set
forth. Many perils escaped liad explained to us the
real danger of oiir attempt. We had certainly no an-
ticipation of meeting in the narrows the fate which
we liad escaped so often in the open sea.
What with the slight wind, and the weary beating
down the Sound, we did not sight Sconser Lodge,
which lies just at the mouth of Loch Sligachan, until
the sunset. By this time the clouds had somewhat
cleared away about Glamaig, and glorious shafts of
luminous silver were working wondrous chemistry
among the dark mists. We put about close to
Raasay House, a fine dwelling in the midst of well-
cultivated land, and feasted our eyes with the
f ntastic forms and colors of the Skye clifia to the
westward, grouped together in the strange, wild
illumination of a cloudy sunset ; domes, pinnacles,
spires, rising with dark outline against the west, and
flitting from shade to light, from light to shade, as
the mist cleared away or darkened against the sink-
ing sun ; with vivid patches between of dark -brown
rocks and of green grass washed to glistening emerald
by recent rain. It was a scene of strange beauty —
Nature mimicking with unnatural perfection the
mighty works of men, coloring all with the wildest
hues of the imagination, and revealing beyond, at
intervals, glimpses of other domes, pinnacles, and
spires, flaming duskily in the sunset, and crumbling
down, like the ruins of a burning city, one by one.
What came into the mind just then was not Words-
worth's sonnet on a similar cloudy pageant, but those
302 THE LAND OF LORNE.
wonderful stanzas of a wonderful poem by the same
great ])oet on the eclipse of the sun in 1820 :
" Awe-stricken she beholds the array
That guards the temi)le night and day ;
Angels she sees that might from heaven have flown,
And virgin saints, who not in vain
Have striven by purity to gain
The beatific crown —
" Sees long-drawn files, •concentric rings,
Each narrowing above each ; the wings
The iiplifted palms, the silent marble lipa,
The starry zone of sovereign height —
All steeped in the portentous light !
All suffering dim eclipse !"
It is difficult to tell whj these lines should have
arisen in our mind at that moment — for no stronger
reason, perhaps, than that which caused the figures
themselves to rise before "Wordsworth by the side of
Lugano. He had once seen the Cathedral at Milan,
and when the eclipse came, he could not help follow-
ing it thither in imagination. These faint associations
are the strangest things in life, and the sweetest
things in song. Portentous light ! dim eclipse I
These were the only words truly applicable to the
scene we were gazing upon at that moment ; and
those few words were the chain of the association —
the magical charm linking sense and soul — bringing
Milan to Skye, filling the sunset picture with the
wings, uplifted palms, and 'silent lips of angels and
virgm saints-
All steeped in the portentous light t
All suffering dim eclipse I"
COASTING SKYE. 303
It was just as we were contemplating- tliis wonder
that the water blackened to windward, and we wore
laid over with the first squall from Glamaig. Wliat
a screaming in the riggings ! what a rattling of dishes
and buckets in the forecastle ! What a clutching at
spars and ropes on deck ! It was gone in a moment,
and the Tern dashed buoyantly forward. The wind
had freshened suddenly, and we were bowling along
at five or six miles an hour, carrying trysail, foresail,
and the second jib, "We were still a good two miles
from Sconser Lodge, so that the squalls, when they
reached ns, had lost much of their force. Squall sec-
ond was even softer than the first ; we laughed as it
whizzed through the rigging, just putting the bul-
warks under, and we were still further encouraged
by a sudden brightening of the Ben. Fools! that
brightening should not have beguiled us. Ilamish,
who was at the helm, had just made the remark that
he thought " the nicht would be a good nicht," and
we were about half a mile off the mouth of Loch
Sligachan, when squall iJdrd^ coming sheer down the
sides of Glamaig, smote us like a thunderbolt, and with
a terrific shriek laid the Tern clean upon her broadside.
It was a trying moment ; the trysail trailed in the
water, and the water, covering all the decks to leeward,
poured in a light-green stream into the cockpit, and
even through the hatches into the cabin. The cook
screamed from below amid an awful clatter of rub-
bish, and those on deck shivered and looked pale.
" Off wi' the foresail !" screamed Ilamish ; and it was
done in an instant. For a moment it seemed as if the
little craft would never right, but slowly she emerged
^'O-t THE LAND OF LORNE.
from her bath and was shaken up in the wind, shiver-
ing like a half-drowned bird. All breathed hard af-
ter the escape. After such a warning it was consid-
ered advisable to exchange the big jib for the little
storm one — which was done, and eased the boat very
considerably.
Well, it is useless to go on with further details of
our entry into Sligachan. So determined did the
wind seem to oppose our passage and give us a
ducking, that once or twice we actually thought of
turning tail and running back to Portree. But we
persevered, even without a local pilot, and the tide
being nearly full, we passed over sunken dangers
with comparative safety. At the narrowest part of
the passage we could see the bottom, and actually
grazed it with our keel. But the winds were the
worst. The anchorage was right at the foot of
Glamaig, so that the nearer we drew the fiercer and
more sudden were the squalls. The people gathered
on shore, evidently expecting to see us get into
trouble. To their astonishment, however, we shook
the little Tern through every blast, righted and saved
her at each moment of peril, and finally dropped an-
chor safely before it was quite dark. How we should
have fared on a really stormy day it is not difficult to
guess. This was an ordinary evening, somewhat
windy, but what the men of Sligachan called " good
v/eather." So terrific^ however, is the suction of the
hills beyond, and so sheer the descent of Glamaig to
the water, that winds which are mild elsewhere bo-
come furious here. Keep us from Sligachan after Oc-
COASTING SKYE, 30.")
tobcr, when the soutliwester begins to conie witli its
mighty rain-clouds ov(}r the sea !
While we are on the subject of squalls, we may
complete our report against Ben Glaniaig by stating
that on one occasion, during our stay in the loch,
although we were only about two hundred yards
from low-water mark, we could hold no communi-
cation with the shore for a night and a day, and
were all that time watching anxiously lest the TeDi's
heavy mast should founder her at anchor. " Half a
gale " of wind was blowing ; and with many of the
squalls the boat, though perfectly bare of canvas, lay
over so much as to ship water into the cockpit. The
wind came straight off Glamaig, and though there
was no " fetch " whatever, there was scarcely a dark
spot between us and the shore — all was churned as
white as snow.
That night, shut up on board his little vessel, the
Wanderer read again King Haco's Saga, and put
it into new language for the English public. All
through the voyage he had been thinking of Ilaco and
his chiefs ; and how they had haunted that coast in
their strange ships, leaving everywhere the traditions
of their race. Skye still rings with tliem. Portree
is still "the King's Harbor;" "Kyleakin " remains
the " Passage of King Ilakon." How they fared
among the perilous waters, is a tale worth telling,
and most fittingly in the narrow inland sounds of
Skye, where Haco the King and his invading fleet
will never be forarotten.
sou THE LAND 01'' LUiiNE.
CHAPTER XIY.
THK SAGA OF HACO THE KING.*
KIKO ALEXANDER'S DREAM AND DEATH.
When Haco the King ruled over Norway, King;
Alexander, son of William, sent from. Scotland in
the Western Sea two bisho})S to King Ilaco, begging
him to give up those lands in the Hebrides which
King Magnus Barefoot had unjustly taken from King
Malcolm. King Haco answered, that Magnus had
settled with Malcolm what districts the Norwegians
should have in Scotland, or in the islands which lie
near it, adding, moreover, that the King of Scot-
land had no rule in the Hebrides at the time
when King Magnus won them from King Godfred,
and also that King Magnus had only taken back
hisbirthriglit. Tlien quoth the bishops, " Our master,
the King of Scotland, would willingly purchase all the
Hebrides, and we therefore entreat King Haco to
* Wherever, in the following translation, I have used a modern
Scotch word, such as" speired " (inquired), " harried " (plundered),
"kirk" (church), " bairns "(children), it is to be understood that
tlie modern word is the same in form, sound, and meaning as
the original Icelandic. — K. B.
THE 8AGA OF IIACO THK KING. ^07
value them in fine silver." But Ilaco liiughed, saj-
iri<5 lie had no such lack of pence as to be compelled
to sell his inheritance. With these words for an
answer the bishops went their way.
iSTow, from this cause there speedily arose great
coldness between the kings ; yet, again and again,
Alexander the Kino; sent fresh messenjjers with new
offers. But when lie could not purchase those lands
of King Haco, he took other measures in hand
which were not princely. Collecting a host through-
out all Scotland, he prepared for a voyage to the
Hebrides, and vowed to win those islands under his
dominion, vowing clear and loud before his subjects
that he would not rest till he bad set his flag on the
cliffs of Thurso, and had gained all the provinces
which the Norwegian monarch possessed west of the
German Ocean,
In these days King Alexander sent word to John,
Lord of the Isles, that he wished to speak with him.
But King John would not meet the Scottish king
till some earls of Scotland had pledged their honor
that he should fare safely. When the king met
the Scottish monarch he bade King John that he
would give up Kiamaburgh into his power, and
three other castles which he held of King Haco,
as also the other lands which King Haco had given
him. But John did well and uprightly, and said
that he would not break his troth to King Haco. On
this he went away^ and stopped not at any place till
he came quite north to the Lewis.
That smumer, Alexander, King of Scotland, then
308 THE LAND OF LOIINE.
lying ill Kiararey Sound, dreamed a dream. He
thouglit tliat three men came to him ; one of them
was in royal robes, but very stem, ruddy in counte-
nance, sliort and thick ; another was of slender
make, but active, and of all men most majestic ; the
third, again, was of a very great stature, but his
features were wild and distorted, and he was un-
sightly to look upon. Now, these three spoke to
Alexander in his dream, and speired whether he
meant to harry the isles of the Western Sea.
Alexander answered that he certainly meant to
win back the isles under his crown. Then those
three 8i)irits bade him go back, and told him no other
course would turn out to his good. The king told
his dream, and many bade him to return. But the
king would not, and a little after he fell sick and
died. The Scottish army then broke up ; and they
hare the king's body to Scotland.
Now all men say that the three men whom the
king saw in his sleep were — St. Olaf, King of Nor-
way ; St. Magnus, Earl of Orkney ; and Columba,
the Saint of Icolmkill.
11.
KING HACO GATHERS HIS HOST.
Then the Scottish people took for their king
Alexander, the son of Alexander, who married the
daughter of Henry, king of England, and became a
raeikle prince.
In the summer of 1262 there came to Haco,
King of Norway, many letters from the kings of the
Hebrides in the Western Seas, complaining sore of the
THE SAGA OF KAC'O THE KINCr. 300
ill-deeds of the Earl of Ross, Kiarnach, son 'of Mac-
Camal, and other Scots. These same burned villaecori
and kirks, and killed great numbers both of men and
Avomen. They had. even taken the small bairns, and,
raising them on the points of their s[)ears, shook them
till they slipped down to their hands, when they threw
them away, dead, on the ground. The letters said,
also, that the Scottish king would win all the
Hebrides if life was granted him.
When King Ilaco heard these tidings they gave
him much uneasiness, and he laid the case before his
council. Then it was settled that King Haco should,
in the ^vinter season about Yule, issue an edict
through all Norway, and order out both troops and
food for an expedition. He bade all his forces meet
liim at Bergen early in spring.
King Haco came to Bergen on Christmas. He
dwelt there during the spring, and made ready
swiftly for war. After that a great number of barons
and officers, and vassals, and a vast many soldiers
came in daily unto him.
King Haco held a general council near Bergen, at
Backa. There the meikle host came together. The
king then cried that this host was to be sent against
Scotland, in the Western Seas.
During this voyage King Haco had that great ves-
sel which he had bade them build at Bergen. It was
built all of oak, and had twenty banks of oai-s. It
was decked with beads and necks of dragons beauti-
fully overlaid with gold. He had also many other
well-found ships.
In the spring, King Haco sent John Langlifeson
310 , THE LAND OF LORNE.
and Henry iS(30tt west to the Orkneys, to get pilots for
Scotland. From thence John sailed to the Hebrides,
and told King Dugal that he might expect an army
from the east. Word had got abroad that the Scots
would harry in the islands that summer. King Dugal
therefore spread a report that forty ships were coming
from Norway. Some time before the king himself
was ready he sent eight ships to the westward. The
captains of these were Ronald Urka, Erling Ivarson,
Andrew Nicholson, and Halvard Red.
"When the king had built his ship, he went with
all his host from the capital to Eidvags ; afterwards
he himself hied back to the city, and dwelt there
some nights, and then set out for llerlover. Here
came together all the troops, both from the north and
the south.
King Haco lay with all his force at Herlover ; it
was a mighty and glorious host.
Three nights before the Selian vigils King Haco
set sail for the German Sea with all his fleet. He
had now been King of Norway six and forty wintere.
He had a good breeze, the weather was fair, and the
fleet beautiful to behold sailing southward to the
islands of the Western Sea.
HI.
SAILING OF THE GREAT FLEET.
King Haco had a company chosen well for his own
ship. There were, on the quarter-deck, Thorlife,
Abbot of Holm, Sir Askatin, four priests, chaplains
to the king, Andrew of Thissisey, Aslac Guss, the
THE SAGA OF llACO THE KING. 311
king's master of the horse, Andrew Ilawardson,
(lUtliorm Gillason and Tlioi-stein his brother, Eirek
Scot Gautson, with many others. There were on tlie
main-dock : Ashick Dagson, Steinar Ilcrka, Kloniit
Langi, Andrew (Uims, Eirek Dugalson, the father of
King Dugal, Einar Lang-Bard, Arnhjorn Suela, Sig-
vat Bodvarson, Iloskukl Oddson, John Iloglif, Arni
Stinkar, On the fore-deck there were : Sigurd, the
son of Ivar Rofu, Ivar Helgason of Lofloc, Erland
Scolbein, Dag of Southeim, Briniolf Johnson, Gudleik
Sneis, and most of the king's chamberlains, with
Andrew Blytt, tlie king's treasurer. There were in
the forecastle: Eirek Skifa, Thornfin Sigvald, Kari
Endridson, Gudbrand Johnson, and many of the cup-
bearers. There were four men on every half rower's
seat. With King Haco, Magnus, Earl of Orkney,
left Bergen, and the king gave him a good galley.
These barons were also with the king : Briniolf John-
son, Fin Gautson, Erling Alfson, Erlend Red, J5ard of
Hestby, Eilif of Naustadale, Andrew Pott, and Og-
mund Krekedants. Erling Ivarson, John Drotning,
Gaut of Meli, and Nicholas of Giska, were behind
with Prince Magnus at Bergen, as were several other
officers who had not been ready.
King Haco, having got a gentle breeze, was two
nights at sea, when he reached the harbor of Shet-
land, called Breydeyiar Sound, and from thence he
sailed to Ponaldsvo with all his host.
While King Haco lay in Ronaldsvo, a great dark-
ness drew over the sun, so that only a little ring
was bright around ; and it continued so for some
hours.
312 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
IV.
KING HACO'S 8.VILING SOUTHWARD.
On the day of St. Laurence's wake, Kins; Haco,
after a cruise in the Orkneys, sailed with all his forces
to a haven that is called Ilasleviarvic, from that
to Lewis, so on to Raasa, and from thence to that
place in Skye Sound which is called Calliach Stone.
Here he was joined by Magnus, King of Man,
and by Erling Ivarson, Andrew Nicholson, and
Hal ward. He next sailed south to the Sound of
Mull, and then to Kiararey, where King Dugal
and the other Hebrideans were assembled with their
men.
King Haco had now more than one hundred ves-
sels, for the most part large, and all of them well
prepared both with men and weapons. While he
abode at Kiararey he sent fifty ships south to the
Mull of Kintire to harry. The captains of the same
were King Dugal, Magnus, King of Man, Bruniolf,
Johnson, Ronald Urka, Andrew Pott, Ogmund
Krekedants, Yigleic Priestson. He sent, also, five
ships for Bute under Erling Red, Andrew Nicholson,
Simon Stntt, Ivar Ungi Eyfari, and Gutthorm the
Hebridean.
Then did Haco the King sail south to Gudey before
Kintire, where he anchored. There he met John,
Kinir of the Isles, whom Kinjr Haco in vain be-
sought to follow him. l^ut King John said he was
pledged to the Scottish king, of whom he held more
lands than of King Haco. He, therefore, entreated
King Haco to dispose of all those estates which he
THE SAGA OF IIACO THE KING. 313
had conferred upon him. King Ilaco kept h'nn witli
him some time, vainly trying to win him back to his
allegiance.
During King Ilaco's stay at Gudey, an abbot of
Greymonks came to him, bidding him spare their
cloister and Holy Kirk. The king granted them this,
and gave them his own promise in writing.
Friar Simon had long lain sick, and he had died at
Gudey. His corpse was carried to Kintire and bm*ied
in the Greymonks cloister. They spread a fringed
pall over his grave and called him Saint.
In those days came men from King Dugal, and
said that the lords of Kintire and others would
surrender their lands to King Haco, and follow with
their clansm.en under his banner. Then the king
said that he would not harry their lands if they
yielded the next day ; ere noon they took an oath to
King Haco and gave hostages. The king laid a
fine of a thousand herd of cattle on their estates.
Thereu]3on Angus yielded up Isla also to the king,
and the king granted it back unto him as liegeman
to ]S"orway.
Soon after this the king sailed south along Kintire
with all his fleet, and anchored in Arran Sound.
Thither often came barefooted friars from the King
of Scotland to King Haco, seeking peace. Here King ^
Haco freed his prisoner. King John, gave him many
rich gifts, and bade him go in peace. Then did
he swear to King Haco to labor at all times to make
peace between him and the King of Scots. There-
after King Haco sent Gilbert, Bishop of Hamer,
Henry, Bishop of Orkney, Andrew Nicholson,
li
314 THE LAND OF LORNE.
Andrew Plytt, and Paul Soor to King Alexander, wlio
met them honorably, and sent envoys to King Ilaco
in his turn. Now King Ilaco had writ down all tho
names of the Western Islands which he called his
own, and King Alexander had named all those which
he would not yield. These last were Bute, Arran,
and the two Cumbras. But the Scots willfully held
aloof from a settlement, because summer was ending
and the foul weather was beginning. Seeing this,
Ilaco the Kino; sailed in under the Cumbras with all
his host.
Thereafter King Haco sent as envoys a bishop and
a baron, and to meet them came some knights and
cloistermen. They spoke much, but could not agree,
and late in the day so many Scots gathered together
that the Norwegians feared treachery and drew away
to their ships. Many now bade the king end the
truce and harry, as food was scant. But Ilaco sent
one Kolbein Kich to the King of Scots with peace
letters, offering that the kings should meet, with all
their host, and speak of peace. If peace, by God's
grace, took place, it would be well ; but if not, then
should the kings fight with their whole host, and let
him win whom God pleased. The King of Scots was
not loath to fight, but said little in answer. Kolbein
went back to his master, and thereupon the truce was
over.
y.
THE king's fleet MEETS WITH A GREAT STORM.
The king now sent sixty ships into Skipa-Fjord
(Loch Long). Their commanders were Magnus, King
THE SAGA OF IIACO THE KING. 3T5
of Man, King Dugal, and Allan his brother, Angus,
Margad, A^iglcik Pricston, and Ivar Holm. "When
they came to the head of the Fjord, they took their
boats and drew them over the land to a great wa-
ter which is called Loch Lomond. On the far side
thereof yas a rich earldom called Lennox, and in the
center were many islands, well peopled, whicli the
Korthmen wasted with fire, destroying also all the
buildings on the water side.
Allan, brother of King Dugal, marched far into the
land, slew many men and took many hundred head
of cattle. Thereafter the Northmen went back to
their ships. They met with so great a storm that ten
of their ships were wrecked in the Fjord. It was
now that Ivar Holm took that sickness of which he
died.
King Haco still lay in the open. Michaelmas
happened on a Saturday, and on Monday night after
there came a great tempest with hailstones and rain.
The watch on the forecastle of the king's ship called
out that a transport vessel was driving against their
cable. The men leapt up on deck, but the rigging of
the transport caught the prow of the king's ship and
carried away its figure-head. The vessel then fell so
foul aboard that its anchor grappled the ropes of the
king's ship, which straight began to drag its anchor.
Whereupon the king bade them cut the transport's
cable, which being done, she drove out to sea. The
king's ship now rode safe till daylight. In the morn-
ing, at flood tide, the transport was cast ashore,
together with a galley. The wind still rose, the
king's men got more ropes and cast out a fifth
S16 THE LAND OF LORNE.
anchor. The king himself rowed ashore in his boat
to the isles and ordered mass to be sung. Meantime
the ships dragged up the sound, and the storm was
so fierce that some cut away their masts and others
drove ashore. The king's ship still drove, though
seven anchors had been cast out. They threw out an
eighth, which was the sheet anchor. The ship still
drove, but at last the anchors held fast. Five ships
went ashore. So great was the storm that men said
magic had done it, and the fall of rain was dreadful
Now when the Scots saw that the vessels had
driven ashore, they gathered together and approached
the Northmen, and threw at them. But the North-
men fought well and fiercely, sheltered by their ships ;
the Scots made several attacks at intervals, killing
few men, but wounding many. Then King Ilaco
sent boats with men to help them.
Lastly, the king, with Thorlaug Bosa, set sail for
the shore in a barge. At his coming the Scots fled,
and the Northmen passed the night ashore. But in
the night the Scots entered the wrecked transport
and bare off what they could. The morning after
the king landed with many armed folk ; he ordered
the vessel to be lightened and towed out to the fleet.
YX
THE BATTLE OF LAR08.
A little after that they saw the Scots, and they
thousrht the Ivini; of Scotland was there himself,
because the host was so great. Ogmund Krekedants
THE SAGA OP HACO THE KING. 817
stood on a height, and his men with him. Tlic Scots
attacked him with their van, and approached liim in
so great force that the Korthmen begged the king to
row out to his ships and to send them help. The
king would stay on land, but they would not let him
bide in such danger, and he rowed out in his boat to
his fleet in the open sound. These barons abode
ashore : Andrew Nicholson, Ogmund Krckedants,
Erling Alfson, Andrew Pott, Ronald Urka, Thorlaug
Bosi, and Paul Soor. All the fighting men with
them on land were eight hundred or luore. Of those,
two hundred were on the height with Ogmund, but
the rest were gathered together on the beach. Then
the Scots drew nigh, numbering near fifteen hundred
knights ; their horses had all breast-plates, and many
Spanish steeds were clad in mail. The Scots had
also many soldiers on foot well weaponed, most of
them with bows and spears.
Kow the Northmen on the height drew back slowly
toward the sea, thinking that the Scots might sur-
round them. Andrew Nicholson then came up to
the height, and bade Ogmund to back slowly to the
beach, and not fly like routed men. The Scots there-
upon attacked them fiercely with darts and stones.
Many were the weapons showered on the Northmen,
who defended themselves stoutly as they went. But
when they came to the sea, all rushing swifter than
they should, their fellows on the beach fancied they
were routed ; wherefore some leaped into their
boats, and rowed in them from shore, and others
leaped into the transport. The soldiers called out to
them to stay, and some few men returned. Andrew
318 THE LAND OF LORNE.
Pott leaped over two boats and into a third, and bo
from land. Many boats sunk down, and some men
were drowned. After that the Northmen on shore
turned about towards the water.
Here fell Ilaco of Steine, attendant of Ilaco the
King. Then were the Norwegians driven south from
the transport, and these were their leaders : Andrew
Nicholson, Ogmund Krekedants, Thorlaug Bosi, and
Paul Soor. Hard blows were dealt, and the foemen
were ill-matched, for ten Scots fought against each
Northman.
There was a young knight of the Scots, named
Ferash, and rich both in birth and gear. He had a
helmet all gold, and set with precious stones, and his
armor was also gold. He rode up to the Northmen,
but none followed. He rode up to the Northmen,
and then back to his own host. Then Andrew
Nicholson came close to the ranks of the Scots. He
met that brave knight and struck at him so fiercely
that he cut through the armor into his thigh, and
reached even to the saddle. The Northman took off
his costly belt. Then began hard blows. Many fell
on both sides, but most of the Scots, as Sturlas
Bings :
" Gathered in circle.
With, clangor of armor
Our youth struck the mighty
Donners of armlets ;
Limbs dead and bloody
Glutted the death-birds.
Who shall avenge now
The mighty belt-wearer?"
THE SAGA OF IIACO THE KING. 319
While this fight was raging, there was so great a
storm, that King Haco saw no hope of landing liis
host. Yet Ronald and Eilif of Naustadale rowed
ashore with men and fought fiercely, together with
those Northmen who had fled in their boats. Honald
was driven back to his ships, but Eilif stood firm.
The Northmen now ranged themselves anew, and
the Scots took the height. There were constant
fights with stones and darts ; but toward the end of
day the Northmen rushed up against the Scots on tlie
hill. The Scots then fled from the height, and betook
themselves to their mountains. The Northmen then
entered their boats, and rowed out to the fleet, and
came safely through the storm. At morning they
returned to land to look after those who had fallen.
Among the dead were Haco of Steine and Thorgisl
Gloppa, the king's housemen.
There fell also a good bondsman from Drontheim,
called Karlhoved, and another froiu Fiorde, called
Ilalkel. Besides these there perished three Light-
Swains,* Thorstein Bat, John Ballhoved, and Ilal-
ward Buniard. The Northmen could not tell how
many of the Scots fell, for their dead bodies were
taken up and carried to the woods. Haco ordered his
dead men to be carried to Holy Church.
vn.
KENG HACO SAILS NOKTHrWAItD.
The fifth day after that the king took up his an-
chor, and guided his ship close under the Cumbras.
* Kerti-sveinar, Masters of tlie Lights.
S20 THE LAND OP LORNE.
That day came unto liim tlie ships -which had sailed
np Skipa-Fjord. The fast-day after it was good
weather, and the king sent his vessels ashore, to burn
the ships which had been wrecked ; and that same
day, a little after, the king sailed past Cumbra out to
JMelansey, and lay there several nights. Here came
unto him the messengers he had sent to Ireland, and
told ]iim that the Irish Northmen would support his
host till he freed them from the rule of the English
king. Haco longed much to sail to Ireland, but the
wind was not fair, lie took counsel, and the whole
host wished him not to sail. He said to them t]^at he
would depart for the Hebrides, for the host was short
of food. Then did Haco the King order the corse of
Ivar Holm to be carried into Bute, and there it was
buried.
After that the king sailed under Mclansey, and
lay some nights under Arran, and then to Sandey,
and so to the Mull of Kintire, and came close under
Gudey. Then sailed he out to Ila Sound, and lay
there two nights. He laid ^crj on the island in
three hundred head of cattle, but some was paid in
meal and cheese. Then Haco the Kino; sailed the
first Sunday in winter, and met so mucli storm, witli
wrack, that scarce a ship bore its sails. Then the
king took haven in Kiararey, and there messengers
went between him and King John, but to" little end.
At this time the king was told that his men had liar-
ried much in Mull, and slain some men of Midi, and
that two or three Northmen had fallen.
Next, King Haco sailed from the Calf of Mull, and
lay there some nights. There he was left by King
THE SAGA OF IIACO THE KING. 321
Dugald and Allan his brother ; and the king gave
them those estates which King John had owned.
Magnus, King of Man, and other Islesmen, had de-
parted before. To Riidri he gave Bute, and Arran
to Margad. To Dugald he gave the castle in Kintire,
which Guthonn Backa-Rolf had taken in the summer.
In this manner had Ilaco the King gained back all
those lands which KinirMafrnus Barefoot had wrested
from the Scots and the Islesmen.
Haco the King sailed from the Calf of Mull to
Rauney, and from Hauney northward. The wind
blowing against him, he sailed into Wester-Fjord, in
Skye, and levied food of Islesmen. He next sailed
past Cape Wrath, and at Dvrness the weather fell
calm, and the king let the ships be steered into Gia-
Fjord. This was the Feast of the two Apostles,
Simon and Jude, and the mass day was a Sunday.
The king lay there for the night. On the mass day,
after mass was sung, there came to him some Scots,
whom the Northmen had taken. The king gave
them liberty and sent them up the country, and made
them promise to come back with cattle ; but one was
left behind in hostage. That same day nine men of
Andrew Biusa's ship went ashore for water, and a
little while after a cry was heard from the land. The
crew rowed to shore from the fleet, and saw two men
f swimming, wounded sore, and took them aboard; but
seven were slain on land, without arms, while their
boat was aground. The Scots then fled to a wood,
while the Northmen lifted their dead. On the Mon-
day, King Ilaco sailed from Gia-Fjord, and gave lib-
erty to the Scottish hostage, and set him ashore. That
14*
322 THE LAND OF LORNE.
" niglit the king came to Orkney, and lay in a sound
north from Asmnndsvo ; thence he sailed for Ro-
naldsvo and most of his fleet with him. As they
sailed over Pentland Fjord there rose a great whirl-
pool, into which fell a ship of Rygia-fylke, and all
men there were drowned. John of Hestby drove
through the straits, and came near being wrecked in
the gulf; but with God's grace the ship was forced
east to the open sea, and lie hied to Norway.
"VThile King Ilaco lay in Orkney most of his ships
sailed to Norway, some with the king's leave, but
many gave themselves leave. The king had said
at first, when he came to the islands, that he would
steer straight home ; but the wind was in his teeth,
and he thouglit to Ijide in the Orkneys during the
winter. He named twenty ships to stay, and gave the
rest leave to go. All his vassals remained, save Eilif
of Naustdale, who sailed eastward home; but many
of the best men in tlie land abode with the kine:.
Then the king sent letters to Norway, concerning the
things he should need. After All Saints' mass the
king sailed his ships to Medalland Harbor, but he
spent one day at Ronaldsha.
vni.
KING HACO'S SICKNESS.
The Saturday ere Martinmas, King llaco rode out to
Medalland's Harbor, and after mass lie fell very sick.
At night he was aboard his ship, but at morning he
let mass be sung on land. Afterward he held a
council where the ship should lie, and bade his men
THE SAGA OF IIACO THE KING. 323
look "well after their vessels. After that each slvipper
took charge of his own ship. Some were laid up in
MedallancVs Haven, and some in at Skalpeid.
Next, King Ilaco went to Skali>eid and rode to
Kirkwall, and there abode in the bishojj's palace with
such men as dined at his board. Here the kinsr and
the bishop kept each his board in the hall for his own
men, but the king dined in the room above. Andrew
Plytt looked after the king's table, and gave to each
of the followers his share. After all that was ar-
ranged, the divers skippers went where their ships
were laid np. The barons in Kirkwall were Briniolf
Johnson, Erling Alfson, Ronald Urka, Erling of Bir-
key, John Drotning, and Erlend Red. The other
barons were in their districts.
King Ilaco had all the summer worked much and
anxiously, and had slept little, and when he came to
Kirkwall he lay sick in bed. When ho had lain some
nights the sickness lessened, and he was on foot three
days. The first day he walked in his rooms, the
second he heard mass in the bishop's chapel, and the
third day he went to Magnus Kirk and around the
shrine of the holy Earl Magnus. He then ordered a
bath and was shaven. Then, some nights after, he sick-
ened again and lay again in bed. In his sickness he had
read to him the Bible and Latin books. But finding
he grew sad in thinking on these things, he had read
to him night and day books of the North — first the
lives of holy men, and when these were ended, tlie
tales of our kings from Halden the Swart, and so of
all the Northern kings, each after each. Haco the
King found his sickness still increase. He thought,
324 THE LAND OF LOENE.
tlierefore, of tlie pay due to his troops, and ordered a
mark of fine silver to each court-man, and half a
mark to each of the light-swains and other followers.
He let all the silver plate of his hoard he weighed,
and ordered it to he given forth, if the realm-silver
was too little. King Ilaco was shriven the night be-
fore St. Lucia's mass. There were there Thorgisl,
Bishop of Stavanger, Gilbert, Bishop of Ilamar,
Henry, Bishop of Orkney, Abbot Thorleif, and many
other learned men, and before he was smeared all said
farewell to the king and kissed him. He still spake
clear, and his favorites asked him if he had any other
son besides Prince Magnus, or any other heirs who
miirht share in the state. But he vowed that he had
no other son and no daughter but what all men knew.
Then were read the Sagas of the kings down to
Suerer, and he ordered them to read the life of Suerer,
and to read it night and day, as often as he was
awake.
IX.
KING HACO'S DEATH AND FUNEKAIj.
The mass day of St. Lucia was a Thursday, and on
the Saturday after the king's sickness grew so great
that he lost speech, and at midnight Almighty God
called Kins: Haco out of this home's life. These
barons beheld his death: Briniolf Johnson, Erliug
Alfson, John Drotning, Ronald Urka, and some sei-v-
inf men who had been near the king ifi his sickness.
Directly after he died, bishops and learned men were
sent for, and mass was sung. Then all the folk went
torth, save Thorgisl the Bishop, Briniolf Johnson, and
THE SAGA OF HACO THE KING. 325
two otlicr men, who watched the body, and did all tlio
service due to so mighty a lord and prince as was
Ilaco the Kiny;. On Saturday, the corpse was carried
into the hii2;h chamber, and set on a bier. The body
was clad in rich raiment, and a garland set on his
head ; and all bedight as became a crowned monarch.
The light-swains stood with tapers, and the whole hall
was lit. Then went all folk to see the body, and it
was fair and blooming, and the face was fair in hue
as in living men. There was great solace of the grief
of all there to see their departed hing so richly dight.
Then was suns: the hiirh mass for the dead. The
nobles kept wake by the corpse through the night. On
Monday, the body was borne to Magnus Kirk, and
royally laid out that night. On Tuesday, it was laid
in a kist, and buried in the choir of St. Magnus -Kirk,
near the steps of the shrine of St. Magnus, the Earl.
Afterward, the tomb was closed, and a pall spread
over. Then was it settled that wake should be kept
all winter over the grave. At Yule, the bishop and
Andrew Plytt made feasts, as the king had ordered
before he went, and good gifts were given to all the
host.
Now, King Haco had given orders that his corse
should be carried east to I^orway, and he would be
graved near his father and other kinsmen, and about
the end of winter was launched that meikle ship
which Haco the Kino; had in the west. On Ash Wed-
nesday, the corse of the king was taken out of the
earth ; this was on the third of the nones of March.
The court-men then went with the corse to Skalpeid
to the ship. The chief leaders of the ship were Thor-
326 THE LAND OF LOENE.
gisl, the bisliop, and Andrew Plytt. They sailed the
first Saturday in Lent, and met hard weather, and an-
chored south in Silavog. Thence they sent letters to
Prince Marrnus, and told him the tidino-s. Afterward
they sailed north to Bergen. They came to Silavog
before the mass of St. Benedict. On mass-day, Prince
Magnus met the corse. The ship was brought near
the ting's palace, and the corse was placed in the sum-
mer-hall. The morning after, it was borne out to
Christ Kirk. There went with it Magnus the King,
the two queens, and court-men and town folk. After
that, the body was buried in the choir of Christ Kirk ;
and Magnus the King spake to the folk with many
good words. There stood all the folk in great grief,
as Sturlas sings :
" Three niglits came tlie miglity
Warriors to Bergen,
Ere in the earth-vale
Lay the wise ruler.
The pale weapon-breakers
Stood gathered around him,
Full weeping and joyless.
(Meikle strife followed.)"
Haco the King was buried three nights before the
mass of Mary; this was after the birth of our Lord
Jesus Christ, one thousand two hundred and sixty-
three years.
GLEN 8LIGACIIAN AKD Till: CLCilULU^'y. 327
CHAPTER XV.
GLEN SLIGACHAN AND THE CUCHTJLLIN8.
ScoDBor and Sligachan — Party and Guide — Dawn on the Cuchullins —
Scuir-na-Gilleau — A Rhapsody on Geology — Fire and Ice — The Path
along the Glen — Ilart-o'-Con-y — Ben Blaven — A Monologue on Ossian—
Schneider and the Ked Deer— First Glimpse of the "Corryof the
Water " — Lochan Dhu.
The Cucliullin Hills are the Temple of Ossian, and
the temple has two porches — Sligachan and Scavaig.
Having now fairly halted on the threshold of one, we
stood close to an enchanted world. Opposite our
anchorage was the village of Sconser — a number of
rude hovels scattered on the hillside, with many fine
patches of green corn and potatoes, and bits of excel-
lent pasture for the cows. A smack was at anchor
close to us, skilFs were drawn up above high-water
mark, and nets were drying everywhere on the beach ;
and we soon ascertained that the herring were " up
the loch." Right above us, as we have said, rose
Ben Glamaig, towering to a desolate and barren cone,
seamed everywhere with the beds of streams, and
covered with the gray sand and loose rocks deposited
in seasons of flood. At times this red mountain is
a worthy neighbor of the Cuchullins, but at others,
notably when the sun is very bright and the air very
328 THE LAND OF LORNE.
clear, it appears sufficiently common-place. Common-
place is an adjective at no time applicable to Scuir-
na-Gillean or Blaven ; tliese are magnificent in all
weathers, no sunlight being able to rob tliem of
the wildly beautiful outlines and lurid tints of the
hypersthene.
Situated at the head of the loch is Sligachan Inn,
the cleanest, snuggest, cheapest little place of the
sort in all the Highlands of Scotland. Here, on the
morning after our arrival, we procured ponies and a
guide, and preceded in ordinary tourist-fashion to
make our way to the heart of the temple — to the
melancholy lake of Corruisk, distant about nine
miles from the head of Sligachan. Our party num-
bered five, including the guide. Two were mounted,
while the Wanderer and Hamish Shaw trudged on
foot. The guide (a gloomy Gael of thirteen, as sturdy
as a whin-bush, and about as communicative) led the
way, uttering ever and anon an eldritch whistle much
like the doleful scream of the curlew. Our way lay
up Glen Sligachan, along a footway discernable only
by the experienced eye ; and we had scarcely^ pro-
ceeded a quarter of a mile from the inn, when the
Cuchullins, in all their grandeur and desolation, began
to gather upon us —
" Taciti, soli, e sanza compagnia " — *
their wild outlines showing in strange contrast to the
conical Red Hills, so called from the ruddy hues of
the syenite and porphyry of which they are com-
posed. Chief of the Red Hills is Glamaig ; king of
* " Inferno," cant, xxiii.
GLEN SLIOACIIAN ANB THE CUCmn.LTNF!. 329
tlie Cucliullins is Blaabliein" or Blaven. Down the
round sides of Glamais; rolls the red dchris of irravel and
sand, washed into dark lines by innumerable water-
courses, and giving to the Ion el}' hill the aspect of a
huge cone slowly moldering, rusting and decompos-
ing, save where the deep heather gathers on its hollow
flanks below. But Blaven, like all his brctliren, pre-
serves the one dark liue of hypcrsthene, while his
sides are torn into craggy gulfs and lurid caves, and
his hooked forehead cuts" in sharp silhouette the gray
and silent sky. The mountainous part of Skye con-
sists of these two groups, so strangely contrasted in
shape and color, so totally unlike in geological com-
position,* The range of the Cucliullins is almost
completely detached from that of the Eed Hills by
the valley of Glen Sligachan.
Our start was made soon after dawn, and as we
entered the great glen the mists of morning still
brooded like white smoke over the hills on either
side, while far away eastward the clouds parted above
the mountain-tops, and revealed a glimpse of heaven,
green as the delicate outer leaves of the water-lily.
The rain had fallen heavily during the night, and the
dead stillness of the air was broken only by the low
murmur of the streams and new-born runlets. Passing
by a glassy pool of Sligachan Bum, we saw a young
salmon leap glittering like gold two feet into the air,
giving us therewith his prophecy of a still and
windless day; and while Schneider the wayward,
* See tlie admirable treatise on tlie " Geology of the Cucliulliu
Hills," by Professor Forbes, of St. Andrew's,
330 THE LAND OF LORNE.
warm already in anticipation, plunged in for her
morning bath, up rose the old cock-grouse from the
margin of the pool, and fled, screaming his warning
to the six or eight little "cheepers" which were
following the old hen swiftly and furtively through
tlie deep heather. The sun broke out on the burn,
and it was full day. The damp rocks gleamed like
silver, the heather glittered with innumerable gems.
Not a member of the party but caught the glad
contagion. The ponies pricked up their ears, and
carried their riders more swiftly along the devious
track. Schneider went raving mad with delight, and
rushed around the party in dripping circles. The
Wanderer leapt like a very hart for joy. Ilamish
Shaw murmured a Gaelic ditty of love and gladness ;
and the boy-guide answered with a blither scream.
To the AYanderer, however, the path was as familiar
as to the guide, for he had trod it many a time, both
alone and in the best of company; and, indeed, his
present rapture was far more allied to physical delight
in the glorious dawn than to thorough perception of
the beautiful scenes opening up around him. Such
scenery — the scenery whose appeal is to the soul —
does not startle suddenly ; its supreme effect is subtle
and slow ; the first emotion in perceiving it some-
times even is like disappointment. The Wanderer's
mind, too, is like a well, profound, of course, but fed
mysteriously ; slow, very slow, to gather in thouglits
from the numberless veins and pores of communica-
tion. He drank the dawn like an animal — like a
ruminant cow, like a mountain-goat. He had
scarcely a thought for the marvelous landscape.
GLEN SLIGACIIAN . AND TIIE CUCHULLINS. 331
There was no more speculation in his eyes than in
those of the guide. Meantime his lieart couhl only
dance, his brain only spin, his eyes only gleam. lie
saw everything, but lightly, dazzlingly, through the
gleam of the senses. The first sip of the mystic cup
merely produced intoxication.
Then, slowly, minute by minute, the wild animal
instinct cleared off, and the gray light of spiritual
perception settled into the eyes. By this time, the
mists on either side of the glen had changed into mere
solitary vapors, dying a lingering death each in some
lonely gorge screened from the sun ; and the moun-
tains shone darkly beautiful after their morning bath
of rain. Prominent above all, on the northeast side
of the glen, rose the serrated outlines of Scuir-na-
Gillean, or the Hill of the Young Men, so named
after certain shepherds who lost their lives while vainly
endeavoring to gain the summit. The height of this
mountain, perhaps the highest of the Cuchullins, does
not exceed 3200 feet, but the ascent is very perilous.
Rent into huge fissures by the throes of earthquake,
titanic and livid, from foot to base one stretch of
stone, without one blade of grass or green heather, it
stretched its weirdly broken outline against a wind-
less and cloudless sky. Few feet have trod its highest
cliffs. In 1836, when Professor Forbes first visited
the locality, the ascent was deemed impossible.
" Talking of it," writes the Professor, " with an active
forester in the service of Lord Macdouald, named
Duncan Macintyre, whom I engaged to guide me to
Corruisk from Sligachan, he told me that he had
attempted it repeatedly without success, both by him-
332 THE LAND OF LOENE.
self, and also with different strangers, who had en-
gaged him for the purpose ; but he indicated a way
different from those which he had tried, which he
thought mio;ht be more successful. I engaged him to
accompany me ; and the next day (June 7) we suc-
ceeded in gaining the top, the extreme roughness of
the rocks (all hypersthene) rendering the ascent safe,
where, with any other formation, it might have
been exceedingly perilous. Indeed, I have never
seen a rock so adapted for clambering. At this time
I erected a cairn and temporary flag, which stood, I
was informed, a whole year ; but having no barometer,
I could not ascertain the height, which I estimated
at 3000 feet. In 1843 I was in Skye with a barome-
ter, but' had not an opportunity of revisiting the
Cuchullins ; but in May, 1845, I ascended the lower
summit, nearly adjoining, marked Bruch-na-Fray in
the map ; and wishing to ascertain the difference of
the height of Scuir-na-Gillean, I proposed to Mac-
intyre to try to ascend it from the west side. It was
no sooner proposed than attempted. It was impossi-
ble to otherwise than descend deep in the rugged
ravine of Loat-o'-Corry, which separates the simamits,
and then face an ascent, which from a distance
appeared almost perpendicular; but, aided by the
quality of the rocks already mentioned, we gained
the Scur-na-Gillean from the west side, althouu-h on
reaching the top, and gazing back, it looked like a
dizzy precijjice." * The barometrical record and
* At the foot of one of the precipices the mangled body of a
young toiiriHt was discovered during the autumn of 1870. The
dead man was one of two friends who startid to malie the ascent
GLEN SLIGACHAN AND TIIE CUCIIULLINS. 333
geological observations made by the Professor, both
here and elsewhere among the Cuchullins, are of the
very highest interest. Everywhere among the moun-
tains of Skye arc to be traced the proofs of direct
glacial action. Many phenomena can be described
only as the effects of moving ice ; and it would be
quite impossible to find these phenomena in greater
perfection even among the Alj^s.
We have no patience with those imaginative people
who are so far fascinated by transcendental meteors as
to class geology in the prose sisterhood of algebra
and mathematics. The typical geologist, indeed, whom
we meet prowling, hammer in hand, in the darkness
of Glen Sannox, or rock-tapping on the sea-shore
in the society of elderly virgins, or examining Agassiz'
atlas through blue spectacles on board the High-
land steamboat — this typical being, we repeat, is fre-
quently duller company than the Free Church minis-
ter or the domine ; but he is a mere fumbler about
the footprints of the fair science, with never the
courage to look straight into those beautiful blind
eyes of hers, and discover that she has a soul. By
what name shall we call her, if not by the divine
name of Mnemosyne — the sphinx-like spirit that
broods and remembers — a soul, a divinity, brooding
blind in the solitude, and feeling with her fingers the
raised letters of the stone-book which she holds in
her lap, and wherein God has written the veritable
of Scuir-na-Gillean togetlier ; but one of wliom, being taken
slightly unwell ou the way, returned to Sligachau lun, leaving
his comrade to proceed to the heights alone, and meet there his
terrible doom.
334 THE LAND OF LORNE.
"Legend of the "World?" A prose science? — say-
rather a sublime Muse ! Why, her throne is made of
the mountains of the earth, and her speech is the
earth-slip and the volcano, and her taper is the light-
ning, and her forehead touches a coronal of stars.
Only the fool misapprehends her and blasphemes.
Whoso looks into her face with reverent eyes is
appalled by the light of God there, and sinks to his
knees, crying, " I would seek unto God, and unto
God would I commit my cause, who doeth great
things and unsearchable, marvelous things without
number."
In sober words, without fine writing or rapture, it
must be said that the Cuchullins cannot lono; be con-
templated apart from their geology. Turn your eyes
again for a moment on Scuir-na-Gillean ! Note those
somber hues, those terrific shadows, that jagged out-
line traced as with a frenzied finger along the sky. It
is a gentle autumn morning, and the film of white
cloud resting on yonder topmost peak is moveless as
the ghost of the moon in an Aj)ril heaven. Tliere is
no sound save the melancholy murmur of water. A
strange awe steals over you as you gaze ; the soul
broods in its own twilight. Then as the first feeling
of almost animal perception fails, the mind awakens
from its torpor, and with it comes a sudden illumina-
tion. Along those serrated peaks runs a fiery tongue
of fiamo, tlie abysses blacken, the air is filled with a
deep groan, and a thunder-cloud, driving past in a
great wind, clutches at the mountain, and clinging
there, belches flame, and beats the darkness into fire
with wings of iron. From a rent above, the drifting
GLEN SLIGACIIAN AND THE CUCIIULLINS. 335
stars gaze, like affrighted eyes, dim as corpsc-liglits.
In a moment, this wonder passes ; the sudden tension
of the mind fails, and witli it the phantasm, and you
are again in the torpid condition, gazing dreamily at
the jagged outline of the Titan, dark and silent in the
brightness of the autumn morning. Again Mnemo-
syne waves her hand, and again the mind flashes
into picture,
" O lioary liills, thougli ye look aged, ye
Are but the children of a latter time I
Methinks I see ye, in that hour sublime
When from the hissing caldron of the sea
Ye were uphcaven, while so terribly
The clouds boiled, and the lightning scorched ye bare.
Wild, new-born, blind. Titans in agony.
Ye glared at heaven through folds of fiery hair. . . .
Then, in an instant, while ye trembled thus,
A Hand from heaven, white and luminous.
Passed o'er your brows, and hushed your firey breath.
Lo ! one by one the dim stars gathered round ;
The great deep glassed itself, and with no sound
A cold snow glimmering fell ; and all was still as death."
You have now a glimpse of the ninth circle of the
Inferno. Surrounded by the region of the Cold
Clime, girt round on every side by unearthly forms of
ice and rock, you see below you vales of frozen water,
and unfathomable deeps, blue as the overhanging
heaven. Where fire once raved, snow now broods.
Dome, pyramid, and pinnacle tower around with
walls and crags of glittering ice. Winds contend
silently, and heap the snow witli rapid breath. Here
and there gleams the vaporous lightning, innocent
as the Aurora. The glaciers slip, and ever change.
And down through the heart of all this desolation,
336 THE LAND OF LORNE.
past the very spot where you stand, filling the
gigantic hollow of Glen Sligachan, welling onward
with one deep murmur, carrying with it mighty rocks
and blasted pine-trees, rolls a majestic river, here
burnished black as ebony in the rush of its own
speed, there foaming over broken boulders and
tottering crags, and everywhere gathering into its
troubled bosom the drifting glacier and the melting
snow.
The Wanderer at least saw all this plain enough as
he passed along the weary glen in the rear of his
party ; and the fanciful retrospect, instead of dulling
the scene, lends it a solemn consecration. Poor
indeed would be the songs of all the Muses, compared
with the tale of Mnemosyne, if she could only be
brought to utter half she knows.
While the Wanderer was brooding, the riders and
their guide were getting well ahead. The ponies
were little shaggy rascals, with short, stumpy legs,
twisted like sticks of blackthorn, knees stiff as rusty
hinges, and never on any account to be coaxed into
a trot ; small eyes, where drowsiness and mischief met ;
their invariable pace was a walk, slow, but steady ;
and when left entirely to themselves, they could be
relied on to pass safely where the most cautious
foot-traveler stumbled. The little, phlegmatic fel-
lows seldom erred. They planted their feet alike on
the rolling stone and the slippery rock, choosing
sometimes the most unlikely passages, and avoid-
ing by instinct the peat-bog and the green morass.
Only when the unskilled rider, in his human vanitv,
fancied to improve matters by nning the rein and
GLEN SLIGAC'IIAN AND THE CUCIIULLINS. 337
gniding the beast into what looked tlie right way,
did rider and steed seem in danger of getting
into trouble. And what a road was that to travel I
More than once on the way did the Wanderer con-
gratulate himself on being afoot. Only a lynx's eye
could have made out the pathway along the glen.
Everywhere huge boulders were strewn thick as
pebbles, intei-sected constantly by brawling bums,
and padded round with knots of ancient heather.
To the left the heather and rock clomb over many
thymy knolls, until it fringed the base of the Eed
Hills, which rose above, round, unpicturesque, and
discolored with rain-washed sand. To the risrht,
also, ever stretched heather and rock, until they
mingled in imperceptible shadow into the deep-
green hypersthene of the Cuchullins. The sun now
shone bright, but only deepened the shadows on the
neighboring hills, and still not a sound broke the
melancholy silence. " In Glen Sligachan, as in
many other parts of Skye," writes Alexander Smith,
"the scenery curiously repels you, and drives you in
on yourself. You have a quickened sense of your
own individuality. The enormous bulks, their
gradual receding to invisible crests, their utter
movelessness, their austere silence, daunt you. You
are conscious of their presence, and you hardly
care to speak, lest you be overheard. You can't
laugh ; you would not crack a joke for the world.
Glen Sligachan would be the place to do a little
self-examination in. There you would have a sense
of your own meannesses, selfishnesses, paltry evasions
of truth and duty, and find out what a shabby fellow
15
338 THE LAND OF LORNE.
you at lieart are; and, looking up to your silent
fatlier-confesBors, you would find no mercy in tlieir
grim faces." Sucli, doubtless, is the efiect of the
scene on some men, but most surely on those who
live in cities and read Thackeray. Glen Sligachan
is, indeed, weird and silent, but in no true sense
of the word repelling. The eye is satisfied at
every step, the shadows and the silence only deepen
the beauty, and the mood awakened is one, not
of shapeless, shuddering awe, but of brooding, mystic
Pause here, where your path is the dry bed of a
torrent, and look yonder to the northeast. Between
two hills opens the great gorge of Hart-o'-Corry,
which is closed in again far away by a wall of livid
stone. 'Tis broad day here, but gray twilight yonder.
In the hollow of the corry broods a dense vapor, and
above it, down the deep-green fissures of the hypers-
thene, trickle streams like threads of hoary silver,
frozen motionless by distance ; while higher, far
above the rayless abyss, the sky is serene and
hyacinthine blue. That black speck over the top-
most peak, that little mark scarce bigger than the
dot of an i, is an eagle ; it hovers for many minutes
motionless, and then melts imperceptibly away.
From the side of Hart-o'-Corry, Scuir-na-Gillean
shoots up its rugged columns ; and, close to the mouth
of the corry, the sharply defined sweep of the deep-
green hypersthene, overlaying the pale yellow felspar,
has an effect of rai'e beauty. Turning now, and
looking up the glen toward Camasunary, you behold
Ben Blaven closing in the view, and towering into
GLEN SLIGACII.VN AND THE CUCHULLINS. 339
the slcy from precipice to precipice, its ashen gi'ij
Hanks corroding everywhere into veins of mineral
green, until it cuts the ether with a sharp, hooked
forehead of solid stone.
' O "wonderful mountain of Blavcn !
How oft since our parting hour
Tou have roared with the wintry torrents.
You have gh)omed through the thunder-shower I
O BLiveu, rocky Blaven 1
How I long to be with you again.
To see lashed gulf and gully
Smoke white in the windy rain —
To see in the scarlet sunrise
The mist-wreaths perish with heat ;
, The wet rock slide with a trickling gleam
Right down to the cataract's feet ;
While toward the crimson islands.
Where the sea-birds flutter and skirl,
A cormorant flaps o'er a sleek ocean floor
Of tremulous mother-of-pearl."*
Blaven stands alone, separated from the chain of
Cuchullins proper, and with the arms of the Red
Hills encircling him and offering tribute. It is sel-
dom he deigns to put aside his crown of mist, hut on
this golden day he is unkinged. " The sunbeam
pours its light stream before him ; his hair meets the
wind of his hills, his face is settled from war, the
calm dew of the morning lies on the hill of roses, for
the sun is faint on his side, and the lake is settled and
blue in the vale."
It is thus, as we gaze, that the thin sound of the
* Alexander Smith.
340 THE LAND OF LORNE.
voice of Cona breaks in upon our meditations ; " O
bard ! I hear thy voice ; it is pleasant as the gale
of the spring that sighs on the hunter's ear, when he
wakens from dreams of joy, and has heard the music
of the spirits of the hill." In the dreamy wanderings
of our mind we had almost forgotten Ossian, the true
spirit of the mystic scene. O ye ghosts of the
lonely Cromla ! Ye souls of chiefs that are no more !
ye are *' like a beam that has shone, like a mist that
has fled away." " The sons of song are gone to rest."
But one voice remains, strange and sad, " like a blast
that roars loudly on a sea-surrounded rock, after the
winds are laid."
What the Cuchullins are to all other British moun-
tains, Ossian is to all other British- bards. He abides
in his place, neither greater nor less, challenging
comparison with no one, solitary, sad, wrapt in eter-
nal twilight. Just in the same way as Glen Sligachan
repelled Alexander Smith, the song of Ossian tires
and wearies Brown and Kobinson ; fashionable once,
it is now in disrepute ; by Byron, Goethe, and
Napoleon cherished as a solemn inspiration, and
lately pooh-poohed as conventional and artificial by
the Saturday Beviewer, it abides forgotten, like
Blaven, till such time as humorous critics may care to
patronize it again. It keeps its place, though, as
surely as Scuir-na-Gillean and Blaven keep theirs. It
is based on the rock, and will endure. Meantime, let
us for once join issue with Mr. Arnold, and exchxim,
" Woody Morven, and echoing Lora, and Selnia with
its silent halls — we all owe them a debt of gratitude ;
GLEN SLIGACIIAN AND THE CUCHULLINS. 341
and when we are unjust cnougli to forget it, may tlie
Muse forget us ! "*
As to the question of authenticity, that need not be
introduced at this time of day. Gibbon's sneer and
Johnson's abuse prove nothing. In this, as in all
matters, Gibbon was a skeptic, as worthy to be heard
on Ossian as Voltaire on Shakespeare, or Gigadibs on
Walt Whitman. In this, as in everything else,
Johnson was a bully, a dear, lovable, short-sighted
bully, as fit to listen to Fingal as to paint the scenery
of the CuchuUins. The philological battle still rages;
but few of those competent to judge now doubt that
Macpherson did receive Gaelic MSS., that the origi-
nals of his translations were really found in the High-
lands — that, in a word, Macpherson's Ossian is a bona-
fide attempt to render into English a traditionary
poetic literature similar in origin and history to the
Homeric poems.f Truly has it been said that " Ossian
drew into himself every lyrical runnel, augmented
himself in every way, drained centuries of their songs ;
and living an oral and gypsy life, handed down from
generation to generation, without being committed to
* " On tlie Study of Celtic Literature.'' By Mattliew Arnold.
f Since this paper was written and printed, tlie Rev. Mr Clark
lias published his two exhaustive volumes of Ossian, containing
the Gaelic originals, Macpherson's translation, and a new literal
version, with a capital preliminary dissertation and invaluable
illustrative notes. Mr. Clark has the reputation of being the
best Celtic scholar in the Highlands, and his work is a monument
that will not perish as long as men care to study at the fountain-
head a poetry which, be it ever so faulty, is one of the great
literary influences of the world.
342 THE LAND OF LORNE.
writinoi:, and having their outlines determinatelj fixed,
these songs become vested in a multitude, every
reciter having more or less to do to them. For
centuries the floating legendary material was reshaped,
added to, and altered l)y the changing spirit and emo-
tion of the Celt." What remains to us is a set of
titanic fragments, which, like the scattered boulders
and hlocs jperches of Glen Sligachan, show where a
mighty antique landscape once existed. The transla-
tion of Macpherson, made as it was by a scholar famil-
iar with modern literature, has numberless touches
showing that the chisel has been used to polish the
original granite, but it is on the whole a marvelous bit
of workmanship, strong, free, subtle, full of genius —
better than any English translation of the Iliad,
nearer to the true antique than Chapman's, or Pope's,
or Derby's, or Blackie's versions of the Greek. In
this translation, retranslated, Goethe read it, and
Napoleon ; and each stole something from it, if only
a phrase. Veritably, at first sight, it lias a barbarous
look. The prose breathes heavily, in a series of gasps,
each gasp a sentence. Tlie sound is to a degree
monotonous, like the voice of the wind ; it rises and
falls, that is all, breaks occasionally into a shriek, dies
sometimes into a sob ; but it is always a wind-like voice.
Yet, just as hour after hour we have sat by the fireside
hearkening to the wind itself, feeling the sadness of
IlTaturc creep into the soul and subdue it, so have we
sat listening to the sad " sound of the voice of Cona."
It is a wind, a wind passing among mountains. Only
a sound, yet the soul follows it out into the darkness —
where it blows the beard from the thistle on the ruin,
GLEN SLIGACHAN AND THE CUCHULLINS. 343
wliere it inists the pictures in the moonlight mere,
where it meets the shadows shivering in the desolate
cony, where it dies away with a divine whisper on the
fringe of the mystic sea. A wind only, but a voice
ciying, " I have seen the walls of Balcutha, but they
were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls,
and the voice of the people is heard no more. The
stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the
fall of the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely
head ; the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked
out from the windows ; the rank grass of the wall
waved round his head." It is an eerie wail out of
the solitude. We are blown hither and thither on it,
through the mists of Morven, over the livid Cuchul-
lins, through the terror of tempest, the dewy dimness
of dawn — where the heroes are fighting, where a
thousand shields clang — where rises the smoke of the
ruined home, the moan of the desolate children —
where the dead bleed, and "the hawks of heaven
come from all their winds to feed on the foes of
Auner" — where the sea rolls far distant, and the
white foam is like the sails of ships — where the
narrow house looks pleasant in the waste, and " the
gray stone of the dead." But ever and anon we
pause, listening, and know that we are hearkening to
a sound only, to the lonely cry of the wind.
After all, it is unfair to call this monotonousness a
demerit. Ossian's poems have much more in common
with the Theogony than the Iliad and Odyssey.
Ulysses and Thersites were comparatively modern
products of the Greek Epos. In the Ossianic period
humanity dwelt in the twilight which precedes the
344 THE LAND OF LOENE.
dawn of culture. The heroes are not only colossal,
but shadowy — dim iu a dim light — figures vaguer
than any in the Eddas ; you see the gleam of their
eyes, the flash of their swords, you hear the solemn
sound of their voices; hut they never laugh, and if
they uplift a festal cup, it is with solemn armswecp
and hushed speech. The landscape where they move
is this landsca2)e of Glen Sligachan, with a frequent
glimpse of woodier Morven, and a far-off glimmer of
the Western Sea ; all this shadowy, for the " morning
is gray on Cromla," or the " pale light of the night is
sad." " I sit hy the mossy fountain ; on the top of
the hill of "^vind. One tree is rustling above me.
Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled
below. The deer descend from tlie hill. It is mid-
day, but all is silent." This is a day picture, but
there is little sunlight. It is in this atmosphere that
some readers expect variety. They weary of the
wind, and the gray stone on the waste, and the
shadows of heroes. " Oh for one gleam of humor, of
the quick spirit of life ! " they cry. As well might
they look for Falstaff in the Iliad, or for Browning's
Broad Church Pope in Shakespeare ! Blaven and
his brethren are not mirth-breeding ; nor is Ossian.
Here in the waste, and there in the book, humanity
fades far off; though coming from both, we drink
with fresher breath the strong salt air of the free
waves of the world.
In these days of metre-mongers, in these days when
poetry is a tinkling cymbal or a pretty picture, when
Art has got hold of her sister Muse and bedaubed
her with unnatural color, we might well expect the
GLEN SLIGACHAN AND THE CUCnULLINS. 345
piiWic to be indifferent to Ossian. Not the least
objection to tlie Gael, in the eyes of library-readers, is
tlie peculiar gasping prose in which the translation is
written ; and it is an objection ; yet it affords scope
for passages of wonderful melody, just as does the
prose of Plato, or of Shakespeare,* or the semi-Biblical
line of Walt Whitman. " Before the left side of the
car is seen the snorting horse! The thin-maned,
high-headed, strong-hoofed, fleet-bomiding son of the
hill ; his name is Dusronnal, among the stormy sons
of the sword." Such a passage is prose as fully
acceptable as a more literal translation, broken up
into lines like the original :
" By the other side of the chariot
Is the arch-neck'd, snorting,
Narrow-maued, high-mettled, strong-hoofed.
Swift-footed, wide-nostril ed steed of the mountains;
Dusrongeal is the name of the horse."
Music in our own day having run to tune, in poetry
as in everything else, we eschew unrhymed metres
and poetical prose ; yet it is as legitimate to call
Beethoven a barbarian as to abuse Ossian and Whit-
man for their want of melody. And as to the charge
that Ossian lacks humor ^ where in our other British
poetry is humor so rife that we imperatively de-
mand it from the Gael. Where is Milton's humor?
/or Shelley's ? Where in contemporary poetry is there
a grain of the divine salt of life, such as makes
Chaucer prince of tale-tellers, and gladdens the
* Take Hamlet's speech about himself (commencing, " I have
of late, but wherefore I know not," etc.) as an example of what
Coleridge calls " the wonderfulness of prose."
15*
346 THE LAND OF LORNE.
academic period of rare Ben, and makes Falstaff
lovable, and Bardolpli's red nose delicious, and pre-
serves the sloveulj-scribbled " Beggar's Opera " for all
time. In sober truth, humor and worldly wisdom,
and all we hlase moderns mean by variety, were
scarcely created in the Ossianic period. Why, they
are rare enough in tlie lonely Hebrides even now,
I^ow, in the nineteenth century, the Celtic islander
smiles as little as old Fingal or Cuchullin. Ilis
laugh is grim and deep ; he is too far back in time
to laugh lovingly. His loving mood is earnest, tear-
ful, almost painful, sometimes full of a dim bright-
ness, but never exuberant and joyful.
Yet we moderns, who love hoary old Jack for his
sins, and stand tearfully at his bed of death,* and like
all fat men and sinners better for his sake, we to
whom life is the quaintest and drollest of all plays, as
well as the deepest and divinest of all mysteries, may
listen very profitably, ever and anon, to the monoto-
* " Ilost. Nay, sure, he's not in hell ; he's in Arthur's bosom,
if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and
went away, an it had been any christom child ; 'a parted even
just between twelve and one, e'en at turning o' tlie tide ; for
after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with the flowers,
and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way ;
for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields.
' IIow now. Sir John V quoth I ; ' what, man ! be of good cheer.'
So 'a cried out ' God, God, God ! ' three or four times ; now I, to
comfort him, bid liim 'a should not think of God ; I hoped there
was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yer. So,
'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet. I put my hand into the
bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone ; then 1 felt
to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as
any stone." — llcnry F., ii. 3.
GLEN SLIGACHAN AND THE CUCnULLINS. 347
noiis wail of Cona, may pass a brooding liour in tlie
twiliglit shadow of tliis eerie poetry. The influence
of Ossian upon us is quite specific; not religious
at all, not merely ghostly, but solemn and sad and
beautiful ; with just enough life to preserve a thread
of human interest ; with too little life to awaken us
from the mood of bi'ooding, mystic feeling produced
by the lonely landscape, and the dim dawn, and the
changeful moon. Ossian dreams not of a Supreme
Being, has no religious feeling, but he believes in
gracious spirits "fair as the ghost of the hill, when
it moves in a sunbeam at noon, over the silence of
Morven." If there is no humor in his poems, there
is a great deal of exquisitely human tenderness.
Kothing can be more touching in its way than
the death of Fellan: " Ossian, lay me in that hollow
rock. Raise no stone above me, lest one should
ask about my fame. I am fallen in the first of my
fields, fallen without renown." Perfect in its way,
too, is the imagery in the lament of Malvina over the
death of Oscar : " I was a lovely tree in thy pres-
ence, Oscar ! with all my branches round me. But
thy breath came like a blast from the desert and
laid my green head low. The spring returned with
its showers, but no leaf of mine arose."
Sweetest and tenderest of all Ossian's songs, the
song which fills the soul here in the gorges of Glen
Sligachan, is " BeiTathon," the '' last sound of the
voice of Cona." It is a wind indeed, strange and ten-
der, deep and true. All the strife is hushed now ;
Malvina the beautiful is dead, and the old bard, know-
ing that his hour is di'awing nigh, mm-murs over a
348 THE LAND OF LOENE.
fair legend of the past. " Such were my deeds, son
of Appin, wlien the arm of my youth was young.
But I am alone at Lutha. My voice is like the last
sound of the wind, when it forsakes the woods. But
Ossian shall not be long alone ; he sees the mist that
shall receive his ghost ; he beholds the mist that shall
form his robe when he appears on his hills. The sons
of feeble men shall behold me and admire the stature
of the chiefs of old. They shall creep to their caves.
. . . Lead, son of Appin, lead the aged to his woods.
The wind begins to rise ; the dark wave resounds. . . .
Bring me the hai-p, son of Appin. Another song shall
arise. My soul shall depart in the sound. . . . Bear
the mournful sound away to Fingal's airy hall ; bear
it to Fingal's hall, that he may hear the voice of his
son. . . . The blast of the north opens thy gates. O
king ! I behold thee sitting on mist, dimly gleaming
in all thine arms. Thy foi-m now is not the terror of
the valiant. It is like a watery cloud, when we see
the stars behind it with their weeping eyes. Thy
shield is the aged moon ; thy sword a vapor half kin-
dled with fire. Dim and feeble is the chief who trav-
eled in brio;htness before. ... I hear the voice of Fin-
gal. Long has it been absent from mine ear ! ' Come,
Ossian, come away 1 ' he says. ... * Come, Ossian,
come away ! ' he says. ' Come, fly with thy fathers
on clouds.' I come, I come, thou king of men. The
life of Ossian fails. I begin to vanish on Cona. My
steps are not seen in Selma. Beside the stone of Mora
I shall fall asleep. The winds whistling in my gray
hair shall not awaken me. . . . Another race shall
arise." If this be not a veritable voice then poesy is
GLEN SLIGACIIAN AND THE CUCHULLINS. 349
dumb indeed. The desolate cry of Lear is not more
real.
liead these poems to-day on Glen Sligaclian, or on
the slopes of Elaven. Is not the solemn grayncss
everywhere ? Is there a touch, a tint of the quiet
landscape lost ? Not that Ossian described Nature ;
that was left for the modem. lie contrives, however,
while using the simplest imagery, while never pausing
to transcribe, to conjure up before us the very spirit of
such scenes as this. Mere description, however pow-
erful, is of little avail ; and painting is not much bet-
ter. Ossian's versa resembles Loch Corruisk more
closely than Turner's picture, powerful and suggestive
as that picture is.
While we are listening to the thin voice of Cona,
and being betrayed into a monologue, our exploring
party is getting well ahead ; and turning off across a
marshy hollow to the right, guide and ponies begin
to clamber up the sides of a hill — one of the sandy
Red Hills, the shoulder of which overlooks the lonely
lake of which we are in quest. The dog Schneider
has vanished in frantic pursuit of some imaginary
game — no, there she is, dwarfed to the size of a mouse,
creeping along a seemingly inaccessible crag. Shouts
are of no avail ; they only make the hills moan. But
look ! what is that little group far above her ? Deer,
by Jove ! — red deer, browsing, actually browsing, in a
hollow that seems as stony and innocent of all herb-
age as a doorstep, and looking in their unconcern
about the size of sheep. The field-glass brings them
aggravatingly close, and a noble group they are —
harts as well as hinds. O Hamish, Ilamish Shaw,
360 THE LAND OF LORNR.
what a place for a stalk ! A stiff walk round yonder
shoulder, half a mile to leeward ; a covered approach
for a mile behind that ridge ; then a creep along the
dry bed of a torrent, steadily, oh, how steadily ! lest a
rattle of small stones should spoil all ; then a crawl .
on one's belly to the great boulder to leeward of them,
and theii^ Ilamish, a cool pulse, a steady aim, and
the finest set of antlers there ! To look on, gunless,
hopeless, is almost more than flesh and blood can en-
dure. Katural scenery, Ossian, mysticism, are for-
gotten in a moment. Ah, but they had the best of
it — those old heroes of the chase, those seekers of
perilous adventm'es by flood and field ; and Fingal
stalked his stag in that era like a genuine sportsman !
Come alono;, Hamish Shaw : let us turn our faces
away, lest we cry with longing. See, thgugh, the
dog is winding them — she sees — she charges them.
They stand their ground coolly, only one big fellow
begins to tickle the earth with his antlers. Schnei-
der's pace grows slower and more reflective. She ex-
pected to scatter them like wind, and she is amazed
at their stolidity. Obviously thinking discretion the
better part of valor, she pauses, and gazes at them
from a distance of twenty yards. They don't stir,
but gaze at her with uplifted lieads. At last, tired of
the scrutiny, they turn slowly, very slowly, and walk,
at a snail's pace, up the ravine ; while Schneider, ob-
viously staggered at the discovery that at least one
kind of animal is quite a match for her, and won't
scud out of her fiery path like a snipe or a rabbit, de-
scends the hill dreamily — quite prepared to accept
GLEN SLIGACHAN AND THE CUCHULLINS. 351
her thrasliincj in exchange for the half-hour's novel
Bport that she has had among the mountains.
How steadily the ponies make their way up this
pathway, which is sometimes slippery as glass, some-
times crumbling like a ruin ; they keep their feet witli
only an occasional stumble, and do not appear the
least bit exhausted by their efforts. Parts of the way
are precipitous to a degree, part^ are formed by the
unstable bed of a shallow burn. At last the topmost
ridge is gained, the riders dismount, and the guide,
stripping the ponies of their saddles and bridles, turns
them out to crop a. noontide meal on the mossy
ground. Lunch is thereupon spread out on a rock,
and before casting one glance around them, the Wan-
derer and the other human machines begin to feed
and drink, winding up the jaded body to the point of
rational enjoyment and spiritual perception.
The views from this hillside — the usual point sought
by tourists from Sligachan — are inferior in beauty to
many we have seen en route, but they are very grand.
One glimpse, indeed, of the peaks of Scuir-na-Gillean,
seen peeping jagged over an intervening chain of
mountain, is beyond all parallel magnificent. The
view of Loch Corruisk,* for which the tourists come,
is simply disappointing. Only one corner of the loch
is visible, lying below at a distance of about two
miles, and gives not the faintest idea of its grandem-.
The usual plan adopted by good walkers is to descend
to the side of Corruisk, leaving the guide to await
their return on the summit of the ridoe.
r>"
* Anglice, tlie " Corry of tlie Water.'
S52 THE LAND OF LORNE.
But on the present occasion, the "Wanderer has de-
termined to pass the summer night here in the soli-
tude, leaving the rest of the party to return alone —
all save the faithful henchman, Ilamish, on whose
back is strapped a waterproof sleeping-bag, a box of»
apparatus for cooking breakfast, etc. Schneider, too,
will remain, constant as ever to her liege lord and mas-
ter. So, after a parting caulker with the men, and a
good-night's kiss from the lady, the Wanderer whis-
tles his dog and plunges down the hill at his favorite
headlong rate, while Hamish, more heavily loaded,
follows leisurely, with the swinging gait, slow but
steady, peculiar to mariners of all sorts on land. A
very short run brings the Wanderer to the shores of
Lochan Dhu, a dark and desolate tarn, situated high
up on the hillside, and surrounded by wild stretches
of marsh, and rock, and bog. Standing here for a
moment, he waves a last farewell to the party on the
peak, who stand far above him, darkly silhouetted
against the sky.
CORRUISK; Oil, TliE CORRY OF TllK WATER. 353
CIIArTER XVI.
coeruisk; ok, the corrt of the water.
The Lone Water — The Region of Twilight — Blocs Perches— KamiBh
Shaw's Views— The Cave of the Ghost — The Dunvegan Pilot's Story —
Echoes, Mists, and Shadows — Squalls in Loch Scavaig — A Highlander's
Ideas of Beauty — Camping Out in the CoiTy — A Stormy Dawn — The
Fishermen and the Strange Harbor — Loch Scavaig — The Spar Cave —
Camasunary.
Out of the gloomy breast of Loelian Dhii issues a
brawling burn, which plunges from shelf to shelf
downward, here narrowing to a rush-fringed rapid,
there broadening out into miniature meres that glitter
golden in the sunlight and are full of tiny trout, and
in more than one place overflowing incontinently, and
breaking up into rivulets and scattered pools, inter-
spersed with huge boulders, moss-grown stones, and
clumps of vari-colored heather. With the burn for
his guide, the Wanderer sped, more than once miss-
ing his leaps from stone to stone, and cooling his
heated legs in the limpid water, and, indeed, rather
courting the bath than otherwise, so pleasantly the
water prattled and sparkled. The afternoon was well
advanced now, and still not a cloud came to destroy
the golden glory of the day. The sun had drunk all
the dew of the heather, and the very bogs looked dry
854 THE LAND OF LORNE.
and brown. Below there was a glimpse of tlicLonc
Water, glassy, calm, and black as ebony. A few
steps downward, still downward, and the golden day
was dimming into shadow. Coming suddenly on
Loch Corruisk, the Wanderer seemed in a moment
surrounded with twilight, lie paused close to the
corry, on a rocky knoll, with the hot sun in his eyes,
but before him the shadows lay moveless — not a
glimmer of sunliglit touched the solemn mere — every-
where the place brooded in its own mystery, silent,
beautiful, and dark.
To speak in the first place by the card, Corruisk,
or the Cony of the Water, is a wild gorge, oval in
shape, about three miles long and a mile broad, in
the center of which a sheet of water stretches for
about two miles, surrounded on every side by rocky
precipices totally without vegetation, and towering in
one sheer plane of livid rock, until they mingle with
the wildly picturesque and jagged outlines of the top-
most peak of the Cuchulliiis. Directly on entering
its somber darkness, the student is inevitably re-
minded of the awful region of Malebolge :
" Luogo e in Inferno detto Malebolge
Tutto di pietra e di color ferrigno,
Come la cercliia, che d'intorno '1 volge." ,
The mere is black as jet, its waters only broken
and brightened by four small, grassy islands, on the
edges of the largest of which that summer day the
black-backed gulls were sitting, with the feathery
gleam of their shadows faintly breaking the glassy
blackness below them. These islands form the only
bit of vegetable green in all the lonely prospect.
CORRUISK ; OR, THE CORRY OF THE WATER. 355
Close to tlie shores of the loch, and at the foot of the
crag^s, there are dark-brown stretches of heath ; hut
the heig'hts above them are leafless as the columns of
a cathedral.
Coming abruptly on the shores of this loneliest of
lakes, the Wanderer had passed instantaneously from
sunlight to twilight, from brightness to mystery, from
the gladsome stir of the day to a silence unbroken by
the movement of any created thing. Every feature of
the scene was familiar to him — he had seen it in all
weathers, under all aspects — ^yet his spirit was pos-
sessed as completely, as awe-stricken, as solemnized,
as when he came thither out of the world's stir for
the first time. The brooding desolation is there for-
ever. There was no siijn to show that it had ever
been broken by a human foot since his last visit. lie
left it in twilight, and in twilight he found it. Since
he had departed, scarce a sunbeam had broken the
darkness of the dead mere ; so close do the mountain
pinnacles tower on all sides, that only when the sun
is sheer above can the twilight be broken ; and when
it is borne in mind that the Cuchullins are the chosen
lairs of all the winds, that their hollows are the dark
breeding-places of all the monsters of storm, that
scarce a day passes over them without mist and tears,
one ceases to wonder at the unbroken darkness. A
great cathedral is solemn ; solemner still is such an
island as Ilaskeir, when it sleeps silent amid the rainy
grief of a dead still sea ; but Corruisk is beyond all ex-
pression solemnest of all. Perpetual twilight, perfect
silence, terribly brooding desolation. Though there
are a thousand voices on all sides— the voices of
356 THE LAND OF LORNE.
winds, of wild waters, of sliifting crags — tlie>y die
away here into a lieart-beat. See ! down tlie torn
checks of all those precipices tear headlong torrents
white in foam, and each is crying, though you cannot
hear it. Only one low mnrmnr, deeper tha7i silence,
fills the dead air. The black water laps silently on
the dark claystone shingle of the shore. The cloud
passes silently, ftir away over the melancholy peaks.
Streams innumerable come from all directions to
pour themselves into the abyss ; and enormous frag-
ments of stone lie everywhere, as if freshly fallen
from the precipices, while many of these gigantic
boulders, as McCulloch observes, are "ftoised in such
a manner on the very edges of the precipitous rocks
on which they have fallen, as to render it difficult to
imagine how they could have rested in such places,
though the presence of snow at the time of their fall
may perhaps explain this difficulty." These, indeed,
are the true Uocs perches, marking the course of the
glacier which once invaded those wilds. " The inter-
val between the borders of the lake and the side of
Garsven is strewed with them ; the whole, of what-
ever size, lying on the surface in a state of uniform
freshness and integrity, unattended by a single plant
or atom of soil, as if they had all but recently fallen
in a single shower." The mode in which they lie is
no less remarkable. The bottom of the valley is cov-
ered with rocky eminences, of Avhich the summits are
not only bare, but often very narrow, while their de-
clivities are always steep, and often perpendicular.
Upon these rocks the fragments lie just as on the more
level ground. One, weighing about one hundred
CORRUISK; OR, THE CrRRY OF THE WATER. 35^
tons,* has become a rocking stone ; another, of not less
than fifty, stands on the narrow edge of a rock a hun-
dred feet higher than that ground which must have
fii'st met it in the descent.
" Mighty rocks.
Which liave from unimaginable years
Sastaiuod themselves with terror and with toil
Over a gulf, and with the agony
Witli which they cling seem slowly coming down —
Even as a wretched soul hour after hour
Clings to the mass of life — yet, clinging, lean ;
And, leaning, make more dark the dread abyss
In which they fear to fall." *
Strangely beautiful as is the scene, it is a ruin.
The vast fragments are the remains of a mao;nificent
temple rising into pinnacles and minarets of ice, glit-
tering with all the colors of the prism. Here the si-
lent-footed glacier slipped, and the snow shifted under
the footsteps of the wind, and there, perhaps, where
the lonely lake lies, glittered a cold sheet of hyacin-
thine blue ; and no gray rain-cloud brooded on the
temple's dome — only dL4icate spirits of the vapor,
di'inking soft radiance from the light of sun and star.
Around this temple crawled the elk and bear, and
swift-footed mountain deer. Summer after summer it
abode in beauty, not stable like temples built by hands,
but ever changing, full of the low murmur of its
change, the melancholy sound of its own shifting
walls and domes. Then more than once Fire swept
out of the abyss, and clung like a snake about the
temple, while Earthquake, like a chained monster,
groaned below ; wild elements came from all the
* Shelley's " Cenci."
358 TEE LAND OF LOllNE.
winds to overthrow it ; wall after wall fell, fragment
after fragment daslie^ down. The fairy fretwork of
snow melted, the fair carvings of ice were obliterated,
jiinnacle and minaret dissolved in the sun, like the
baseless fragment of a vision. Dark twilight settled
on the ruin, and Melancholy marked it for her own.
The walls of livid rock remain, gray from the volcano,
and torn into rugged rents, casting perpetual darkness
downward, where the water, bubbling up from unseen
abysses, has spread itself into a mirror. All ruins are
sad, but this is sad utterly. All ruins are beautiful,
but this is beautiful beyond expression. The solemn
S^^irit of Death comes more or less to all ruins, when-
ever the meditative mind conjures and wishes ; but
here it abides, at once overshadowing whosoever
apj^roaches by the still sense of doom. " Thus saitli
the Lord God, Behold, O Mount Seir, I am against
thee, and 1 will make thee most desolate. When the
whole earth rejoiceth, I will make thee desolate." The
fiat has also been spoken here. The place has been
solemnized to desolation.
In deep, unutterable awe does the human visitant
explore with timid eye the mighty crags above him,
the layers of volcanic stone, until he finds himself
fascinated by the strange outlines of the peaks where
they touch the sky, and detecting fancied resemblances
to things that live. Yonder crouches, black and dis-
tinct against the light, a maned beast, like a lion,
watching ; its eyes invisible, but fixed, doubtless, on
yours. Iliglier still is a dimmer outline, as of some
huge bird, winged like the griffin. These two re-
semblances infect the whole scene instantaneously.
CORRUISK; OR, THE CORRY OP THE WATER. 359
There are shapes everywhere — in the peaks, in the
gorges, by the torrents — living shapes, or phantoms,
frozen still to listen or to watch, and horrifying you
with their deathly silence. Your heart leaps as if
something were going to happen ; and you feel, if the
stillness were suddenly broken, and these shapes were
to spring into motion, you would shriek and faint.
How dark and fathomless look the abysses yonder,
at the head of the loch ! A wild scarf of mist is fold-
ing itself round the peaks (betokening surely that the
clear, still weather will not remain much longer un-
broken), and faint, gray light travels along the wildly
indented wall beneath. It is not two miles to the
base of the crags, yet the distance seems interminable ;
and shadows, shifting and deepening, weary the eye
with mysteries and dimly-reflected vistas.
As one paces up the aisle of some vast temple, the
Wanderer walked thither, threading his way among
gigantic boulders, which in some wild hour have been
torn loose and dashed down from the heiofhts. He
felt dwarfed to the utter significance of a pigmy, small
as a mouse crawling on the pavement of the great
cathedral at Cologne.
A voice broke in upon his musings.
" I've traveled far, and seen heaps o' places," says
Hamish Shaw, whom the "Wanderer had altogether
forgotten ; " but I never saw the like of this. It's no'
a canny place. Glen Sannox is wild, but this is awe-
some. Is it no' strange that the Lord should make a
place like this, for no use to man or beast ? "
This was a question -involving so many philosoph-
ical issues, that the "Wanderer did not like to make
360 THE LAND OP LOKNE.
any decided answer. Instead of replying, lie asked
Hamisli if he had never been in the locality before.
" Ay, once, years, ago, ween I was but a lad. The
herring were in Loch Scavaig, and the harbor out yon-
der was just a causeway o' fishing-boats, and there
were fires on shore, and plenty o' folk to make it look
cheery like. We were here a week, and didna see a
soul ashore, but one day an old piper coming in his
Sabbath claise frae a wedding far o'er the hills, and he
was that fu' * that he had burstit his pipes, and lost
his bonnet ; and, with his gray hair blowing in his
een, he looked like the Deil. We keepit him a nicht
till he was sober ; and when he waken'd he was that
mad about his pipes, that he was for loupingf into
the sea. I mind fine o' him vanishing up the hills
yonder, as white as death ; and Lord kens if he ever
reached hame, for it rained that night like to drown
the world, and you couldna see the length o' your arm
for reek," ij:
As he walked on in the track of the Wanderer,
Shaw still pursued liis own reminiscences aloud.
"For a' that tliere wasna a fisherman would liae
willingly come this length alane — -they were that fear'd
o' the place, most o' a' in the gloaming. It's more
fearsome without a house, or folk, or sae much as a
sheep feeding ; nothing but stanes and darkness.
There were auld men among us that had strange tales
and liked to fright the lads, though they were just
as frightit themsel's. There's a cave up there called
the Cave o' the Ghost, and the taiscli§ o' a shepherd
* Drunk. f Jumping, I Mist.
§ Spirit,
CORRUISK ; OR, THE CORRY OF THE WATER. 361
lias been seen in it sitting cross-leggit, and branding
a bluidy sheep. But the drollest thing e'er I heard
o' Loch Corruisk was frae an auld pilot o' Dun vegan,
whose folk had dwelt yonder on the far side o' Gars-
ven. lie minded fine, when he was a wean, his
grandfather would gang awa' for days, and come back
wi' his pouch full o' precious stanes the size o' seeds
and the color o' blood. lie would tell nae man how
or where he found them ; and though they tried to
watch him, he was o'er cunning. More than once he
came back wi' gold. He sent the gold and stanes
south, and was weel paid for them. It was whispered
about that he had sold himseP to the Deil, at night,
here by the loch ; and he didna deny it. He came
back one day sick, and took to his bed wi' the influ-
enza fever ; and he ravit till the priest came, and
before he dee'd he cried till the priest that the gold
and stanes had changed his heart wi' greed, and he
was feared to face his God. One day he had wan-
dered himsel', * and night came on him, and he creepit
into a cave to sleep ; and when the day came, he saw
strange marks like writing all o'er the walls. When
he keekit closer, he saw the stanes, and they were
that loose he could free them wi' his gully,f and he
tilled his pouches, shaking a' the time wi' fear. But
the strangest thing o' a' was this — he wasna the first
man that had been there, for at the mouth o' the cave
there was the coulter o' a plow, and twa old brogues
rotten wi' dirt and rain."
" Did this description enable his relations to find
the place ? " asked the Wanderer, much interested.
* Lost his patli. f Claspknife.
16
862 THE LAND or LORNE.
" Tliej searcli'd and searcli'd," answered Hamish,
"but they coiildna found it, and they gave it up in
despair. After that his folk didna thrive ; and the
man that told me the tale was the only ane o' them
left. I've heard tell that 'twas true the old man had
sold himsel' to the Deil, and that the cave, and the
strange writing, and a' that, were just magic to beguile
his een ; but it's strange. I'm o' the opinion that the
cave might be found yet, for gold and stanes couldna
come o' naething. If it hadna been for the auld man's
greed, his folk might hae thriven."
" Do you think you would have kept the secret if
you had been in his place ? "
" I'm no' sae sure," answered Hamish, after a pause.
" Ye see, 'twas a sair temptation, for a man's ain folk
are whiles the hardest against him aboot siller. It
was the safest way, but a bad way for ither folk. He
should hae put the marks o' the place in ^vriting, for
use after his death."
Hamish's story, with its quaint touches of realism,
only made the lonely scene more lone, adding as it
did a touch of human eerieness to the associations
connected with it. An appropriate abode, surely, for
one of those evil spirits of whom we read in Teutonic
romance, and who were prepared, in exchange for a
little document signed with the party's blood, to load
the lost mortal with gems and gold! This was a
fleeting imprcssicn, only lasting a moment. Another
glance at those dimly-lighted walls, that darkly-brood-
ing water, those sublime peaks, now begiiming to dis-
appear in the fast-gathering white vapor — one more
look around the lonely corry — served to show that it
CORRUISK ; OR. THE CORRY OF THE WATER. 363
was too silent, too ethereally thoughtful, to be haunted
by such vulgar spirits as those that figure in popular
superstition. The popular ghost would be as out of
place there as inside a church. To break for a moment
the dead monotony, the Wanderer cast a stone into
the water, and Schneider, barking furiously, plunged
into the water. Hark ! a thousand voices barked an
answer ! We shouted aloud, and the hills reverber-
ated. The cries of men and the barking of dogs faded
far off, like the ghostly voices of the Wild Huntsmen
among the Harz Mountains. Echo cried to echo ;
" As multitudinous a harmony
Of sounds as rang the heights of Latmos over.
When, from the soft couch of her sleeping lover
Upstarting, Cynthia skimmed the mountain dew
In keen pursuit, and gave where'er she flew
Impetuous motion to the stars above her ! "
Truly, there were spirits among the peaks, but not
such spirits as Defoe chronicled, and the Poughkeepsie
Seer summons ; nay, gentle ghosts, " with eyes as fair
as starbeams among twilight trees ; " phantoms of the
delicate ether, not arrayed in vulgar horrors, but soft
as the breath of Cytherea.
" Mountain winds, and babbling springs,
• And mountain seas that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things ! "
The home of mystery is far removed from that of ter-
ror, and he who approaches it, as we did then, is held
by the tenderest fibers of his soul, instead of being
galvanized into gaping abjection. God's profoundest
agents are as tender as they are powerful. Their
breath, invisible as the wind, troubles the fount of
divine tears which distills itself, drop by drop, in
304 THE LAND OF LORNE.
every human thing, however strong, however dark
and cold.
We were now at the head of the loch. Sir Walter
Scott, in the notes of his visit to Skye, describes the
Cuchullins as rising " so perpendicularly from the
water's edge that Borrowdale, or even Glencoe, is a
jest to them ; " but Sir AValter only surveyed the
scene from the far end of the corry, where it opens on
the sea.* So far from rising perpendicular from the
* Sir Walter's prose account of his visit to Corruisk is so inter-
esting that we subjoin it in full : " The ground on which we
walked was the margin of a lake, which seemed to have sustained
the constant ravage of torrents from these rude neighbors. The
shores consisted of huge strata of naked granite, here and there
intermixed with bogs, and heaps of gravel and sand piled in the
empty water-courses. Vegetation there was little or none ; and
the mountains rose so perpendicularly from the water edge that
Borrowdale, or even Glencoe, is a jest to them. We proceeded a
mile and a half up this deep, dark, and solitary lake, which was
about two miles long, half a mile broad, and is, as we learned,
of extreme depth. The murky vapors which enveloped the
mountain ridges obliged us by assuming a thousand varied shapes,
changing their drapery into all sorts of fcrms, and sometimes
clearing off altogether. It is true, the mist made us pay the
penalty by some heavy and downriglit showers, from the fre-
quency of which a Highland boy, whom we brought from the
farm, told us the lake was popularly called the Water-kettle.
The proper name is Loch Corriskin, from the deep corrie, of
hollow, in the mountains of Cuilin, which affords the basin for
this wonderful sheet of water. It is as exquisite a savage scene
as Locli Katrine is a scene of romantic beauty. After liaving
penetrated so far as distinctly to observe the termination of the
lake under an immense j)recipice, which rises abruptly from the
water, Ave returned, and often stopped to admire the ravages
which storms must have made in the recesses, where all human
witnesses were driven to places of more shelter and security.
Stones, or rather large masses and fragments of rocks, of a com-
CORRUISK ; OR, THE CORRY OF THE WATER. 365
water's edge, the mountains slope gradually upward,
from stony layer to layer, and at their l)ase is a plain
of grass as green as emerald, through which a small
river, after draining the silent dews of the hills, wan-
ders to Corruisk. Where we stood, surrounded by
the colossal fragments of ruin, on the rough rock of
the solid liillside, the darkness deepened, Yapors
were gathering above ns, shutting out the hill-tops
from our gaze. Out of every fissure and crevasse,
from behind every fragment of stone, a white shape of
mist stole, small or huge, and hovered like a living
posite kind, perfectly dififerent from the strata of the lake, were
scattered upon the bare, rocky beach in the strangest and most
precarious situations, as if abandoned by the torrents which had
borne them down from above. Some lay loose and tottering
upon the ledges of the natural rock, with so little security
that the slightest push moved them, though their weight might
exceed many tons. These detached rocks, or stones, were
chiefly what are called plum-pudding stones. The bare rocks,
which formed the shore of the lake, seemed quite pathless and
inaccessible, as a huge mountain, one of the detached ridges of
the Ciiilin hills, sinks in a profound and perpendicular precipice
down to the water. On the left-hand side, which we traversed,
rose a higher and equally inaccessible mountain, the top of which
strongly resembled the shivered crata of an exhausted volcano.
I never saw a spot in which there was less appearance of vege-
tation of any kind. The eye rested on nothing but barren and
naked crags, and the rocks on which we walked by the side
of the loch were as bare as the pavements of Cheapside. There
are one or two small islets in the loch, which seem to bear
j uniper, or some such low, bushy shrub. Upon the whole, though
I have seen many scenes of more extensive desolation, I never
witnessed any in which it pressed me more deeply upon the eye
and the heart than at Loch Corriskiu ; at the same time that its
grandeur elevated and redeemed it from the wild and dreary
character of utter barrenness."
366 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
thing. The invisible sun was now declining to the
west, and the air growing chilly after the great heat
of the day.
It was time now to seek a comer wherein we might
pass the night in tolerable comfort. This was soon
done. One huge stone stretched out its top like a roof,
the rock beneath was dry and snug, and close at hand
a little stream bubbled by, crystalline and cold.
" Spread out the rugs, Hamish Shaw, light the spirit-
lamp, and make all snug." It was as cosy as by the
forecastle fire. Cold beef and bread went down glo-
riously, with cold caulkers from the spring ; but we
wound up, if you please, with a jorum of toddy as
stiif as head could stand. Heat the water over the
spirit-lamp, drop in the sugar, and you have a bever-
age fit for the gods. You, Hamish, take yours neat,
and you are wise. Now, having lit our pipes, and
stretched ourselves out for a siesta, do we envy the
ease of any wight in Christendom ?
" The nicht will be a good nicht," said Hamish ;
" but I'm thinking there'll be wind the mom,* and
here, when it blows it rains. "When I was here wi'
the Ileathcrhell, at the time I was speaking o', I dinna
mind o' a dry day — a day without showers. I ne'er
saw the hills as clear as they were this forenoon.
There's aye wind among the gullies yonder, and the
squalls at Sligachan are nacthing to what ye haehere.
I wouldna sail aboot Scavaig in a lug-sail skiff— no'
if I had the sheet in my hand, and the sail nae
bigger than a clout — in the finest day in summer. It
* i. e., To-morrow morning.
CORRUISK; OR, TIIE CORRY OF THE WATER. 307
strikes down on ye like the blows o' a hammer — riglit,
left, ahint, before, straight down on your head, riglit
np under your nose — coming from Lord kens where,
though the sea be smooth as my cheek. I've seen the
punt heeling o'er to the gunnel with neither mast nor
sail. I mind o' seeing a brig carry away her topmast,
and tear her foresail like a rag, on a day when we
would hae been carrying just a reef in the mainsail
o' the Tern / and I've seen the day when the fishing-
boats running out o' the wee harbor there would be tak-
ing their sails on and off, as the puffs came, twenty
times in as many minutes. Many's the life's been lost
off Skye wi' the damned wind frae these hills. They're
for nae good to the beasts — the very deer are starved
in them — and they catch every mist frae the Western
Ocean, and soock the wind out o' its belly, and shoot
it out again on Scavaig like a cannon-ball. Is it no'
strange there should be such places, for nae use to
man ?"
" They are very beautiful to look at, Shaw," ob-
served tlie Wanderer, " you can't deny that ; and
beautiful things have a use of their own, you know.
Look up there, where the mists are dividing, and
burnmg red round the edges of that peak, and tell me
if you ever saw anything more splendid."
" I'll no' deny," says Shaw, glancing up with little
enthusiasm, " I'U no' deny that it looks awesome ; and
it's hard for a common man like me to tell the taste o'
learned men and gentry. They gang snooving aboot,
and see bonnieness where the folk o' the place see
naething but ugliness. But put it to yoursel'. Just
supposing you had a twin brother, and your father
368 THE LAND OF LORNE.
had left your brother a green farm o' five hundred
acres, and gien this place for a birthright to yoursel',
what would ye hae said then? There's no' an
acre o' green gr«BS, nor a tree where a bird might
build, nor a hanfu' o' earth to plow or harrow ! Ye're
smiling, but ye wouldna smile if ye depended on this
place for your drop o' milk and bit o' porridge. This
may be awesome ; but green, long grass, and trees,
and the kye crying, and the birds singing, and the
smell o' the farm-yard wherever you keek, that's the
kind o' place for a man to spend his days in."
And here let us remark that the grim, sunburnt,
hirsute Celt — our philosophic Ilamish, as independent
as Socrates of schools and dogmas — was right enough,
with all his bigotry. Corruisk is well at times, but it
lacks the greenness of the true, living world — and the
intellectual mood it awakens is a purely cultivated
mood, impossible to man in his natural state. The
English gentleman, arriving from* Kent or Sussex,
Uase with English flats, surfeited of harvests, comes
to such a scene as this to be galvanized ; and the wild,
weird i^rospect, the utter silence and desolation, speak
to him with intensest spiritual power, because they
are so unlike the monotonous paths he treads daily.
The Celt, on the other hand, who is from boyhood
familiar with the waste wilderness, tenanted only by
the deer and the eagle, and with the enormous sheep-
farm, stretching from hill to hill, comes upon a green
spot, where leaves sprout, and birds sing, and flowers
bud at the tree-roots, and at once realizes his dreams
of earthly loveliness. Unlike tlie fair-weather tourist,
who surveys the terrors of Nature for one inspired
COKRUISK; OR, THE CORRY OF TIIE WATER. 3G9
moment, the Iliglilandcr knows the meaning of storm,
cold, poverty, and hmiger ; and when he pictures an
Inferno, it is not one of in8uiFeral)lo flame, but rather
Dante's last circle — a frozen realm.** What wonder,
then, that such a man should find all the dreamy
poetry of his nature awakened by the happy home-
stead bosomed in greenness, the waving fields of ha;*-
vest hard by, the pleasant country road, with plump
farm-women driving their pony-carts to market, the
stream that waters the meadow-land and turns the
mill — all the sights and sounds that indicate warmth,
prosperity and rural joy. The basis of all heavens is
physical comfort, and the Celt's dream of heaven is a
dream of the light and the sunshine he seldom sees.
" The valleys," says an old Gaelic chant, " were open
and free to the ocean ; trees loaded with leaves, which
scarce moved to the light breeze, were scattered on
the green slopes and rising grounds. The rude winds
walked, not on the mountains; no storm took its
course through the sky. All was calm and bright ;
the pure sun of the autumn shone from its blue sky
on the fields." We have wandered among the islands
with all sorts of islanders, and ever found them moved
most, like Hamish Shaw, by the tender oases of cul-
tivated ground which are found here and there in the
empty waste.
Let it not be imagined, however, that the wild
scenery of the hills wherein they dwell, the fierce con-
tentions of wind and rain and snow, exercise no fas- /
cination; they work subtly, secretly, weaving theu'
* The Celtic Jfurin, or tlie Isle of the Cold Clime.
16*
370 THE LAND OF LORNE.
Bolemn tints into the very tissue of life itself, solemn-
izing thought imperceptibly, troubling the spirit with
mysterious emotion. More than most men the Celt
distinguishes between loving and liking. He likes
the green pasture ; but he loves the bare mountains.
He likes warmth, comfort, and prosperity; but he
loves loneliness, dreaminess, and home. So familiar
is he with the mountain peak and the driving mist,
so constant is their influence upon him, that he scarce-
ly perceives them ; yet, transport him to flat lowlands,
or into cities, and he pines for the desolate lake and
the silent hillside. His love for them is unutterable,
is the vital part of his existence. "When he dreams,
he sees \hefata morgana^ a cloud of delicious verdure
suspended in the air ; but it soon fades. He, like all
men, yearns to the unknown and the unfamiliar ; but
such yearnings are not love.
So far as Hamish himself is concerned, what most
moves him is the sea. It is his true home, and he
loves it in all its moods. Days and nights, months
and years, it has rocked him on its bosom. He does
not watch it with an artist's eye ; but no artist could
linger over its looks more lovingly. It is no mere
monster, repelling him like the somber Cuchullins.
No ; the mighty sea means health and life — the won-
di'ous shoals of herring peopling the waters like lo-
custs, the cod and ling hovering like shadows on the
silent, deej) seabank — the lobster in the tangled weed —
all strange gifts from God, full of " use to man."
He has a finer eye for the beauty of a boat than any
artist ever drew. He knows the clouds as the shep-
herds know their sheep. The voices of seabirds are
CORRUISK; OR, THE CORRY OF THE WATER. 371
a speecli to liim. As lie looks on the wondrous wa-
tery lields, he sees in them both a harvest and a grave.
The shadow of mystery and death dwells everywhere
on the perilous prospect. And if, with such dreamy
imaginations, he unconsciously blends the same quiet,
utilitarian feeling which the farmer has for his fields,
and the huntsman for the prairie, why, perhaps it has
only strengthened the emotions of joy he feels when-
ever he finds himself " at home " on the great waters.
After all, the solemn eerieness of the corry must
have been appealing more or less subtly to Ilamish's
spirit, for erelong his chat drifted into the old chan-
nel of superstition ; and as the rosy light of the sun
grew dimmer on the peaks, and the hollow void black-
ened below, he now and then cast around him glances
of troubled meaning. He talked again, as he has
often talked before, of the Banshee, and the Taisch
or second sight, and of witches and fays ; not commit-
mg himself to believe in their existence, but assuredly
not quite unbelieving. While Hamish soliloquized the
Wanderer watched the dying sunlight, and dreamed
— until the sound of his comrade's voice died awav
into an inarticulate murmur. It was such a scene as
no tongue can describe, no pencil paint — the hills in
their silentest hour, hushed like lambs around the feet
of God. Not of wraiths, or corpse-lights, or any petty
< spirits that fret the common course of man, did the
Wanderer think now ; no dark vapors of the brain
interposed to perplex him ; but his soul turned, trem-
bling like a star with its own lustrous yearning, to the
Eternal Silences where broods the Almighty Father
of the beautiful and wondrous world. In that mo-
372 THE LAND OF LOENE.
ment, in tliat mood, without perfect religious confi-
dence, yet witli some faint feeling of awful communi-
cation with the unseen Intelligence, did he find his
prayer shaping itself into sound and form — faint,
perhaps, as imaging what he felt, yet in some measure
consecrated for other ears by the holy spirit of the
scene.
I.
Desolate 1 How the peaka of ashen gray.
The smoky mists that drift from hill to hill.
The waters dark, anticipate this day
Death's sullen desolation. Oh, how still
The shadows come and vanish, with no will I
How still the melancholy waters lie ;
How still the vapors of the under sky.
Mirrored below, drift onward, and fulfill
The mandate as they mingle ! Not a sound,
Save that deep murmur of a torrent near,
Breaketh the silence. Hush ! the dark profound
Groans, as some gray crag loosens and falls sheer
To the abyss. Wildly I look around.
O Spirit of the Human, art Thou liere t
II.
O Thou art beautiful ! and Thou dost bestow
Thy beauty on this stillness. Still as sheep
The hills lie under Thee ; the waters deep
Murmur for joy of Thee ; the voids below
Mirror Thy strange fair vapors as they flow ;
And now, afar upon the ashen height.
Thou sendest down a radiant look of light.
So that the still peaks glisten, and a glow,
Rose-colored, tints the little, snowy cloud
Tliat poises on the highest peak of all.
O Thou art beautiful ! — the hills are bowed
Beneath Thee ; on Thy name the soft winds call —
The monstrous ocean trumpets it aloud.
The rain and snows intone it as they fall.
COBEUISK; OR, THE COREY OF THE WATER. 373
III.
Here by the sunless lake there is no air ;
Yet with how ceaseless motion, with how strange
Flowing and fading, do the high mists range
The gloomy gorges of the mountains bare.
Some weary breathing never ceases there —
The ashen peaks can feel it hour by hour ;
The purple depths are darkened by its power ;
A soundless breath, a trouble all things share
That feel it come and go. See I onward swim
The ghostly mists, from silent land to land.
From gulf to gulf ; now the whole air grows dim —
Like living men, darkling a space, they stand.
But lo ! a sunbeam, like a cherubim.
Scatters them onward like a flaming brand
IV.
I think this is the very stillest place
On all God's earth, and yet no rest is here.
The vapors mirrored in the black loch's face
Drift on like frantic shapes and disappear ;
A never-ceasing murmur in mine ear
Tells me of waters wild that flow.
There is no rest at all afar or near
Only a sense of things that moan and go.
And lo ! the still small life these limbs contain
I feel flows on like those, restless and proud ;
Before that breathing naught within my brain
Pauses, but all drifts on like mist and cloud ;
Only the bald peaks and the stones remain.
Frozen before Thee, desolate and bowed.
And whither, O ye vapors, do ye wend ?
Stirred by that weary breathing, whither away ?
And whither, O ye dreams that night and day
Drift o'er the troublous life, tremble, and blend
To broken lineaments of that far Friend,
Whose strange breath's come and go ye feel so deep ?
374 THE LAND OF LOENE.
O soul that has no rest and seekest sleep,
WTiither ? and will thy wanderings ever end ?
All things tliat be are full of a quick pain ;
Onward we fleet, swift as the running rill ;
The vapors drift, the mists within the brain
Float on obscuringly, and have no will ;
Only the bare peaks and tlie stones remain ;
These only — and a God, sublime and still.*
The light died off the peaks, the vapors darkened,
and the cold chill of the night crept into the air.
Then suddenly, without a ray of warning, the moon
swept up out of the east — huge as a shield, yellow as
a water-lily, more luminous than any gold. It want-
ed but the moon to complete the spell. The dim
light scarcely penetrated into the corry, save where
a deep streak of silver shadow broke the blackness of
the lake. The walls of the hollow grew pitch dark,
though the peaks were faintly lit. The vapors gath-
ered in the hollow interstices of gloom. Kow, where
all had been stillness, mysterious noises grew — wild
voices, whispers, murmurs, infinite ululations.
" Vero e, che' n su la proda mi trovai
Delia valle d'abisso dolorosa,
Che tuono accoglie d'infiniti guai ! "
The moan of tori'ents was audible, the mm'mur of
wind.
It is not our purpose to chronicle in detail the ex-
periences of the night. Suffice it to say that for
many a long hour we paced about the ghostly scene,
and then, worn out and wearied, slipt ourselves into
* These sonnets have already appeared as a portion of " The
Book of Orm : a Prelude to the Epic."
CORRTJISK; OR, THE CORRY OF THE WATER. 375
onr covei-ings, and slept as 8mip;ly as worms in their
cocoons nndcr the overlianging eaves of the mighty
rock. Py this time tlie yellow moon, after burning
her way through the gathering vapors and reddening
to crimson fire at the edges, had disappeared altogetlier,
taking with her all the stars; but the summer night
still preserved a dim, dreary light in the very heart of
shadows. How long tlie Wanderer first slept he
knows not, but he awakened with a wild start, and
found all the vials of heaven opening and pouring
down on his devoted head. The darkness was full of
a dull roar — the splashing of the heavy drops on solid
stone, the moan of wind, the cry of torrents. " As a
hundred hills on Morven ; as the streams of a hundred
hills ; as clouds fly successive over heaven ; or as the
dai'k ocean assaults the shore of the desert ; so roaring,
so vast, so terrible, the armies mixed on Lena's echo-
ins: heath."*
* Or, fis translated more literally by tlie Eev. Mr. Macpherson,
of Inveraray :
" As a hundred winds in the oak of Morven ;
As a hundred streams from the steep-sided mountain ;
As clouds gathering thick and black ;
As the great ocean pouring on the shore.
So broad, roaring, dark, and fierce.
Met the braves a-fire, on Lena.
The shout of the hosts on the bones of the mountains
Was a torrent in a night of storm
When bursts the clouds on gloomy Cona,
And a thousand ghosts are shrieking loud
On the viewless crooked wind of the cairns."
OssiAjf's Poems. Fingal, book iii.
370 THE Lx\.ND OF LORNE.
The Cucliullins were busy again at tlieir old pastime
of storm-brewing. It became expedient to draw
closer under the shelter of the boulder out of the
reach of the buckets of water dripping over tlie eaves.
This done, the AVanderer listened drowsily for a time
to the wild sounds around him, and then, soothed by
their monotony, slept again. Happy is the man who
can sleep anywhere, on shipboard, in the saddle, up a
tree, on the top of Ben Kevis, and under all circum-
stances, in all weathers. Something of this virtue had
been imparted to the "Wanderer by his wild life afloat ;
and he still carried the drowsy spell of the sea with
him, mesmerizing body and mind to slumber any-
where at a moment's notice.
"When he opened his eyes again, and with bodily
sensations akin to those of a parboiled lobster gazed
around him, it was daylight — a dim, doubtful, rainy
light, but still the light of day. The corry was one
mass of gray vapor, hiding everything to the utmost
peaks, and a thin " smm-r" of rain filled all the doubt-
ful air above the loch. Hamish Shaw, wreathed up
in the shape of the letter S, was breathing stento-
riously. and to awaken him the "Wanderer tickled his
nose with a spike of heather ; whereat he opened
his eyes, smiled grimly, and at once, without a mo-
ment's hesitation, with all the quickness of instinct,
delivered his criticism on the weather. " There'll be
rain the day, and a breeze ; the wind's awa' into the
southwest." Then, without more preamble, he jumped
up, rubbed his hands through his matted hair, and
surveyed the scene about him.
CORRinSK; OR, TILE CORRY OF THE WATER. 377
" The sun had opened golden yellow
From his cas(i.
Though still the sky wore dark and drumly
A scarred and frowning face ;
Then troubled, tawny, dense, dun-bellied.
Scowling, and sea-blue ;
Every dye that's in the tartan
O'er it grew.
Far away to the wild westward
Grim it lowered,
Wliere rain-charged clouds on thick squalls wandering
Loomed and towered." *
With a grim shake of the head, Ilamish got out
spirit-lamp, kitchener, etc., and proceeded to make
breakfast. Meantime, the Wanderer threaded his
way to the water's edge, and divesting himself of his
hot, uncomfortable clothing, plunged in for a swim.
A dozen strokes were enough ; for the black deeps
filled one with an eerie shudder, and the vapors hung
cold and dreadful overhead. Dripping like a naiad,
the Wanderer got into his clothes, and rushed about
wildly to restore the circulation. A quarter of an
hour afterward, he breakfasted royally on bread and
cold meat, with a tumbler of spirits and water — in
all of which he was gladly joined by the faithful
Hamish. Breakfast over, the twain made their de-
vious way down the corry, pausing ever and anon to
contemplate the stormy scene behind them.
A high wind in sharp squalls was blowing mist and
cloud from the sea ; steadily and swiftly the vapor
drifted along, %vith interstices dimly luminous, from
the southwest ; but directly they reached the unseen
* The " Birlinn." By Alastair Mac Mhaigstair Alastair.
378 THE LAND OF LOENE.
lieiglits, tlicy seemed to pause altogether, and add to
tlie motionless darkness. Below that darkness a gray
reflected light — not light, but rather darkness visible —
moved along the precipices of stone, save vrhere
mists streamed from the abyss, or the silver threads
of cataracts flashed,
" Motionless as ice.
Frozen by distance."
Wild, unearthly noises, strange as the shriek of the
water-kelpie, issued from the abysse§. The black
lake was broken into small, sharp waves, crested with
foam of dazzling whiteness, contrasted with which
the black furrows between seemed blacker and blacker ;
and over the waves here and there the gulls were
screaming. The mighty rocks through which we
wended diffused into the air a cold, white steam, while,
smitteii by the silver-glistering rain, their furrowed
cheeks drip wildly ; at the base of each glimmered
a pool ; and everywhere around them the swollen
runlets leapt noisily to mingle with the mere. The
corry, indeed, was silent no more; but the only
sound within it was the murmur of its own weeping.
As we walked onward, looming gray in the mist,
we suddenly became conscious of a iigure standing at
some little distance from us — the wild figure of a man
clad in pilot trousers and a yellow oilskin coat, bare-
headed, his matted locks hanging over his shoulders,
his beard dripping with rain, his eyes with a look of
frenzy glaring at us as we approached. Our first
impulse was one of fear — there was something un-
eailhly in this apparition ; but we advanced rapidly,
OORRUISK; OR, THE COllRY OF THE WATER. 379
anxious to examine it more closely. To our astonish-
ment the man, instead of inviting scrutiny, assumed
a look of intense terror, and without a word of warn-
ing took to his heels. Anxious to reassure him, we
followed as rapidly as possible, Ilamish shouting
loudly in Gaelic; but the sound of footsteps behind
liiii and Ilamish's voice, which the wind turned to a
dismal moan, only made the man fly faster, never
once casting a look backward, but scrambling along
the perilous slopes as if all the fiends were at his
heels, until the rainy mist blotted him altogether
from our view. Hamish and the Wanderer looked at
each other and laughed; it was rather a comical
situation — man-chasing in the gorges of Corruisk.
" "Who do you think he is ?" said the Wanderer ;
" a man like ourselves, or a ghost ?"
" Flesh and blood, sure enough," replied Ilamish,
with a sly twinkle in his eye. " I'm tliinking there
will be a boat o' some sort down in the harbor yon-
der, and this is one of the crew. Eh ! but he seemed
awfu' scared; nae doubt he thought us something
uncanny, coming on him sae sudden in a place like
this."
Wet and dripping, we reach the lower end of
the loch, and after one glance backward at the
corry, which seems buried in the deepest gloom of
night, follow the course of the river, which runs
foamino; over a sheet of smooth rock into Loch
Scavaig, that wonderful arm of the sea. The rocks
here have the smoothed and swelling forms known
as roches vxcndonnees , and, as Professor Forbes ob-
serves, " it would be quite impossible to find in the
380 THE LAND OF LORNE.
Alps or elsewhere these phenomena (excepting oi^ly
the high polish, which the rocks here do not admit
of) in greater perfection than in the valley of Cor-
ruisk." The distance from the fresh-wator loch to
the salt water is little more than two hundred yards ;
and where the river joins the latter there is a dead-
calm basin, enclosed seaward by promontories and
islands, and perpetually sheltered from all the
winds that blow. There is no snugger anchorage
in the world than this. Shut in on every side by
precipices that tower far above the mast, with no
view but the bare loch landward or seaward, it is
like a small mere, deep and green, in the hollow of
the mountains. In the rocks at either side there
are rings, to which any vessel at anchor in the basin
may attach itself ; for, though the place is sheltered
from the full force of the wind, the squalls are terrific-
ally sharp, and a warp is necessary, as there is no
room to " swing."
And here, standing on the rock at the water's
edge, we saw a small group of men, five in numl)er,
chief of whom was the fugitive from Corruisk. The
latter, with excited gestures and flaming eyes, pointed
to us as we approached, and all eyed us in grim and
ominous silence. Fastened to the rock on which
they stood was a skiff, one of those huge, shapeless
fishing skiffs in which Highlanders delight, black
and slimy with seaweed, with red nets heaped in
the bottom, and a dog-fish — seemingly the only prod-
uce of a night's fishing — still gasj^ng, with his
liver cut out, in the bow. No sooner did Shaw get
within earshot than he attacked the strangers with a
CORRUISK; OU, THE CORRY OP THE WATER. 381
sharp fire in Gaelic. After listening staggered for
a moment, tliey opened on him like a pack of
hounds in full cry ; and it was soon apparent that
the man we had met hy the loch had taken us for a
couple of ghosts prowling about in the dim, myste-
rious light of the early morning. The men were
fishers from Loch Slapin, whither they were on the
point of returning ; and we proposed that they should
row us round by the sea to Camasunary, nine miles'
■walk through the great glen from Sligachan Inn. A
bargain being struck, we were soon dancing on the
wild waters of Loch Scavaig, and taking our farewell
view of the Cuchullins.
Landing at Camasunary, we plodded weary home-
ward, so full of wonders, so awed and abstracted with
all we had seen, that we scarcely looked at the wild
gorges through which we passed. The brain was
quite full, and could receive no more. Tired to
death, we at last reached the Tetm^ after a walk that
seemed interminable. For many days after that it was
impossible to recollect in detail any picture we had
seen. All was confusion — darkness, rain, mist.
When the vision cleared, and the perfect memory
of CoiTuisk arose in the mind, it seemed only a vivid
dream, strange and beautiful beyond all pictures seen
with the waking eyes, a reminiscence from some for-
gotten life, a vision to be blent forever with the most
secret apprehensions of the soul — sleep, death, obliv-
ion, eternity, and the grave.
882 THE LAND OF LOBNE.
CHAPTER XVn.
EPILOGUE ; THE " TEKn's " LAST FLIGHT.
It was now growing late in the year, and we were
yearning to return again to the moors of Lome.
Quitting Loch Sligachan, we ran through the Sound
of Scalpa, past Broad ford Bay and Pabbay Island,
through the narrow passage of Kyle Akin, and so on
through KyleEheato Isle Ornsay, where we anchored.
Page after page might be filled \\'ith tlie exquisite pic-
tures seen on the way througli these island channels.
At Isle Ornsay we were detained for nearly a fort-
night by a fearful gale of wind, and occui^ied the time
in fishing for " cuddies " over the vessel's side, rowing
about in the punt, and reading Bjurnson's great vik-
ing-drama in the tiny cabin. Beguiled by a treacher-
ous peep of fine weather, we slipt out into the Sound
of Sleat, intending to sail roimd Ardnamurchan ; but
the heavy sea soon compelled us to take shelter in
Loch Xevis. After spending a black day at the last-
named anchorage, we set sail again, and encountered
a nasty wind from the southwest. The little Tern
got as severe a bufi:eting on that occasion as a craft of
the sort could well weather ; and only by the skilled
MFILOGUE ; THE TERN'S LAST FLIGHT. 383
Beamansbip of Ilamish Shaw did we manao;e to reach
our old anchorage in Rum before the gale burst in all
its fury. The weather was now thoroughly broken.
"We were detained several days in Loch Scresort, fear-
ing to face the great seas of the Atlantic in passing
round the Rhu. A good day came at last. "VVe had
as pleasant a sail through the oj)en sea as could well
be desired. On the night of the following day the
Tern was at her moorings in Oban Bay, and we en-
joyed, for the first time after many months, the lux-
ury of a snug bed ashore, in the White House on the
Hill.
Never had the seasons been more delightfully spent.
We had enjoyed sport and adventure to the full, we
had drunk into our veins the fresh sense of renewed
physical life, and we had enriched the soul with a set
of picturesque memories of inestimable brightness and
beauty. Possibly no such novel experience could
have been gained by rambling half round the civilized
world in search of the beautiful. " How little do men
know," we repeated, " of the wonders lying at their
own thresholds ! " Within two days' journey of the
Great City lie these Hebrides, comparatively unknown,
yet abounding in shapes of beauty and forms of life as
fresh and new as those met with in the remotest is-
lands of the Pacific. To the patient reader of our
travels afloat and ashore we have only one advice to
give in conclusion : " Go and do likewise ; and, until
you have explored the isles of the north in such a ves-
sel as carried us so bravely and for so long, do not
think that you have exhausted travel, or that Provi-
384 THE LAND OF LOKNE.
dence, even in the narrow limits of these British
Islands of which you know so little, cannot supply
your jaded humanity with a new sensation ! "
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