THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SCENES AND STORIES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 NORTH OF SCOTLAND
 
 -::''■ 
 
 w 
 oi 
 
 X 
 w 
 
 in 
 
 c/j 
 O 
 PS 
 
 X 
 tn 
 >-) 
 «! 
 
 a 
 o 
 o 
 
 w 
 
 J 
 
 H 
 w 
 
 < 
 
 SB 
 < 
 
 o 
 
 c
 
 
 SCENES AND STORIES 
 
 OK THE 
 
 NOKTH OF SCOTLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN SINCLAIR, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "HEATHER BELLES," ETC., ETC. 
 
 WITH THREE COLOURED A.XD EIGHT LITHOGRAPH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 EDINBURGH: JAMES THIN. 
 LONDON: SIMPK1N MARSHALL & CO. 
 
 1890. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 This book has been written with a three-fold aim : to 
 awaken interest, to stimulate, and to amuse. 
 
 The scenes described have been selected chiefly from 
 parts of Scotland which are remote, or aside, from the 
 ordinary thoroughfares of travel, and are therefore less 
 known than they deserve to be. I have tried to present 
 them as vividly as possible, so as to awaken in others an 
 interest in them. If many more travellers are induced 
 to visit these localities, they will not be disappointed, 
 and I shall be pleased. 
 
 Again, no one reaps full benefit from travel who does 
 not go to and fro with open eyes, open ears, open mind, 
 and open heart. What a pitiful lot are many of our 
 modern sight "do"-ers, who take in no more from 
 nature than the eye of a calf might do ! Not for 
 these do I write ; but for very many — I hope the majority 
 after all — who Iouq- to taste the sweet secrets of nature, 
 and through these to reach a better knowledge of her 
 great Author. I like to think that God, Who has made 
 all that is beautiful and grand, and has given to us any 
 sense or love of these which we possess, is Himself the 
 prime Admirer of the varied scenery of His world. My 
 
 868654
 
 vi Preface. 
 
 aim has been that these pages should feed the love of 
 nature, and stimulate the study of her works with that 
 all-round " openness" which I have commended above. 
 
 As for the incidents and stories scattered here and 
 there, they have been inserted simply to interest and 
 amuse. Not even a wild Highland landscape is perfect 
 without its little curl of smoke in a corner to suggest 
 some relation between nature and mankind. Thus are 
 one or two harmless adventures and brief sketches of 
 character thrown in to play the part of the light blue 
 pennant from the shepherd's cottage. I make bold to 
 claim that these incidents and anecdotes, with one or 
 two trifling exceptions, are new and fresh, in the sense 
 that they are only known to very limited circles, and 
 have never, so far as I am aware, appeared in print. 
 
 If these " Scenes and Stories " prove acceptable to 
 the public, the Author has material enough to form the 
 basis of another series, still drawn from his native 
 Scotland. 
 
 JOHN SINCLAIR. 
 July 1890.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Loch Duich, Ross-shire .... .9 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shire . . . . .31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Island of Lewis ...... 63 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Assynt in Sutherland ... 98 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Caithness Coast . . • • • .127 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Town of Thurso . . . • • .168 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Shetland Islands .... ■ 206
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 EILAN-DONAX CASTLE, ROSS-SHIRE .... Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SCUIR-OURAN AND SCUIR-NA-CARNICH, LOCH DUICH . . 9 
 
 ENTRANCE TO BLACK ROCK, NOVAR, ROSS-SHIRE ... 31 
 
 DRUIDICAL STONES, CALLERNISH, LEWIS .... 63 
 
 SUILVEN, ASSYNT, SUTHERLAND 98 
 
 CASTLES SINCLAIR AND GIRNIGOE 121 
 
 THE CLETT ROCK, THURSO . 168 
 
 PEELANS (Coloured) . ... 181 
 
 MOOZIE (Coloured) ........ 187 
 
 BOUSTIE (Coloured) ...... .194 
 
 THE GRIND OF THE NAVIR, HILLSW1CK . . . .206
 
 
 IS 
 
 Q 
 
 EC 
 
 o 
 
 3 
 
 ac 
 o 
 
 < 
 
 (J 
 
 < 
 
 ot 
 
 B 
 
 u 
 in 
 
 Q 
 
 S5 
 
 < 
 
 O 
 
 u
 
 SCENES AND STORIES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LOCH DUICH, ROSS-SHIRE. 
 
 i -> 
 
 It may not perhaps be wise to begin my book by rub- 
 bing the fur of some readers the wrong way, but justice 
 to my subject and to my own intense convictions leave 
 me uo choice. 
 
 Do you know Loch Duich % Hundreds answer, Yes. 
 Then I am sure you will bid others listen while I tell my 
 story. On the other hand, thousands upon thousands 
 answer, No. Then you have not yet seen a Scottish sea- 
 loch, which, for interest and attractiveness, has few 
 rivals ; some would even say, no equal. Allow me a 
 word or two with the hundreds. They very promptly 
 answered, Yes ; but I am doubtful of some of them. 
 Will you kindly step into the witness box, one of you, 
 please % Thank you. Now, sir, you say you know Loch 
 Duich ? Yes. Have you sailed up its waters ? No, I 
 have not. Have you walked around its shores ? No, 
 not exactly. Have you ever spent a night within hear- 
 ing of its ripple ? I cannot say I have. Have you ever 
 seen the Five Sisters of Kintail 1 No ; who or what 
 are they? So ho ! you, sir, have turned questioner now; 
 please don't ask me in the meantime ; I shall introduce 
 
 A
 
 io Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 you to the ladies by-and-bye. Before you leave the box, 
 will you allow me to guess the history aud amount of 
 your knowledge of Loch Duich ? You were going north 
 or coming south by one of Mr Macbrayne's excellent 
 fleet of steamers. She came up Loch Alsh, and swung 
 round for perhaps twenty minutes off a small pier called 
 Totaig. There you were almost in Loch Duich, but not 
 quite. It is as if you leant your shoulder against the 
 right-hand door-post, and then told me you knew the 
 house. The claim is absurd ; and as you have confessed 
 never to have seen the inmates — who are never away 
 from home — you may go down. So the process of 
 cross-examination might go on with one and another 
 and another; and in the end not more than five out of 
 each hundred would be found, in any worthy sense, to 
 know Loch Duich. 
 
 My first acquaintance with Loch Duich began like that 
 of the witness above. We had come — pardon me, that 
 " we " is not editorial, but denotes a small family party 
 — w T e had come from a fortnight's pleasant sojourn in the 
 Island of Lewis. We landed at Totaig to seek for quarters 
 somewhere about Loch Duich, but could hear of none in 
 the immediate neighbourhood. Leaving the others to 
 cross by boat to Dornie, where we knew there was an 
 inn, I travelled round the Loch on foot, inquiring for 
 rooms at every likely door. Heavy rain fell incessantly 
 all the day long, but I could afford to despise both the 
 distance and the drenching, when, on reaching Dornie at 
 night, I could report that my search had been successful. 
 These weary seventeen miles, under West Coast rain —
 
 Loch Dutch, Ross-shire. 1 1 
 
 quite a peculiar and powerful variety of the genus — 
 were my first introduction to Loch Duich ; but we all 
 know in ordinary life that friends do not see the best 
 of each other on first acquaintance. 
 
 Loch Alsh, on the west coast of Ross-shire, is a fine 
 broad sheet of water, the access to which from seaward is 
 all but closed by a rugged projecting knee of the Isle of 
 Skye. Only narrow channels or straits remain — Kyle 
 Akin on the north, and Kyle Rhea on the south — by 
 which vessels may creep through between the mainland 
 and the island. Within and between these channels lies 
 Loch Alsh, which at its inner end is split in two by the 
 mountains of Kintail, and forms Loch Long or Luing to 
 the north, and Loch Duich to the south, like the fore- 
 finger and thumb of the left hand. The former creeps 
 up a narrow twisted glen, at the head of which it re- 
 ceives from the Elchai^ the brown waters wdiich have 
 roared and foamed over the famous falls of Glomak. It 
 has, however, no special charms of its own ; so leaving 
 its shores at the cleavage point of Dornie, we turn our 
 thoughts and steps to Loch Duich. Even at the risk of 
 bleeding my fingers among the thorns of Celtic ety- 
 mology, I may venture to record that the name seems 
 derived from St Duthec or Duthus, of whose history and 
 labours but little is known. This at least is certain, that 
 a church dedicated to him — an interesting specimen of 
 old Gothic, but now long disused — may be seen in Tain ; 
 while a still older chapel — now entirely ruined — stood 
 on a sandy eminence near the same town. 
 
 Close by the entrance of Loch Duich, on the Dornie
 
 1 2 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 side, lies the low rocky islet which is crowned by the 
 picturesque ruins of Eilandonan Castle. Seen from the 
 water, they appear to stand just above the beach, but 
 looked at from the shore itself, they stand out, lofty and 
 grim, against the hills of Skye. The main portion of the 
 building was a square keep eighty feet high, with various 
 courts, wings, and archways on either hand. On the 
 sloping bank nearest to the shore of the mainland, a well 
 of clear-springing water was shielded by masonry, and 
 high walls flanked the path between it and the keep. 
 As at present seen, the walls are shattered and crumbling 
 away ; the turrets show many a gap and rent which the 
 friendly ivy tries in vain to hide; the lintels and archways 
 are broken and jagged ; yet if human words and deeds 
 were stored up in the stones which first rang with them, 
 what romances and tragedies lie around us and at our 
 very feet ! Its defenders and assailants at many a stormy 
 epoch were men who acted in the spirit of the chiefs 
 famous grace at meat, "Lord, turn the world upside 
 down, that Christians may make bread of it." A castle 
 stood here, it is said, as early as the days of Alexander 
 II. ; and for generations Eilandonan was the favourite 
 stronghold of the mighty Mackenzies. 
 
 One of the first constables of the Castle was a Kenneth 
 Matheson. He was succeeded by Colin Fitzgerald, an 
 Irishman, who obtained the post as a reward for services 
 to the king at the battle of Largs, and who married 
 Matheson's daughter. Their son was called Kenneth after 
 his grandfather, and his sons and descendants bore the 
 name of Mackennich, now Mackenzie, that is, the sons of
 
 Loch Dutch, Ross-shire. 13 
 
 Kenneth. So runs the story of the origin of the great 
 elan whose chiefs were lords of Eilandonan. How far it 
 is true, I shall not pretend to say, for in these matters it is 
 the part of a wise man neither to be a dogmatist who is 
 sure of everything, nor a sceptic who believes in nothing. 
 The same caution is no less needful in respect to the abun- 
 dant stories and traditions — many of them very interest- 
 ing and romantic — -which cling like ivy round old-world 
 walls such as those of Eilandonan. As a tasting of these 
 stories, true in the main, but, like snowballs, losing- 
 nothing as they go, I select one or two out of many. 
 
 Between the Macdonalds of Sleat in Skye and the 
 Mackenzies of Eilandonan there existed a chronic feud, 
 which burst out ever and anon into wild fury and fierce 
 fight. As a clansman once said, " There was good mis- 
 chief in those days," for slaughter and plunder were 
 scarcely considered sinful at all. On one occasion, in 
 1537, when the Mackenzies were absent on some raid or 
 expedition, the Macdonalds, with their chief at their 
 head, sailed from Skye to Eilandonan, hoping to make it, 
 in the absence of its defenders, an easy prey. Only the 
 governor, Gilchrist Macrae, and his son Duncan, were in 
 the keep. The Macdonalds landed undisturbed, and for 
 a time scattered here and there over the grass-covered 
 rocks. Then they approached the walls, and demanded 
 the surrender of the garrison. Macrae and his son had 
 no intentions in that direction. Their only reply was a 
 shot from young Duncan's bow, and the barbed a now 
 sunk deep in the heel of the Chief of the Islesmen. It 
 was the old case of Achilles over aarain. As the blood
 
 1 4 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 gushed from the wound, Macdonald fainted, and his 
 devoted clansmen, alarmed for his life, lifted him up and 
 bore him away to his barge to carry him home to Skye. 
 He never reached it alive, for his followers were com- 
 pelled to land him on a little island by the way ; and 
 there he died. Of course the Macdonalds vowed eternal 
 vengeance, and we are not surprised to know that this 
 was not their last visit to Eilandonan. Of every man 
 of them for a o-eueration it mipdit be said : 
 
 " For this he still lives on, careless of all 
 The wreaths that glory on his path lets fall ; 
 For this alone exists, — like lightning fire, 
 To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire." 
 
 On another occasion, nearly a century later, the Mac- 
 kenzies had a deadly quarrel with the Macdonells of 
 Glengarry, whose young Chief, with a large body of nierj, 
 harried and wasted the whole district between Loch 
 Carron and Kintail. As in the former case, the Chief of 
 the Mackenzies was absent, having gone to Mull in search 
 of allies, but his brave lady was equal to the occasion. 
 When fugitives from the ravaged district came to Eilan- 
 donan, she armed a chosen body of the clansmen, supplied 
 them with ammunition, and put two small cannon on 
 board their boats. So equipped, the little expedition was 
 sent out to attempt a surprise attack upon Glengarry and 
 his men, who were expected to come through the Kyles 
 between the mainland and Skye. The Mackenzies lay in 
 wait behind a small rock in the middle of the fairway. A 
 cloudy sky and a blinding snow shower perfected their 
 ambush. At length, young Macdonells barge came in
 
 Loch Duich, Ross-shire. 15 
 
 sight some distance in advance of the others, and so soon 
 as it came abreast of them, the Mackenzies poured upon 
 it a heavy and ruthless fire. In the panic and confusion 
 which ensued, the Glengarry chief and every one of his 
 men were either drowned or slain. The lady of Eilan- 
 donan was a proud woman that night, and lost no time in 
 sending the news of victory to the absent chief. These 
 were days in which strategy and brute courage were 
 valued far above all other manly accomplishments. 
 Many of the clansmen were fully w T orthy of the epitaph 
 bestowed on one of their number who lies in a grave- 
 yard not far from Cape Wrath : 
 
 " Donald M'Murrough here lies low, 
 111 to his friend, waur {worse) to his foe ; 
 True to his master in weird {fate) and woe." 
 
 Yet again, in 1531, Randolph, Earl of Murray, who had 
 been appointed Warden of Scotland, came to Eilandonan 
 to execute justice upon the Mackenzies because of some 
 lawless outrage. He beheaded no fewer than fifty of the 
 offenders, and hung out their heads to bleach on the 
 battlements of the castle. Again and again, in later 
 days, Eilandonan passed through the ruthless vicissitudes 
 of war, and siege, and fire, but remained in a habitable 
 condition till 1719. In that year a petty rebellion 
 against the crown took place, in which the Mackenzies 
 had the aid of a body of Spaniards. A battle was 
 fought in Glenshiel, in which the royalist troops were 
 victorious; and soon after, Eilandonan was battered into 
 a ruin by a ship of war, so that traitors might have one
 
 1 6 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 haunt the less in which to plot mischief against the king 
 and the laws. 
 
 Once within the heights which guard the entrance to 
 Loch Duich, over what an attractive scene does the eye 
 range ! Before us lies a fair stretch of green glassy 
 water, not more than a mile broad on this hand and on 
 that — and some six miles long straight in front, to 
 where the further strand is crowned with mingled crags 
 and foliage. On the west, from a long waving ridge 
 clear-cut against the sky, steep slopes of dark green fall 
 downward like the sides of a tent, and terminate near 
 the water's edge in a rich fringe of trees and shrubbery. 
 The eastern side is more rugged and varied. There we 
 
 DO 
 
 find, first a succession of rocky cliffs half covered with 
 trees, which creep far up the mountains behind ; then 
 sloping banks, at one part subdued into rich fields, at 
 another clothed with waving woods ; and at length, a 
 rounded knoll, capped with foliage, which pushes itself 
 forward as headland, where a spur of the loch bends 
 abruptly inward toward the valley of the Croe. 
 
 So much have we seen of the western and eastern 
 sides of the loch, which run in almost parallel lines 
 along its shores ; it remains to speak of its southern end, 
 where wood and water, mountain and mist, combine to 
 produce its charms. The inner reaches of Loch Duich 
 are girded and guarded round by precipitous rocky 
 ridges, which mount upward and upward until they 
 terminate in clusters of giant peaks, a number of which 
 are not less than three thousand feet high. Of these 
 great mountain summits, five stand closely together
 
 Loch Duich, Ross- shire. 1 7 
 
 behind the head of Loch Duich, and are known as the 
 Five Sisters of Kintail. Behind them again, but not 
 visible from the shores of the loch, is Ben Attow, loftier 
 than them all, sitting like a proud mother with her 
 daughters gathered around her. Perhaps nowhere in 
 Scotland, except in Skye alone, are so many Alpine Bens 
 crowded into so small a circle, as those which watch 
 over Glenshiel and Glen Lichd. as they slope downward 
 to meet in Loch Duich. 
 
 It would be rash for one who has, as the Celts say, 
 "only one side to his tongue," to attempt either to 
 spell, or, if lie could spell, to pronounce the names of 
 the Five Sisters of Kintail. Let them remain a sacred 
 mystery, "nameless by day," like the secret title of 
 the Clan Macgregor, aye, and by night also, so far 
 as most of us are concerned. If I could spell them. I 
 should be like Goldsmith's schoolmaster, over-burdened 
 with learning ; if I could pronounce them, and my 
 readers within hearing, it might be dangerous to the 
 sensitive mechanism of their cultivated ears. One thing, 
 however, I must not forget to note before we make our 
 parting bow to the strong-minded ladies. The Five 
 Sisters, sitting in their statuesque beauty at the head of 
 Loch Duich, have some at least of their treasures at their 
 feet. Among these, none is fairer than the lower end of 
 Glenshiel. Just at the feet of one of the Sisters, the river, 
 emerging from a broad dark tarn, begins its ripple and 
 warble again to beguile the tedium of the way ; dances 
 forward between pebbly shores and hanging branches ; 
 then plunges beneath a high-backed bridge into a long
 
 1 8 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 deep pool, whose rugged sides are dripping with foliage; 
 and at length, having sung its swan- song between heathery 
 banks, falls to sleep in the dark waters which have come 
 to meet it from the ocean. There, too, on either hand, are 
 wild crags and knolls, interspersed with larch and fir, 
 where you must tread knee-deep in heather or breast- 
 high in ferns. Loch Duich has both beauty and majesty ; 
 for if the lower reaches have a beauty which rises upward 
 toward majesty, the lower show us majesty having her 
 feet clothed with beauty. 
 
 Now, reader, what would you like to study or enjoy, 
 if happily you should visit Loch Duich 1 Are you in 
 love with botany ? Space would foil me to tell of the 
 roses, and irises, and hyacinths, and many other wild 
 flowers which adorn her shores and banks. Are you 
 a devotee of geology ? You may study the gneiss and 
 schist formations of the Highlands to your heart's con- 
 tent, or discuss with yourself, or perhaps better still, with 
 some expert friend, whether Loch Duich is a depressed 
 valley or an encroachment of the sea. Are you fond of 
 mountaineering ? You may climb Ben Attow, which I 
 have never heard of anybody having done, provided no 
 gamekeeper turns you back for disturbing the deer, and 
 you have made a special defensive alliance with the 
 Meteorological Office against mist and rain. Are you an 
 artist 1 What glorious subjects and effects may here be 
 found ! You have mountain and sky, loch and river — 
 rainbows which smile as they creep along the hill-sides, 
 and mists which die of their very reluctance to depart. 
 Do you delight in antiquities \ Learn and, better still,
 
 Loch Dutch, Ross-shire. 19 
 
 write the story of the wild Eilandonan ; or find out for 
 me if it be true that the very name of Gruagach, above 
 Totaig, denotes a yellow-haired Apollo among the Celts, 
 and that his temple stood there on the hill-side. Is 
 boating one of your pastimes ? You may indulge it 
 here with impunity, if you take care that your boldness 
 be not greater than your prudence. Are you interested in 
 social politics ? Most of the solid earth you see belonged 
 once to the Clan Mackenzie ; now it is part of an enor- 
 mous deer forest, rented by an American millionaire. 
 "The clan is broken" indeed; but is "the estate im- 
 proved " ? Are you a student of the weather ? If the 
 wind be from the north or east, you may have tracks of 
 lovely sunshine ; if it come from the west or south-west, 
 as it commonly does, you may patiently press your nose 
 against the window panes for a week, with intervals for 
 sleep, and see no more of Loch Duich than the breadth of 
 your own street or duck-pond in the far south. Is there 
 any one who questions the wit or humour of the Celtic 
 race ? Here I can smite him hip and thigh with irre- 
 sistible proof. Let him turn to the statistical account of 
 the parish, and there he will find a worthy clergyman 
 mildly suggesting that " generally speaking, the climate 
 may be termed damp." That man was a humourist, con- 
 scious or unconscious, of the first water, as I think I shall 
 clearly show before this chapter is at an end. 
 
 Let me close this inquiry by asking, Would you like to 
 learn the language of the people ? In the light of an 
 incident which springs into memory among many more 
 from Loch Duich, no process or task of the kind could
 
 20 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 well be easier. In a humble home one day a worthy native 
 of more than middle age undertook to give a lady visitor 
 a lesson in Gaelic. The text-book, as frequently in the 
 Highlands, and in this case very naturally, was the 
 Bible itself. Opening the sacred book at the beginning 
 of Genesis, he said, 
 
 " Now, ma'am, I'll read this to you in the Gaulic, and 
 you'll see yourself how will it go." 
 
 Then, with the usual solemn intonation, and an ap- 
 pealing, almost triumphant, glance toward the lady at 
 every clause, he read the first few verses of the chapter, 
 and paused to watch the effect. Only one word more 
 was needed to clinch the lesson home, and it came. 
 
 " Now, ma'am, if you'll take your own Bible, and turn 
 up that chapter, and read it in English, you'll see that 
 it's just the self and same thing." 
 
 Perhaps we should here add the mystic letters Q. E. F., 
 signifying "which was to be done." To all appearance, 
 the worthy man believed then, and perhaps believes still, 
 that from that hour the lady knew at least three or four 
 verses of Gaelic. How could it be otherwise after so 
 plain and conclusive a demonstration ? Notwithstand- 
 ing, having made recent inquiries, I find that the lady 
 was then, and alas ! still remains, quite unconscious of 
 her happy acquirement. 
 
 Many curious stories might be culled from the un- 
 written records of Loch Duich and the district around. 
 We shall first take one, which, from its very substance, 
 must be very ancient indeed — as old at least as the 
 glacial period, which probably began before the birth of
 
 Loch Duich, Ross-shire. 2 1 
 
 the most venerable native now alive in Kintail. In 
 Loch Alsh, a few miles from the entrance to Loch Duich, 
 a small black rock, called Clach Chuir, or the Putting- 
 Stone, lies at some distance from the shore. Strange to 
 say, we are told most precisely how it came there. 
 Somewhere near by there lived a giant — name now 
 unknown — who possessed a castle of some sort, and 
 in that castle kept a dungeon for the accommodation of 
 friends or foes, it mattered little which. These are no 
 more than conjectures ; but we are distinctly informed 
 that the giant had a prisoner who, somehow or other, 
 made his escape from confinement. Apparently he was a 
 good swimmer, for he took to the water at once, hoping to 
 cross the loch in safety. The giant sallied forth in pur- 
 suit, but was unable to swim after the fugitive. Vexed 
 at his own impotence, and fuming with rage, he did the 
 worst he could. Casting his eye upon a great boulder 
 upon the hill-side, he used it as his putting-stone, and 
 hurled it at the swimmer far out upon the loch. Whether 
 it was a hit or a miss we are not told ; but there, in the 
 sea, lies the boulder to this day, and wears its appropriate 
 name. Whether there exist any parish records of that 
 period, and whether, if extant, they contain the full 
 Christian names and other details relating to this story, 
 I am unable to say, because I have made no inquiry. 
 Perhaps the most we can say of it is this : 
 
 " The story is told by legends old, 
 And by withered dame and sire, 
 When they sit secure from the winter's cold 
 All round the evening fire."
 
 2 2 Scenes and Stories of the Noi'th of Scotland. 
 
 Another story — much more modern — accords, at least 
 in one particular, with our experience. More than once, 
 on the high ground behind Eilandonan, an ill-tempered 
 bull, lord of a herd of cattle, interfered in the most un- 
 called-for manner with our artistic studies. We resented 
 his impudent conduct, because, evidently, his criticism 
 was not likely to be impartial, much less friendly. Be- 
 sides, few people like to have another, especially a 
 stranger — especially an angry bull — looking over their 
 shoulder when at work. What I wish, however, frankly to 
 confess is this, that I never did, and never could, emulate 
 the courage of a certain one in this district who came face 
 to face with a similar difficulty, namely, a furious bull. 
 This hero was a Romish priest who resided in Kintail. If I 
 mistake not, he had spent part of his life in Spain, where 
 he had apparently learnt something of the art of bull- 
 taming. His method was simple enough, but could only 
 be executed by a man, such as he seems pre-eminently to 
 have been, of prodigious strength and agility. By the 
 way, I remember that long ago the question was raised 
 in junior debating clubs, " If a man has a wild bull by 
 the tail, whether is it more prudent to hold on or let 
 go 1 ' : The reverend father of whom I am speaking 
 would have said, " Hold on," for observe how he dealt 
 with one very vicious and dangerous animal near Loch 
 Duich. Catching the brute by the tail, which he whipped 
 firmly round his left hand, he wielded in his right a 
 stout rope on which he had twisted a series of knots. 
 So the fun began. Round and round a wide field he 
 drove and lashed, and lashed and drove, the maddened
 
 Loch Duick, Ross-shire. 23 
 
 foaming creature. When it attempted to turn upon 
 him, he nimbly leapt aside from reach of its horns, and 
 then by way of reprisal made the chastisement more 
 severe than ever. In the end, bruised in body and 
 broken in temper, the creature stood beside him like a 
 lamb, and was never more a terror in the neighbourhood. 
 This story was told me on authority not at all inferior 
 to what is common in like instances ; but if you doubt 
 it, please send me your card privately, and I shall do my 
 best to procure you an introduction either to the priest 
 or to the bull. You will then be able to ascertain for 
 yourself from one of the two principal parties concerned 
 — whichever you think likely to be most approachable — 
 the actual truth and precise details of the incident. 
 
 The day of our farewell to Loch Duich was most 
 memorable, not perhaps to the world at large, nor even 
 to the natives whose friendship and good will we had 
 secured, but certainly to ourselves. In the morning we 
 crossed the Dornie Ferry, and having slowly and tediously 
 surmounted the mountains behind Loch Alsh, came down 
 by a steep and dangerous descent to Strome Ferry on 
 Loch Carron. We had arranged that some friends from 
 a distance should meet us there, as it was the rail wax- 
 terminus, and that we should spend the day together. 
 Loch Carron is a fine " voe," as it would be called in 
 Shetland, and both sides from the narrow strait at Strome 
 outward to the open sea are richly varied and pictur- 
 esque. The day was bright and sunny ; and we fully 
 enjoyed the society both of our friends and of mother 
 nature. After a comfortable dinner in the hotel, there
 
 24 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 was of course an affecting parting — I refer specially to the 
 ladies — at the station, and then we were alone again to 
 wend our way back over the hills to the mouth of Loch 
 Duich. For these bare statements and dry details I 
 must crave indulgence ; the reader, if patient, will see 
 their significance by and by. We had come to Strome 
 by the mail cart in the morning ; we returned by the 
 same means of convevanee in the evenino-. Between the 
 seats at our backs during the return journey, there lay 
 the innocent-looking Post Office bags with the tight- 
 bound cord and splutter of red wax upon their headless 
 necks. Little did we dream what cause of strange ex- 
 perience, what seeds of anxiety and yet of mirth also, 
 what a summons to sleepless adventure, these dun- 
 coloured sacks concealed in their folds, not for others, 
 not for some unknown one somewhere, but for ourselves ! 
 When we arrived at our destination, we did ample jus- 
 tice to an abundant meal, and during its progress chatted 
 over the happy events of the day. About eight o'clock 
 at night, when we had settled cosily round the fire, the 
 post arrived, bringing a telegram which had travelled 
 with us, although we could not possibly suspect it, all 
 the way from Strome Ferry. It bore the unwelcome 
 tidings that a relative in the south had met with a serious 
 accident, and that we must return from the Highlands 
 immediately. The wording of the message was strong, 
 and naturally alarmed us in no small degree. Happily 
 the final issue of the mishap was perfect recovery, so that 
 now we can look back upon our journey from Loch Duich 
 with more mirth than sadness. In less than a minute
 
 Loch Dutch, Ross-shire. 25 
 
 our minds were made up to catch the train at Strome 
 Ferry at five o'clock next morning. A messenger was 
 sent off to Balniacarra for the mail cart to convey us 
 for the third time over the same hills ; our bill for 
 board and lodging was ordered, and all our goods and 
 chattels, down even to the unfinished manuscript of a 
 Highland story, stuffed without care or ceremony into 
 boxes and portmanteaus. By nine o'clock we were over 
 the Ferry, and waiting eagerly for our conveyance. 
 Already we had begun to taste the sweets of our 
 journey. Burdened clouds from the Skye moun- 
 tains sailed swiftly overhead as we hurried from our 
 door to the pier, and during our brief passage across 
 poured out' upon us the very fulness of their hearts. 
 They were determined to give us a last benefit, and to 
 saturate us with the remembrance of one dominant and 
 seldom absent feature of the scenery to which we were 
 bidding adieu. Shortly before ten, the mail-cart arrived, 
 and we were glad to find that the driver, a genuine Celt all 
 over — make, morals, and manners — had yoked a fresh 
 horse to the work. I sat in front beside her Majesty's 
 servant, into whose private pocket the proceeds of this 
 extra trip would be cheerfully welcomed ; while the others 
 had somehow or other managed, for the better shelter, 
 to get huddled in where the mail-bags had been before. 
 Though we could see almost nothing, the stages of the 
 journey were most distinctly marked — first, a mile or two 
 of level road among cultivated fields in one of which the 
 valiant priest had so skilfully tamed the bull ; then a long- 
 monotonous ascent — steep and unbroken — to an eleva- 
 
 B
 
 26 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 tion of a thousand feet ; then a weary, winding tract of 
 mountain-top and moor ; and finally, a rattling descent 
 upon Strome and its hotel, nearly four hours after the start. 
 The route it is possible to describe more or less in- 
 telligibly ; the weather utterly baffles my poor powers 
 of expression. Of course, it is the proper thing to say 
 that the rain " fell in torrents " from the time we left 
 Dornie Ferry till we arrived at Strome, and indeed long 
 after. Equally of course, I must declare that we were 
 " drenched to the skin." I might even be more specific 
 and affirm that there was scarcely one dry square inch of 
 clothing upper or under, nor of skin beneath, even to the 
 soles of our feet, upon any one of us. The gusty wind made 
 a plaything of the rain, squeezing it through the texture of 
 umbrellas, or scooping it cunningly in below them ; dash- 
 ing it now upon one cheek, now, in the wantonness of sport, 
 upon the other ; filling little lochs and tarns — copies of 
 those we were passing — in the folds of waterproofs and 
 shawls ; blowing away from our noses and ears the drip 
 which, had it been winter, would have crystallised 
 into beautiful icicles — its own organ-like bass being all 
 the while a fitful accompaniment to the hissing, bubbling, 
 spluttering waters as they fell. There were no showers — 
 the plural is out of place — there was but one shower, alone 
 and indivisible. After careful thought and calculation, 
 I estimate its dimensions as follows : height, say 5000 
 feet, many of the mountains within its range being from 
 3000 to 4000 ; breadth, a diameter of 100 miles more 
 or less, the area covered being probably circular in form ; 
 length, not less than twenty-four hours — a very moderate
 
 Loch Dutch, Ross- shire. 27 
 
 calculation for the district ; depth — well, there I confess 
 myself at a loss, because it might vary greatly according 
 to the nature of the strata underneath the surface. This 
 last point I may illustrate by stating that in this very 
 district the fairies once ordered a native to remove a 
 new house he was building, because the drip from the 
 eaves was falling right down the " lum " (Anglice, 
 chimney) of their underground dwelling. If that be 
 true, who can tell how far down a long- continued rain 
 may sink even below the level of the abodes of the 
 " guid folk ? " Allow me to say that I have always had 
 in my own mind a scientific difficulty about that night's 
 rainfall, which I now express for the first time. We 
 know that there is always a certain amount of air in 
 water, while in any ordinary shower there must be a good 
 deal of free air also between the drops. Now, on the 
 night in question, I am very doubtful if there was any 
 air at all between the drops. Where then did all the 
 free air go to, where did it find room, all that which 
 should in ordinary circumstances have stretched over the 
 wide area of the shower, as described in the above 
 estimate ? To that problem I shall be glad to receive 
 answers from experts, or indeed from any quarter whatever. 
 During this memorable journey over the hills, our 
 worthy old driver did all that he could to make us 
 happy. He did not fail to remind us of certain 
 horrors connected with a haunted burn which at one 
 stage of the journey roared along by the way-side. 
 Most carefully also did he point out the spot — just on 
 the watershed — where a grim and ghastly gallows used to
 
 28 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 stand, and on which many a poor wretch had swung to 
 and fro on the breeze. This w T as a sweet suggestion, on 
 a midnio-ht of darkness, storm, and rain. I tried to im- 
 prove the occasion by thinking of the poor lost traveller 
 in some foreign land who, when he came in sight of a 
 gallows, exclaimed in a transport of joy, " Thank God, I'm 
 in a civilised country." As to the spot pointed out by the 
 driver, I fear that, owing to the rain, 1 should not re- 
 cognise it again. But — to proceed- — I must now plunge, 
 as we did by coming down the hill, into yet deeper and 
 sadder experiences. We at length arrived at the Strome 
 Ferry Hotel some time after one in the morning, and were, 
 I am sure, both thankful and hopeful. Happy memories 
 of our excellent dinner there eleven hours before led us 
 not only to expect, but to be confident, that we had every 
 comfort in prospect. With a few brief strokes, for they 
 are very painful, must I pass over the next half-hour of 
 agony and anger. We rung and waited, rung again and 
 waited, rung twenty times and waited, but, as in the 
 case of the prophets of Baal, there was no voice nor any 
 that answered. We used every tone of menace and en- 
 treaty. We threw showers of gravel at the windows — in 
 front, where the old driver thought the master'sbedroom 
 was — behind, where the maids were supposed to be 
 sleeping. All was in vain. Not a sound could we hear, 
 not even a groan nor an oath ; even the last would 
 have been most welcome. What more could we do ? I 
 had already torn away the brass handle and bell-plate at 
 the front door, and they hung dejected on th# stonework, 
 like a modest lily drooping its head. All was yet in
 
 Loch Dnich, Ross-shirc. 29 
 
 vain ; and there were still fifty miles of rain-cloud to 
 come over from Skye. We were sunken in despair, but 
 not more deeply than the local old man himself, whose 
 familiar voice might, we thought, surely have been 
 known. What could it all mean ? Welcomed and 
 feasted in the afternoon sunlight ; now shut out in the 
 cold and wet of midnight ! What had we done to 
 provoke this change ? Even conscience, so justly ready 
 to grumble at all times, could give no reply, for we had 
 paid every penny of our debts at Loch Duich, even to 
 the last postage stamp. Of course, I thought of writing 
 at once to the Times ; but that could be done next day. 
 At last, when we turned our hopeless heads away from 
 the hotel, a gleam of light fell upon our misery — the 
 sweet bright star of hope — in a window of the railway 
 station. At once we were drawn to it, luffffage and all, 
 as with silken or golden bands, and it did not prove either 
 false or cold. We found a porter at the ticket office wait- 
 ing for the arrival of a fish steamer from Stornoway. To 
 him we confided our sorrows, and he proved to be a 
 man of singular humanity and kindness. In fact, he 
 would scarcely accept any acknowledgment of his 
 services afterwards. He opened the waiting-room, lit 
 the gas, and — what was still better — a roaring fire ; gave 
 us in our luggage ; drew down the blinds ; and with much 
 sympathy told us to make ourselves comfortable till 
 dawn of day. We had no food with us except a small 
 jar of prunes, and of these one of the party demolished 
 the lion's share. But we had something better than 
 food — a warm fire, and the opportunity of changing our 
 clothing. We had little or no sleep ; but when the
 
 3<D Scenes and Stoi'ies of the North of Scotland. 
 
 morning broke over the hills, and turned the sombre 
 blind of the waiting-room into a blazing orange, we were 
 not sorry, after paying our bill, to gather up our pos- 
 sessions and leave Loch Carron by the morning train at 
 five. One of our poets — I spare him the mention of his 
 name — moralizes to the effect that, in our journey 
 through life, we often find " the warmest welcome in an 
 inn." What an egregious mistake ! I speak from per- 
 sonal experience when I say that, in the very respect he 
 mentions, an inn is not to be compared with the waiting- 
 room of a railway station ! 
 
 One word more must be added. We have long ago 
 freely and fully forgiven the people of the hotel. We 
 have done so, because ethically that is the right and 
 proper thing to do, but also because they really had a 
 good excuse. In connection with the fish traffic, bodies 
 of men, porters and others, frequently arrived at Strome 
 at or after midnight, and came to the hotel demanding 
 refreshments, and sometimes creating disturbance. To 
 stop this nuisance, it was resolved to open the doors to 
 no one during the night under any pretext or induce- 
 ment whatever — a decision as prudent as it was natural. 
 Looking at it philosophically, our experience was only an 
 illustration and proof of the solidarity of the human' race, 
 many of whom have to suffer for the faults and errors of 
 others. In that great underlying fact, all tribes and 
 nations, all creeds and colours, have an equal share, 
 
 " For mankind are one in spirit and an instinct bears along 
 Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong ; 
 Whether conscious or unconscious, yet humanity's vast frame 
 Through its ocean-sundered fibres, feels the gush of joy or shame ; 
 In the gain or loss of one race, all the rest have equal claim."
 
 :**» 
 
 
 
 H; 
 
 F;y«( /Vio.'fl. /'JV G. IV. Wilson 
 
 ENTRANCE TO BLACK ROCK, NOVAR, ROSS-SHIRE.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE BLACK ROOK, ROSS-SHIRE. 
 
 On the eastern side of the County of Ross, and skirting 
 the shores of the Cromarty Firth, lie the parishes of 
 Kiltearn and Alness, both richly pastoral on their lower 
 levels, both wildly mountainous in the inland regions 
 above and behind. The lenoth of their united coast line 
 is not more than nine or ten miles, but their western 
 boundaries, widening as they recede from the Firth, are 
 lost far out of sight in the central solitudes of the county. 
 The dividing line between these neighbour parishes is the 
 river Aultgraat, which in Gaelic means the ugly or fear- 
 some burn. That picturesque stream takes its rise in the 
 dark waters of Loch Glass, which itself lies almost hidden 
 beneath the northern shadows of the massive Ben Wyvis. 
 Its early course, between the lower moorland slopes of 
 that monarch mountain and the precipitous rocky sides 
 of Ben Diollaide, — the Saddle mountain, — is tame and 
 peaceful — here a rippling, gurgling current over a stony 
 beach — there a drowsy crawl through a long, dark pool, 
 edged by banks of heather and bog myrtle. By and by, 
 a few miles from the loch, its career becomes more stir- 
 ring and eventful. Approaching the outer edge of a 
 wooded knoll, it suddenly stumbles in among rugged
 
 32 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 cliffs and giant boulders, which force the angry and re- 
 luctant torrent to bend aside abruptly to the left. Then, 
 after a series of wild cascades, the last wildest and 
 grandest of all, it sinks, panting and fuming, into the 
 bottom of a deep ravine, one side clothed with lofty larch 
 trees, the other with rugged, stony banks of heather. 
 These are the picturesque, but little known, Falls of the 
 Aultgraat, of which, in due course, we must speak in 
 more detail. For several miles more, ever growing in 
 volume, the river runs on, by the yellow cliffs and scars, 
 through the meadows and fields, of the open Glen Glass. 
 Then comes the singular and most impressive feature of 
 its scenery — the great crisis in their history through 
 which all its waters must pass — the chasm of the Black 
 Rock. Let me here turn aside for a sentence or two to 
 say that the name Black Rock is a most unsuitable one. 
 Those who have never seen it will at once picture to 
 themselves one solitary mass of rock, with some peculiar 
 interest attached to it, instead of a long, deep, narrow 
 ravine, as is the reality. Gorge, chasm, ravine, — any one 
 of these is more truly descriptive of the awe-inspiring 
 phenomenon, though none expresses at all adequately its 
 quite unique features. 
 
 Glen Glass does not, like most others of the name, 
 open outward to the sea. Three miles at least from the 
 Cromarty Firth, the wide- spreading sides of the glen 
 curve rapidly inward until the steep banks on either side 
 press nearer and still nearer to the channel of the river. 
 At length the unsuspecting waters come face to face with 
 two lofty rocky portals, between which they must plunge
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 33 
 
 whether they will or no ; and then — farewell for a mile 
 and a half to sunshine and calm and liberty ! The grim 
 gateway, which never tells its secret to the waters as they 
 come dancing along, closes in upon them at once, and 
 forms the entrance to a chasm long and deep, between 
 whose narrow and sunless walls the stream must fight its 
 troubled way to the open sky and the song of birds and 
 the bright flowers, which, as yet, are far away. At the 
 further end, the lofty iron gates, much like those facing 
 the glen above, unfold themselves amid a mass of foliage, 
 and bid good speed to the waters as they start again on 
 their race to the sea. The chasm from end to end lies in 
 a deep depression, having a steep pine-covered wood on 
 the one hand, and the sloping fields of a fine farm on the 
 other. Both edges of the gorge, which here and there 
 almost kiss each other at the surface, are clothed with 
 trees and shrubs, and decked with brown heather and 
 wild flowers ; and no stranger would suspect even its 
 presence until he stood upon the very brink, but for the 
 hoarse, sullen roar of the imprisoned waters, deep down 
 almost under his feet. The depth of the chasm varies at 
 different points, but cannot be less, during greater part 
 of its course, than one hundred and ten to one hundred 
 and thirty feet, while the sides in many places are no 
 more than seventeen feet apart. The simplest means of 
 sounding the ravine is by the clear drop of a stone from 
 the edge above to the water below ; but there are very 
 few places indeed, where a straight and unbroken fall 
 can be secured. 
 
 Approaching the brink from the pathway, and throwing
 
 34 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 one's arm round a sturdy branch, what do we see? Peer- 
 ing downward into the darkness, far, far beneath our feet, 
 between the gruesome walls, we catch glimpses, in spots 
 or streaks of flickering light, of the rushing, whirling, 
 boiling torrent below. Though. I venture to claim that 
 I know more of the chasm than most people, no words 
 that come to me can describe the infinite freaks and 
 strange fortunes of the waters, " cribbed, cabined, and 
 confined " in this pit-like channel. Sometimes they rush 
 forward straight and strong between two opposing ledges ; 
 sometimes they stumble, suddenly and at unawares, over 
 an obstructing ridge ; anon they whirl in serpent-like 
 coils round and round a foaming caldron ; yet again they 
 plunge into a pit or tunnel in the rock to emerge again 
 — no one knows where, and no one knows how. Very 
 sad too and weary — ever sad and weary — are the burdens 
 of song they bear. Heard from a distance, the voices of 
 the chasm are but one low dull murmur, but, if you 
 listen attentively, sympathetically, as you go along the 
 pathway, you may catch at intervals every note in the 
 whole gamut of sad passion and wild emotion. Now we 
 hear a sulky roar, as of a wild beast crawling from his 
 den ; again, a weary sigh, as of a hapless hopeless lover ; 
 at times it seems an eerie wail as of an infant alone in 
 the night ; at times a wild dirge, sinking and swelling, 
 as when the clan bewails its fallen chief. But while you 
 look for glimpses of the waters, and hearken to their ever- 
 chanoins; music, do not forget to mark how wild and 
 grand are the rocky walls of this deep dark rent in 
 mother earth. They present every possible variety of
 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shire. 35 
 
 form and combination to be found in the Old Red Con- 
 glomerate. Here, there is a sloping ledge as smooth as 
 pudding-stone can ever be ; there, a bluff corner behind 
 which the shadows are black as night. More frequently 
 to be found than perhaps any other form is a scooped - 
 out hollow like the valve of a gigantic shell, sometimes 
 widening into bays, sometimes deepening into dripping- 
 caves. Mingling vvith these in such confusion and 
 strange succession as cannot be told, are innumerable 
 capes and corries, gulfs and groins, columns and but- 
 tresses, fissures and crevices — their variety and mystery 
 adding fresh charm to each new reach of the channel that 
 is visible to mortal eve. Clothing; both sides of the 
 chasm all along its course are shrubs, and grasses, and 
 wild flowers of many a genus and hue, while many 
 varieties of the matchless fern cling to the overhanging 
 cliffs, and mock the almost irresistible longing to pluck 
 them and carry off as treasure trove their exquisite and 
 delicate fronds. 
 
 Such are a few, feebly pictured, of the striking features 
 of the chasm. But there come times — ever and anon, at 
 wide intervals — when all these, well marked though they 
 be, seem blotted, one might think irretrievably, out of 
 existence. It is when winter snows, or autumn rains, 
 have streamed down in glittering silver from the moun- 
 tains round Glen Glass and have raised the Aultgraat 
 into high flood. Then the surging waters, panting 
 passionately for the ocean, rise half-way or sometimes 
 more up the walls of the chasm, covering all its black- 
 ness out of sight, smothering all its varied voices in one
 
 1 
 
 6 Scenes and Stories of tlie North of Scotland. 
 
 continuous thunderous roar ; and then they sweep down 
 in the resistless rush of their tawny flood every loose 
 boulder and tree stump which lies, and may long have 
 lain, hidden in its many and mysterious recesses. 
 Whither, you may ask, are these waifs and strays 
 borne ? Whither, as to their final destination, no man 
 can tell ; but in the first instance, they are swept out of 
 the chasm and down to the centre of the open arena — 
 the basement of that most lovely amphitheatre — where 
 the Aultgraat emerges from its imprisonment. What 
 a scene of picturesque beauty is that ! The waters, 
 wearied-looking after their Ions; struggle in the cruel 
 darkness, creep out, almost motionless, between two 
 pillars of rock, whose capitals are real foliage, and 
 whose feet are fringed with foam. Then they settle 
 down to rest them in a broad brown pool, whose 
 inner end is hidden from view among the jutting 
 corners of rock, while its outer margin sweeps round 
 in a graceful curve at our feet. What a change — 
 so bright and happy — in the fortunes of the stream ! 
 A sweet, almost sacred, repose settles on its face as it 
 breathes a<min the free air of heaven.. Pleased and 
 
 O 
 
 patient, it suffers the strings of green leaves above to 
 mirror themselves on its bosom. It delights to lap with 
 a gentle kiss the feet of the brown rocks, which have 
 stood off from one another to permit of its release. Let 
 us now look round about and up above us. On every 
 hand we are shut in by high, steep, and richly-wooded 
 banks, which open widely and cheerfully to the sky. 
 Near the chasm they have deep, shady recesses and
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 3 7 
 
 clefts, the loved home and shelter of many varieties of 
 fern and other wild flowers. The conglomerate pillars 
 which overlook the pool are crowned with waving foliage, 
 and the airy sprays stretch across and almost meet over 
 the languid waters. Looking backward from the edge 
 of the pool where we now stand, we cannot see, though 
 we may guess, at what point the stream, starting on its 
 career again, makes its escape among the trees. From 
 out the chasm in seasons of high flood are tossed great 
 boulders and shapeless masses of stone, which are piled 
 up in rugged confusion beyond the margin of the great 
 pool. A few small trees and shrubs and wild flowers 
 lead a precarious life among the mammoth blocks, which 
 seem the debris of some primeval quarry, or the unused 
 material of some ancient temple. Over and among these 
 masses we are permitted to-day — for we dare not be 
 here in flood time — to wander as we will, and watch the 
 waters play in their changing moods and manners, and 
 o-uess as best we can whence these great stones came. 
 Perhaps some of them were first torn from their parent 
 strata away among the heights of Torridon and Gruinard 
 on the Atlantic seaboard. Ploughed up it may be by 
 glacial currents, or worn down from mountain sides, 
 the larger blocks may have come hither a far journey ; 
 while the smaller stones, washed away from field or 
 heathery banks, lie now among roots and branches which 
 almost seem as if they would dare to grow again. There 
 they all lie, in one bleached, broken mass, and shall lie 
 till the next great flood lifts and scatters them again. 
 Perhaps, while we sit here among the boulders, you
 
 o 
 
 8 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 may ask how the chasm of the Black Rock came to be 
 formed ? There are two chief theories, differing widely 
 in many respects, each of which can boast of at least one 
 great name in its support. Being no geologist, my wis- 
 dom is to state both views as briefly and simply as I can, 
 and let the reader choose which he considers most in ac- 
 cordance with evidence and common sense. Hugh Miller, 
 the noble stone-mason of Cromarty in his early days, 
 speaks of the chasm as a gigantic fault or fissure in the 
 Conglomerate — first filled with boulder clay or some 
 form of rocky debris, and afterwards, slowly but steadily, 
 washed down and washed out by the raging river. Pro- 
 fessor Geikie thinks the channel has been water-worn 
 from first to last, from top to bottom, even out of the 
 stern Conglomerate itself. Apparently the extreme hard- 
 ness of the rock in the former case, and the scooped form 
 of the walls in the latter, supply the main arguments on 
 the respective sides. Under either theory, what a vete- 
 ran world is this in which we live ! How many ages have 
 gone by since the unwearied Aultgraat began its strange 
 task ? It is doubtful if the attrition of the rocks has 
 amounted all over to even one inch in several centuries. 
 Who then can venture to prophesy backwards to the 
 origin of the work ? Having travelled in thought to the 
 ages now far behind us, we may surely, without harming 
 anyone, indulge in a little innocent speculation. Per- 
 haps, in the far back days of the Olympian Court, old 
 Mother Ge — the Earth — gave some offence to one of the 
 assembled gods. Burning to avenge himself, the angry 
 notable struck her a terrific blow with his battle axe,
 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shire. 39 
 
 and the long, deep, lacerated wound remains to this day 
 in the fearsome chasm of the Aultgraat. The trees and 
 shrubs have done their best to hide their Mother's sorrow ; 
 but the prying eyes of nineteenth-century travellers will 
 not be cheated of their delights for nothing. 
 
 Before dealing with incidents or stories connected with 
 the Black Kock itself, here is one from each of the two 
 parishes which meet between its banks. 
 
 Among the Highland clans long ago, there were fre- 
 quent and sore disputes — often ending in bloodshed — as 
 to questions of territories and boundaries. Not a few of 
 these arose in spite of many efforts and varied methods, 
 by which the interested parties sought to prevent their 
 recurrence. One device which was sometimes practised 
 — whether in Ross-shire or not, I am not certain — was as 
 peculiar as it was cruel. The chiefs and leaders of two 
 clans, many of them old men, met upon the marches of 
 their respective lands. Each band took with them a 
 number of growing lads from their families. When the 
 companies arrived at the spot from which they were to 
 draw the frontier line, they stripped bare the backs of 
 the young men, and then, forming a procession of which 
 these were the central line, lashed and scourged their 
 stripling sons along every foot of the track as they went. 
 Crawling along, pained and bleeding, under this process 
 of torture, it was thought certain that every step of 
 the march line must be cut deeply, indelibly, on the 
 memories of the rising generation. When they, in their 
 turn, came to be chiefs and leaders of the clans, they 
 would still remember their bitter lesson, and the way in
 
 4-0 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 which it was taught them. Methinks I hear some 
 kindly reader exclaim, "What a barbarous, hideous 
 practice ! What cruel wretches these chiefs and clans- 
 men must have been ! " Not so fast, my good friend ! 
 Some of us, who do not yet care to be called old, know 
 something on a small scale of the same system. What 
 about those venerable appliances of education, the 
 tawse and the cane ? Are there none of them seen in 
 schools now-a-days? Are they all in the Antiquarian 
 Museums? I fear they are not; but my business now 
 is with the past. Some of us know that by means of 
 these sweet instruments of torture, an attempt at least 
 was made — whether successful or not — to carve into us 
 the difference between vulgar and proper fractions, and 
 between a subject with its attributes and a predicate 
 with its extensions. My own feeling is, that the system 
 did not work very well ; but of course I am only one 
 among very many. At all events, it did not perfectly 
 serve its purpose in the North, for in spite of it, quarrels 
 often arose and grew serious. On one occasion a great 
 dispute fell out between the Baron of Fowlis, the chief of 
 the Munroes, on the one hand, and the Laird of Tulloch 
 on the other — the question at issue being one of bound- 
 ary. Let me digress for a moment to mention a curious 
 circumstance about the Munroes of Fowlis. It is said 
 that they first obtained a charter or deed securing them 
 their lands on condition that at any time of the year 
 they should on demand present the king with a snow- 
 ball from Ben Wyvis. They are never likely to lose their 
 possessions through any failure as to the condition, for I
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 4 1 
 
 know that snow ball fights have taken plaee on Ben Wyvis 
 on the very last days of July. But to return. Tl e 
 crucial point between Fowlis and Tulloch was whether a 
 certain stone lay on the lands of the one or of the other. 
 On an appointed day arbiters were chosen and witnesses 
 called. The case proceeded in the rough and ready 
 fashion common to such tribunals. At length, one of 
 the men of Tulloch came forward, and boldly planting 
 his feet close by the stone in dispute, exclaimed, " The 
 soil on which I stand belongs to Tulloch." For some 
 reason or other, the Munroes doubted his testimony and 
 suspected stratagem of some sort, so they threw him on 
 the ground and stripped off his shoes. These articles 
 were discovered to be thickly lined with earth within. 
 Further inquiry and perhaps a little gentle torture 
 elicited the confession that the earth had been taken that 
 morning from Tulloch garden, so that he might be able 
 to swear as he had done, and yet escape, as he hoped, 
 the guilt of perjury. His punishment was as speedy as 
 it was sharp. They dragged him to the fatal stone itself, 
 and there — whether beside it or on it, we are not told — 
 chipped off first one and then the other of his ears. He 
 was spared the infliction of hearing the curses which 
 followed him into disgrace. The " Stone of the Ears " 
 still remains in the uplands of Kiltearn. 
 
 The parish of Alness is most extensive ; arid even in 
 its remoter regions there are glens which contain a fair 
 sprinkling of crofter families. Nominally, the whole 
 population is under the care of the parish minister ; but 
 most people know well that, at the time of the famous 
 
 C
 
 42 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Disruption of 1843, the great mass of the people left the 
 Establishment, and cast in their lot with the Free Church. 
 The clergy who remained in the State Church were called 
 " Moderates,'"' because, in the opinion of the people, they 
 were chargeable with lukewarmness both as to Christian 
 doctrine and Church principles. One of these was pre- 
 sented to the parish of Alness not long after the Disrup- 
 tion, and though his own congregation did not probably 
 exceed a dozen, resolved to act upon the principle that he 
 was everybody's minister whether they would or no. 
 Following out this idea, he began a systematic visitation, 
 and called upon all and sundry, even upon those who 
 might be called adversaries. It happened that one day 
 he visited a Free Church elder, who was no friend of the 
 " Moderates." The minister did his very best to be 
 affable and conciliatory, but his reception was cold, and. 
 in fact, little more than civil. At length, without any 
 special intention in the act, he drew his snuff-box from 
 his pocket, and invited the elder to make trial of its 
 contents. A decided thaw set in immediately. 
 
 " Oh, ye tak' snuff, do ye 1 " said the Free Kirk man, 
 yielding to a gentle smile. 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied his visitor, somewhat afraid lest the 
 admission might lead him into trouble. " I take snuff; 
 but what of that ? " 
 
 " "Weel," said the elder, with a look of satisfaction to 
 which probably the excellent snuff contributed its full 
 share, " that's the first sign o' grace I've seen aboot ye." 
 
 " Sign of grace ! " rejoined the minister, with no little 
 surprise, but glad that a promising vein of conversation
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 43 
 
 had at length been opened. " How do you make out 
 that the habit of taking snuff is a sio-u of o-race ? ' 
 
 "Nothing easier," said the elder, with a knowing 
 twinkle in his eye. " Don't you remember that in the 
 temple of old all the snuffers were of pure gold, which 
 denotes the best of all qualities ? " 
 
 Was ever proof so cogent or conclusive ? And yet, 
 somehow, it fairly upset the gravity of the minister. 
 Perhaps it was the breezy freshness of the logic which 
 shook his sides with laughter. What a pity there is no 
 record of the sequel of the interview ! 
 
 But we must return to the Black Rock itself. 
 No one will wonder that legend and story have 
 gathered thickly around scenes so impressive and mys- 
 terious. Never can I think of the Black Rock without 
 Avaking into memory the image of the Lady of Balcony. 
 Her tragic adventure and fate have been admirably 
 told by Hugh Miller in his " Scenes and Legends of 
 the North of Scotland." By all means read the story 
 there, if you can lay your hands upon the volume. For 
 the benefit of those who have not within reach Miller's 
 full and graphic narrative, let me tell the story as briefly 
 as I can. The Lady of Balcony, a property down by 
 the shores of the Cromarty Firth, spent much of her 
 time wandering to and fro on the banks of the Aultgraat. 
 The fear-haunted neighbourhood of the dark chasm pos- 
 sessed for her a peculiar fascination. Her companion 
 in these rambles was a simple Highland girl, who was 
 deeply attached to her mistress. One night, just as the 
 sun was setting, the lady terrified her maid by proposing
 
 44 Scenes and Stories of the Noi'tk of Scotland. 
 
 to enter the chasm not far above the great pool. In spite 
 of all the girl's entreaties and efforts to detain her, the 
 mistress was determined to have her way, and shaking 
 free of her maid, stepped downward through the brush- 
 wood by the dizzy brink of the gorge. Just then a 
 tall stranger, dressed in green, came from behind, and, 
 speaking in commanding tones, pressed his services 
 upon the Lady, and led her down into the rocky 
 shadows. A few moments before she disappeared, she 
 flung her household keys upward to her maid. They 
 struck a mo-antic granite boulder — a traveller ag-es ago 
 from the far west — and left upon its surface their deep 
 and permanent impress. The poor girl, distracted with 
 alarm and grief, returned to tell her sad story ; she saw 
 her loved mistress no more. 
 
 One day, many years after, an angler named Donald, 
 servant to a lady who lived near by, had been unusually 
 successful in filling his basket with trout. Selecting so 
 many to carry to his mistress, he hid a goodly number 
 under a bush, intending to present them to his mother. 
 On his return he found that the trout which he had left 
 at the Black Rock were gone, but he could trace their 
 scales among the weeds along the very brink. Being- 
 brave, and at the same time angry and curious, he care- 
 fully followed the track, and after many a dangerous slip 
 and dark turn found himself down close by the raging 
 current. There, in a gloomy cavern, its entrance guarded 
 by two dogs, he found the Lady of Balcony busily en- 
 gaged in the homely duty of baking. Donald entered her 
 strano-e abode, and after some conversation strongly urged
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 45 
 
 lier to make her escape; but such was the dread inspired 
 by her mysterious gaoler, that she would not listen to 
 any suggestion in the direction of such an attempt. At 
 length Donald bade the Lady farewell, and prepared to 
 leave the cavern. Springing back between the two dogs 
 when the Lady flung a lump of leaven to each of them, 
 he returned to the upper world again to tell of his strange 
 adventure. Never since that hour has the Lady of Bal- 
 cony been seen ; but the natives often speak of her and 
 her sad fate. Their story — perhaps their belief — is, that 
 her cruel gaoler is none other than " Black Donald " him- 
 self, the Prince of Darkness ; and when they see the white 
 mist rising over the tree-tops above the chasm, they 
 whisper, as they toil in the neighbouring fields, that the 
 Lady is busy at her old occupation in her cavern home. 
 
 Once upon a time — how long ago, I shall not say, — I 
 formed one of a happy party — chiefly young people of 
 both sexes — who visited the Black Kock. After spend- 
 ing some time by the black pool where the chasm termin- 
 ates, we took the pathway which runs by its side all 
 the way upward to the glen. Skirting the northern 
 bank, the first object worthy of notice was the great 
 boulder on which the keys of Balcony so decisively ma< Le 
 their mark. We felt that it would be interesting to see 
 and examine with one's own eyes evidence — tangible, 
 sensible, evidence, which might confirm the truth of the 
 legend. If such evidence were abundant and valuable, 
 we should have the means of convincing any j>ersons 
 who might be disposed to smile and shake their sceptical 
 heads at the story. Alas, that so many now-a-days do
 
 46 Scenes and Stories of the Noi'th of Scotland. 
 
 not scruple to question what is venerable and sacred ! 
 To us thus pondering, two difficulties presented them- 
 selves. In the first place, we were on the wrong side of 
 the chasm — or rather the boulder very stupidly was so, 
 that is, for us ; and none of us felt inclined to emulate 
 the adventurous spirits who had climbed across upon trees 
 where the branches met and mingled over the gloomy 
 abyss. You may also if you like take it for granted that 
 we did not make the attempt because we should have to 
 leave the ladies behind, which would be neither pleasant 
 nor polite. Such was our first difficulty. The other was 
 of a kind which would have met us even if we had suc- 
 ceeded in crossing the chasm. At some time or other of 
 which we have no record, some one, evidently very much 
 stronger than any of us, had very thoughtlessly and 
 indeed wickedly turned the boulder upside down. The 
 consequence of course is that the deep moulds in which 
 the keys imbedded themselves are now on the under 
 side, and, alas ! cannot be seen. This is very provoking, 
 because it would be somewhat troublesome to reverse the 
 boulder again. I am doubtful whether all our party 
 could have done it without some effort. It lias since 
 occurred to me that the evil deed may have been done 
 by " Black Donald " himself. Just suppose he were 
 arrested by the local constable and taken to Dingwall, 
 there to be tried for his theft of the Lady and her deten- 
 tion in so miserable a captivity. Think then of the 
 story as the poor maid, with many sobs, might narrate 
 it ; and you will at once see the grounds of my suspicion. 
 Trembling — perhaps for years — at the very thought of
 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shire. 47 
 
 standing; at tile bar of the Sheriff Court, who could have 
 so strono- a motive as he for the concealment of marks 
 which in skilful hands might lead to a verdict of 
 "Guilty" against him ? My conjecture, therefore, is that, 
 with such a possibility before him, he some day or other 
 put his shoulder to the boulder, tilted it over, and left it 
 on the bed where it now rests. If any demur to this 
 view, I have only to remind them how valuable a little 
 speculation and hypothesis have often been in the 
 advancement of science. 
 
 A little further along the path we came to the spot 
 whence of all others the most awe-inspiring glimpses of 
 the chasm are to be obtained. Here the unearthly-look- 
 ing fissure is narrower, deeper, and darker than anywhere 
 else in its course. You may see, almost on your own 
 level, the overhanging ledges under which rich beds of 
 exquisite ferns find the shelter and moisture they need ; 
 then ruo-o-ed corners and caves of rock, which deeper and 
 still deeper down are involved, and their shadows with 
 them, in almost midnight darkness ; and yet again, far 
 off and down in the very bottom of the abyss one little 
 gleam of trembling light — the only token that the river 
 still lives and breathes below. Just over this spot, we 
 came to the remains of a bridge which had once spanned 
 the darkness, and by which the natives of the glen above 
 passed to and from the nearest village. It is said that 
 the last to cross that bridge was a foolhardy old woman, 
 who was on her homeward way late at night. Her only 
 company was the peat cart in which she sat, and the 
 Highland sheltie which wearily dragged it along. Go
 
 48 Scejzes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 soon as her pony's feet were on the bridge, she began to 
 hear the timbers crackle and creak under her, and she 
 lashed her steed to greater speed. She was only saved as 
 by a single inch. Ere she fully reached the further end, 
 the whole structure had crumbled into broken wreckage 
 behind her, and the timbers crashed behind the wheels 
 of her cart like splintering ice in a treacherous thaw. 
 Surely hers was a case not less terrible, and even more 
 true, than that of the immortal Tarn o' Shanter himself, 
 when good old Meg and he just won the key-stane of 
 the Brio; o' Doon. 
 
 Less than twenty yards further we halted to engage in 
 a juvenile sport which has many attractions, even for 
 elderly visitors — that of hurling stones, the larger the 
 better, into the chasm. Almost from the moment they 
 leave the hand, they drop out of sight beneath the ledges 
 in front of you ; but you can hear them strike once, 
 twice, thrice, sometimes four or five times, on each side 
 alternately, and then sink with a sepulchral gulp into the 
 torrent below. Once a strong Galloway dyke ran along 
 for a good mile between the pathway and the fields. Now 
 it is all gone — pitched piecemeal, and by thousands of 
 hands, into the all-devouring jaws of the gorge. After 
 scores of smaller stones had been thrown in, we looked 
 all about us for larger material. At last we lit upon a 
 broad, flat stone lying on the bank above the path, and 
 two of us set about the work of dislodonno; it from its 
 bed. A large group of expectant spectators awaited the 
 result of our labours. In due time, as you shall presently 
 see, the whole company, in greater or lesser degree, reaped
 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shire. 49 
 
 the fruits of our toil. My comrade and 1 raised the stone 
 between us, and — in a moment — dropped it like the 
 proverbial hot potato. We were in horror and dismay. 
 Right beneath the stone had been a powerful and popu- 
 lous nest of wasps, who now sallied forth and took the 
 field in gallant style against the foe. A few critical mo- 
 ments, as in all great battles, ensued. The wasps were 
 evidently under skilful leadership. A certain number — 
 say, half-a-dozen, more or fewer — were told off to attack 
 each lady and gentleman of the company, and they played 
 their part well. Though they were my enemies on that 
 occasion, I can now, after the heat and bitterness of the 
 struggle are over, bear them witness that they did their 
 duty bravely and zealously to the end. You will allow 
 me to mention, with all modesty, that my comrade and I 
 had the honour of being selected for special attention, and 
 that by larger numbers than any of our friends. There 
 may have been a reason for this — it may even have been 
 because of some blue blood in our veins. But the engage- 
 ment was over in less time than I have taken to describe 
 it. Mankind, both male and female, fought wildly from 
 the first, smiting their own noses and cheeks as frequently 
 and impartially as those of the enemy. Then an unfortun- 
 ate panic set in, and what might have been only a mild 
 defeat became a rout. Never was there a more real and 
 vivid illustration of the delicate Scotch proverb that a 
 certain gentleman should take the hindmost. In a few brief 
 moments, the whole army of the aggressors — for such we 
 certainly had been — pursued by the now victorious garri- 
 son, fled in disorder and deshabille from the scene of con-
 
 50 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 flict, leaving a scattered variety of hats, coats, shawls, 
 handkerchiefs, and parasols dead upon the field. Even 
 when one or two of us returned to gather up these lost 
 remains, we were again assailed by skirmishers from the 
 enemy's host. We cannot pass from the historical record 
 of such an engagement as this without a word or two as 
 to the cause or causes of defeat. These were, in my 
 opinion, two : first, the superior organization of the 
 enemy ; and, second, the fact that they were armed with 
 weapons of precision. We had nothing but ringers, 
 sticks, umbrellas, and articles of clothing ; they were 
 provided with instruments of war of which you may 
 see full descriptions in books of natural history. These 
 things made all the difference ; and it is neither just nor 
 fair for any man to throw out hints as to want of cour- 
 age and the like in the face of the explanation which I 
 have just given. 
 
 The Black Rock would not be ideally complete with- 
 out the addition of a ghost story to its records. Such an 
 attraction, though of a very harmless kind, I am happily 
 able to supply, and at the same time to give the assur- 
 ance that it will cost no one even an hour's sleep. Per- 
 mit me first of all to say that what follows is absolute 
 fact, relating to actual persons then living ; and if the 
 heroine, for such she was in my young eyes, should 
 chance to see these pages, she is greatly changed for the 
 worse if she will not, with a merry, ringing laugh, and a 
 twinkle in her eye, forgive the writer for the liberty he 
 takes in recording; her doings. 
 
 On the hillside, above the Black Rock, stands a
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 5 1 
 
 small castellated mansion -house, and near by it a farm- 
 house with its steading and other out-buildings. At 
 
 o o 
 
 the back of the farm premises lies a small mill pond, 
 with a row of ploughmen's cottages upon one side 
 and their cabbage gardens upon the other. In the big 
 house, more than thirty years ago, lived a middle-aged 
 medical man, who had retired from the army in shattered 
 health. His companion in this Highland retreat was an 
 only daughter, still in the brightness of her teens, whom 
 we shall call Miss Maxwell. She it was who acted 
 the chief part in the scenes I have now to describe. 
 She was moved to design and execute her pranks by 
 impulses which can easily be understood. A daughter 
 of the regiment, accustomed to the gay life of London 
 West, and naturally brimful of life and fun, the mono- 
 tonous quiet of her new home, within hearing of the 
 weary sobbing and sighing of the Aultgraat, was more 
 than she could endure. Her pent-up energy and bound- 
 ing spirits must have vent in some form or other. Even 
 riding and fishing were not sufficient, though good 
 enough in their way. At length she found a measure 
 of relief in some lively adventures, in which she sus- 
 tained the double role of author and actor. Late one 
 evening, as darkness was falling on the Black Rock 
 woods and the Firth beyond, one or two of the plough- 
 men stood by their cottage doors ready to wish each 
 other good night, and retire to rest. Suddenly, in the 
 gardens on the opposite side of the pond, a strange 
 apparition presented itself, and attracted their won- 
 dering gaze. It was a tall, white, stately figure,
 
 52 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 aboye middle height, with no head which could be 
 distinguished from the body, yet crowned with four short, 
 thick horns of the same pure suow colour as the drapery 
 below. To and fro among the plots of carrots and 
 cabbages, and sometimes on the grassy bank beside the 
 sluice, walked the unearthly-looking visitor with silent 
 and dignified step. The strange being seemed wholly 
 wrapped up in thought and reverie of his or her own. 
 Very soon all the waking inmates of the cottages were 
 at their doors and at their wits' end besides. No one 
 dared to cry, Who are you ? or, Where do you come 
 from ? nor did anyone attempt to approach or disturb 
 the stately stranger. By and by, as midnight drew 
 near, the fairy-like figure slipped away in the deepening 
 darkness, and was no more seen. What sleep there was 
 that night in the ploughmen's cottages, I cannot tell ; 
 but the vision over the mill pond was all the talk of 
 the fields next day. On two points there was entire 
 unanimity of opinion — the absolute objective reality of 
 the figure, and the " uncanny," if not unearthly, nature 
 of the visitation ; but beyond these all was uncertainty 
 and conjecture. If I remember aright, no solution of 
 the mystery was found until, a week or two after, 
 another startling occurrence took place. 
 
 Once more " the shades of night were failing fast," or 
 had already fallen, for the " witching hour " of midnight 
 was not far off, when the farmer was aroused from sleep 
 and told that the grieve, or farm steward, wished to see 
 him. Not a little wondering what this might mean, the 
 master hurried to the door.
 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shirc. 
 
 >o 
 
 "Well, John, what's the matter now ? ' ; was naturally 
 the first question. 
 
 " Please, sir, 'am sorry to trouble ye, but 'am wantin' 
 ye to come oot to the west field," said the grieve timidly, 
 for he did not wish to make his fearful disclosure too 
 abruptly. The master, however, was impatient. 
 
 " What for ? Can't you tell, man 1 Out with it, and 
 be done with it." 
 
 "Well, sir, it's my own belief that the devil is on 
 Mettle, an' ye maun jist come an' see for yersel." 
 
 So the murder was out ! Mettle was a strong, useful 
 gray mare, which had been left, along with the other 
 horses, in a grass field over night. Evidently there was 
 something in the wind, and inquiry must be made ; so 
 the farmer prepared to accompany his servant, the former 
 being not a little tickled and curious, the latter filled 
 with misgiving; and somewhat hurt that his master 
 showed such coolness, not to say levity, of manner. Just 
 as they were about to start from the farm-house, John 
 appeared to hang back, as if reluctant to go. It appears 
 he had a suggestion to make, for when the farmer asked 
 him to come along, he modestly gave the advice, 
 
 "Please, sir, ye'd better take the gun wi' ye." 
 
 With a scornful laugh the master refused to do any- 
 thing of the kind, and they made off in all haste for the 
 scene of mystery. Certainly, the farmer did not expect 
 to see what he did. There, in very deed and truth, was 
 his good mare Mettle, sometimes walking quickly, some- 
 times trotting slowly, round the field, and on her back a 
 long graceful figure dressed in purest white. Apparently
 
 54 Scenes and Stoi'ies of the North of Scotland. 
 
 the farmer, like a certain great writer, did not believe in 
 ghosts because he had seen so many of them. With 
 irreverent daring, he approached the fair vision ; and, 
 alas ! the mystery was all too soon dispelled. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr B ? What a jolly night it 
 
 is ! I hope you were not very much frightened. Say 
 you're not angry with me, do ; there's a good man." 
 
 Need I say that it was the voice of Miss Maxwell, 
 who jumped down from her unpaid-for seat, and heartily 
 shook hands with the farmer. There was more of the 
 ring of laughter than the rasping tones of anger as they 
 left the field together. I believe the sprightly girl was 
 forgiven on the spot, though I should not wonder if one 
 or two words of serious counsel were edged in. This 
 much is certain, there was not a particle of hypocrisy 
 among the ploughmen that night. They felt very foolish, 
 and being honest men, they looked exactly as they felt. 
 Perhaps one of them dreamt about ghosts and guns. 
 Next day everyone knew that Miss Maxwell was the 
 performer in the first scene as well. The strange form 
 she had then assumed was easily explained. Draping her- 
 self in white, she had taken a chair and turned it upside 
 down upon her head. Over the four feet, as they stuck 
 up in the air, she flung another sheet. Then to produce 
 the horns, she threw up a stone, and let it foil right in 
 between the legs of the chair. Thus did the mystery of 
 those formidable objects come into being. The bold 
 pranks of a lovely, but very lively, young lady are among 
 those things which are not always " dreamt of in our 
 philosophy."
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 55 
 
 In the early part of this chapter mention was made of 
 the Falls of the Aultoraat, some four miles above the Black 
 Rock ; but they deserve much fuller notice. They are, 
 so far as I can judge, the most picturesque falls in the 
 northern counties, with the possible exception of Glomak 
 in Kintail, which, I am almost ashamed to say, 1 have 
 not yet seen. There are two reasons why they are as yet 
 comparatively unknown, and have, therefore, hitherto re- 
 ceived but scanty public appreciation. In the first place, 
 they are situated in that same glen out of which the Ault- 
 graat passes into the dingy defile of the Black Rock, and 
 they, of course, suffer from this proximity to a great 
 sight. A visit to the famous chasm is enough for most 
 people in one day, and they will scarcely thank you for 
 telling them that there is another object of attraction 
 four miles further up the river. Moreover, the road up 
 the glen is on the north side, from which the falls cannot 
 be seen to any advantage ; while the track up the south 
 side means serious work. It involves some rough 
 climbing, and the difficult, if not dangerous, crossing of 
 a mountain torrent, over which there is no bridge what- 
 ever. This candid mention of the somewhat arduous 
 nature of the journey may deter some who are not fit 
 for it, which is good ; it will, I hope, stimulate many 
 more to make the attempt, which will be still better. 
 All that is wanted is a fair measure of activity and 
 courage, which will meet with ample reward. Never 
 yet have I heard from any who have really seen them, 
 a difFerent opinion of the falls from that which I have 
 expressed above.
 
 56 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Having frequently acted as guide, I can, from some 
 experience, describe the route by the south side of the 
 river. The road, which you may join a little way above 
 the upper end of the Black Rock, soon descends into the 
 bottom of the glen. Take care that you quit the high- 
 way opposite a deserted house among trees by the river- 
 side. Thence you skirt the banks of the stream among 
 strangling bushes and shrubs, having on the right a level 
 field, and behind it a steep, gravelly cliff, along the face 
 of which the road wends its upward way to a plateau 
 above. By and by, you arrive at a very remarkable sus- 
 pension bridge, by which you must cross the river. Two 
 rude pillars of stone stand on opposite sides of the noisy, 
 bustling stream. These are crowned by rough woodwork, 
 over which are stretched in long graceful bend threads 
 of wire such as are used for ordinary fencing. From 
 these again are suspended a few narrow planks of wood, 
 which form the footway ; and so the wonderful structure 
 is complete. Even the wind may sway it to and fro 
 at pleasure. Might I here make a suggestion to the 
 " authorities "■ — I need not name them — one which might 
 tend to the saving of precious human life. It is this, 
 that a weighing machine with the usual slot apparatus 
 be erected at the near end of the bridge, because there 
 are certain parties not of the spare order who, for their 
 own sakes, should not be permitted to cross at all, especi- 
 ally if they be suspected of any suicidal tendencies ; while 
 only a limited number, say, one and a half, even of those 
 who are of lighter capacity, should be allowed to venture 
 at a time. Those who are fond of swing motion, lateral
 
 The Black Rock, Ross- shire. 57 
 
 or perpendicular, may indulge their fancy to their hearts' 
 content, and at their own risk, just over the middle of 
 the stream. 
 
 When last I crossed this remarkable bridge, there were 
 two of our party, young gentlemen, left behind, but plain 
 directions had been given them how to follow. However, 
 to make assurance doubly sure, we scratched a few words 
 of further guidance on a piece of paper — the characters 
 being Greek— 7 and stuck them on the wire at one end of 
 the bridge, where they could hardly fail to attract the 
 notice of our friends. Later on, these young gentlemen 
 did overtake us, but protested that they had never seen 
 anything of the message. There are only two rational 
 explanations of this circumstance. The one affects not 
 perhaps the character, but at all events the cult are, of the 
 individuals in question. They were students at the "Toun's 
 College " of Edinburgh. What if, notwithstanding their 
 university training, they could not decipher the Greek 
 letters — I have seen as much where you would not ex- 
 pect it — and therefore destroyed the paper to prevent the 
 discovery of their ignorance and incapacity ? Please do 
 not tell either the retired B — or the busy B — of the 
 Greek chair in Edinburgh! It would be a pity to burden 
 them with so sorrowful a supposition. The second hypo- 
 thesis relates to the inhabitants of the glen, and is of a 
 more favourable and cheering nature. The question is, 
 what became of the paper ? Perhaps some native, say, a 
 herd boy, thirsting after the heights of human knowledge, 
 had discovered the precious fragment, and carried it off 
 in triumph.. Had it been vulgar, every-day English, he 
 
 D
 
 58 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 would never have fingered the worthless thing ; but the 
 temptation of Greek — was it not the language of 
 Sophocles and Demosthenes 1 — may have been too much 
 for his virtue. Who can for a moment doubt, if this be 
 true, that the future prospects of classical scholarship 
 in the Highlands — at all events in Glen Glass — are very 
 bright indeed ? 
 
 From the rustic suspension bridge, the path struggles 
 onward by the river side among trees and shrubs and 
 heathery grass — its margin sprinkled with many-coloured 
 flowers, between ferny banks and burrows both above and 
 below. Then the track, now becoming uncertain, slants 
 upward over broken banks to the well-defined site of an 
 old farm, which I can well remember as the happy home 
 of a decent and industrious crofter family. Only the 
 sheep now wander among the fallen stones ; perhaps the 
 deer visit them in the stress of winter. It is a case of 
 " old homes and new tenants." Well did a speaker some 
 years ago say, " When Christ asked, How much more 
 then is a man better than a sheep ? he sowed the seed of 
 a whole harvest of revolutions." Soon after passing the 
 deserted croft, we reached the edge of a wild, deep 
 ravine, through which roared and tumbled a sprightly 
 mountain torrent, ever gabbling over the story of its 
 descent from Ben Wyvis. Here all must encounter the 
 difficulty of the journey. If there has been much 
 recent rain, you had better be content with the Black 
 Eock, for this stream will be quite impassable ; but if the 
 weather has been fairly dry for a time, you may run 
 your chance of getting over. As to the method, there 
 is nothing for it but to spring from stone to stone over
 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shire. 59 
 
 the rushing currents between them, and reach at length 
 the opposite bank. If you dip one foot, or even both, 
 in the water, and that be all your mishap, you are 
 fortunate ; worse cases have occurred. 
 
 Mounting the steep slope now in front, you reach a 
 grassy path along the hill side, and can hear the roar of 
 the falls a little way in advance, and see the wooded knoll 
 under which they hide from vulgar gaze. At length, 
 with the ponderous mass of Ben Wyvis full in view, we 
 reach our journey's end. There are two series of cas- 
 cades which must be seen separately, for both are not 
 visible from any one point. In the first, the river, after 
 a peaceful and happy childhood, creeps in between two 
 rugged, rocky knolls, and as it does so, finds a wild suc- 
 cession of ugly boulders and out -jutting ledges and 
 obstructing masses in its path. Over these, or under 
 them, or between them, the undaunted stream pours its 
 broken waters, till brown rock and grey ledge and dark 
 pool and yellow cascade meet in a confused medley of 
 colour and form and sound, which sinks down into an 
 inky pool below. Thence again the black waters, with 
 ragged threads of white upon their crawling surface, 
 slink away toward the right behind a bushy spur of 
 rock. In this wild fall and stealthy flight, the river, 
 which came to meet us face to face between the oppos- 
 ing rocks above, has turned abruptly, right in front of us, 
 and crept out of sight to prepare for its second and far 
 grander descent. No one who has an eye to the wild 
 and picturesque will, by uttering any complaint, make 
 true the words of the poet : 
 
 " Nature, disturbed, 
 Is deemed vindictive to have changed her course."
 
 60 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Now we must make a wide circuit and steep descent 
 to a far lower level. Here we cautiously step along a 
 narrow ledge of rougli conglomerate covered with heather, 
 ferns, and blaeberries until we arrive right in front of the 
 second — which is the most impressive, series of cascades. 
 How shall I describe what we now behold ? We sit or 
 kneel on the brink of a perpendicular rough wall, over 
 which we dare scarcely look ; and the great, black, oval- 
 shaped basin between that wall and the cataracts opposite 
 lies some fifty feet below us. The chief and most inter- 
 esting cascade is right in front of us, and we can scan its 
 course from top to bottom. Up against the western sky 
 is a brown, mossy bank crowned with crested fir trees 
 between whose red, naked stems we can watch the ever- 
 changing light of the declining sun. Beneath that bank 
 is a gravelly scar of yellow and orange on whose over- 
 hanging face some green plants and mountain flowers 
 cling to a precarious life. A little to the left, right up 
 against the scar, stands a sharp, rocky spur, painted over 
 with trailing green, the same behind which we saw the 
 upper waters disappear. Its head is adorned with fresh 
 foliage, and its base sinks imperceptibly into a broad, 
 mural precipice below. 
 
 From behind that sharp spur, which the floods have 
 almost made an island, the chastened waters, modest 
 alike in manner and dimensions, creep quietly out into 
 the light, and then ! what a fate seems to await their 
 coming ! If the weather be fine, and if as a consequence 
 the volume of water be small, we behold a most curious 
 phenomenon. The water takes a spring from the top as
 
 The Black Rock, Ross-shire. 6 1 
 
 if it would drop sheer down without a break into the 
 sullen pool beneath. But no ! that is not its fate ! It 
 slips instead down the rocky face into a cup-like hollow, 
 and for a space disappears out of sight. But the cup is 
 bottomless, for the stream has bored it through, and the 
 waters pour down the rock again into another dark 
 basin. What looked like the rim of a cup becomes a 
 brown collar tied over the snowy neck of the cascade. 
 Again we look for the waters. There is no visible trace 
 of them on the face of the rock ; but when we carefully 
 observe the surface of another black basin still lower 
 down, we can see by their bubbling and coiling that the 
 adventurous waters have entered it from behind or 
 beneath. In this resting-place also, they tarry for a 
 little time ; then, pouring over the rim, they fall in a 
 broad band of yellow and white, edged with a glittering 
 lace of dewdrops, into the unknown depths of the creep- 
 ing black pool below. 
 
 A little to the left of this singular fall, there is a slant- 
 ing fissure in the rock, which extends all the way from a 
 gap in the rocky spur above to the surface of the dark 
 basin beneath. In the dry weeks of high summer, a tiny 
 thread of water, all but broken here and there, trickles 
 from top to bottom, while a broad band of blackened 
 rock by its side shows that in stormy weather the thread 
 becomes a long thick white tassel, and deserves the name 
 of cascade on its own account. 
 
 If the Aultgraat be in high flood, how different is all 
 this scene ! The upper series of cascades becomes one 
 tremendous broad rush of wriggling, curling, wrestling
 
 62 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 torrent, out of whose chaotic, foaming surface scarcely an 
 inch of rock dare show itself. From their spring high 
 up between the projecting knolls to the hungry-looking 
 depths of the upper pool, the waters toss up wreath after 
 wreath of gauzy spray to make brilliant rainbows in the 
 sunlight. At the same time the nether fall hides all its 
 mysterious and fantastic features in one breathless, head- 
 long rush of creamy w T hite, while the long slanting fissure 
 almost rivals in volume of water the main body of the 
 cataract. Dashing furiously down with headlong speed, 
 the fevered waters stir and lash the jet black pool into a 
 seething, fermenting, whirling mass of foam. At such a 
 time, the stream — baited into fury, agitated beyond 
 measure — rages down the whole glen, and has not even 
 recovered its temper or natural calm when it plunges 
 into the later sorrows of the Black Rock chasm. 
 
 Everything attractive which can be gathered into the 
 highest levels of the picturesque is to be found around 
 these falls. You have mountain and moor, wood and 
 water, cascade and cliff, rocky ridges and flowery banks, 
 sleeping pools and impetuous currents. You behold 
 nature, not tamed and trimmed into squares of grain 
 or root crops, not with her fair face lacerated by roads 
 and railways, but above all rule save that of her own 
 fascinating variety. Of these striking falls and their 
 framework of surrounding scenery, you may well say : 
 
 " Nature here 
 Wanton'd as in her prime and played at will 
 Her virgin fancies."
 
 i ■ 'X' - 
 
 \ ■ H- m - 
 
 (J 
 
 5. 
 
 
 w 
 ►J 
 
 X 
 
 in 
 
 z 
 
 OS 
 
 < 
 
 u 
 
 e/f 
 
 w 
 S5 
 
 g 
 
 i 
 
 V 
 
 53
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ISLAND OF LEWIS. 
 
 The Island of Lewis, the largest of the Hebrides, lies 
 some forty miles off the western shores of Ross and 
 Sutherland, the wide and stormy sound known as the 
 Mincli running between. It lies on the Atlantic bosom 
 like a diamond-shaped pendant on a fair lady's breast, 
 but the edges are so indented with deep bays, and long- 
 narrow inlets that the coast line must be little less, if not 
 even more, than twenty times the length of the island. At 
 the rough angle on the eastern side there runs out a long 
 peninsula, shaped like a mushroom ; and in the bend 
 where it touches the mainland on the south lie the bay 
 and town of Stornoway. The whole island at one time 
 belonged to the family of Macleods, but passed, about the 
 beginning of the seventeenth century, into the hands of 
 the powerful Mackenzies of Kintail. 
 
 On our way to visit "the Lews," as it is often called, we 
 crossed the Minch from Lochinver in a somewhat heavy 
 sea. The waves were breaking constantly over the bow 
 of the steamer, and frequently drenched the bridge also 
 with water. There was nothing to be called either gale 
 or storm, so that there was no danger ; but many of the 
 passengers appeared no less timid than wretched, which is
 
 64 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 saying a good deal. Their condition reminded me of an 
 East Coast captain, who was rather a rough customer, 
 and at times very out- spoken, to put it mildly, in his 
 language. He was a strong, burly man, with a face of 
 deep red colour almost approaching to purple. On one 
 occasion, during a stiff north-east gale, when heavy seas 
 were sweeping his vessel's decks, and the wild wind 
 howling angrily in the rigging, there was a very timid 
 passenger on board. This gentleman, who could not 
 be persuaded to go below, stood trembling and shivering 
 on the after part of the bridge, and nervously clutched 
 the rails with his hands. Once or twice he ventured, 
 timidly but anxiously, to ask the captain if there was 
 any danger, to which that officer always replied that he 
 might keep his mind at rest, there was no danger what- 
 ever. The same enquiry, however, was repeated once 
 too often, for at length the captain turned upon his 
 questioner, and vented his impatience in a stentorian 
 key— 
 
 " Now, Sir, I'll tell you what it is, and let this be an 
 end of it. When you see my face as white like a sheet 
 as your own, you may take it for granted that there may 
 be some danger ; but, not till then." 
 
 The traveller, more timid and cowed-looking than ever, 
 made no more inquiries. 
 
 Stornoway, the chief, or rather the only, town of the 
 Hebrides, is a lively little sea-port, with signs of activity 
 and prosperity which often surprise strangers. Pictur- 
 esque in situation, quaint in many of its aspects, it has 
 become the great centre of the fishing industry on the
 
 The Island of Lewis. 65 
 
 West Coast, and the one source of supply for all southern 
 products and luxuries, including tourists, to the whole 
 island of Lewis. On the hillside opposite the town, and 
 looking down upon the harbour, stands Stornoway Castle, 
 the seat of Lady Matheson, its richly wooded grounds 
 kept with scrupulous and lavish care. But I must call a 
 halt in time. If you wish to know the capital city in 
 more detail, please consult your guide-books, and leave 
 me to my own scenes and memories. 
 
 The general features of the Island of Lewis are few in 
 number, but well marked and distinctive in character. 
 The shores are everywhere rocky and rugged, save where, 
 at wide intervals, they are interrupted by broad bays or 
 narrow sea lochs, which terminate in green glens among 
 the hills. The middle and northern districts are for the 
 most part great stretches of flat or undulating moor- 
 land, dotted all over with hundreds of little lochs and 
 tarns, into which no burns tumble, and out of which 
 no rivers flow. Yet how pretty these flat saucers of rain- 
 water are — scores and scores of them glistening in the sun- 
 shine like silver ornaments laid out to view upon a russet 
 ground. In the south and south-west, the mountains are 
 thickly studded and lofty, but long, twisting arms of the 
 sea boldly creep in between them, and almost meet from 
 opposite sides of the island. Many of these inlets taper 
 away to narrow points, which are hidden in deep valleys 
 eight or ten miles from the open sea. So many are the 
 fresh-water lochs and the insinuating strips of the ocean, 
 that, in bird's eye view, the whole island must resemble 
 a diamond window with its countless rain-drops darting
 
 66 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 one into the other at the beginning of a shower. The 
 hill-tops are singularly wild and bare, scarce a tinge of 
 green relieving the yellow masses of rock and stone ; but 
 in the valleys there are many choice spots of sweet ver- 
 dure and beauty. An old writer compares the island to 
 a cap with a gold band around it — the latter term denot- 
 ing the cultivated spots which lie in the valleys, or by 
 the shores. The simile is not a happy one, but may be 
 allowed to pass if we suppose the cap to be second-hand, 
 and much the worse for wear, because then we can 
 account for the many ragged gaps in the band of gold. 
 
 The people of Lewis are not purely Celtic as to blood 
 and character. In the north of the island especially there 
 are many evidences of the Norse element both in the 
 people and their ways, and in the names of places as 
 well. There are strong affinities between the natives 
 there and the Scandinavian settlers of Orkney and Shet- 
 land ; and no wonder, — the reason is not very far to seek. 
 The frequent invasions and settlements of the Vikings in 
 the days of old have left indelible marks upon the men 
 and the scenery of the Butt of Lewis. It is not pos- 
 sible, however, in all cases, to separate what is Celtic 
 from what is Norse. The two elements have long ago 
 become largely fused into one another ; the habits of the 
 two races have grown together ; and Gaelic, whatever 
 once may have been, is now the common language of 
 all. It has always been a pet idea with me, that this 
 admixture of Celtic and Scandinavian blood should and 
 will produce, if social and economic conditions admitted 
 of fair play, as fine a race of men, physically, intellect-
 
 The Island of Lewis. 67 
 
 ually, and morally, as any which has ever lived upon 
 earth. This view I venture to put in type, pace the 
 Saxon-born southerner. It will be no surprise to me if 
 some day or other, even if I should not live to see it, 
 "the Lews" sends out a man of front rank into the world. 
 To ask me to mention or disclose in what particular line 
 this Lewsman will excel and rise into wide fame, is 
 neither fair nor kind ; it is going too far. Meantime 
 we must be content with what we find ; and I now offer 
 some memories and musings, chiefly relating to the 
 island, which have, at least, the merit of variety. 
 
 A few days after our arrival, we left Stornoway by the 
 north road, which skirts the inmost recess of the Broad 
 Bay, and then breaks — about a mile further on — into a 
 wide fork. To the left lies the highway to Barvas, a 
 township some twelve miles oft' over a crawling, winding, 
 moorland road on which not more than one or two 
 houses are to be seen. Y"et how much there is for which 
 to be thankful ! It seems hardly credible, but is a fact 
 nevertheless, that fifty years ago, though there were 
 some roads, there was not a single bridge in the island. 
 If people would cross streams, either on business or to 
 escape the fairies, they must ford them on foot, or on 
 horseback, or on man- back. It is even said — surely by 
 some ill-natured libeller of the weaker sex, that women 
 carried men — husbands, brothers, even lovers — across the 
 fords upon their backs. These happy days are now long 
 gone by ; and yellow streaks of road creep here and 
 there all over the island. 
 
 At the angle of departure, we chose the route to the
 
 68 Scenes and Stoi'ies of the North of Scotland. 
 
 right, keeping nearer the coast line, and after a long 
 walk reached a typical Lewis village. 
 
 Let me first sketch the outward features of a single 
 dwelling. The walls of a cottage belonging to a crofter 
 or fisherman are usually about six feet high or little 
 more. They have an outer and inner face built of rough 
 stones all sizes and shapes, the space between filled 
 with earth or rubbish. On the top of this wall, which 
 is often four feet thick and more, there are built up layers 
 of turf which form a broad ledge all round the base of 
 the roof, like the rim of a strong boot along the edge of 
 the upper. This flat wall-top, covered with grass and 
 weeds, is a promenade and feeding ground for the sheep 
 and poultry, and often a look-out for women who expect 
 husbands or brothers home from sea. The roof proper 
 starts from the inner edge of the wall head. The rafters 
 are often few and thin, because all wood for such purposes 
 must be imported from the mainland and is therefore 
 high in price. After the framework is up, layers of turf 
 are laid upon the beams, and over these again a thick 
 coating of grey thatch. To make all tight and fast, 
 straw ropes are thrown over the rounded ridge, and their 
 ends whipped firmly round large stones which serve and 
 are known as anchors, to moor the roof in a storm. If 
 anything more be needed, a harrow thrown over a dam- 
 aged corner may check further mischief for a time. 
 Some of the houses are very short and small ; but others 
 are long and roomy. All appear diminutive and squat- 
 looking, so much so that an old writer of playful humour 
 remarks that one could put his hand down the smoke-
 
 The Island of Lewis. 69 
 
 hole in the roof and unlatch the door. This is a quiet 
 and harmless joke, no doubt ; but if anyone were foolish 
 enough to make the attempt, the result might be serious 
 — for him. I say this, because we have a remarkable 
 warning on record, though it be several centuries old. 
 A travelling shoemaker came on a Sabbath night to a 
 covenanter's dwelling. He had been promised a week's 
 work in the family, and intended to begin betimes on 
 Monday morning. Afraid of being reproved for travel- 
 ling on the day of rest, he slipped secretly up to a loft 
 above the kitchen. Through a wide square hole in the 
 floor of this upper chamber, the smoke from the central 
 fire below found its way upwards to the aperture in the 
 roof, and so to the open air. Tired with his journey, 
 Birsy, for that was his name, fell fast asleep. His 
 awaking was rude and alarming, and took place while 
 the household were at family worship. First an awl. 
 then a broad-bladed knife, fell on to the hearth below, 
 causing no little flutter ; and finally the cobbler him sell' 
 toppled over and descended with a blinding splutter into 
 the fire around which the family were gathered. What 
 a wide-spread scattering of ashes was there ! What a 
 panic and stampede among human kind, great and small, 
 old and young alike ! Therefore I cordially commend 
 the lesson to thieves and other fools in Lewis. Let 
 them beware. The descent from the canless vent in the 
 roof to the fire on the hearth below is straight as an 
 arrow, and sure to lead to shame. 
 
 A Lewis village is usually a cluster of closely-packed 
 dwellings, which from a height or from a distance look
 
 yo Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 like groups of grey mole-hills in a patch of rough grass. 
 Only narrow causeways, always rough and often very 
 filthy, separate wall from wall or gable from gable. At 
 some places a few cottages straggle along the roadside, 
 while here and there, on moorland or shore, a few stand 
 apart and alone. One of these latter we visited on the 
 day already mentioned ; why and how, it is now my 
 duty to tell. 
 
 After attempting some sketching in the intervals 
 between showers, and visiting a small church and a few 
 dwellings near by, we turned our steps homewards, that 
 is, towards Stornoway. It was high time, for heavy 
 swollen clouds from the far west were creeping toward 
 us over hill and moor, dropping here and there a grey- 
 blue band of soaking rain upon the earth. At length a 
 gusty wind and pitiless shower drove us for shelter to a 
 low mean-looking hovel which we took for a byre, and 
 in its deep-set doorway we crouched from the blast. 
 After a little we were greatly surprised to hear the sound 
 of voices within, and by and by an old woman, coming 
 to the door, courteously beckoned us to enter and rest 
 for a while. In my best Gaelic I tried to thank her, and 
 we accepted the invitation. The interior was of the 
 type most common in Lewis, and deserves a few words 
 of description. The house was divided into three dis- 
 tinct compartments. The door by which we entered 
 opened into the byre, where there were two or three 
 stalls for cows on the gable end, and in front of these 
 the usual gutter with its usual contents. Then came 
 two dwarf walls some five or six feet high, with an open-
 
 The Island of Lewis. 7 r 
 
 ing between them, but no door to fill it. This was the 
 entrance to the central and most important division of 
 the dwelling — the scene of all the active indoor life of 
 the inmates. On a raised hearth in the centre of the 
 floor burned a merry, kindly-looking peat fire with its 
 soft fringe of white and orange ashes. On either side, 
 against the opposite walls, were broad benches, which 
 could easily accommodate a large family and one or two 
 visitors besides. Beyond this compartment again, was 
 the door — really a door this time — of the spare or best 
 room, a small chamber with a mahogany table, box 
 beds, and one or two chests painted in green and red. 
 The smoke of the peat fire in the middle division rose 
 reluctantly upward, and was drawn out by a wide 
 aperture on the ridge of the roof, while, as part of the 
 same arrangement, another hole just over the wall-head 
 in a far corner, created as much draught as was needed. 
 If the current of air became too strong, a wisp of straw 
 stuffed into the said hole prevented excessive ventilation. 
 One custom, peculiar, so far as I have heard, to the Lews, 
 must here be mentioned. The crofters and fishermen 
 take the thatch and turf off the roofs of their houses 
 every year or two and use them for manure, for which 
 purpose they are said to be most valuable. No wonder, 
 therefore, that the inmates are rather pleased than other- 
 wise to have their roofs blackened and saturated with 
 peat smoke, which supplies the most valuable ingredients 
 in the fertilising process. Within doors in a Lewis 
 dwelling, the prevailing atmosphere is a misty blue, light 
 in colour but dense in quality, which for a time is very
 
 72 Scenes and Sto?'ies of the North of Scotland. 
 
 trying to the eyes of strangers. Such are many homes 
 which have been abodes of genuine piety, and from 
 which have gone forth bands of the hardiest sailors and 
 bravest soldiers of which our country can boast. 
 
 The inmates of the cottage were three in number — the 
 kindly old woman who asked us to enter ; her daughter, 
 a cheerful, young wife, whose husband was a mechanic 
 in Stornoway ; and last, but not least important, an in- 
 fant child, buried among clothes in a fish creel, for want 
 of a better cradle. The younger mother told us she was 
 merely on a visit to " grannie," who wanted to see and 
 dote over her grandson. We were by no means inquisi- 
 tive, and neither were they ; yet, little by little, we learnt 
 a good deal about each other. The old woman, knowing 
 nothing but Gaelic, spoke only to or through her 
 daughter ; but if that obstacle could have been re- 
 moved, she would have displayed, I believe, very 
 remarkable conversational powers. From time to time 
 I stepped out to the door to see if there was any blue 
 sky visible, but the watery gusts were still sweeping by 
 with undiminished fury and frequency. Meantime, 
 without any interruption to our talk, the young woman 
 quietly infused tea, and set it on the hearth, drew cups 
 and saucers from a trunk in the inner room, and handed 
 to each of us large sea biscuits, each one of which bore 
 its burden of excellent cheese. Our repast was both 
 " grateful and com f or tin g " and we shall none of us for- 
 get one of its accompaniments. The grandmother had 
 by this time found out that I understood some portions 
 of the Gaelic conversation which passed between herself
 
 The Island of Lewis. 73 
 
 and her daughter. From that moment many of her re- 
 marks were intended for my special benefit, but I was 
 careful to keep well within my depth in reply. At 
 length, without asking for it, we were afforded the rich 
 treat, which adds, to us at least, so much interest to the 
 memory of our visit. The old woman, when her daughter 
 was busy, had lifted the little child from its strange crib, 
 and laid him on her lap. Then, bending her keen, dark 
 eyes and unkempt hair over his chubby face, she rocked 
 her body to and fro, and crooned the plaintive /Eolian 
 strains of some ancient Gaelic air. Both in itself and in 
 its harmony of circumstances, that weird lullaby remains 
 to us a precious and fascinating memory. Much rather 
 should I prefer to hear it again than to sit through half 
 the concerts and operas and classical music of a London 
 season. Of course, that confession is most heretical, and 
 shows what many people will call a low level of taste. 
 So be it ; think so if you will. At once I take my stand 
 in this matter by the side of my old teacher, Professor 
 Blackie, and for the present am content to fling at your 
 heads the old adage, diver 'sos diversa juvant. By-and- 
 by the rain ceased, and we resumed our long tramp to 
 the town. All the details of our parting with the 
 inmates of the cottage are not for the public at large. 
 We shall never forget the homely and natural kindness 
 with which we were welcomed and entertained. 
 
 Allow me here a wide digression on the subject of 
 language, and of the many blunders which have been 
 made by Celts and Saxons alike when away from their 
 respective homes. We shall take the Saxon first, and 
 
 E
 
 74 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 give the natives of the Highlands the first of the 
 laugh. 
 
 My knowledge of Gaelic — once fair for one who is no 
 Celt — is now very slight indeed. I used to be told, 
 "They'll no sell you in it," but I fear that now, if the 
 attempt were made without much ostentation, the bar- 
 gain might be struck before I was aware. Therefore, I 
 seldom attempt to use the language unless for a little 
 sport or in necessity. Yet my canon for learning a 
 strange tongue is entirely different from that system 
 of caution, and is indeed very simple. Study grammar, 
 write exercises, read extracts of books — do these certainly; 
 but above all, speak, speak, speak, every chance you can 
 get, and no matter how many blunders you may make. 
 By such a method, you will gain ever so much daily, and 
 lose nothing except, perhaps, a little stupid pride. But 
 that advice is only for private use. How many men have 
 made, and daily make, asses of themselves by venturing 
 to speak publicly in a language which they have not mas- 
 tered. Let me Qive you a few rather amusing; instances. 
 Whether they are all, or even most of them, from the 
 Lews or no, I cannot tell; but most of them are from the 
 pulpit, which ought to be quite as good a source. 
 
 In a certain rural parish in the north, there lived and 
 laboured an excellent Christian minister, who had ac- 
 quired a knowledge of Gaelic, because he earnestly 
 desired to preach to Highlanders in their native tongue, 
 it will be matter of surprise to no one that, during the 
 early years of his ministry especially, he made frequent, 
 and often grotesque, blunders. The following is one speci-
 
 The Island of Lewis. 7 5 
 
 men out of very many which have been current. It was 
 a warm, bright summer clay, and the doors of the church 
 at the further end from the pulpit were thrown wide open 
 to admit a current of air from without. At one passage 
 of his discourse, which seems to have been of a hortatory 
 nature, the minister meant to convey the earnest counsel, 
 " Be up and doing ; spring is at the door," and he 
 thought he had said so as correctly as fervently. Un- 
 fortunately, what reached the ears of his Gaelic audience 
 was this : " Be up and doing ; there's a colt at the door." 
 At once four hundred heads were turned toward the open 
 door to see the animal enter. The colt, however, never 
 appeared ; and I question if the good old man ever knew 
 of the error he had committed. The words "spring' 3 
 and " colt " in Gaelic are closely similar in sound. 
 
 Another preacher who had sought and found a quiet 
 retreat in the remote Highlands for the very purpose of 
 acquiring the language, fell into a similar mistake. He 
 had travelled some distance to make a call, and on arriv- 
 ing at the house of some friends, astonished them by 
 declaring, " Tha tri raidhean f'on ah' fhag sinn," which 
 is, being interpreted, " I left my own house three quar- 
 ters of a year ago." Whether he was asked to narrate 
 the story of his wanderings in the interval, we are not 
 told ; perhaps an amused smile on the faces of his friends 
 might induce him to suspect that something was wrong. 
 Probably he would ere long be awakened to the fact 
 that there is a difference, which exists even in Gaelic, 
 between a year and an hour. 
 
 Another case was more unfortunate, because, as in the
 
 j6 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 first, the blunder was made in public. Towards the close 
 of the service, a minister proceeded to make some intima- 
 tions from the pulpit. Among others, he intended to 
 announce that on the following Lord's Day there would 
 be a collection for the poor of the congregation. But, 
 alas, for him ! he forgot how nearly alike in sound are 
 the words " bochd," signifying poor, and " boc," which 
 means a buck. The word he uttered was the latter in- 
 stead of the former, so that he startled his audience by 
 solemnly intimating a collection for the bucks of the 
 congregation ! We can easily understand to what in- 
 quiries this interesting call to benevolence might give 
 rise, especially among the young ladies. Who were these 
 bucks ? Were they many in number ? Why were con- 
 tributions asked on their behalf? Were they in poverty 
 or in debt, or in both together ? Had extravagance in 
 costume or luxury in living brought them into straits ? 
 We have, unfortunately, no answer to any of these ques- 
 tions, nor have we any record of the amount of the col'ec- 
 tion when it came off. It would be interesting to know 
 how far so touching an appeal for a deserving class had 
 reached the hearts of the people. 
 
 One instance more let me offer of the ignorance and 
 rash folly of the Saxon when he attempts to air himself 
 in the earliest and greatest of all languages. In this 
 case, the minister was impressing upon his audience their 
 needy and lost condition in a spiritual sense. He meant 
 to enforce upon them the conviction that they were 
 " peacaich thruagh chaillte," that is, poor lost sinners. 
 His actual words were somewhat similar in sound, but
 
 The Island of Lewis. 77 
 
 widely different in meaning. Imagine the feelings of his 
 hearers when he called them " picich chruaidh shaillte," 
 that is, hard, salted saith, the saith being a coarse, deep- 
 sea fish, often caught and cured in the western and 
 northern isles. It is much to be feared that both mind 
 and conscience among his hearers would refuse assent to 
 such a description — even coming ex cathedra — and 
 might even resent it as an insult. Perhaps it is still 
 more likely that the announcement was received in quite 
 another spirit. The Highlanders, like the French, are 
 very indulgent toward foreigners who blunder in their 
 language. Probably the congregation heard their 
 minister expose his ignorance with a kindly pity flitting 
 in smiles from face to face. 
 
 Now, being myself a Norseman in blood and sym- 
 pathies, I should like to hold the scales evenly between 
 Saxon and Celt. Therefore my digression as to Gaelic 
 must lead to another. Possibly some ardent Celts may 
 store up some of the above blunders in memory, and 
 upon occasion fling them gleefully in the face of the 
 Saxon. We must, therefore, provide the latter with a 
 few pebbles to sling back. Not too abruptly, however, 
 must we approach the delicate subject of Highland 
 frailty. If I handle it too roughly, I shall pay for it 
 next time I visit the north. 
 
 The Lewis people are deeply attached to their native 
 island. Local patriotism burns strongly and steadily in 
 their bosoms. They are reluctant to leave the scenes of 
 their birth and youth, and fain — even if they have 
 wandered to far-off lands — to return ao-ain to the island
 
 78 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 which has never ceased to be home. It was an American, 
 hut it might well have been a Lewsman, who wrote — 
 
 " Me whom the city holds, whose feet 
 Have worn its stony highways, 
 Familiar with its loneliest street, 
 
 Its ways were never my ways — 
 My cradle was beside the sea, 
 And there, I hope, my grave will be." 
 
 Yet many leave the island, as they do other parts of the 
 west and north, to better their condition or status in life. 
 Among this class perhaps the most interesting are the 
 youths who go south to our Universities, in order to study 
 for one or other of the learned professions. Through what 
 a hard struggle has many a Highland student fought and 
 won his way ! All honour to his dauntless perseverance 
 and courage ! Yet there are few such men in whose 
 careers there have not been one or two strange or 
 amusing episodes. They know the English language 
 sometimes very imperfectly ; and the conditions and 
 habits of city life often land them in trouble. 
 
 Well do I remember the case of one such student — I 
 shall not say where he came from— with whom I had a 
 slight acquaintance at college. He had taught a school 
 in the north for many years, and was well advanced in 
 middle life when he came to Edinburgh. After passing- 
 through the Arts classes, he proposed to study for the 
 Church. Iu order to do this he must needs be examined 
 by his local Presbytery. One incident in that process is 
 worthy of mention, A well-known and excellent 
 minister was appointed to ask him some questions in 
 mathematics. The first of these came off as follows :
 
 The Island of Lewis. 79 
 
 "Well, Mr F., let us begin with what is very simple. 
 Would you be so kind as tell me, — What is a point ? " 
 The student looks bashful, and is silent, He must be 
 spurred up a bit. 
 
 " Come away, Mr F., Fm sure that's very easy. What 
 is a point ? " The student begins to feel that he must 
 make some reply, so he deems it wise policy to win, if 
 he can, the good graces of his examiner. Accordingly, 
 with an insinuating smile, he suggests — 
 
 " Oh, Mr C, ye ken yersel ; ye ken fine yersel." 
 
 " Well," replied the minister, " perhaps I do ; but 
 that's not the point. What I want is that you should 
 tell me. Come away, What is a point ? " 
 
 The poor student feels that the question must now be 
 fairly faced ; he can temporise no longer. Accordingly, 
 after a prolonged nervous application of his fingers to the 
 crown of his head, he dropped his hand, bobbed his fore- 
 finger sharply on the table, and with an air of conscious 
 triumph, exclaimed, 
 
 " A dabbie like that ; jist a dabbie like that." 
 
 We can guess the general character of the questions 
 and answers which followed. 
 
 The story of one of Mr F.'s great difficulties in a theo- 
 logical class is still a lively tradition in student circles. 
 One of the professors was examining orally — the subject 
 being a somewhat unusual one, the Jewish marriage 
 law. Mr F. was called, at once stood upon his feet, and 
 prepared to receive cavalry. He made, however, but a 
 poor stand. At every question put — for he could answer 
 none of them — Mr F. nudged the student next to him
 
 80 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 with his elbow, and whispered sideways, " Tell me, man, 
 tell me." This was repeated several times, and did 
 indeed produce one or two bungling answers. At length 
 the professor saw that the student was utterly lost in the 
 depths. With the kindly intention of restoring him to 
 terra Jirma, he thus addressed the trembling sufferer 
 with an encouraging; smile — 
 
 "Well, Mr F., perhaps you can answer this one. Are 
 you married yourself ? " 
 
 So utterly bewildered was the student that he did not 
 even catch the question, so he nudged his neighbour as 
 vigorously as ever with, 
 
 " Tell me, man, tell me." 
 
 In very wantonness of mischief the other whispered 
 back, " Say yes," and his counsel was taken without a 
 word of question. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mr F. timidly and modestly ; and the 
 very walls resounded with the strong laughter of the 
 Professor and his class. After a few moments Mr F. 
 recovered himself. He believed he had for once made a 
 great hit ; and therefore he contributed a broad, bene- 
 volent smile to the merriment. It was only at the end 
 of the class hour that he understood what had taken 
 place. 
 
 Another such case arose from sheer ignorance of polite 
 or scrupulous habits. A Highland student was invited 
 to breakfast at one of the Professor's houses, and hap- 
 pened to be seated near the hostess at table. His plate 
 was supplied with fish ; and, as he ate, he pitched frag- 
 ments of bone over his shoulder, and they alighted on
 
 The Island of Lewis. 8 1 
 
 the carpet behind. The lady ventured to remonstrate 
 once and again, 
 
 " Just leave the bones on your plate, Mr M. ; don't 
 trouble to throw them away." 
 
 A second and third time the offence was repeated, and 
 the lady grew more importunate. 
 
 "Leave them on your plate, Mr M., please don't 
 trouble to throw them away." 
 
 All unconscious of the cause of her anxiety, the 
 student finally silenced her by replying, 
 
 " It's no trouble, ma'am ; no trouble at all." 
 
 The summary process went on until the plate was 
 cleared. The lady was pitiful, the student happy and 
 unruffled. He had seldom, perhaps, enjoyed a better 
 breakfast up to that hour ; he has had very many as 
 good or better at his own table in subsequent years. 
 
 During our stay on the island we spent the best part 
 of at least one whole day upon the moors. Taking a 
 light luncheon with us, and making an early start, we 
 chose the route through the well-kept grounds and rich 
 woods of Stornoway Castle. What a contrast do these 
 full-grown trees, and vigorous shrubs, and brilliant flower- 
 beds present to the general character of the scenery 
 around ! They quite remind one of Mr Hanbury's 
 famous grounds at Mortola on the Riviera, where human 
 skill and Mediterranean sunshine have converted a steep, 
 stony hillside into a Paradise of rich verdure and shady 
 foliage. Here in the grounds of the Lewis Castle, skill ami 
 money have not been spared, and the result is wonder- 
 ful ; but, alas ! the marvellous sunshine is wanting. Once
 
 82 Scenes arid Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 through the woods we came upon the banks of the 
 Creid, or Creed, which falls into the Bay of Stornoway. 
 Its dancing waters rushed by as if in their haste they 
 had no time even to greet us. By and by, we came out 
 upon the road, which had made a wide circuit round the 
 Castle policies ; and very soon we left behind all sight of 
 either houses or trees. At a distance of less than three 
 miles from the town, there is no trace or evidence of 
 human life to be found save the road on which we walk, 
 and here and there a deep cutting of peat. Round and 
 round on every hand there lies a dreary dead expanse of 
 flat moorland — its long, low undulations thickly sprinkled 
 over with little lochs and tarns. Nothing bounds it 
 save its own level horizon, except to the far west and 
 south, where a long range of hills with many rounded 
 peaks rises like a rugged Galloway dyke against the sky. 
 The moor itself is thickly covered with banks and tufts 
 of heather, among which are scattered plants of bog 
 myrtle, and white tassels of cotton-grass like snow- 
 flakes which have wandered one by one from a passing 
 shower. As to feathered fowl there was scarce the flutter 
 of a wing. Only once that day, as we sat sketching a 
 brown loch with the mountain range as a distant back- 
 ground, a water fowl flew over the dark brown mirror, 
 scratching its smooth surface with its wing-tips, and 
 then sinking out of view in the motley heather. To 
 many, that far-stretching plateau, without tree or stream 
 or flower, might, notwithstanding the sunshine, seem 
 dreary even to desolation ; but it had a charm and even 
 fascination of its own. In its unbroken repose beneath
 
 The Island of Lewis. 8 
 
 d 
 
 the sunlight ; in its fulness and warmth of colour ; in its 
 wealth of waters, like bright coins upon its bosom ; in 
 its long undulations like far-off Atlantic rollers ; and in 
 its western fence of hill tops, which show in brilliant 
 pink at the setting of the sun, the moorland has beauty 
 under its tameness, and variety under its sombre surface. 
 What gorgeous sunsets have been mirrored in these flat 
 sheets of water ! What conflicts of quivering lights has 
 the belated traveller seen in that northern sky ! Round 
 about these tarns have the sportive fairies chased one 
 another, and when wearied have o-athered in a circle to 
 sing the happy chorus : 
 
 " By the moon we sport and play ; 
 With the night begins our day ; 
 As we dance, the clew doth fall ; 
 Trip it - , little urchins all, 
 Lightly as the nimble bee, 
 Two by two, and three by three, 
 And about go we, and about go we." 
 
 During that very day on which we visited the moor 
 of Arnish, we had a most satisfying experience of the one 
 incurable misery of the Lews. The atmosphere was per- 
 vaded with that peculiar luminosity, which often ac- 
 companies calm and heat, and as a consequence we were 
 assailed from morning till night by multitudinous clouds 
 of tiny midges. The common house fly, as we all know, 
 displays much activity and bravery when you lie down 
 to steal an after-dinner nap ; but for persistency and 
 brazen impudence, he must hide his diminished head in 
 presence of the midges. It is notoriously very difficult 
 to estimate numbers. Even the most cautious and
 
 84 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 experienced are apt to form too high an estimate of a 
 crowd. On the Arnish road we had the same difficulty 
 to face ; for we had to deal with a largely attended 
 public meeting, and the crowds came and went con- 
 tinually. Still, I do not hesitate to say, that within a 
 radius of say ten yards round about us, the number of 
 the midges was at least equal to the present population 
 of the Chinese Empire, whatever that may be. How 
 many we slew with our hands; how many we swallowed; 
 how many committed suicide before our eyes on our oil 
 canvasses, it is impossible to say ; but one strange fact 
 impressed us greatly. As the hours went by, we could 
 detect no diminution whatever, not even of a single 
 midge, in the myriad hosts of our assailants. Perhaps 
 travellers who come after us may be able to confirm this 
 experience by their own. 
 
 At this point 1 am tempted to make a confession in 
 order to follow it up with an explanation regarding the 
 midges. I suppose every young man of average ability 
 or less has been tempted once at least to " commit 
 poetry," though he generally hides his sin. Once at 
 least in my early days, I perpetrated a few verses, which 
 start to memory in connection with the midges. Under 
 a certain influence, which I shall not name or define, I 
 promised to give up smoking for several months. That 
 same nio-ht I sat down and wrote " An Address to his 
 Divorced Spouse by a Disconsolate Widower " — my pipe 
 being the spouse, and I the disconsolate. Fortunately, 
 I can only remember the first and last two verses ; but 
 here they are —
 
 The Island of Lezuis. 
 
 " My darling pipe ! a long adieu ! 
 No more, alas ! 'twixt me and you 
 
 The happy times of yore ; 
 The sweet acquaintanceship we had, 
 The many hours you made me glad, 
 
 Are gone for evermore. 
 
 " Farewell, the deep and dreamy joy, 
 Farewell, the calm without alloy, 
 
 Which thou wert wont to bring ! 
 With no regret to rack my heart, 
 With no remorse from thee I part, 
 
 And o'er thy grave will sing ! 
 
 " A long farewell ! a glad farewell ! 
 Bravely I tear away the spell 
 
 Around my heart that grew. 
 Thou horrid weed ! avaunt with speed 
 So purely vile, so full of guile, 
 
 A long, a last adieu ! " 
 
 I have only quoted these verses to confess that after all 
 it was not a " long," neither was it a " last," adieu ; and 
 for that I was duly and truly thankful on the " day of 
 the midges." Nothing but clouds of tobacco smoke 
 cooled their ardour for an instant, and I was very happy 
 indeed that I had broken the above poetical vows into a 
 thousand shivers many a long day before. Even ladies, 
 in such a time of distress, do not object to have a puff 
 or two in their very faces. So true is the old adage, 
 that circumstances alter cases. 
 
 As I have alluded to one source of misery in Lewis, I 
 may also mention another, not altogether wanting, as 
 my readers will remember, in the region of Loch Duich. 
 Generally speaking, you need not trouble to take
 
 86 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 umbrellas to the island, and 1 shall tell you why. 
 To put the matter in few words, it is this : if it's fair 
 in Lewis, it's fair ; if it rains, it rains. This may seem 
 very simple, and even trite ; but many pregnant truths 
 are so. If it's fair, you need no umbrella ; if it rains, no 
 umbrella yet invented will keep you dry, so you had better 
 stay indoors. Even a London bus-driver, with his red 
 mushroom overhead, would be soaked to the skin in 
 rather less than ten minutes. But all has not yet been 
 told. Probably the climate is, on the whole, not much 
 different from what it used to be, say, fifty years ago. A 
 worthy clergyman tells us that it was then very damp. 
 Here are his very words : " The dampness of the air is such 
 that, in rooms wherein fires are not constantly kept, the 
 walls emit a hoary down of a brinish taste, resembling- 
 pounded saltpetre when brushed off. The climate is an 
 enemy to polished iron aud to books. Fire-irons rust in 
 the space of twenty-four hours without constant fire; and 
 books are covered with a greyish-yellow mould, unless 
 frequently wiped." How great is the temptation to 
 moralise which these words present! One reflection only 
 shall I put on record. What a mercy for him that Beau 
 Brummel never lived in Stornoway ! You remember 
 how he complained that he had caught a cold by sleep- 
 ing one night in the same room with a damp stranger. 
 In what condition would he be found, if alive at all, 
 after a night among books and fire-irons in the Island of 
 Lewis % 
 
 Another reflection, and then we may pass from this 
 theme. How strong and hardy must the natives them-
 
 The Island of Lewis. Sy 
 
 selves be to reach manhood and womanhood under such 
 conditioDS ! This exceptional vigour and vitality explains 
 many things. No wonder, for example, that Birt, who 
 visited the Highlands in 1725, speaks of seeing dark 
 patches, each of something like human shape, among the 
 wreaths of snow. They were simply the spots where 
 the clansmen had lain over night. No wonder, also, 
 that they have shown such endurance and prowess in 
 war. From my boyish days 1 have been amazed, many 
 a time and oft, at a certain statement in an old ballad- 
 sono\ which describes the battle of Harlaw in 1411. It 
 was a desperate and prolonged conflict between High- 
 landers and Royal troops, in which the former were 
 undoubtedly victorious at the end. What I want you 
 to note, however, is the duration of the battle, for, so far 
 as I am aware, it is without a parallel in history — 
 
 " This fecht began on Monanday 
 By risin' o' the sun ; 
 An' on Saturday at twal o'clock, 
 Ye'd scarce ken wha wud wun." 
 
 Think of the " staying powers " there displayed ! Since 
 I have visited Lewis, and made acquaintance with midges 
 and damp, I have ceased to wonder at the protracted 
 strup-o'le, or at the final triumph of the western islanders. 
 It may be interesting at this point to offer some 
 remarks as to ways of courtship and customs of marriage 
 in some of the remoter parts of Lewis. I have said 
 courtship, but I daresay many will be disposed to say 
 that what I am to describe does not deserve that inter-
 
 88 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 esting name. Iu outlying districts of the island, 
 marriages do not always arise from love, nor are they 
 preceded by long or sweetly - protracted advances on 
 the part of the young man toward the young lady. The 
 whole matter is, to a large extent, one of business or 
 convenance. It hinges very much on the all-important 
 question whether the lady is an adept in handling and 
 beariuo: the "creel." This is of course due to the fact 
 that the said article plays an active part in many 
 operations of daily life. It is used to carry out to the 
 fields the piled-up manure-heap of the byre — an annual 
 piece of work ; to carry loads of peats from the moors ; 
 to bring great burdens of seaweed from the shore ; to 
 convey food to the cattle in the airidh, or green shealing 
 among the hills ; and for many other purposes besides. 
 Hence arises the high value set upon the ability to work 
 the creel. A young man's courtship very often originates 
 with his parents. An elderly man on some suitable 
 occasion addresses his spouse after this fashion (in 
 Gaelic of course, but I give the substance in Eng- 
 lish) : 
 
 " Well, Maggie, you have always been a good and 
 faithful wife to me. I am afraid, however, that you are 
 not so strong as you once were. Your diligence and 
 industry with the creel have broken down your strength. 
 You deserve some measure of relief and rest. We must 
 ask our son Donald to get married, and his wife will 
 take the heavy burdens off your shoulders." 
 
 Then the guidman and his wife discuss over the fire 
 what fair buxom maiden would be a suitable bride for
 
 The Island of 'Lewis. 89 
 
 the excellent young man Donald. Half the robust girls 
 of the neighbourhood pass in review before their minds. 
 By-and-bye Donald himself is informed of his parents' 
 ideas ; and whatever his personal feelings may be, lie 
 considers it to be his duty to exercise self-denial, and to 
 please his father and mother. The next step is to order 
 a bottle of whisky from Stornoway ; and several days 
 may elapse before its arrival. When the liquor has 
 come, the old man and his son wend their way to the 
 dwelling of the young woman who is first-favourite. The 
 bottle is stowed away out of sight. For a time they 
 chat and gossip pleasantly with the family, and by-and- 
 bye the purpose of their visit is disclosed. The girl's 
 parents may be well pleased, perhaps even flattered ; but 
 she herself may be coy and reluctant. Perhaps the pro- 
 posal has come upon her as a sudden surprise, and she 
 does not like frankly to say, even to her mother, that she 
 would require a few days to think the matter over. If 
 any signs of hesitation thus appear, Donald and his father 
 consider that their proposal is rejected, and at once rise 
 to leave the house. They wish the inmates good-night, 
 and enjoy a little malicious satisfaction in thinking how 
 sorry the poor folks will be at the loss of a possible dram. 
 Once outside, the father and son hold a hurried consulta- 
 tion, and soon decide to visit another dwelling. On this 
 second occasion also some unpropitious element from the 
 side of parents or daughter may mar the success of their 
 quest. Once more they bid a disappointed farewell, and 
 leave the house behind. One mio-ht imagine that these 
 failures would damp their spirits, and induce them to 
 
 F
 
 90 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 turn their steps homewards ; but it is not so. The daunt- 
 less bravery which has served the old man in good stead 
 during many a difficulty and danger at sea, does not fail 
 him in present straits. Addressing his son, who is 
 perhaps a little dejected, he says, 
 
 " Donald, lad, we must not let this business fall 
 to the ground. We left home for a special purpose, and 
 we must not return to confess ourselves beaten. Come 
 along with me to Neil M'Leod's house. Mary is the 
 flower of his family, and if she consents, you, Donald, 
 will get a good wife, and your mother a splendid helper 
 for the field and the moss and the cattle." 
 
 This time their fond hopes are realised. Mary had 
 fled when she discovered their errand ; but her mother 
 draws her from her hiding-place. The young lady's 
 scruples are overcome by maternal persuasions, and she 
 consents to have Donald as her husband. Then at last 
 the bottle is produced, and amid much cordial good 
 cheer arrangements are made for an early wedding. 
 
 The marriage day is a great occasion. Omitting the 
 mere ceremony, let me mention some other features of 
 the gathering. There are gradations of honour and of 
 treatment among the company. If there is a room-end 
 in the house, that contains the inner and upper circle. 
 Among these select guests may be numbered a few of the 
 elders of the kirk, the schoolmaster, if he is popular, and 
 those friends who have come from greatest distances. The 
 table is adorned with plates, forks, and knives, which 
 have been borrowed for the occasion. Here, too, amonsf 
 other specialties, are some loaves of bread and a stack
 
 The Island of 'Lewis. 9 1 
 
 of broad barley scones. In this room also is deposited 
 the jar of whisky, which is under the absolute control of 
 the master of ceremonies. It is kept in the bed, and is 
 guarded by two or three persons, who sit upon the edge 
 of the coverlet. Out of the jar there is poured a sufficient 
 quantity of the pure stuff for the wants of the favoured 
 company in this best room. Then the jar is filled up 
 with water, perhaps from some dirty pool near the house. 
 Thus replenished, it is sent, with much show of liberality, 
 to those outside the select circle. A second party is 
 gathered in the common room or kitchen, in the centre 
 of which the peat fire is burning gloriously. Under a 
 smoky canopy of blue, the guests arrange themselves 
 around the walls. They are provided with bowls or other 
 convenient vessels of a miscellaneous kind out of which 
 to sup their food. There are, of course, large piles of 
 barley scones, while the chief delicacy in this compart- 
 ment is a substantial quantity of beef cut up into minute 
 fragments of various shapes, as if intended for a dish of 
 hash. This "piece de resistance is committed to the care 
 of young women, who dig their fingers into the masses 
 of meat, and distribute them here and there in handfuls, 
 keeping up all the while a running fire of joke and 
 banter with the lads of the company. Still lower as to 
 the degree of attention paid to them, are a third class, 
 who dare not intrude upon the other two, but are allowed 
 to shift as best they can for themselves. They may locate 
 themselves in the barn ; or, if there be no barn, on the 
 manure-heap between the kitchen and the cows, and in 
 either case are well content. They get food of a quality
 
 92 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 superior to any they indulge in at home, and even the 
 adulterated whisky is to them quite a luxury. 
 
 Even on these high occasions, instrumental music is 
 seldom employed, being accounted sinful in no ordinary 
 degree. This is largely due to the influence of one 
 popular preacher, who a generation ago denounced 
 and resisted the practice. Even to this day, tender 
 consciences are afraid to allow or countenance the 
 use of the fiddle or bagpipe at marriage festivities. 
 The guests have dancing, however, and a pleasant 
 musical accompaniment as well. The young girls 
 sing songs, usually duets, of native composition, 
 and these are set to tunes which suit the various 
 steps of the lively exercise. By many the effect is 
 thought quite equal to the strains of the fiddle. I 
 have heard of a young man of excellent moral character, 
 who could play the concertina and tin whistle, and was, 
 therefore, much in request at weddings. Even he and 
 his instruments were, however, condemned by the 
 "straitest sect," and fell into disrepute. Not even in 
 the west of Lewis can these prejudices and absurdities 
 live much longer. 
 
 Let me add one word more to connect the beginning 
 with the end of this matrimonial theme. In journals 
 and magazines there have been lively discussions of late 
 years on the question, Is Marriage a failure ? The people 
 of Lewis make an important contribution to the con- 
 troversy. They offer a practical test, which they 
 themselves apply ; but, alas ! only to one sex. Public 
 judgment on the merits of a wife is entirely suspended
 
 The Island of 'Lewis. 93 
 
 until after the birth of her first child. If within a week 
 from that event she is able to handle and bear the creel 
 like any of her neighbours, then the husband is congratu- 
 lated, for his marriage is no failure. If she fails to come 
 up to the creel standard within the allotted time, then 
 the man becomes an object of pity and condolence ; he 
 has made a blunder which can never be repaired. In 
 the latter case, the words of the poet may be applied — 
 
 " Thus grief still treads upon'the heels of pleasure, 
 Married in haste, we may repent at leisure." 
 
 Before we close this chapter, there are three classes of 
 the ancient inhabitants of Lewis of whom I should like 
 to say a few words. I shall do little more than mention 
 the first two ; but of the third I must speak with some 
 fulness. 
 
 The first class is, of course, the] sweet " fairies," or 
 " guid folk " — fewer far than once [they were, and far 
 more shy of human society. There are many theories to 
 account for their diminution and retreat, but on these I 
 have no time to dwell. That they were well known and 
 often seen in days gone by is attested by the poet who 
 sings : 
 
 " As when a shepherd of the Hebrid Isles, 
 Placed far amid the melancholy main, 
 (Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles, 
 Or that aerial beings sometimes deign 
 To stand embodied, to our senses plain) 
 Sees on the naked hill or valley low, 
 The whilst in ocean Phcebus dips his wain, 
 A vast assembly moving to and fro, 
 Then all at once in air dissolves the wondrous show."
 
 94 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Another class, once common enough, but now rarely 
 to be seen, were the Roman Catholic " sisters " or 
 " nuns." Their residences — all now in ruins — are 
 scattered here and there over the island ; and are called 
 in Gaelic, " Teagh nan callichan dhu " — " the houses of 
 the old black women." It would appear that their 
 ascetic life is not popular in this thoughtless generation. 
 I should not like to say that the native young ladies go 
 so far as their giddy sister who sang — 
 
 " I love to go a-shopping, I love fashionable clothes, 
 I love music, and dancing, and chatting with the beaux ; 
 So I won't be a nun, no, I shan't be a nun, 
 I'm so fond of pleasure, that I cannot be a nun ; " 
 
 but their ideas tend more in that direction than did those 
 of " the old black women." The young ladies of Stor- 
 noway take in The Queen and the Lady's Pictorial, 
 play lawn tennis, and are as sprightly as " The Princess 
 of Thule " herself. 
 
 The third class of beings are, strange to say, modern 
 as well as ancient. They are called " Fir Chreig," or the 
 false men. You ask, Who or what are these ? They are 
 remarkable standing; stones of venerable asre, and are 
 uamed the " false men " because of their fancied resem- 
 blance, perhaps in mist or darkness, to men of large 
 stature. They might produce a " false " impression to 
 that effect on certain persons in certain states of mind. 
 But now to sober description. 
 
 At Callernish in Loch Roag, on the west coast of Lewis, 
 may be seen a very remarkable group of these standing 
 stones. As specimens of their kind, they are second only
 
 The Island of Lewis. 95 
 
 to Stonehenge or Stennis in Orkney. They occupy a 
 gentle eminence near by the shore, and are visible from a 
 great distance round about. They have one or two quite 
 unique features, which are worthy of special attention 
 and study. To begin with, these stones are not simply 
 a circle, as many such groups are, but a circle and cross 
 in combination, with some traces of a wide, surrounding 
 trench. The circle consists of large, rough, flat-sided 
 stones, 14 in number, with another central stone, 
 15 feet high, which has been likened, not inaptly, to a 
 ship's rudder. At the base of the central block were 
 found traces of an old altar or table. This circle of stones 
 lies over the intersection of the arms of a gigantic cross. 
 The long arm, now some 400 feet from end to end, 
 appears once upon a time to have extended as far as 600 
 feet. It consists of a double row of stones, most of 
 which have fallen, but many are still erect. The shorter 
 or cross arm consists of a single row of stones, and ex- 
 tends to some 200 feet in length. Originally there were 
 probably more than 60 stones, but not more than 50, 
 standing or fallen, can now be found. The blocks are 
 all of gneiss, and their transportation and erection must 
 have been a work of immense labour. Stately and sad, 
 lonely, yet defiant, they stand in rank on that bare knoll, 
 whose base is washed by Atlantic waves. 
 
 There is little doubt that these standing stones are a 
 monument of the ancient Druids. These were the 
 priestly caste among the old Gauls and Britons, and 
 taught a religion in which the immortality of the soul 
 and human dependence were prominent elements. But
 
 96 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 the Druids were not only priests ; they were philosophers, 
 holding kindred views to those of Pythagoras ; scientists, 
 poring deeply into the mysteries of astronomy, geography, 
 and other branches of learning ; and judges, expounding, 
 administering, and enforcing the law. Groves of oak 
 were their favourite retreats, and they held the misletoe 
 in peculiar veneration, as an image of man whose life 
 is wholly dependent on that of Another stronger than 
 himself. Whenever that plaut was found, a priest, 
 dressed in white robes, cut it off with a golden knife, 
 and two bulls were sacrificed on the occasion. The 
 chief priest, whose office was not hereditary but elec- 
 tive, exercised supreme authority for life ; and those 
 who sought admission to the order must pass through a 
 novitiate of twenty years. The ponderous megalithic 
 remains, which we now see in France and Britain, show 
 their skill in mechanical art, and raise many questions as 
 to the design and use of such erections. To me at least 
 it seems most likely that these groups of stones served 
 many and varied ends. They may have been used for 
 worship, for instruction, for courts of justice, and even 
 for the settlement of public questions. In any case they 
 are impressive monuments of a far past age, and of a 
 remarkable order of men. 
 
 We left the island of Lewis with real regret. There 
 was much to be seen for which we found no time ; and 
 many known spots among which we would fain have 
 lingered. When the hour of departure came, we found 
 that the island and its people had taken a firmer hold of 
 our interest and sympathies than we at first suspected.
 
 The Island of Lewis. 97 
 
 This was by no means a unique or rare experience, for 
 young men and maidens are said to have felt it when 
 about to part. 
 
 " How oft — if, at the court of love, 
 Concealment is the fashion, 
 When ' How d'ye do ' has failed to move, 
 ' Good-bye ' reveals the passion."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ASSYNT IN SUTHERLAND. 
 
 More than five and twenty years ago, my college friend 
 Ian and I projected for ourselves a summer tour round 
 the north-west and north of Scotland. The district was 
 not entirely unknown to us, but we wished to explore it 
 more thoroughly, and with that end in view we resolved 
 to go on foot. We met at Golspie ; spent the night at 
 the picturesquely-situated hotel near Dunrobin Castle, 
 and began our tramp together next morning. 
 
 The advantages of walking above all other methods 
 of enjoying the beauties and glories of nature are well 
 known and, I suppose, generally admitted. No doubt, 
 in the case of a tour on foot, you may suffer from occa- 
 sional fatigue ; you may be covered with dust up to the 
 knees, or soaked with rain through all garments, outer 
 and inner alike ; you may spend weeks among mountains 
 and valleys through which a demon express might run 
 in a few hours ; and your modest speed lays you open to 
 the companionship of clouds of midges, which dance up 
 and down with delight in the sunshine, and playfully 
 tickle your cheeks with their refined instruments of 
 torture. Without question, these are in a sense draw- 
 backs ; but how trifling they are ! Most gladly would
 
 ?/ lte-v 
 
 Q 
 
 < 
 
 J 
 
 w 
 a 
 
 H 
 
 t> 
 
 H 
 
 > 
 
 1/3 
 
 < 
 
 > 
 
 •4 
 
 C/3
 
 Assynt in Stitherland. 99 
 
 many of us bear each and all of them in their seasons to 
 escape the inanities, vulgarities, and arrogancies of the 
 modern trotting tourist. Moreover, see how much you 
 gain by walking ! You exercise and strengthen your 
 limbs, absorbing fresh air and health in the manner most 
 truly natural ; you talk with a congenial companion when 
 and what you please, without noise, interruption, or dis- 
 cord ; you can turn aside when you will to explore a 
 tempting little glen, or visit the grim ruins of an old 
 castle ; you may lounge for an hour by the way-side to 
 drink in one of nature's wonderful pictures, or spend a 
 little well-used time in making some rapid sketches; 
 and, moreover, you may probe the mind of a passing- 
 native for advice or information — both which are gener- 
 ally as hard to extract as they are worthless when 
 secured. If these be not attractions sufficient, there are 
 many more, high and humble alike. You may gather 
 materials for a great book or lofty-toned lecture ; you 
 can enjoy a cold bath in loch or river or bay ; you can 
 break your journey anywhere or at any time to spend a 
 day in fishing ; and you can stand still to light a cigar 
 without requiring to employ the hissing fumes of powder 
 and phosphorus. In short, you are sole and absolute 
 masters of yourselves, and may with impunity laugh to 
 scorn the ways of humanity at large. 
 
 To any who may contemplate a tour through the 
 Highlands on foot, I venture to offer two humble re- 
 marks. The first is a suggestion — the second a warning. 
 
 As we approached the end of our first day's journey, 
 my friend Ian complained that his feet were very hot
 
 ioo Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 and painful, if not already broken into blisters. Fortun- 
 ately the latter suspicion turned out to be unfounded ; 
 and we found a remedy for the existing evil on the 
 morrow — one known to many, but here recorded for the 
 benefit of the few. Be sure you carry in your knapsack 
 a piece of good soap. Meantime I shall not recommend 
 any in particular, but in view of a second edition I am 
 open to offers from advertisers, any consideration I may 
 ask being strictly moderate and reasonable. After start- 
 ing in the morning, stop at the first burn by the wayside, 
 take off your boots, plunge your feet — stockings and 
 all — into the water, then rub them all over with the soap 
 until the lather is like the foaming must, 
 
 " Round the white feet of laughing girls 
 Whose sires have marched to Rome." 
 
 When you have pulled on your boots again, do not mind 
 if the rich creamy froth oozes from the tops — (you bade 
 the young ladies Good-bye before you left) — you will 
 walk as on the softest wool for several hours. If by-and- 
 by the feet become hot again, you may lift some water 
 with your fingers and drop it into the sides of your boots, 
 by which process the fermentation will at once be 
 renewed. After a few days' walking, the feet will re- 
 quire no thought or care whatever. On our second 
 day's march, Ian adopted this plan, and covered his 
 thirty-five miles in perfect comfort. 
 
 My second remark must assume the form of a warn- 
 ing, and is specially intended for those who are students 
 of the classics, if they are zealous in the pursuit of learn-
 
 Assynt in Sutherland. 101 
 
 ing. The advice may also be useful to ardent and 
 generous friends of the parties whom I have just de- 
 scribed. What is the use of us in this world if we 
 cannot give others the benefit of our experience ? Here, 
 of course, I ought to quote " footprints on the sands of 
 time," &c. ; but I am merciful, and refrain. My counsel 
 is very simple ; it is simply this — Don't carry in your 
 knapsack an Analytical Hebrew Lexicon. Wae's me ! I 
 did it — did it to oblige my friend, who was very shortly 
 to face a college examination in that ancient tongue. 
 The idea was that he might study a little in the calm of 
 the evening, when the fatigues of the day were over, and 
 that my help and that of the Lexicon might be useful to 
 him. The experiment was not the success we expected. 
 My views on the subject have undergone a change. 
 After that time — in fact, more than a score of years ago 
 — I made up my mind, upon careful consideration, never 
 to undertake the same service again for Ian or anybody 
 else. It may seem severe to say it, but I believe it was 
 mistaken kindness on the part of Ian to give me the 
 opportunity of showing that real kindness to him. Many 
 and many a time did I groan in secret because of, not 
 the load of my learning, but — which is a very different 
 thing — my load of learning. On level ground I felt like 
 a poor hunchback bearing a load I could not see, while, 
 among big stones and lumpy heather, every jump and 
 jolt sent inwards through my shoulder blades a strong 
 sense of my personal virtue and benevolence. At the 
 same time, I must not be unfair to my friend. His 
 knapsack was less capacious than mine, and could not
 
 102 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 hold the Lexicon. Knowing this, Ian often offered to 
 carry mine for me, but I would not hear of his doing so. 
 The delight of piling up so much daily merit — for a 
 whole fortnight, remember — was too sweet to be lightly 
 thrown or bartered away. Must I here make a confes- 
 sion % Can it be that what I have said about my friend 
 has been written to propitiate him, for he writes in Lon- 
 don magazines, and wields a caustic pen ? In a few 
 weeks he may be the critic of these pages ! Oh Ian ! I 
 shall carry the Lexicon again for you ; yes, I shall, — if 
 you can find no one else. 
 
 Our first day's walk, from Golspie to Ardgay, was our 
 shortest — only some seventeen miles, if I remember 
 aright. From the second stage onward, our average was 
 about twenty -four — a distance which became easier every 
 day. The route we chose from Golspie — shorter far 
 than the present railway line — lay first between level 
 fields in high cultivation, then upward and still up- 
 ward over a broad mass of mountain and moor, like an 
 elephant's back with its steep, sloping sides. Until 
 Bonar Bridge is reached, there is not much either to 
 attract or interest in the outward features of the country. 
 Therefore I shall take the opportunity of gathering a few 
 jottings from the human side of things. 
 
 A friend of mine, whose name without leave asked and 
 granted I would not mention, is my authority for the 
 particulars which follow ; and in that respect he has no 
 superior in the northern counties. He had some occasion, 
 many years ago, to examine carefully certain of the old 
 ecclesiastical records of the parish of Creich, which lies
 
 Assynt in Sutherland. 103 
 
 at the inner end and on the northern shore of the 
 Dornoch Firth. Among much that "was valuable and 
 interesting, he found also some entries which were quaint 
 and amusing enough. These, very curiously, appear to 
 have occurred chiefly in matters of finance. Here are 
 a few specimens — not perhaps intended to serve the 
 purpose to which I venture to put them. 
 
 In an old Kirk-Session record, there is reference 
 made on one of the pages, to a "Collection for the 
 Northern Infirmity," but I forget the sum which had 
 been contributed. Prosaic persons of " vinegar aspect," 
 as Shakespeare puts it, might be foolish enough to suggest 
 that the last three letters should be " -ary ; " but such a 
 correction would be to destroy all the suggestiveness of 
 the entry, and put a damper on humour and speculation 
 alike. Pushing it aside, we proceed to investigate the 
 subject seriously. What is, par excellence, the Northern 
 Infirmity ? Is it pride, or craft, or greed, or some other 
 unknown and equally pardonable weakness ? Let the 
 conscience of every clansman who reads this page give 
 an answer. How strange too, that a collection should 
 be the remedy ! I have indeed heard of mental affec- 
 tions cured by material means. Many of us remember 
 the question and answer : 
 
 " O dear, doctor, what will cure love ? 
 The shaking of the hand, and the pulling off the glove ; " 
 
 but the case before us is still more remarkable ; for here 
 we have an " infirmity " for which the cure is — not 
 perhaps pounds, but at least shillings and pence. Yet
 
 1 04 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 here also we detect a touch of kinship between north 
 and south. Did not a wealthy churchman, many years 
 ago, seekins: a cure for some of Scotland's ecclesiastical 
 ailments, ask the question, "Will siller (money) dae't?' 
 Here in Creich we find indications of a similar medi- 
 cine ; let us hope that the remedy was ample and 
 effectual. 
 
 The next entry which I shall quote is very mys- 
 terious. Perhaps it is too much to hope that, after so 
 long a lapse of time, the true solution will ever be found, 
 it runs as follows : " To 2 men chasing i woman for 3 
 days, 7s. 6d." It is just possible that this may have 
 been an episode in some case of discipline, but every 
 logician knows that " may have been " is no evidence, 
 but rather a treacherous quicksand. We therefore leave 
 the whole case to the wisdom, individual or collective, of 
 those who read this book, but regret that we cannot 
 offer a prize for the best solution of the problem. 
 
 The third extract is at first sight the most remark- 
 able of all. Here is a simple and significant money 
 transaction : " To mending the minister's preaching, 
 Is. 6d." In this case again, a wide vista opens for inquiry. 
 We are left to conjecture as to those respects in which 
 the minister's preaching was defective, or had fallen into 
 disrepair. The extract relates to times when ministers 
 in the Highlands were surely " soond " enough in all 
 conscience, that is to say, before innovations were in- 
 vented, or Biblical criticism had ventured out of its den. 
 This, however, is not the chief point to be noticed. It 
 matters little, to us at least, what was wrong with the
 
 Assy nt in Sutherland. 105 
 
 minister's preaching- ; the great lesson for this generation 
 is to notice how easily and cheaply it was put to rights. 
 Let us suppose an advertisement on the same lines as the 
 account before us : "Preachers cured of their defects and 
 errors — only Is. 6d. per head." Just imagine what a 
 prospect! The modest sum of £75 would repair the 
 preaching of a thousand ministers, in the Free Kirk or 
 the Auld. But what — what is this ? No wonder I feel 
 angry now when a fairy imp on my shoulder hints that 
 the word "tent" should follow "preaching," and that 
 the reference is to the outdoor pulpit used at Communion 
 seasons. Does not orthodoxy compel us to object to this 
 suggestion ? "We all know what mischiefs and miseries 
 have arisen from words interpolated in ancient docu- 
 ments like these. 
 
 Our last quotation from these records is one on which 
 perhaps the least said the better, for the subject is a 
 painful one to all who know the doctrine of human 
 frailty. Here is the entry, but for obvious reasons I 
 
 suppress the name : "To for additional sinning 
 
 at the time of the communion." What can be said of 
 such a case ? An old woman once said that the doctrine 
 of human depravity was a "blessed doctrine, if we 
 would only live up to it ; " but here we have the difficulty 
 solved in a practical manner which leaves nothing to be 
 desired. It was once suggested to me that the word 
 " sinning " should be " singing ; ' but the person who 
 offered such a correction must have been a hot partizan 
 of the offender, or a man ignorant of human nature, or 
 perhaps both these in one. 
 
 G
 
 106 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 By the Bridge of Bonar, we crossed southward out of 
 Sutherlandshire into Ross-shire, and slept at Ardgay Inn, 
 about a mile from the march between the two counties. 
 Our aim in the first portion of our tour was to cross the 
 northern portion of Ross-shire from the German Ocean to 
 the Atlantic, and then to bend our steps northward along 
 the entire west coast of Sutherland. 
 
 The first part of this programme was a stiff piece of 
 work. The distance from Ardgay on the Dornoch Firth 
 to Ullapool on Loch Broom is not less than thirty-five 
 miles. For greater part of the way, we had no road 
 whatever ; and, with the exception of a few houses near 
 to either end, there was not a spot where we could rest 
 for the night. 
 
 Having duly observed the precept which promises to 
 make one " healthy, wealthy, and wise," we left Ardgay 
 on a fine fresh morning early in July. Behind us, and 
 beyond the winding reaches of the Dornoch Firth, the 
 sun had risen from his bed far out in the German Ocean, 
 and was spreading his warm brilliance lower and lower 
 down upon the hillsides. He always paints from the sky 
 downwards in the morning, and from the sea-level up- 
 wards in the evening. With joy we welcomed his grow- 
 ing light ; and we hoped by-and-by, our journey ended, 
 to see him draw his evening curtains about him over the 
 Atlantic waves. For some miles we passed through a 
 fertile strath, and then bending to the right, left the 
 Kirk and Manse of Croick behind us, and sallied forth 
 upon a wild wilderness of mountain and valley, beyond 
 which — somewhere on this side of Canada — lay our des-
 
 Assy nt in Sutherland. 107 
 
 tination for the night. What a day of stern and hard- 
 won enjoyment we had ! In among piles of mountains 
 we wended our way— here jauntily tripping down a 
 narrow glen, there scrambling upon hands and feet over 
 a projecting shoulder — at one time slipping and stumbling 
 among the sliding debris of a scree , at another pitching 
 and plunging among knee-deep banks of heather. For 
 miles and miles not a trace of humankind was to be seen 
 — not even a road to point the way on, or back, to 
 human society. How cheerfully did we dispense among 
 wilds so glorious, and under a sun so brilliant, with man 
 and commerce and art and all their petty belongings ! 
 Nature, sternly beautiful, charmingly grand, wrapped us 
 round body and soul in her sweet fellowship. Even life, 
 save in the soft mosses and shaggy heather, seemed 
 strangely absent. White masses of mist, as the sun 
 mounted high, rose from their couches in the bays of the 
 mountains, and fleecy fragments, 
 
 " Hanging so light, and hanging so high, 
 On the topmost ridge that looks up at the sky," 
 
 mounted up and hovered for a while over the spot where 
 they had rested. These seemed for a time to have life 
 and breath, but the growing sunshine melted them into 
 the strong blue of noontide, and ere long they were gone. 
 Nothing that appeared to live remained, save the coveys 
 of grouse which rose at times on our approach and 
 fluttered frantically away over the heather, or the drowsy 
 wild-bee straggling here and there among the purple 
 tufts. Most of all were we attracted and entranced by
 
 io8 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 the majestic and ever- changing forms of the mountains. 
 At every ascent and descent, at every bend to right and 
 left, at every minute's advance, changes grew before our 
 eyes. Conical peaks became ridges, while ridges again 
 mounted into cones ; smooth shoulders dropped into 
 frowning scars, and rounded summits became cleft into 
 mitres ; groups of mountain-tops scattered themselves 
 into chains ; and slopes which seemed to meet and cross 
 each other opened suddenly to disclose some sweet valley 
 between. Every hillside and hollow had its rivulet or 
 stream, each one bubbling or murmuring to its listening 
 banks — all bustling onward and downward to their un- 
 known destinies on the far-off coasts, while here and there 
 the nickering face of a loch hid their waters from view 
 for a while, as they rested from their rush and song. 
 
 Right in the heart of the mountains, not long after 
 mid-day, we had quite a little adventure. AVe arrived 
 at a stage in our journey where we did not know in what 
 direction to steer, whether straight forward over the 
 sloping spur of a hill, or down toward the left into a 
 broad green valley. We chose the latter course — chiefly 
 I daresay because it looked like a glen in which we might 
 find a human dwelling and ask for guidance. Perhaps 
 we were also attracted by the sight of the majestic Ben 
 Dearag — the red mountain — whose head, more than 
 3500 feet high, and the weighty epaulets on his shoulders 
 closed up the glen toward the south. At length we 
 came in sight of a cottage and outhouses nestling under 
 a hillside, with varied patches of cultivated ground in 
 front. No human beings were visible, except two young
 
 Assy lit in Sutherland. 109 
 
 girls who were busily hoeing turnips in a field, and to 
 them we resolved to make an appeal. "We soon found 
 that they knew no English, and the discovery was embar- 
 rassing to both parties. However, they laughed and we 
 laughed ; and all four were the better of the outburst. 
 Then I summoned up courage to try my Gaelic, and asked 
 the way to Ullapool, in reply to which we received most 
 copious directions. One of the girls pointed north, and 
 then west, and then south, described curves with her 
 hand in the air, directed her finger first to one side and 
 then to the other of a long lofty hill, and all the while 
 poured forth an eloquent torrent of Gaelic beneath which 
 my scanty knowledge of the language was hopelessly 
 submerged. As the best thing to do in the circum- 
 stances, we had another hearty and unanimous round of 
 laughter. 
 
 By this time an old man had appeared at the cottage 
 door, and was watching us with evident curiosity and 
 interest. He seemed to be askinp; himself " for what 
 strange cause " Ian and I had 
 
 " Sought those wilds traversed by few, 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu," 
 
 or some other authority. My friend suggested that we 
 should try him ; but I argued that, if the younger genera- 
 tion knew no English, it was hopeless to expect such 
 an attainment in a man far advanced in years. Still, 
 we resolved to make the experiment, for we were 
 desperate. If we found no one to set us on the right 
 route again, it was impossible to say where we might be
 
 1 1 o Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 landed, or what might happen, if we were overtaken by 
 darkness. So we approached the cottage and, greeting 
 the old man, I asked him, 
 
 " Have you any English ? ' 
 
 The corners of his mouth rose perceptibly ; his eyes 
 twinkled slily between their half-closed lashes, and he 
 startled us with the reply, 
 
 " Hoots, maun, 'a hae nae Gaulic ! " 
 
 Of course we were delighted, and soon found our- 
 selves on the best of terms with the old man. We told 
 him of the difficulty we had with the girls, and we had 
 his fullest sympathy. In fact, it is wel] for his good 
 name that I cannot now recall the highly spiced language 
 he used regarding them because of ignorance for which, 
 poor lassies ! they were not to blame. Our friend was a 
 shepherd from the Scotch side of the Cheviot Hills, and 
 he soon told us his story. Thirty years before, a wealthy 
 sheep farmer had induced him to come north and tend 
 the flocks over a wide " run " in these wilds ; but it was 
 very evident that he had not been, and never would be, 
 naturalized in central Koss. It grieves me to tell that 
 he was as blind as a mole to the glories of the mountain 
 scenery around him, and that he frankly avowed his 
 determination never to defile his lips with a single word 
 of "their abominable Gaulic." Even his young dogs, 
 though Highlanders by birth, were named after the 
 " Tyne " and the " Tweed." We enjoyed a long crack 
 with the shepherd, and before we parted he gave us suffi- 
 cient directions for the way. The truth was, we should 
 not have come down that glen at all ; but we were pleased
 
 Assynt m Sutherland. 1 1 1 
 
 rather than otherwise with the little episode into which 
 our blunder had led us. 
 
 For about ten miles from the shepherd's cottage 
 onwards, the route was fearfully rough, and not a little 
 toilsome. Again and again we were glad to sit down 
 and rest our limbs on some flat stone and smoke a pipe 
 the while. The Lexicon did not help or console me in the 
 smallest degree, nor did his high culture do anything for 
 my friend. Only bone and muscle were of any value. 
 To these trackless, weary, rugged miles, one might almost 
 apply the words of the Australian poet, 
 
 " Education and English polish are very unsaleable stuff, 
 The men we want in Melbourne must be sent out here in the rough." 
 
 Happily, whether like men "in the rough" or in a 
 polished state, we reached at last a " made " road, and 
 found ourselves only eight miles from UlLapool. It was 
 now near six o'clock, and we span along merrily to our des- 
 tination in less than two hours. The sun had made better 
 speed than we had done, for when we came in sight of 
 the sea, he was travelling far down the western sky, but 
 still looking out upon us from between purple folds of 
 cloud above and ragged golden banks below. Before 
 seeking the hospitality of friends, we washed our faces 
 and hands, first in the briny Atlantic, and then in a 
 noisy streamlet, which would perhaps not have been so 
 merry if it had known that it was rushing on to near 
 burial in the ocean. How soundly we slept that night, 
 serenaded by soft murmurs from the Atlantic surges ! 
 Not less cheerfully did we rise with the lark next 
 morning to resume our journey.
 
 1 1 2 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 The western shores of Sutherlandshire are deeply 
 indented, extremely tortuous in their windings, and 
 peculiarly rugged in contour. They form a base-line 
 to scenery wilder and grander than anywhere else in 
 Scotland, except among the Cuchullin hills in Skye. So 
 much may be said of that entire seaboard from the 
 borders of Koss-shire on the south to the storm-lashed 
 cliffs of Cape Wrath on the north. But the tie plus ultra 
 of that scenery lies in a wide circuit round Loch Assynt, 
 which we reached from Ullapool after a walk of twenty-four 
 miles. Take a stroll from the hotel at Inchnadamph a 
 few miles to the southward, and when you turn your face 
 toward the setting sun, what a panorama do you behold ! 
 
 Away to the south-west there rise sheer up from 
 the long sweeping undulations of a great plateau the 
 pyramidal peaks of Coulmore and Coulbeg — twin sisters 
 which rear their storm-beaten heads more than 2500 feet 
 in air. Between and behind them lies a third mountain- 
 top, Stack Polly, somewhat lower and quainter in form 
 than the other two. In bird's eye view, they must form 
 a triangle whose three sides are exactly equal in length. 
 Now turn and look straight to the westward. Lo ! there 
 are two lofty cone-like mountains, not yet worn down 
 into pyramids. The more westerly is Suilven, 2400 feet 
 high, its summit carved into a deep saddle-back ; the 
 other to the east is Canisp, or Canisb, nearly 2800 feet 
 high, the loftiest of all the five. Now, all these mountains 
 are not simply of similar, but of the same formation, and 
 they have their wonderful history more or less legibly 
 scribbled on their cheeks. Suffer me to tell it in a few
 
 Assynt in Sutherland. 1 1 3 
 
 hrief sentences ; it is well worth turning aside to tell 
 and to hear. 
 
 The under-lying formation on which all this district 
 rests is gneiss, which spreads out, like the sea after a 
 storm, in long, low waves, with damp, mossy hollows and 
 shallow tarns between. Over this flat-lying gneiss there 
 is built up layer upon layer of Old Eed Sandstone of the 
 Cambrian system, not less than four or five thousand 
 feet thick. In process of time, long, long ages gone by, 
 this solid table-land of sandstone has been ploughed up 
 and washed away, no one knows whither, by glacial 
 currents, but the mountain masses which I have named 
 refused to yield, and have stood their ground ever since. 
 These sturdy giants have seen all the thick beds of rock 
 swept clean away from between them, yet have them- 
 selves survived the icy floods. You can see on their 
 sides the layers of Cambrian rock like tiers of masonry ; 
 and if you run your eye from one to another, and 
 from that to another again, you can observe that 
 the lines on each are on a level with those of its 
 neighbours, because once upon a time they were parts 
 of one continuous bed. The process in all probability 
 occupied much the same number of years as the slow and 
 patient detrition of the Black Bock chasm, so that if you 
 feel yourself competent to name a figure in the one case, 
 you may venture to do the same in the other as well. 
 These stately cones and pyramids, with their frosted 
 heads, lie like a cluster of beads to the south of Loch 
 Assynt, but they do not exhaust the mountain glories of 
 the district. To the east and north of the loch, lofty and
 
 1 14 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 imposing heights crowd in upon its shores. Of these, 
 three mighty monarchs of rock command the attention 
 of the traveller, and demand special notice. 
 
 Enthroned above the eastern end of the loch sits the 
 double-headed Ben More, 3200 feet high, like Saul among 
 the people as compared even with the giants around him. 
 Further to the north rises the grim Glasven, 2500 feet 
 high, with tiny lochs nestling close under its beetling 
 sides. To the west again, over against these two, lies the 
 huge, shapeless mass of Quinaig, in many respects the 
 most wonderful of them all. If it were possible to look 
 down upon Quinaig, as the eagle does, from the upper 
 sky, we should see her three summits beneath us like the 
 famous triple symbol of the Isle of Man. The highest 
 spur is 2600 feet high ; the other two are very little 
 lower and viewed from beneath look not less lofty. The 
 mountain, like another Janus, presents one face to Loch 
 Assynt, lying at its feet in the sunshine, another to 
 Lochs Cairnbawn and Glencoul, which crouch low beneath 
 its northern and eastern shadows. Ben Quinaig is of the 
 same formation as the five heights which run southward 
 to meet the Ross-shire mountains, but she differs from 
 them in that she wears a white cap of quartz, which 
 sparkles bravely in the sunlight. 
 
 Amid this galaxy of great peaks, often wreathed in 
 whirling vapour, lies Loch Assynt, like a long leaf 
 tapering at either end, its waters rich in the noble trout, 
 and its shores fringed with the graceful mountain-loving 
 birch. Near its eastern end stand the picturesque ruins 
 of Ardvreck, or Advrock, Castle, the " bannered home "
 
 Assyiit in Sutherland. 1 1 5 
 
 for many a clay of the brave Macleocls, and in later years 
 a stronghold of the Mackenzies. Many a fight and feud 
 have these now lonely walls seen ; many a romance lies 
 buried in the story they refuse to tell. But I shall 
 return presently to these old haunts of chivalry and 
 cruelty. 
 
 On our arrival at the homely hotel of Inchnadamph, we 
 had abundant food, first for the wants of the outer 
 man, then for the higher exercises of reflection and con- 
 verse. Our minds and hearts were filled with the 
 inspiration of the gorgeous scenery around us. No 
 wonder, therefore, that I must add a word of con- 
 fession. This was the second evening on which the 
 precious Lexicon was allowed undisturbed repose. Ian 
 did not seem at all guilty or ashamed when, at bed- 
 time, I mischievously showed him a small corner 
 peeping out of my knapsack. 
 
 During a stroll after our hearty evening repast, we 
 took the road which skirts the northern shore of Loch 
 Assvnt. The fast-declinino; sun was throwing slanting 
 bands of gorgeous light down upon the glistening waters. 
 We reached by-and-by the ruins of Edderachalda, huge, 
 ungainly, roofless, with double gables and a hideous 
 chimney stalk. The Mackenzies built it for a residence 
 nearly two centuries ago, but it was destroyed by fire 
 some fifty years later, No one knows who the incendiary 
 was, but he almost deserves a monument to his memory. 
 The only pity is that, when he set about the destruction 
 of the ungainly mass, he was not able to sweep its very 
 remains out of sight. No wonder that Quinaig every
 
 1 1 6 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 day frowns down upon them in his anger. By way of 
 contrast, how attractive are the stately ruins of Ardvrock, 
 looking; us straight in the face as we cross the narrow 
 neck of the peninsula on which they stand ! It was 
 without doubt the scene of 
 
 " Many a wassail wild and deed of blood ; " 
 
 but now there is not a cat to mew, nor a cock to crow, 
 in the fortress of the Clan Macleod. The castle was 
 originally three storeys high, and was surmounted by a 
 lofty circular tower. In 1650, the famous Marquis of 
 Montrose was taken prisoner by Neil Macleod, the Chief 
 of Assynt, and imprisoned within these walls. He had 
 been signally defeated at Fearn, in the east of Ross-shire, 
 and so his singular career of victory came to an end. Ac- 
 companied by a young officer named Sinclair, Montrose 
 fled into the mountainous wilds of Sutherland, and there 
 suffered many privations. It is even said that at one time 
 his hunger was so great that he was fain to eat his gloves. 
 After a short confinement in Ardvrock, Macleod surren- 
 dered his prisoner to the authorities, w 7 ho had offered a 
 handsome reward for his capture. The only recompense 
 which the Chief of Assynt received was forty bolls of 
 oatmeal. Surely the prize was worth a richer reward. 
 
 Dark and wild as are the ruins of Ardvrock, there is a 
 singular subtle charm in their loneliness. Do not the 
 wasting walls and crumbling corners seem to say, " We 
 have no part or lot in this age ; let us alone to sink 
 down and die ; then perhaps Mother Earth will cover 
 our graves with grassy sod ? We cannot tell our secrets ;
 
 Assynt in Sutherland. 1 1 7 
 
 they are not for modern ears. The clan is broken ; the 
 chiefs and bards are gone ; the days of romance and glory 
 are past, and we are fain to follow." Somehow we love 
 even the evidences of age on these blighted battlements ; 
 the very wounds and scars inflicted by the hand of time 
 delight both the eye and the heart. On the evening of 
 our visit, every aspect of nature invited us to linger and 
 enjoy. To the west rose the fast-purpling hills between 
 us and the sea ; at our feet lay the calm loch, with a 
 heaven on its face looking up to its birthplace above ; 
 northward, the nearer faces of Quinaig mounted upward 
 to the heavens — the sun painting rainbows of colour on 
 their scars ; behind us, the steep sides of a narrow, craggy 
 glen sloped upward to the ponderous swelling mass of 
 Ben More standing aloof as in proud disdain from the 
 society of meaner mountains and of men. 
 
 We returned to our hotel through multitudinous mists 
 of midges ; and were thankful to escape within doors. 
 On the road in front, two gallant pipers strode to and 
 fro, discoursing sweet music, and evidently proud of 
 their gifts. We thought it might be said of them in 
 flexible French, as some one said of someone else, that 
 they played fort Men and at the same time bien fort. 
 We had material enough for many a fantastic dream in 
 the sights and sounds, the fights and fairies, the men and 
 midges, of which our waking hours had been full. If in 
 Assynt anyone is troubled with night-mare, the thought 
 of these mighty mountain-masses creeping over him and 
 crushino- him down to the earth's centre would surely 
 make his misery tolerably, or if you like, intolerably,
 
 1 1 8 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 complete. Some such idea as this once moved the fond 
 pupil of a geologist to poetry. He greatly loved and 
 admired his teacher, and thus expressed his devotion : 
 
 " Where shall we our great Professor inter, 
 
 That in peace may rest his bones 1 
 If we hew him a rocky sepulchre, 
 
 He'll rise and break the stones, 
 And examine each stratum that lies around, 
 For he's quite in his element underground." 
 
 The Gaelic word " Assynt " is a compound, and signi- 
 fies " out and in." If so, like almost all place-names in 
 the Highlands, it is most fitting and felicitous. Indeed 
 it applies admirably, not only to the district so called, 
 but to the entire west coast of Sutherland from the 
 borders of Ross-shire to Cape Wrath itself. Looking for 
 instance at the map, we can still see in the endless con- 
 tortions of the shore, as we used to do when children, the 
 figures and profiles of men and beasts — not one of them 
 in any degree like to any other. There are brows flat 
 and high on the headlands ; eyes large and small in the 
 lochs and tarns ; noses Roman, Grecian, retrousse, on the 
 rocky capes ; bay-mouths wide and narrow, open and 
 shut, drooping in sadness, curving upward in joy ; chins 
 which are impudent, and chins which are retiring ; 
 cheeks smooth and furrowed, shaven and bearded ; and 
 in all these you can clearly see, if you have any discern- 
 ment at all, grumpy grandfathers and grinning fools, 
 laughing children and scolding dominies, gaping croco- 
 diles and snarling monkeys, weeping maids and wistful 
 lovers. The surface of the country inland from the shore 
 is extremely varied, rugged, and wild, but full of interest
 
 Assy itt in Sutherland. 119 
 
 and charm for healthy and buoyant natures. If you be- 
 lieve, as I for one do, that in order to see the beauties and 
 taste the sweets of land and water and sky there is needed 
 not only sight but insight, which is something far more 
 and better, you will find at every turn of the highway 
 new matter of surprise and admiration. Island-studded 
 bays like Badcall ; picturesque retreats like Scourie ; 
 deeply-indented lochs like Laxford — the " Fiord of sal- 
 mon ; " distant views of a mountain-chain of peaks ; 
 long successions of rocky knolls crowned with brushwood 
 and heather : these are a few of the elements which go 
 to make up the panorama between Assynt and the Kyle 
 of Durness. When at length you look down over 
 the brindled cliffs of Cape Wrath ; when you behold 
 its rugged masses of God-made masonry ; wdien you hear 
 the thunder-throb of the waves in its vaulted caverns ; 
 when you gaze to south and west and north over 
 the hungry heaving sea ; you can but look and 
 marvel and adore. You are indeed made of inferior 
 mettle if you do not find your surprise grow into an 
 inspiring wonder and your admiration into a solemn 
 ecstasy. 
 
 More than fifty years ago, there lived in the neighbour- 
 hood of this stern, stormy headland one who because of 
 her robust Christian character was called " the woman of 
 the great faith." Perhaps the religious element in her 
 nature was, like the beautiful seaweed, 
 
 ' f Nursed by the ocean and rocked by the storms." 
 
 On one occasion, when travelling southward on the top
 
 1 20 Scenes imrf Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 of a stage-coach, she entered into friendly conversation 
 with a gentleman, who soon discovered that his com- 
 panion was no ordinary woman. At length he took the 
 liberty of asking whence she had come and whither she 
 was going. Choosing for the nonce to answer in a 
 spiritual and allegorical sense, she gave the beautiful 
 reply, " I have come from Cape Wrath, and I am going 
 to the Cape of Good Hope." 
 
 During our journey from Cape Wrath along the north 
 coast toward Caithness, my friend Ian and I spent one 
 memorable nioht under the roof of a well-to-do and 
 
 O 
 
 hospitable farmer. It grieves me to say that his extensive 
 sheep ground was once dotted over with the loved homes 
 of many families, long since burnt out, or driven out, or 
 perhaps both, from their native straths and hillsides. 
 These things were done in the dark eviction days of 
 Sutherland. Even the natural tokens of their presence 
 there at one period have been carefully and purposely 
 swept out of sight. Only here and there a few stones 
 or groups of grassy ridges indicate where crofter dwell- 
 ings once stood. An old woman, who had so been 
 driven from hearth and home, once revisited the scenes 
 of her early and. happy life. On her return from Suther- 
 land again, she was asked by some old neighbours what 
 she had seen. Filled with grief and fired with indigna- 
 tion, her reply was very significant, " I saw the raven's 
 nest in your old home, and dogs kennelled in the 
 minister's study." Happily, in Sutherland at least, 
 these days are long gone by — never, I trust, to re- 
 turn again. That policy of eviction was little in
 
 Assynt in Stitherland. 121 
 
 accordance with worldly wisdom — not to say justice or 
 lmmaDity. 
 
 When Ian and I approached the commodious farm- 
 house, we suspected at once that something unusual was 
 going on. When the front door was opened, we could at 
 once see and hear that the house was full of company. 
 On making this discovery, our immediate impulse was to 
 leave our cards and proceed upon our way. We had an 
 inn four miles behind us to which we might return, and 
 another only thirty miles before us (it was now sunset) 
 to which we might push forward. However, we were 
 not allowed to do either the one or the other. On beings 
 informed by the servant, the farmer himself at once 
 appeared and insisted that we should join the company 
 and stay over night. Some shift or other would be made 
 to provide us with sleeping room. 
 
 Well, stay the night we did, and it was a night ! The 
 company numbered from twenty to thirty, and a kindlier, 
 happier, merrier thirty — not to speak of winsomeness, 
 beauty, and the like — I had never met before and have 
 never met since. Music, dancing, supper, and parlour 
 pastimes stole away the hours unawares and it was early 
 morning before anyone thought of retiring. At length 
 we wished each other a good sleep all round — oh ! what 
 irony on the part of certain persons — and departed to our 
 several chambers. 
 
 Ian and I occupied a small bedroom together, while 
 two young gentlemen from Caithness shared the next 
 adjoining. We could hear each other's voices through 
 the wall. All of us were brimming over witii excitement.
 
 122 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 When my friend and I had closed the door, we sat down 
 to calm ourselves and discuss the events of the evening. 
 Possibly the ladies also came in for a share of comment, 
 but that I do not distinctly remember. All at once — 
 probably about 2 a.m. — we were startled by a wild, pro- 
 longed howl of pain from the next room. How loud and 
 shrill ! methinks I can hear it even now ! It must have 
 pierced every chamber and corner even of that com- 
 modious house. Most probably it awoke all the sheep 
 dogs outside and set them a howling also in sympathy or 
 defiance, for such is their wont in such a crisis. What 
 could it mean ? Burglary, murder, suicide, sudden 
 insanity, toothache, assault and battery, which was it, or 
 what ? We sprang together to our door only to find — 
 that we could not open it. Had an earthquake twisted 
 the side-posts or lintel ? We shouted to ask what was 
 the matter, but heard no voice in reply — only a faint, far- 
 off ripple of sound like the giggling of mermaids sporting in 
 the loch. At length our friends shouted through the 
 wall that they, too, were helpless ; they could not open 
 their door. Ere long, however, we discovered the reason. 
 Wicked hands — how true it is that there is much human 
 nature in us all! — had fastened the handles of the two 
 doors together with rope ; and therefore it was no wonder 
 that for a time we tugged and pulled in vain. At length 
 we were victorious ; we forced our door open a little, a 
 knife did the rest, and we rushed into our friends' room, 
 ready for ambulance work or any other form of aid which 
 might be needed. Then, in a few hasty, breathless 
 words, we heard from the lips of the sufferer himself the
 
 Assynt in Sutherland. 123 
 
 whole sad story. It was simply this. Before we retired, 
 some of the young ladies had visited our rooms, had 
 folded down the sheets, and had strewed our beds with 
 sharp prickly whins, chopped up small and delicately 
 sprinkled all over. After we had said good night, one of 
 the young gentlemen next door, rapidly undressing and 
 having almost reached a nude condition, had thrown 
 back the upper coverings and sprung in with a leap and 
 bound — to his pain and sorrow and shame. Despairing 
 and forbearing, I shall not attempt to describe either his 
 condition or his feelings ; happily for me, I did not share 
 in either, except by way of weeping sympathy. Any 
 readers who are themselves devoid of all imagination 
 must just be content and pass on. 
 
 Nor need I linger in detail over the sequel of my 
 story. Springing, each one of us, into a fair proportion 
 of our clothing, we sallied out most valiantly into the 
 lobbies and staircases. There all the rest of the company 
 were already gathered, and were discussing, in groups 
 here and there, the sad fate of the young man. As the 
 same doom was benevolently intended for us, Ian and I 
 joined the party of revenge. Our weapons were towels 
 well soaked in the ewers of water, and with these we 
 laid about us vigorously ; but I shall not go into further 
 detail. Very soon the lobbies were empty and dark, and 
 we retired from the field of battle. Before dawn the 
 house had sunk into stillness ; and that same morning, 
 long ere the sun peeped over the hills to see if we 
 were coming, we were off and away on our tramp toward 
 Caithness.
 
 124 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Perhaps it was well for us, on the night of the adven- 
 ture just recorded, that an excellent minister, who once 
 lived in this quarter of the world, was no longer in the 
 body. He might perchance have heard of our doings, 
 and come in upon us in the midst of our revelry. I can 
 conceive of no excuse we could have given, unless we 
 followed the example of our first father Adam, and laid 
 the blame on the other sex. No one could deny that the 
 ladies had of their own accord provoked the engagement. 
 Well, this worthy old man was a sworn enemy to 
 dancing. In this intense antipathy he had perhaps 
 some reason after all, for in his day and parish the 
 practice really seems to have become an abuse. The 
 natives, especially the young people, met frequently, 
 sometimes almost every night, in each other's houses, and 
 danced until morning dawned. This custom prevailed 
 even when there was no special occasion, such as a 
 marriage or a ball, for the revelry. 
 
 One nio;ht the minister heard some sounds about the 
 house, and, on going to find out what they were, dis- 
 covered that some one had assisted his two servant girls 
 out of a garret window, and that they were off, without 
 leave asked or obtained, to the dancing. What was to 
 be done % It vexed the old minister sorely to think 
 that some even of his own household should be act and 
 part in such scenes. Fortunately, that important func- 
 tionary the beadle, or church-officer, always in his own 
 esteem the second — or including the laird the third — 
 man in the parish, was within easy reach. Probably he 
 was also minister's man, and lived above the stable or in
 
 Assynt in Sutherland. 1 2 5 
 
 a cottage near by. To him his master fully confided the 
 story of his grief. In the same breath he ordered George, 
 for that was the beadle's name, to proceed at once to the 
 scene of wild gaiety and bring the lasses home without 
 foil and without delay. The faithful servant started on 
 his midnight errand with the very best intentions as to 
 doing his master's behests, but, alas ! for the frailty of 
 human nature, even in a beadle ! When George entered 
 the festive gathering to seek the wandering sheep, he 
 probably thought it would be no great sin to tarry a little 
 and see the fun. As often happens in such cases, this 
 delay was his undoing. The stirring notes of the fiddle 
 or bagpipe were more than he could resist. The old Adam 
 awoke within him, and what was the result ? Flinging 
 off his coat he plunged into the giddy whirl, and soon 
 forgot manse, minister, errand, and — what was worst of 
 all — his own high office, in the frantic wildness of his 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Meantime the minister, waiting and longing for the 
 return of George and the erring ones, at last grew im- 
 patient at the delay, and perhaps even suspicious as to 
 its cause. Thus it came to pass that, unable to bear the 
 suspense any longer, he himself issued forth into the 
 night, and, under a strong sense of duty, found his way 
 to the scene of action. Here I regret to say that 
 authentic details are wanting, but a little sober imagina- 
 tion will not lead us far wrong. Now, now, my gentle 
 reader, don't you begin to picture the good old minister 
 casting aside his upper garment like the beadle, and 
 himself tripping the " light fantastic toe." No such
 
 1 26 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 thing ; lie was double proof against so worldly a tempta- 
 tion ; and I cannot betray his good name even to make 
 the story more symmetrically complete. No, no ; when 
 he entered there must have been an abrupt hush, a 
 sudden paralysis of flying feet, an utter breakdown of 
 laughter and joke. Would not the fiddle subside with a 
 squeak, or the pipes die out in a wail ? Even the wild 
 orgies of Alloway Kirk did not more suddenly cease, 
 when Tarn o' Shanter commended the exertions of Cutty 
 Sark. 
 
 Finally, when the revellers were scattered, we can 
 picture the funeral-like procession home — the minister 
 stalking on in front, sad indeed, but so far satisfied — 
 the beadle and maids, silent and cowed, but probably 
 not less wicked in heart than before. 
 
 My friend and I tramped on our wandering way along 
 the north coast of Sutherland, and at length entered the 
 county of Caithness. After a brief stay in Thurso, we 
 paid a visit — neither the first nor last for either of us — 
 to John o' Groat's, the Land's End of the mainland of 
 Scotland. Thence we walked to the busy port of Wick, 
 where we bade each other farewell, though only for a 
 time. Memory contains many more scenes and incidents 
 of our happy walking tour, but these must, for the 
 present at least, be held in retentis. 
 
 " Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! 
 Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled : 
 You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, 
 But the scent of the roses will hang round it still."
 
 w 
 o 
 o 
 
 5 
 
 o 
 
 Q 
 
 3 
 
 o 
 2 
 
 C/3 
 
 W 
 H 
 
 CO 
 
 <:
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CAITHNESS COAST. 
 
 This is intended to be a chapter of mosaics, for it 
 contains many and parti-coloured fragments, pieced 
 together as skilfully as I can, relating to the scenery, 
 people, and traditions of my native county. The above 
 heading has been chosen because the dominant outward 
 feature of interest in Caithness is the almost continuous 
 succession of lofty mural precipices which form the 
 coast line, and because the chief human associations, past 
 and present, of the county, lie along the rugged, rocky 
 fringe of its shores. 
 
 This most northern county on the mainland of Scot- 
 land has many peculiar, if not unique, features. Occu- 
 pying the north-east corner of the country, its form is 
 rudely triangular, though the lines are warped and 
 curved by many a cape and bay. The northern side 
 faces the cold Arctic Ocean and the Orkney Islands ; the 
 eastern lies fully open to the wild storms of the North 
 Sea ; while the south-western border, touching these two 
 at their landward extremities and so completing the 
 triangle, runs along the waving line over moor and 
 mountain, which divides the county from Sutherland. 
 On that boundary march there are elevated ridges toward
 
 128 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 the north, and toward the south clusters of mountains, 
 some of which rise like cones or pyramids over the low 
 moorlands around. Apart from this more elevated strip 
 along the borders of Sutherland, the county of Caithness 
 is for the most part a widely-extended plateau, high 
 above sea level, and varied over most of its surface by 
 shallow valleys and gentle undulations. The dreary and 
 almost treeless character of the interior, with its " moors 
 and mosses many o'," has perhaps no attractions for the 
 ordinary traveller ; and only certain parties, who have 
 themselves come from beyond the " herring-pond," will 
 agree with the American who said that Caithness was 
 " the finest clearance " he had ever seen. Yet there are 
 many who ought to take an interest even in the inland 
 regions of the county. To the geologist, for example, 
 the Old Red Sandstone yields a plentiful crop of fossil 
 remains and other objects well worthy of his attention 
 and study. To the noble Hugh Miller, Caithness was a 
 happy hunting ground from which he gathered rich 
 scientific spoils. Many remember the humorous squib 
 which was suggested by his rambles over the Old Red 
 Sandstone, 
 
 " Tobacco and whisky cost siller, 
 
 An' meal is but scanty at hame ; 
 But gang to the stane-mason Miller, 
 
 He'll pang wi' ichth'olites yer wame ; 
 Wi' fish as Agassiz has ca'd them 
 
 In Greek like themsel's hard and odd, 
 That were baked in stane pies afore Adam 
 
 Gie'd names to the haddocks an' cod." 
 
 To the antiquarian and historian also, every parish in
 
 The Caithness Coast. 129 
 
 the county offers a wide and rich field for research. The 
 cliffs and bays of the coast line are thickly studded with 
 ancient towers and castles. Their battlements and walls 
 exhibit every stage of ruin and decay, but the very 
 winds which whisper and wail around them are scented 
 with romance. To an observant and curious eye, even 
 the tamest valley or barest ridge has something to show. 
 Let any one look at a full-sized Ordnance Survey map 
 of Caithness, and he will find it dotted all over, north, 
 south, east, and west, with the significant words in 
 German lettering, " Picts' Ho." or " Picts' Houses." 
 These were the rude dwellings of the original inhabitants 
 of the county. In many cases the stones have been 
 ruthlessly scattered, and the sites torn up with the 
 plough, yet not a few still remain in a wonderful state 
 of preservation. Some of these houses have been care- 
 fully uncovered and examined, and have disclosed 
 objects of interest and value which are fitted to throw 
 much useful light upon the old-world life of the inmates. 
 These are outward and visible features, but I cannot 
 overlook one which is as real and significant as any of 
 them, though it makes no appeal to the eye of the 
 traveller. We have all seen old maps, on which the real 
 or reputed sites of battles are marked with tiny cross- 
 swords. If the same system were adopted in the drafting 
 of a map of Caithness, the significant signs of old con- 
 flicts would be almost as numerous as Picts' houses on the 
 face of the county. No wonder it might be so, for there 
 is an ancient couplet, often quoted to this day, which 
 declares,
 
 1 30 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 " Sinclair, Sutherland, Keitb, and Clan Gun, 
 There never was peace where these four were in." 
 
 Here I must make bold to repeat a question to which I 
 have never yet found or been offered an answer. Why- 
 were the far-famed Mackays omitted from these lines ? 
 Certain I am that they did more fighting in Caithness 
 than any other clan except their traditional enemies, the 
 native Sinclairs. Perhaps the gifted poet could not 
 squeeze an additional name into his line. On the other 
 hand the Guns, or Gunns, were not particularly pro- 
 minent in the strifes of these bloody days — at least not in 
 Caithness — and their omission from the couplet would 
 do little wrong to history. That being so, I venture to 
 suggest that in future the couplet should run thus : — 
 
 "Sinclair, Sutherland, Keith, and Mackay, 
 There never was peace when these four were nigh." 
 
 If you search the old clan records, you will find yourself 
 perfectly bewildered with the never-ending, ever-stirring 
 tale of raid and rapine, duel and skirmish, pitched battle 
 and chronic warfare, of which these moors and valleys 
 were the arena for generation after generation. Thus has it 
 come to pass that it cannot safely be said of almost any 
 twenty square yards in the county, Here at least no 
 foeman's blood ever stained the soil. In imagination, yet 
 with almost no risk of error anywhere, you may sprinkle 
 the map all over with the fatal sign of the cross-swords. 
 There can be no question that the coast scenery is the 
 dominant feature of interest to the traveller in Caithness. 
 The petty tourist, who pays a flying visit to Wick and
 
 The Caithness Coast. 131 
 
 Thurso and then declares he has seen Caithness, 
 should be banished south of the Grampians at once — to 
 the Isle of Dogs if you like. Meantime he may skip the 
 rest of this paragraph, and of several which follow. The 
 northern shores from Drumholistan in the Reay country 
 to Duncansbay Head, and the eastern shores from Dun- 
 cansbay Head to the Ord, are overshadowed throughout 
 five-sixths of their length, by mile upon mile, mile upon 
 mile, of brown cliffs, whose brows are firmly knit against 
 wind and storm, and relax not even in the sunshine. 
 These rocky flagstone walls have been built up in 
 hundreds upon hundreds of layers — some of considerable 
 thickness, like tiers of actual masonry — others thin and 
 ragged like the uncut leaves of a book lying upon the 
 table. As an eminent authority has graphically said, 
 " The faces of the precipices are constantly etched out 
 in alternate lines of cornice and frieze, on some of which 
 vegetation finds a footing, while others are crowded with 
 sea-fowl." This iron-bound coast is withal characterized by 
 profuse diversity of detail. At close but irregular inter- 
 vals, the cliffs are cut from top to bottom by deep narrow 
 ravines called "goes" (pronounced gyoes, in one syllable), 
 whose walls resound with the breaking of the surf which 
 heaves between them. Many and marvellous also are the 
 caves which open their ungainly mouths to the tide and 
 blast — some narrow and dark like the dens of wild beasts, 
 others with temple-like interiors of pillar and aisle and 
 groined roof. Yet again we note another feature of these 
 iron defences against the ocean. Detached from cliff or 
 shore stand isolated masses of rock, called " stacks " —
 
 132 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 some of equal thickness from base to summit, like broken 
 columns in the forum of Pompeii, others like elongated 
 cones which taper upward and point to the sky above. 
 "Without doubt they once formed part of the sea-walls 
 themselves, but storm and wave have cut them off from 
 their parent strata. Disinherited and lonely though they 
 be, they still stand erect and defiant in presence of the 
 attacking foe. 
 
 In addition to many smaller indentations of the sea, 
 there are two wide breaks in the rock-walls which are the 
 fence and defence of the county. These are Sinclair Bay 
 on the east coast and the double bay of Thurso and 
 Dunnet on the north. With precipitous cliffs at their 
 seaward extremities, they are fringed with wide sunlit 
 sweeps of yellow sand, where with arched neck and 
 curling mane may be seen 
 
 " The white steeds of ocean that leap 
 With a hollow and wearisome roar." 
 
 No one needs to be told, and yet no one can fully 
 realise, how dangerous and deadly this coast has ever 
 been to the " toilers of the deep," sailors and fishermen 
 alike. Many a brave life has been quenched, and many 
 a stout craft dashed into fragments off these cruel heights. 
 Over these things it is no shame to drop a tear ; but not to 
 all, nor at all times, have they been occasion of grief. We 
 are taught to pray " for those in peril on the sea," but I fear 
 this was not always the spirit of those who dwelt on the 
 Caithness seaboard. To many, even in days not very 
 long gone by, a wreck on the coast was a godsend — a
 
 The Caithness Coast. 133 
 
 kind providence, for the chance of plunder was too good 
 to be foolishly despised or thrown away. "We need not 
 wonder that this should be the opinion of any or every 
 man who was a self-elected and self-appointed " receiver 
 of wreck ! " There were in the good old days many such 
 native officials, and ofttimes they even quarrelled over 
 their individual rights and privileges. 
 
 As there were not a few of this way of thinking in the 
 far north, it will surprise no one to learn that the erec- 
 tion of lighthouses on our headlands and skerries was not 
 regarded with much favour. Many were not much con- 
 cerned even to hide or disguise their disapproval. One 
 of these, a grim, northern fisherman, expressed his mind 
 slily but plainly enough to Mr Stevenson, the noted 
 lighthouse engineer. The latter had on one occasion 
 hired a boat to carry him somewhere on an errand of 
 duty. As they sped along, Mr Stevenson, in a tone of 
 interest and sympathy, said to the boatman, 
 
 " How is it that your sails are so poor and tattered ? " 
 
 The skipper was equal to the occasion, for he replied 
 with some emphasis, 
 
 "If it heel been God's wull that ye hedna built 
 sae mony lichthooses, I wud hae gotten new sails last 
 winter." 
 
 It is not likely that Mr Stevenson pursued that line of 
 conversation further ; the boatman was evidently not one 
 who was very open to conviction on the subject. Be- 
 sides, all questions which lie on the border line between 
 divine sovereignty and human responsibility are full of 
 risk and difficulty. It would be wise on the whole to
 
 134 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 avoid controversy regarding them. One of our modern 
 poets goes so far as to suggest that the sea itself considers 
 it very good sport to hurl vessels on their doom and force 
 the hot tears of many a wife and mother. Does not 
 Swinburne speak of 
 
 " the noise of seaward storm that mocks 
 With roaring laughter from reverberate rocks 
 The cry of ships near shipwreck " ? 
 
 If the scenery of Caithness is in many respects unique, 
 so are the people, by which I mean the great majority of 
 the inhabitants. As to race and blood, they stand out 
 in bold relief from the natives of any other part of Great 
 Britain, but are closely allied to the islanders of Orkney 
 and Shetland. You remember how Daniel Defoe treats 
 this subject in his famous cynical piece, " The True-born 
 Englishman," a defence of William of Orange against the 
 race prejudices of his day. After enumerating the 
 various elements, Romans, Gauls, Saxons, Danes, Picts, 
 and others, out of which the English nation has been 
 formed, he goes on to say, 
 
 " From this amphibious, ill-born mob began 
 That vain, ill-natured thing, an Englishman. 
 The customs, sirnames, languages, and manners 
 Of all these nations are their own explainers : 
 Whose relics are so lasting and so strong, 
 They've left a shibboleth upon our tongue ; 
 By which with easy search you may distinguish 
 Your Roman-Saxon- Danish-Norman-English." 
 
 The poet had good reason to scourge such a mongrel 
 people for their pretended or boasted purity of blood ; 
 but to the people of Caithness the reproach of mixed
 
 The Caithness Coast. 135 
 
 elements scarcely at all applies. As briefly as possible 
 let me try to tell their story. 
 
 Who may have inhabited Caithness or any other part 
 of our islands in the days of Moses no one can tell, and 
 no one is the worse for his ignorance. We must come 
 down nearly to the beginning of the Christian era before 
 we get into our fingers any threads of fact regarding the 
 early occupation of Britain. One or two centuries 
 before Christ, powerful tribes of Aryan origin spread 
 over Western Europe, and crossed over also to the 
 British Isles. Some say they came from Central 
 Asia, some say from the northern slopes of the 
 Alps, some say from the southern shores of the 
 Baltic, some say from Africa and Spain ; as to the 
 actual whence, there is no real certainty. They were, 
 however, the Celtic branch of the Aryan family, and 
 after their settlement in Britain, were driven westward 
 and northward by the Jutes, Saxons, and Angles, who 
 came after them from the Continent at a later period. 
 
 One branch of the Celts retreated into Wales and 
 Cornwall, another possessed themselves of Ireland, the 
 Isle of Man, and the Scottish Highlands, even as far 
 north as Caithness. As for the old aborigines, few and 
 weak as they probably were, they must have been either 
 extinguished or absorbed by the invaders, who for all 
 practical purposes may be considered the primitive in- 
 habitants of the country, at least in historic times. Thus 
 the Celtic hordes — to whom probably the name Picts or 
 Picti first belonged, because some of them painted their 
 persons — occupied Caithness for some time before, and
 
 1 36 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 for several centuries after, the birth of Christ. Then 
 came a great, though a gradual revolution, the beginning 
 of which dates from the year 780 or thereabouts. The 
 Norse and Danish Vikings — so named from their 
 sheltering and skulking in the "viks" or bays — began 
 to make their savage descents upon the northern islands 
 and counties of Scotland. These sea-kings and their crews 
 were for generations the terror of Western Europe. 
 Fearless alike either of storm or foe, they swept down 
 upon the seaboard of Caithness to ravage and destroy. 
 Towns and villages were sacked and burnt, and the in- 
 habitants scattered, slain, or carried into slavery. With 
 graphic touch the poet thus pictures to us one of these 
 sea-kings, 
 
 " From out his castle on the strand 
 He led his tawny-bearded band 
 In stormy bark from land to land. 
 
 " The red dawn was his goodly sign, 
 He set his face to sleet and brine, 
 And quaffed the blast like ruddy wine. 
 
 " The storm-blast was his deity ; ■ 
 His lover was the fitful sea ; 
 The wailing winds his melody. 
 
 " By rocky scaur and beachy head 
 He followed where his fancy led, 
 And down the rainy waters fled, 
 
 " And left the peopled towns behind, 
 And gave his days and nights to find 
 What lay beyond the western wind." 
 
 By-and-by the Vikings entirely changed their policy arid 
 tactics. They came, not to raid and depart again, but to
 
 The Caithness Coast. 137 
 
 remain and colonise. They acted the part of the camel 
 who asked room in a tent for his head, and then, 
 forcing his whole body in, dispossessed the inhabitants. 
 The Norsemen founded settlements here and there on 
 the coast, and ere long pressed the old Celtic inhabit- 
 ants backward further and further into the interior. 
 Thus did they leave to the former possessors only a 
 strip of country parallel with the march of Sutherland- 
 shire. Between the two races there was a border land, 
 but no fixed boundary stone. Even to this day we can 
 roughly define the extent and limits of the Scandi- 
 navian conquest and occupation by the Norse names on 
 the northern and eastern side of the line, and the Celtic 
 on the western and southern. To a keenly observant 
 eye the distinction is visible in the prevailing physical 
 type, for those of Viking blood may be known 
 
 " By the tall form, blue eye, proportion fair, 
 The limbs athletic, and the long light hair." 
 
 The contrast may also be noted in the character and 
 habits of the two races ; and there are many evidences 
 of it in their language, and some even in their music. As 
 to the last named element, it is worthy of note, and may 
 surprise some people to know, that the bagpipe is rarely 
 to be heard in Caithness. No doubt it is an ancient 
 and honourable instrument, for a high authority has 
 declared, 
 
 " And Music first on earth was heard 
 In Gaelic accents deep, 
 When .Tubal in his oxter squeezed 
 The blether o' a sheep ; " 
 
 T
 
 138 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 but in the Scandinavian county it is an exotic — an im- 
 ported article from Sutherland — and little esteemed by 
 the sons and daughters of the Norsemen. As a conse- 
 quence of these statements I hope one excellent result 
 will appear. We hear some people, for whom we enter- 
 tain the sincerest pity, express in very vehement 
 language their abhorrence of the bagpipe. In most cases 
 this is no more than a proud pretence, but they have 
 now an opportunity of proving their sincerity. If they 
 like the north, but dislike the bagpipes, let them go to 
 Caithness, and the nearer to John o' Groat's the better. 
 As soon as this book is afloat, I shall expect to hear of a 
 great demand for summer lodgings in the county. Please 
 avoid the towns, however, for they are at times tainted 
 with the Celtic musical element. 
 
 These statements regarding the people of Caithness 
 would hardly be considered up to date were I to omit 
 mention of two other circumstances. While the large 
 majority of the inhabitants are of Scandinavian blood, 
 there does exist a considerable Celtic element, due not so 
 much to the remaining descendants of the old race, but 
 still more to the scores and scores of families who were 
 driven out of Sutherland early in this century by the 
 cruel policy of eviction. These very naturally settled 
 for the most part in the parishes nearest to their native 
 county, among people many of whom were of their own 
 blood and language. Of Saxon blood also there are un- 
 doubtedly some traces among the families of Caithness. 
 Methinks I now hear some ignorant Southerner express 
 his wonder that any one of Saxon lineage, and therefore
 
 The Caithness Coast. 139 
 
 knowing better things, should wander and settle so far 
 north, even for gold or for love. It might be sufficient 
 to reply that his wonder will not diminish either the fact 
 or its significance. But we have a better instrument of 
 retort within reach. In this connection I cannot resist 
 the temptation to refer to a common reproach and a 
 delusion connected therewith. It has sometimes been 
 said in the south that " no fools come from Scotland," 
 because those who in point of fact leave Scotland show 
 themselves wise by so doing. That being so, the number 
 of Scotsmen who have found their way to England is 
 supposed to be, to say the least of it, remarkably large. 
 Now I have a nice little fact to offer as a gift to our 
 English friends. It is asserted, and has, I believe, been 
 proved, that in proportion to the population of the two 
 countries, there are more Englishmen resident in Scotland 
 than Scotsmen resident in England. It is sometimes 
 quite delightful to make that statement to a typical 
 John Bull, and to watch its effect. If that dose appears 
 not to be sufficient, you may add this other, that, ac- 
 cording to the same proportion, Scotland is, when tested 
 by taxation, the richest country in the world. One can 
 take a malicious pleasure in driving these points home 
 upon the class of " small " southerners, if they are at all 
 disposed to crow over "poor Scotland." 
 
 Had space permitted, I might here review the forma- 
 tive influences, such as natural scenery, social conditions 
 and institutions, history, and religion, which made the 
 Norsemen what they were, and have to so large an 
 extent moulded the people of Caithness into what they
 
 i zj-O Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 are. With a bare and simple statement I must pass 
 from that tempting theme. As compared with the Celts 
 and the Saxons, the sons of the Vikings are characterised 
 by restless energy, sturdy independence, singular adapta- 
 bility, and frank generosity. When we remember that 
 the inhabitants of our whole eastern seaboard, from John 
 o' Groat's at least as far as the mouth of the Humber, are 
 tinged with the same blood, we can understand how 
 great has been the Norse influence in the formation of 
 the British character, and how many and manifest its 
 results in our national history and development. 
 
 Here I might be tempted to indulge at some length in 
 a dissertation on the origin and fortunes of the family — 
 for, strictly speaking, it should not be a clan — to which 
 I have the honour to belong. These are matters of quite 
 peculiar interest to me, but I have at least one good 
 reason for reticence and brevity. So far as the far past 
 is concerned, I should scarcely be able to say much to 
 the credit of my ancestors. Even were I able to produce 
 evidence of high character and noble deeds on the part 
 of some of my " forbears," T should be checked by the 
 salutary warning that 
 
 " They who on glorious ancestry enlarge, 
 Produce their debt instead of their discharge." 
 
 The truth is that my case very much resembles that 
 of Sydney Smith, of whom some one inquired as to the 
 decease of one of his progenitors. In reply, the humourist 
 made the significant confession, " Well, he disappeared 
 suddenly at the time of the assizes, and we asked no 
 questions." If not quite so dark as is hinted at in these
 
 The Caithness Coast. 141 
 
 neatly-chosen words, the history of the Sinclairs is for 
 the most part a record of rapine, blood, and strife, and 
 any little traits or incidents of a more pleasing kind are 
 only 
 
 " rari nantes in gurgite vasto." 
 
 It is said that on one occasion Columba, the noble 
 missionary of Iona, was asked to invoke a blessing on a 
 warrior's sword. He responded in the remarkable words, 
 "God grant that it may never drink a drop of blood." 
 Not for many generations was such a prayer uttered, or 
 at least its burden fulfilled, in the case of a Sinclair's 
 sword. They fought with every clan who dared to claim 
 an inch of soil in Caithness, and appear at more than 
 one period to have possessed the whole county. They 
 were, however, most unfortunate when they ventured on 
 expeditions far away from home. Hoiv wofully unfortun- 
 ate they were, the more prominent chapters in their 
 history will show ! I shall only mention two instances. 
 
 The first of these takes us back into the early part of 
 the sixteenth century. James IV. of Scotland had 
 quarrelled with his brother-in-law, Henry VI 1 1., and 
 set out with a large army for the invasion of England. 
 The Scotch army encamped upon the hill of Flodden, 
 and on its northern slopes was fought, in 1513, the 
 blackest battle in the annals of the northern kingdom. 
 William Sinclair, Earl of Caithness, and 300 of his men 
 were on the right wing of James's array, and even after 
 others had fled from the scene of disaster fouQ-ht to the 
 
 O 
 
 bitter end. It almost looked like the extinction of 
 
 " The lordly line of high St Clair,"
 
 142 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 for the Earl fell on the field, and scarcely a man — 
 perhaps not one at all — returned to tell the tale. When 
 leaving home on that fatal occasion the Sinclairs had worn 
 a green uniform, and had crossed the lofty ridge of the Ord, 
 the southern boundary of the county, on a Monday. Ever 
 since it has been an unwritten law that no one of the 
 name should ever wear that luckless colour, or cross the 
 Ord on the same unpropitious day of the week. Well 
 might the Sinclairs of Caithness at that date join in the 
 pathetic lament, 
 
 " Dool for the order sent our lads to the Border, 
 The English for ance by guile wan the day ; 
 The Flowers of the Forest that fought aye the foremost, 
 The prime of our land lie cauld on the clay. 
 
 " We'll hae nae mair liltin' at the ewe milkin', 
 Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; 
 Sighin' and ruoanin' on ilka green loanin', 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away." 
 
 The second great misfortune to the Sinclairs took place 
 about a century later, in 1612, during the war of young 
 Gustavus Adolphus against Norway and Denmark. 
 Colonel George Sinclair crossed to Norway with a force 
 variously estimated at from 300 to 1400 men, but most 
 probably about 900, with the intention of finding his way 
 over the mountains to Sweden. These troops were levied 
 " on the sly," and the " root of all evil " was not wanting 
 in the project. The Scotch king and government did 
 what they could to prevent its execution, and threatened 
 that the leaders would be "put to the horn," that is, 
 declared to be outlaws after three blasts of the horn at
 
 The Caithness Coast. 143 
 
 the cross of Edinburgh. When Sinclair and his men 
 landed in the Romsdal Fiord, they met with unexpected 
 and serious resistance. They were attacked in a narrow 
 defile in Gudbrandsdalen by large bodies of the peasantry, 
 who, at a critical spot, hurled great masses of rock down 
 upon them. Colonel Sinclair fell among the rest, and at 
 least half his men were slain. Next day upwards of 100 
 more were put to death ; and only some eighteen escaped 
 with their lives. A monument on the high road below 
 the scene of conflict marks the grave of the leader, who 
 was a son of John, the Master of Caithness, of whom we 
 have by-and-bye an even more tragic story to tell. The 
 people of Norway are proud of their victory over the 
 Sinclairs, and it has frequently been made the subject of 
 song. Here are the first and last verses of a free 
 translation of one of these ballads : — 
 
 " To Norway Sinclair steered his course 
 
 Across the salt sea wave, 
 But in Kringelen's mountain pass 
 
 He found an early grave. 
 To fight for Swedish gold he sailed, 
 
 He and his hireling band : 
 Help, God ; and nerve the peasant's arm 
 
 To wield the patriot brand. 
 
 " Oh many a maid and mother wept 
 
 And father's cheek grew pale, 
 When from the few survivors' lips 
 
 Was heard the startling tale. 
 A monument yet marks the spot 
 
 Which points to Sinclair's bier, 
 And tells how fourteen hundred men 
 
 Sunk in that pass of fear." 
 
 In justice to my clansmen, I must here take leave to
 
 144 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 repel an insinuation, and also to correct an error. In 
 some accounts of the fatal expedition, and especially in 
 a ballad by one called Storm, the Sinclairs are represented 
 as having burnt and plundered wherever they went. 
 They are even accused of having slain children at their 
 mothers' breasts. All this is absolutely untrue. One 
 Envold Kruse, a local stadtholder, reporting officially on 
 the subject, says, " We have also since ascertained that 
 those Scots who were defeated and captured on their 
 march through this country, have absolutely neither 
 burnt, murdered, nor destroyed anything." Again, in 
 the last verse quoted above, the number of Colonel 
 Sinclair's band is stated at 1400 men. Space would fail 
 me to enter fully into a discussion of these figures. This, 
 however, after careful and exhaustive investigation by 
 competent authorities, may be held as proven, that the 
 Caithness men cannot have been more than 900 at the 
 utmost, and that 500 is probably nearer the correct 
 figure. 
 
 As a foil, though but a partial one, to these stories of 
 disaster, it may be well to note one of the Sinclair chiefs, 
 who was a distinguished patriot and soldier. This was 
 Sir William Sinclair, who played his part so bravely at 
 the battle of Bannockburn that King Kobert the Bruce, 
 in acknowledgment of his valorous exploits, presented 
 him with a beautiful sword. On the broad blade was 
 inscribed this legend : " Le Eoi me donne, St Clair me 
 porte," i.e., The king gifts me, St Clair carries me. At a 
 later date, the gallant knight again showed his devotion 
 to his monarch. Before he died, King Robert charged
 
 The Caithness Coast. 145 
 
 Lord James of Douglas to have his heart embalmed, 
 carefully borne to the Holy Land, and finally deposited 
 in the Holy Sepulchre. After the king's decease, Sir 
 William Sinclair was one of the knights who set out 
 with Douglas on his pious errand to Palestine ; but he 
 fell, as Douglas himself did not very long after, in an 
 encounter with the Moors in Spain. 
 
 Before coming to more modern times and more civilised 
 ways, let me here insert two weird old stories, the scenes 
 of which are in different parts of the county. One at 
 least of these is undoubtedly founded on fact, though 
 over what is true not a little that is mythical and 
 imaginative has grown, like the lichen on the lettering 
 of an old tombstone. It is neither my business nor my 
 intention to attempt to disentangle these elements ; and, 
 therefore, I shall present the traditions just as they have 
 shaped themselves in my memory, after somewhat 
 careful inquiry and study. 
 
 The first, and perhaps the more doubtful of these, 
 which I shall make also the briefer, is a story of the 
 Bruan coast, some ten miles south of Wick. Nowhere, 
 even on the Caithness seaboard, are the rocks and caves 
 and goes more fantastically wild and imposing. Only 
 those who have sailed along beneath their shadows know 
 their varied and marvellous attractions. It is not, how- 
 ever, with these that we have at present to do. 
 
 At a particular spot on this iron-bound coast, there is 
 a bold rock or cliff, which the Gaelic people call " Leac 
 na oir," i.e., the rock of gold. The traveller will easily 
 find a civil and obliging Bruan man to point out its
 
 1 46 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 situation. The story connected with that rock and its 
 name is one of treachery and cruelty. For a moment I 
 thought of calling it also a story of love, but the sequel 
 will show why that word has been omitted. A Caithness 
 chieftain, probably a Sinclair, though I hope not, seems 
 to have possessed lands and a residence on this coast. 
 He had wooed and won a Danish lady or Princess, but 
 we have no record of their courtship, if, indeed, anything 
 of the kind ever took place. She seems, however, to 
 have consented to make Caithness her adopted home. At 
 length, the time of the marriage drew near, and it was 
 decided that the ceremony should take place on this side 
 the North Sea. Embarking in a Danish vessel, she sailed 
 for the land of her adoption, and might surely hope for 
 an affectionate welcome from her lover. She certainly 
 did not come empty-handed, for the vessel bore the lady's 
 splendid dowry of gold and treasure. But alas ! what a 
 fickle, treacherous, cruel creature is man, though he be a 
 Caithnessman, or even a Sinclair ! The chieftain was 
 more in love with the dowry than with the lady. Under 
 pretence of securing her safety, it had been arranged that 
 a bright light should be exhibited on the coast, toward 
 which the Danes might with confidence steer their vessel. 
 
 o 
 
 The greedy, heartless lover fixed that light purposely on 
 the most dangerous cliff he could select, and the result, 
 unfortunately, was entirely in accordance with his fell 
 design. At dead of night, when not a o-limmer of lio-ht 
 shone in the sky, the bride's vessel struck the fatal rock, 
 and in a few brief moments, falling back in shattered 
 fragments, sunk beneath the waves. The Danish lady and
 
 The Caithness Coast. 147 
 
 her convoy perished with the wreck, for not a hand was 
 extended to rescue them. The chieftain roared with 
 delight at this primary success of his project, but most 
 probably did not after all gain his ultimate end. In his 
 day it would be no easy matter, if, indeed, possible at 
 all, to fish up the gold and other treasure from among 
 the seaweed and rocks. We should all be sorry to think 
 that the wretch was made one penny the richer by the 
 spoils. Let us hope that they still lie among the 
 
 " Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea." 
 
 If even now the Danish gold and jewellery are there, we 
 shall leave them undisturbed in the spirit of the poetess 
 who sings — 
 
 " Yet more, the depths have more ! what wealth untold, 
 Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies ! 
 
 Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, 
 Won from ten thousand royal argosies ! 
 
 Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! 
 Earth claims not these again ! " 
 
 Of the many ruined castles which stud the cliffs of 
 Caithness, the Sinclairs once possessed the great majority, 
 for most of them belonged to one branch or other of that 
 powerful family. Probably one of the oldest of these is 
 the venerable Castle of Keiss, on the western shore of 
 Sinclair Bay, — a ruin indeed, yet how stately and firm 
 on its rocky basement. Its main walls are still wonder- 
 fully entire, and its lofty turrets and gables are visible 
 far over land and sea. On the opposite side of the same
 
 148 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 spacious bay, and crowning cliffs of wild grandeur, stand 
 the twin Castles Sinclair and Girnigoe, the chief strong- 
 hold of the Earls of Caithness in the old days of blood 
 and iron. The very image of that grim and gaunt 
 fastness recalls the questions and replies of Heine's 
 song — 
 
 " Hast thou seen the castle olden, 
 High towering by the sea ? 
 Crimson — bright and golden 
 The clouds above it be. 
 
 Down stooping, it appeareth 
 
 In the glassy wave below ; 
 Its lofty towers it reareth 
 
 Where the clouds of even glow. 
 
 Well have I seen it towering 
 
 That castle by the sea ; 
 And the moon above it lowering, 
 
 And the mists about it flee. 
 
 The winds and waves rebounding — 
 
 Say, rang they fresh and clear ] 
 Heard'st thou from bright halls sounding 
 
 Music and festal cheer ? 
 
 The winds and waves were sleeping, 
 
 But from that castle high 
 The sound of wailing and weeping 
 
 Brought tears into my eye." 
 
 Castles Sinclair and Girnigoe are perched on a bold, 
 rocky promontory which runs out almost parallel with 
 the cliffs of the mainland, a deep, wild goe rocking its 
 surging waters between. Castle Sinclair, the more mod- 
 ern and yet the more ruinous, stands on the neck of the 
 projecting cape ; while Castle Girnigoe, the older and
 
 The Caithness Coast. 149 
 
 yet the more perfect, occupies the crown of the rock, and 
 its walls seem at one time to have extended far beyond 
 the present structure. The twin strongholds may be 
 said to have a joint tenancy of the peninsula, and once-a- 
 day a drawbridge over a yawning gulf connected their 
 walls and chambers. Far out upon the point of the 
 cliffs where they first dip downward toward the sea, are 
 the remains of an oubliette or secret dungeon. Thence, 
 through a trap door, and by a steep slide on the face of 
 the rocks, communication might be had with the waters 
 and boats below. 
 
 On the ground floor of Castle Girnigoe, three or four 
 separate chambers yet remain in a fair state of preserva- 
 tion. From a corner in one of these, a flight of broken 
 steps leads down to a damp, vaulted dungeon, dimly lit 
 from a narrow aperture in the wall. This was the scene 
 of the terrible tragedy, of which we must presently tell 
 the sad history. If ruins could feel or manifest the sense 
 of shame, then surely, Girnigoe ! thou mightest well blush 
 even in thine old age ! 
 
 " Yet, proudly mid the tide of years, 
 Thou lift'st 011 high thine airy form 
 Scene of primeval hopes and fears, 
 Slow yielding to the storm ! " 
 
 Certainly, if Goethe be right in describing architecture 
 as petrified music, Castles Sinclair and Girnigoe sound 
 out one of the most gruesome dirges or laments that was 
 ever embodied in stone. 
 
 About the middle of the sixteenth century, George 
 Sinclair, Earl of Caithness, became bitterly incensed
 
 150 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 against his eldest son, John, the Master of Caithness and 
 his father's heir. The cause of disagreement has been 
 variously stated. According to one account, the Earl 
 had a bitter feud with the inhabitants of Dornoch in 
 Sutherlandshire, and had sent his son, along with the 
 chief of the clan Mackay, to punish them. The towns- 
 people had promised certain concessions, and had given 
 three hostages as a pledge of their fidelity. The angry, 
 treacherous Earl ordered these men to be executed forth- 
 with. His son, and Mackay of Strathnaver — to their 
 credit be it said — refused to carry out his decision, and so 
 the rupture took place between them and him. The young 
 Master, to escape the anger and resentment of his father, 
 took refuge with his ally Mackay in the Reay country, 
 and resided there for several years. This absence from 
 home o-ave rise to two other causes of offence and sus- 
 picion. In the first place, rumours from time to time 
 reached the Earl that his son and Mackay were plotting 
 against him, and even cherished designs against his life. 
 Moreover, as in many such cases, we must have regard 
 to the counsel, " Cherchez la femme ; " and in this 
 instance, it will yield something. The chief of the 
 Mackays had, it is said, a charming daughter, who quite 
 captived the Earl's son, and eventually became his wife. 
 This gave great offence to his father, who, being by this 
 time a widower, was himself contemplating matrimony 
 again. He resented the idea of his son's outstripping 
 him, and first becoming the father of another heir to the 
 earldom. Moved by these or such like causes of offence, 
 the Earl, who was naturally jealous and cruel, laid a plot
 
 The Caithness Coast. 151 
 
 to ensnare both his rebellious son and his traditional 
 enemy at onee. He invited them to come to Castle 
 Girnigoe, and professed the most sincere anxiety to be 
 reconciled to them both. 
 
 Trusting to the Earl's good faith, they rode together, 
 on horseback and unattended, to the fatal towers on 
 Sinclair Bay. As they were entering by the drawbridge, 
 the Chief of the Mackays noticed what he considered an 
 unusual and unnecessary force of armed men on duty. 
 Taking alarm at once, he turned his horse's head on the 
 very bridge, and fled with all speed. The young Master 
 was, however, less fortunate. He was at once seized and 
 thrust down into the damp and gloomy cell in the under 
 regions of Girnigoe ; and there he lay, in cruel neglect 
 and solitude, for many years. His first keeper was one 
 Murdo Roy, who planned the escape of his young and 
 gallant prisoner. The plot was discovered by "William, 
 the Earl's second son, and Murdo was summarily executed 
 for his kindly intentions toward his ward. His head 
 for some time after adorned the castle walls. A short 
 time after poor Murdo 's fate was thus sealed, William 
 entered the prisoner's cell, and the brothers had an angry 
 altercation. At length John, who was a man of power- 
 ful physique, and therefore called Garroiv, the strong, 
 sprang, fettered though he was, upon his brother, and 
 actually crushed his life out in an iron embrace. It is 
 but right to add that William had espoused his father's 
 side, had threatened his brother's life, and would not 
 have been much grieved to have the heir out of his way. 
 
 During these events the Earl was absent from home,
 
 152 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 but immediately on his return, lie appointed two keepers, 
 by name James and Ingram Sinclair, to watch the young 
 Master, so that he was guarded more carefully and treated 
 more cruelly than ever. As to the part latterly played by 
 these gaolers, traditions differ. According to one story, 
 they plundered the castle in the Earl's absence, fled with 
 the spoils, and left the Master of Caithness to perish of 
 famine in his cell. Another version, more circumstantial, 
 and, alas ! far more revolting, seems unfortunately the 
 true one, or at least nearer to the sad truth. It is said that 
 the two Sinclairs, instigated by the Earl himself, de- 
 liberately compassed the death of the poor captive — and 
 that by a most inhuman method. Having starved their 
 victim for a few days, they then set before him an 
 abundant supply of salt beef, of which he ate voraciously. 
 Then, when raging thirst came upon him, they refused 
 him even a drop of water, and left him to die in writhing 
 agony. The inscription on his tombstone in the old 
 churchyard of Wick, speaks of him as " ane noble and 
 worthie man, who departed this life the 15th day of 
 March, 1576." 
 
 The old Earl, the father, died in Edinburgh in 1583, 
 and was succeeded by George, the son of the murdered 
 Master. This George very soon took opportunity to 
 avenge his father's death upon the brothers Sinclair. 
 One of them, Ingram, was to be married, and the new 
 Earl, to make his vengeance the more terrible, chose the 
 wedding day for his purpose. He first met James, who 
 was making his way to the happy festivities, ran him 
 through with his sword, and left him a corpse by the
 
 The Caithness Coast. 153 
 
 roadside. Proceeding yet further on his bloody errand, 
 he found Ingram with some companions beguiling the 
 time before the ceremony in a game of football. The 
 Earl approached him at once, saying, in a tone of cheery 
 innocence, " Do you know, one of my corbies (i.e., crows, 
 a familiar name for pistols) missed fire this morning % " 
 At the same moment, as if to examine it, he drew a pistol 
 from the holster on his saddle, and shot the bridegroom 
 dead upon the spot. Instead of a happy bridal came a 
 double funeral, and no one was bold enough or strong 
 enough " to bell the cat," and bring the Earl to justice. 
 It may even have been thought that he was fully justified 
 in wreaking vengeance on the men who so cruelly 
 murdered his father. These were not the days of long- 
 spun, wearisome trials. The whole story is but a speci- 
 men of many such deeds and scenes in the old days in 
 Caithness ; let us hope that the one now recorded is the 
 most unnatural and inhuman of all. If any one thinks 
 that such things never have been done, and never could 
 be done, south of the Grampians, let him turn to the year 
 1402, in the kingdom of Fife, and find out what became 
 of the Duke of Rothesay, the King's son, in the palace 
 of Falkland. Two blacks do not make a white ; but the 
 question here is, which is the deeper black, and, really, 
 there seems little to choose between the two cases. 
 
 More than perhaps any other county in Scotland, 
 Caithness has, during the past thirty years especially, 
 been passing through stage after stage of rapid transition, 
 almost amounting to revolution. This is true in regard 
 to politics, social conditions, and religious questions alike. 
 
 K
 
 1 54 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Public opinion and sentiment have undergone changes, 
 the pace of which has become more and more rapid every 
 year. Some of " the adorers of time gone by " have been 
 weeping and wailing profusely. My own opinion is, that 
 in these changes there has been much to regret, but far 
 far more to cause rejoicing. It is not my purpose here to 
 discuss the pros and cons of these various currents in the 
 minds of men. Two things, however, I think I may do 
 without offence, namely, state in a few words some of 
 the motive causes of change and offer a few slight illus- 
 trations of the contrast between the dead or dying past 
 and the living present. 
 
 Among the active forces which have caused upheaval, 
 four seem to me to be the most powerful and prominent. 
 These are, the spread of education, railway extension, 
 the wider diffusion of press influence, and the pressure 
 of hard times as regards the harvests both of land and 
 sea. Only on the first of these shall I venture to speak ; 
 and though sorely tempted to write chapters, I must 
 restrain personal feeling and impulse, and be content 
 with a few sentences. Education was, without doubt, 
 the first of the forces of change to operate upon Caith- 
 ness. Fifty years ago, there were many shrewd and 
 prosperous men in the county, whose training, even in 
 the three R's — Reading, Riting, and Rithmetic — was very 
 imperfect indeed. Let me instance one rather amusing 
 case. It was that of a shoemaker who provided the 
 Sheriff of the county with boots. The worthy tradesman 
 had with no little trouble and pains drawn up an account 
 to be presented to his customer ; yet, when it was
 
 The Caithness Coast. 155 
 
 completed, lie found, to his chagrin, that he could not 
 read it himself. Once and again he had made the 
 attempt and failed ; but at length a happy thought gave 
 him immediate relief and comfort. Turning to a friend, 
 he exclaimed, with a satisfied smile, " Weel, I canna 
 mak't oot, but d — cares, it's gaun til a better scholar 
 than masel." What a comfort to know that the Sheriff 
 could read so well. Such is the story. Even thirty 
 years ago such a case must have been somewhat rare in 
 the county. At that time the schools of the county 
 were admirably taught, and the standard of education 
 wonderfully high. As one evidence for the truth of 
 these statements, I may mention that at that period, 
 Caithness sent to Edinburgh more students in propor- 
 tion to her population than any other county in Scotland, 
 with the possible exception of Dumfries. There is also 
 one rural parish which may, without fear of rivalry, 
 claim as natives a larger number of professional men 
 scattered all over the world than, perhaps, any other 
 in the country. This general diffusion of sound and 
 well advanced education paved the way for the break- 
 ing up of many an old tradition and sentiment embedded 
 in the life of the community. Thus has it come to pass 
 that in many questions affecting especially the Church 
 and the land, " the axles are so hot that we have long- 
 been smelling fire." To vary the figure we may say 
 that what an eminent statesman lately called " the 
 invisible creeping wind of public sentiment " has been 
 blowing about many old leaves. 
 
 In the regions of social life and of politics, it may be
 
 156 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 of interest to chronicle some forms or aspects of change, 
 even though I refrain from pronouncing any opinion 
 upon them. 
 
 Among what are called the middle classes, the humble 
 and homely ways of half a century ago are fast passing 
 away. Contentment and simplicity are more rarely 
 found, while pride and luxury are manifesting them- 
 selves in growing measure. Some one has contrasted 
 these conditions in the following plain and pithy 
 lines : — 
 
 " Man to the plough, 
 Wife to the sow, 
 Son to the flail, 
 Daughter to the pail, 
 
 And your rents will be netted ; 
 But man tally-ho, 
 Daughter piano, 
 Son Greek and Latin, 
 Wife silk and satin, 
 
 And you'll soon be gazetted." 
 
 Very sorry should I be to apply these words to the 
 middle-class people of Caithness as a whole. Still, 
 they indicate, in an exaggerated and therefore harm- 
 less form, the direction in which things are tending. Let 
 us hope that in no case will the sad end with which the 
 lines close be realised. If we look a step lower in the 
 social scale, what do we find ? Among the small farmers 
 and crofters the changes in progress have been not so 
 much in social condition, for that as yet has been little 
 altered, but in political feeling and aspiration. Twenty 
 or thirty years ago, the minds of these men were as to 
 great questions in a listless, almost stagnant, condition.
 
 The Caithness Coast. 1 5 7 
 
 Within the last decade the land question has set the 
 heather on fire, and burns on hundreds if not thousands 
 of hearths in the valleys and villages of Caithness. 
 What many would call a social rebellion smoulders all 
 over the county, and there are not so many now-a-days 
 disposed to echo the pious wish : — 
 
 " Bless the squire and his relations, 
 And keep us all in our proper stations." 
 
 It is an undoubted fact — welcome it or bewail it, which- 
 ever you please — that Radicalism more or less extreme 
 is rampant in almost every parish. 
 
 Not less real though perhaps less patent are the 
 changes in religious thought and customs. Into these I 
 cannot fully enter, but I may gather as from the surface 
 of things a few indications of the contrast between the 
 then of fifty years ago and the now of 1890. Nowhere 
 in all Scotland did there exist at the earlier period a 
 more dop-p-ed and determined conservatism in matters 
 religious than in Caithness. As to outward forms many 
 would sing, con amove, 
 
 " Old customs ! Oh I love the sound ! 
 However simple they may be ; 
 "Whate'er with time hath sanction found 
 Is welcome and is dear to me." 
 
 It is the fashion with some people to stigmatize that spirit 
 in unmeasured terms as if it were only and wholly evil 
 — the fruit of nothing but tyranny and ignorance. Those 
 who so speak show on their own part a want of know- 
 ledge no less than of breadth and charity. Among many 
 things which seem to most of us grotesque and foolish,
 
 158 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scottand. 
 
 the candid eye can take note of many things which were 
 good and noble. It is therefore in no carping or jeering 
 spirit that I touch upon the lighter side of some phe- 
 nomena in religious life which are now little more than 
 memories. 
 
 Among the good folks of Caithness half a century ago 
 the office of the Christian ministry commanded a singular 
 measure of deference and respect. This was due to the 
 character both of the office itself and of the men, gener- 
 ally speaking, who discharged its duties. There were, for 
 example, certain amusements which might be permissible 
 or barely so among ordinary Christians, but which were 
 not to be tolerated for a moment in one of " the cloth." 
 You remember the cynical charge addressed by Sydney 
 Smith to a young clergyman : 
 
 " Hunt not, fish not, shoot not, 
 Dance not, fiddle not, flute not ; 
 Be sure you have nothing to do with the Whigs, 
 But stay at home and feed your pigs ; 
 Above all, I make it my particular desire 
 That at least once a week you dine with the Squire." 
 
 The first six counsels at all events are in full accord- 
 ance with the common opinion of religious people in the 
 far north at that period. Any man who practised such 
 things would be denounced and boycotted by those who 
 were reputed the best of the people. Exception, how- 
 ever, was made in favour — if so it can be called — of the 
 " moderate " ministers. They were considered so hope- 
 lessly wrong in other respects that no one cared to 
 criticise too nicely any questionable thing they might do. 
 
 \
 
 The Caithness Coast. 159 
 
 A curious incident bearing upon this point occurred in 
 the case of the famous " Apostle of the North," Dr John 
 Macdonald of Ferintosh. Some details may have escaped 
 my memory, but I believe that what follows is in the 
 main correct. His father, James Macdonald, was 
 catechist in the parish of Reay, and was a man of high 
 religious repute. His son John wa3 born in the depth 
 of winter, and the father carried his child through 
 wreaths of snow to the manse that he might be baptized. 
 The minister was from home ; he had gone out shooting 
 with the laird ; but the catechist, nothing daunted and 
 bearing his tender load, went in pursuit over the snowy 
 moors, and at length, after no little labour, came up with 
 his pastor. The ceremony was performed there and 
 then, simply and briefly. Stepping out upon a frozen 
 sheet of water, the minister broke a hole in the ice, lifted 
 the all but frozen element between his fingers, and 
 dropped it on the child's face with the usual formula. 
 That boy became the wonderful preacher of after years, 
 and often with pawky humour declared that his baptism 
 was but a foretaste of the cold treatment he ever after 
 received at the hands of the " Moderates." No evangel- 
 ical who cared for his good name and influence would 
 go shooting with the laird, and have to be hunted in 
 such a fashion. 
 
 Since godly ministers were held in such high estimation, 
 curious results sometimes followed. Young preachers 
 were tempted to imitate the old ; and, as usual, what 
 they reproduced was often the very faults or foibles of 
 the model. The most remarkable thing is that at times
 
 1 60 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 a young man was highly thought of because there was 
 some resemblance in his person or manner to a very 
 weakness or oddity of a greater than himself. A highly 
 respected minister in Caithness, about the year 1830, 
 was the Rev. Archibald Cook of Bruan, who was com- 
 monly spoken of as Archie Cook. He was a man of 
 deep piety and quaint genius, but was also peculiar and 
 somewhat eccentric. In his day, a young man, newly 
 fledged, preached in a Caithness Church. After service, 
 there were many comments on his performance — mostly 
 of an unfavourable kind. One good old woman, how- 
 ever, abounding in Christian charity, found out one 
 peculiar excellence at least in the neophyte. Being 
 asked by a neighbour what she thought of him, she at 
 once replied, 
 
 "Oh, wumman/am thinkan he's a rayal godly, gracious 
 young man. He coughs jist like Airchie Cook." 
 
 I have even been assured that the qualification men- 
 tioned was the means of his appointment as pastor over 
 that very congregation. It may not be wise to show 
 any countenance to such a view, for it might produce 
 effects at which one shudders among the rising ministry. 
 We do not wish to find in the pulpit analogies of infinite 
 variety to the Alexandra limp or Archie Cook's cough. 
 
 If in these old days the ministers were carefully fenced 
 in by restraints in one direction, so were the people by 
 laws and statutes in others. Here, however, I must con- 
 fess that I go back more than two hundred years for 
 my illustration. It appears that, even at that early 
 period, the offence of non-church-going was sadly pre- 
 
 \
 
 The Caithness Coast. 161 
 
 valent. If so, it was not for lack of strong enactments 
 on the subject. Here is an extract from the Session 
 Eecords of the parish of Canisbay : — 
 
 "December 27, 1652. — Ordained yt (y for th, or the, 
 all through) for mending ye people, ye better to keepe 
 ye Kirk, a roll of ye names of ye families be taken up, 
 and Sabbathlie, yt they be called upon by name, and 
 who bees notted absent sail pay 40d. toties quoties." 
 The last two words simply mean that " as often," as the 
 offence was . committed, "so often" should the penalty 
 be inflicted. The worthy minister who first quoted this 
 extract fifty years ago, touchingly remarks, " This is a 
 most salutary regulation." I believe that, even down to 
 his day, the law might have been enforced ; who would 
 dare to attempt it now ? But mark, I pray you, what a 
 wistful, plaintive ring there is about the minister's declara- 
 tion. Can the 40d. have anything to do with it ? How 
 the stipends and spirits of ministers would mount up, 
 and the coffers of the Churches bulge out, if such a 
 source of revenue could be tapped in this wealthy but 
 degenerate nineteenth century ! No wonder many good 
 people in this world are adorers of the past ! Must I 
 add a line more ? No wonder that many more profanely 
 prefer the present ! 
 
 An old custom, not yet extinct, but fast losing its 
 hold, was the " reading of the line " in the public 
 service of praise. As some may not understand that 
 expression, it may be well to state its meaning. When 
 the minister "gave out" several verses of a Psalm to be 
 sung, the precentor proceeded to read aloud the first line
 
 1 62 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 with strong intonation, and then led the conores;ation in 
 singing it. He then read the second line in the same 
 fashion, and again led off the volume of united praise ; 
 and so on with each line of the verses announced from 
 the pulpit. The practice probably originated in the fact 
 that many worshippers in the Highlands were unable to 
 read either their own or any other language. In that 
 case, it served the useful purpose of enabling all to join 
 in the praises of the sanctuary. Through those congre- 
 gations in which the services were conducted in Gaelic, 
 the "reading of the line" became common in Caithness, 
 even in those parishes where the English language was the 
 medium of worship. No stranger can have any idea of 
 the importance attached to this custom in the north. It 
 has been adhered to with the utmost tenacity, and dies 
 hard. When attempts have been made in certain 
 parts of the country to secure its abandonment, bitter 
 wrangling and sometimes even serious disruption in 
 congregations have been the consequence. The "read- 
 ing of the line " has even been accounted an essential in 
 spiritual worship, and any word or action tending to its 
 disparagement has been regarded as nothiag less than 
 sacrilege. Some who can see nothing either specially 
 good or specially evil in the practice may be disposed to 
 ask on what grounds its sacred character has been sup- 
 posed to rest. That question I cannot fully answer, but 
 this I do know, that it has sometimes been defended on 
 grounds of Scripture. The words in the prophecy of 
 Isaiah, " line upon line, line upon line " have been 
 quoted as an argument and warrant for the practice.
 
 The Caithness Coast. 163 
 
 It is not likely that the custom will long survive unless 
 provided with some better defence. 
 
 The false interpretation put upon the prophet's words 
 is no better and no worse than another of which I have 
 heard. A very different application of the passage was 
 once made not many miles from Grangemouth in 
 Stirlingshire. Two brothers called Little — please note 
 the name — possessed a small property in that district. 
 They were bachelors, and, perhaps, a little lonely, so 
 upon one occasion they invited both the parish minister 
 and the parish schoolmaster to dinner. The brothers 
 occupied opposite ends of the table, while the two guests 
 sat vis-a-vis at the sides. During dinner, or more 
 probably towards its close, the elder brother took up the 
 prophet's words, and applied them skilfully to the group 
 around the table. Extending his left hand toward the 
 schoolmaster, he said, " Line upon line ; " reaching out 
 his right toward the minister, he said, " precept upon 
 precept ; " touching his own breast, he said, " here a 
 Little ; " pointing across to his brother, he said, " and 
 there a Little." In Caithness the " reading of the line " 
 is to a large extent a thing of the past. Improved 
 education and taste are both against it, and its days are 
 numbered. 
 
 Before closing this chapter, it may be noted that 
 among the old ministers and people of Caithness, quiet 
 humour was both displayed and appreciated. Moreover, 
 it was not considered out of place in its moderate ap- 
 plication even to sacred things. There is, I know, one 
 clergyman still alive and much respected in Caithness,
 
 164 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 who could supply many choice illustrations of the truth 
 of what I have said. Many have long wished he would 
 give them to the public. Those who like myself are 
 natives of the county, but have lived very little in it, 
 must be content with small store of these sweet morsels. 
 Let me offer one or two out of the small stock I possess. 
 It has always been a marked characteristic of the 
 religious people of Caithness, that they made large use of 
 Scripture language and illustration even in the affairs of 
 everyday life. This arose from no irreverence, but from 
 the strong hold which the sacred diction had taken of 
 their minds. Their speech was saturated with the words 
 and phrases of Holy Writ. On one occasion two or 
 three of " the Men " came to visit my father at the 
 manse. It may be well to mention for the information 
 of some readers, that these pious laymen of religious 
 repute and influence were called " Men," as some one 
 has said, " not because they were not women, but 
 because they were not ministers." They were elders of 
 the Church and leaders of the people in spiritual 
 matters. "Well, a few of them came from a considerable 
 distance, and knocked at the kitchen door of the manse. 
 The servant invited them to enter, provided them with 
 seats, and asked what message she would carry to her 
 master. One of them, speaking for all, gave this 
 peculiar reply. " Tell 'im 'e be keepan' 'is picklies o' 
 whate because 'e Midianites hev come." When the girl 
 delivered her message, my father's smile told that he 
 understood its meaning perfectly and at once, and he 
 went downstairs immediately to give his visitors a
 
 The Caithness Coast. 165 
 
 cordial welcome. Perhaps I should repeat the words in 
 a form intelligible to all. " Tell him to be keeping his 
 pickles of wheat because the Midianites have come." 
 Now, what did the message mean ? In the book of 
 Judges we read that Gideon "threshed wheat by the 
 wine press, to hide it from the Midianites." So the 
 worthy men, clothing their words in Scripture language, 
 intended to say, " If the minister has any precious truths 
 or experiences which he does not care to communicate 
 to others, let him hide them, for we are like the 
 Midianites — we shall steal them if we can." There is 
 something far more than merely delicate humour in the 
 story. 
 
 On one occasion a most worthy minister in the parish 
 of Latheron offered to drive me as far as the Ord, the 
 boundary headland of Caithness, on my way southward 
 to Ross-shire. As we were passing Dunbeath, we over- 
 took a somewhat doubtful-looking character, who asked 
 if he might get a " lift," and assured us he would 
 trespass on our kindness only for " a mile and no more." 
 
 "Come away, then," said Mr M., the minister, in a 
 kindly tone ; "get up behind." 
 
 On we went at a fair pace, and the mile was soon 
 covered. Our new acquaintance kept up a lively con- 
 versation with the minister, whom he had at once 
 recognised. By-and-bye the second mile was more than 
 past, and he still kept his seat. At last Mr M. thought 
 it high time to give the stranger a hint, and he did it 
 with no less delicacy than humour. 
 
 "Do you know, friend," said the minister, "you have
 
 1 66 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 reminded me very forcibly of one of the injunctions given 
 by our Lord to His disciples ? " 
 
 " Indeed — indeed ! — what was that 1 " replied the 
 stranger, much interested, and apparently gratified. 
 
 " Well," said Mr M., turning half round, " don't you 
 remember the words, ' Whosoever shall compel thee to go 
 a mile, go with him twain ? ' : 
 
 The stranger was silent for a little while, and then, 
 evidently desiring to ponder the words alone, bade us a 
 grateful " Good-bye," and stepped down from his seat. 
 
 The following are two illustrations from the say- 
 ings of eminent preachers belonging to Caithness. On 
 a certain occasion one of these announced as his text the 
 words in Revelation, " There was silence in heaven for 
 the space of half- an-hour." He began his discourse by 
 declaring, with much emphasis, " Well, friends, this is a 
 sad intimation for the female portion of my congrega- 
 tion." It strikes me I have heard the same remark 
 attributed to some southern divine. Perhaps I am 
 wrong ; I shall be glad if my memory fails me in this 
 particular. If two, or even more, have said it, may it not 
 be because great minds often arrive without any collusion 
 at the same important conclusion ? 
 
 Another Caithness minister was once discoursing on 
 the duty of Christians to "wash one another's feet." 
 Here is a quaint extract from the sermon — taken down 
 however, before the days of shorthand. 
 
 " One way in which disciples wash one another's feet is 
 by reproving one another. But the reproof must not be 
 couched in angry words, so as to destroy the effect ; nor
 
 The Caithness Coast. 167 
 
 in tame, so as to fail of effect. It must be just as in 
 washing a brother's feet — you must not use boiling water 
 to scald, nor frozen water to freeze them." 
 
 Some of the ministers of Caithness in these old days 
 were narrow in opinion, severe in censure, arbitrary in 
 rule, and harsh in doctrine ; but most of them were 
 also men of genuine piety, much kindliness of heart, and 
 warm hospitality ; a few at least bore the stamp of lofty 
 genius. They " served their generation " — they were not 
 sent or meant to serve ours ; and as a body they deserved 
 the high respect in which they were held by the people.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE TOWN OP THURSO. 
 
 Thurso is the most northern town on the mainland of 
 Great Britain. The origin of the name I hold to be 
 still uncertain, and am prepared to give my reasons. 
 Will my readers join me in a short excursion into the 
 region of etymology ? There are two derivations given of 
 the word Thurso — the one Scandinavian, the other Celtic. 
 Naturally, I should prefer the former, but there are cir- 
 cumstances about the latter which stagger me. What 
 are these rival views ? Let me first present the case 
 from the Norse aspect. The original form of the name, 
 according to many, was Thorsaa, that is, Thor's aa, which 
 means Thor's river. From the stream the name passed 
 to the town, and thence in later times to the Bay. It 
 thus appears that from a very early period the river and 
 town were under the protection of Thor, the son of Odin 
 the supreme being, and, therefore, the second in rank of 
 the Scandinavian deities. Being the most valiant among 
 them, he acted the part of defender and avenger of all 
 the other gods. His great weapon was a mallet or 
 hammer, which, as often as he discharged it, returned to 
 his hand again. He also wore a girdle, which had the 
 peculiar virtue of renewing his strength again when he
 
 
 / 
 
 
 IS 
 
 o 
 
 C/J 
 « 
 
 X 
 H 
 
 Q* 
 
 < 
 
 « 
 
 « 
 o 
 
 ffl 
 ■J 
 o 
 
 K 
 
 u 
 
 o 
 Pi 
 
 H 
 H 
 W 
 ►J 
 O 
 
 w 
 
 X 
 H
 
 The Town of Thurso. 169 
 
 was faint or weary. This was the tutelary deity of 
 Thurso. 
 
 Now for the Celtic view of the question. The Gaelic 
 name of Thurso is Bal-inver-Horsa, that is, the town of 
 the river-mouth of Horsa, or sometimes simply Invcr- 
 Horsa, the river-mouth or landing place of Horsa. Now, 
 Horsa is the name of a well-known Saxon warrior, who, 
 along with his brother Hengist, defeated the Scots and 
 Picts in a battle at Stamford in Lincolnshire. The ques- 
 tion is, Had he ever any connection with Caithness ? 
 Old chronicles say he had. The story goes that Horsa 
 and Hengist, with the son and nephew of the latter, 
 sailed north in forty ships, and overran Caithness- 
 Further, it is said that a great battle between them and 
 the natives took place somewhere in the county. At this 
 point a curious little piece of evidence comes in. In an 
 appendix to "Pennant's Tour in Scotland in 1769," the 
 Rev. Alexander Pope of Reay, a great antiquarian, says 
 that in his parish " there is a place called Tout Horsa, 
 or Horsa's grave, where they say that some great warrior 
 was slain and buried ; in the place is a great stone 
 erected. Probably he was one of Horsa's captains." It 
 is not easy to get over these names and statements ; but I 
 confess I should like to believe in the river- town of Thor. 
 
 The town was founded about the twelfth century, and 
 was made a Burgh of Barony in 1633, by Charles the 
 First. Several centuries ago, Thurso was a place of 
 great commercial importance and carried on an extensive 
 trade with Norway. Apparently King David believed 
 in the honesty and justice of the Caithness people, for 
 
 L
 
 1 70 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 the weights and measures of the county were made the 
 standard for all his kingdom. Here are the very words 
 of the decree. By the " Begiam Majestatem," chap, xiv., 
 "It is statute be King David that ane comon and equal 
 weicht quhilk (which) is called the weicht of Cathness — 
 pondus Cathanise — in buying and selling, sail be keeped 
 and vsed (used) be all men within this realm of Scot- 
 land." It is said that the standards so set up by law 
 belonged originally and properly to the town of Thurso. 
 Now-a-days the commerce of Thurso is of comparatively 
 little account, and the transference of County Courts 
 and like business generally to Wick has given the former 
 capital a somewhat deserted, or, as the inhabitants might 
 say, dignified air. 
 
 The town, fifty or sixty years ago, consisted of three 
 main parts. Down by the river mouth and harbour lay 
 a confused and crowded mass of poor dwellings, known 
 as the " Fisher Biggings," that is, buildings of a humble 
 type. These were inhabited chiefly, as the name indi- 
 cates, by fisher folks, with a sprinkling of the poorer 
 class of labourers. Behind this lowly district and at 
 some distance from the river and shore, was the com- 
 mercial portion of the town, with the busy shops and 
 comfortable dwellings of the merchant class. Behind 
 these again, on yet more elevated levels, were the suburban 
 residences of those who were credited with wealth or 
 rank, among whom were bankers, lawyers, and county 
 families. To put the matter plainly, the inhabitants 
 consisted of first, second, and third class passengers on 
 the journey of life. I have always thought of Thurso as
 
 The Town of Thurso. iji 
 
 a sort of modern and northern Capernaum. Down by 
 the shore at the " Fisher Biggings " we might find toilers 
 of the sea like the sons of Zebedee, and customs-men like 
 Matthew the publican, while in the suburban homes 
 might dwell wealthy Pharisees and Sadducees, and, let 
 us hope, many liberal-minded philanthropists like the 
 pious centurion. One thing more ere we pass from the 
 town itself. It would be foolish in me to pronounce 
 upon the rival merits of Wick or Thurso, for I hope to 
 find readers in both towns. If you belong to the south 
 of Scotland, you may understand their relations to one 
 another when I say that Thurso is the Edinburgh and 
 Wick the Glasgow of Caithness. A popular preacher 
 some time ago very happily described the Scottish 
 Capital as "an east - windy, west - endy " place. The 
 description might very suitably be divided between 
 the two northern towns, for if Wick is the east-windy, 
 Thurso is the west-endy place. If the former is devoted 
 to bustling commerce, the latter is a worshipper of 
 
 " That repose 
 Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere." 
 
 Passing through the streets of Thurso, the visitor 
 comes out upon an esplanade, built on the rocks which 
 rise above the splendid sea-beach. Thence the view, 
 northward across the Bay of Thurso to Holborn Head, 
 and north-eastward across the Bay of Dunnet to the 
 headland of the same name, can scarcely be surpassed on 
 the Scottish coast. The Pentland Firth runs from point 
 to point between the two bluff promontories, and toward
 
 172 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 the right the Orkney Islands close in the far horizon. 
 On the western side of Hoy, the island nearest to Thurso, 
 rises a remarkable thin pillar of rock, detached from the 
 cliffs and rising high above them, to which the name of 
 the " Old Man " has been applied. 
 
 " See Hoy's Old Man, whose summit bare 
 Pierces the dark blue fields of air ; 
 Based in the sea, his fearful form 
 Glooms like the spirit of the storm." 
 
 The great double bay — some four square miles in area — ■ 
 is almost entirely open to the north, but the two head- 
 lands protect it from the east and west winds. 
 
 Strolling along the esplanade from the confines of the 
 town, we reach the battered ruined remains of the 
 Bishop's palace on the crown of a rocky projection high 
 above the beach. This was the official residence of 
 Bishop John, the story of whose cruel death we shall tell 
 in due course. At some distance beyond these ruins, 
 the bay turns abruptly toward the north and embraces 
 the roadstead and harbour of Scrabster, the former a 
 favourite shelter for vessels and the latter a busy little 
 port. Thence the cliffs rise rapidly upward till they 
 reach the lofty elevation of Hoi born Head, where the 
 waters of the broad bay are merged in the open swirling- 
 sea of the Pentland Firth. At the headland itself, and 
 for a long distance beyond, the cliffs are most precipitous, 
 and assume very impressive and often fantastic forms. 
 There are deep goes with overhanging walls, hollow 
 sounding caves from which come the frequent thuds of 
 waves, grotesque bridges below which we catch glimpses
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1 73 
 
 of the surging, moaning waters beyond, and deep pits, 
 edged round by the grassy sod, in whose abysses the 
 waters crawl about and gurgle without ceasing. Oppo- 
 site a wide recess in the rocky walls, there stands a lofty 
 detached rock called the Clett — its overhanging sides 
 crowned with a flat bonnet of green and its tiers of 
 ledges dotted all over with multitudes of white sea-birds. 
 This imposing stack was, according to his own story, the 
 scene of an extraordinary exploit on the part of a Thurso 
 "character." Whatever may be thought of the feat 
 itself — we shall describe it by-and-bye — the scene of it 
 was at least well chosen and quite sufficient for the 
 purpose. 
 
 Such are some of the outward features of Thurso and 
 the scenery in its neighbourhood. It is now my duty to 
 deal with a very important matter affecting its reputa- 
 tion. The town has long lain under the burden of a 
 singular and most serious reproach. 
 
 Now, as soon as I mention this subject, it is not at all 
 unlikely that some of the modern inhabitants will at once 
 be reminded of that noble and eloquent preacher, the 
 Eev. Dr Thomas Guthrie, of Edinburgh, aye, and of 
 world-wide, fame. About thirty years ago, that eminent 
 man, in addressing a church gathering of some sort, 
 stated that in the town of Thurso, and when he himself 
 was preaching, he had seen 600 people asleep in church. 
 A great storm, of which no warning was given in any 
 forecast, burst over Scotland immediately after, and, as 
 was natural, raged most severely in the northern 
 counties. The newspaper offices, even of Edinburgh,
 
 1 74 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 felt its effects for weeks after. Some said that the Rev. 
 Doctor, though of course ignorantly and unintentionally, 
 had told what was simply untrue. Others stood up 
 boldly for the substantial accuracy of his statement, but 
 were quite willing to accept 599 as the actual number. 
 On one point there was practical unanimity. There may 
 have been 600 whose heads were bowed down during the 
 discourse ; but that did not settle the important question 
 whether they were or were not asleep. Personally, I 
 am of opinion that the Doctor did not make sufficient 
 allowance either for the reverent demeanour of northern 
 church audiences generally, or for the weighty importance 
 of the theme of discourse, or for the overpowering effect 
 of his own eloquence. Surely — to take the last point 
 alone — he should have been glad to see 600 heads of 
 wheat bowed before the persuasive breath of his oratory, 
 like golden grain before the wind. On the whole, I 
 think the people of Thurso did not come off second best 
 in the controversy ; and, therefore, the reproach out of 
 which it sprang is not the one to which I wish specially 
 to refer. The great scandal affecting the good name of 
 the town is at once more ancient and more serious. 
 
 The people of Thurso, according to popular tradition, 
 are accused of having on one occasion boiled a Bishop, 
 sometimes it is even said, their Bishop. This, if true, 
 must be admitted to have been a horrible and sacrilegious 
 crime. The charge is one which I must do my best to 
 disprove and clear away before I can hope to enlist the 
 interest or sympathies of my readers, even in tUe late 
 posterity of such people. Let me at once begin with
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1 75 
 
 the frank and honest admission that within a few miles 
 of Thurso not one but two Bishops on separate occasions 
 came to a sad end. So much we concede freely, because 
 we cannot do otherwise. I shall, however, show, easily 
 and conclusively, that the people of the good town were 
 not, in either case, the criminal parties. A simple recital 
 of facts will show how baseless is the charge, and I shall 
 therefore narrate the two events as they occurred. 
 
 The first case dates back so far as the latter years of 
 the twelfth century. At that time Harold, Earl of 
 Orkney, was ruler over all Caithness, but King William 
 the Lion requested and commissioned Reginald, some- 
 times called Rognvald, Lord of the Isles, to bring back 
 the county to its allegiance by force of arms. The 
 royalist expedition was, after a sore struggle, successful ; 
 and Reginald on departing left deputies to rule over 
 Caithness in the King's name. During that campaign 
 Thurso had espoused the cause of the crown. Very soon 
 after, Harold, who well deserved the name of the " wicked 
 Earl Harold," returned to Caithness with a strong force 
 of Orkneymen and Norwegians, for the purpose of re-es- 
 tablishing over the county his own authority and rule. 
 He landed at Scrabster, so that Thurso was naturally his 
 first object of attack. The townspeople, in great alarm, 
 applied to Bishop John, whose palace lay between the 
 town and the invading army, to intercede on their 
 behalf. The Bishop, espousing their cause, met the Earl 
 face to face, and earnestly pled with him to extend mercy 
 to the inhabitants. Harold was not a man at all likely 
 to be moved by such an appeal. Instead of appeasing, it
 
 1 76 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 inflamed his wrath, and the Bishop himself was made its 
 first victim. The Earl, without a word of reply, ordered 
 one of his followers, named Lomberd, to seize the prelate, 
 cut out his tongue, and tear out both his eyes. The foul, 
 dastardly deed was done, and the Bishop fell a martyr to 
 his advocacy of the people's cause. Immediately after, 
 the Earl wreaked his vengeance on the town itself, and 
 hung many of its chief inhabitants. Lomberd, who so 
 cruelly killed the Bishop, was afterwards condemned by 
 the Pope to undergo a frightful penance, but the Earl 
 himself — the mores the pity ! — was never taken to task, 
 and was at a later date actually forgiven by the King. 
 In this instance at least it is clear that the people of 
 Thurso were in no way responsible for the cruel murder 
 of the Bishop, though their sad plight led to the com- 
 mission of the crime. 
 
 In the second case, the inhabitants of Thurso, as such, 
 were equally guiltless, though it is just possible that one 
 or two natives of the town may have known too much of 
 the crime. I shall even go the length of saying, that 
 many of the Thurso people may have cried, " Served him 
 right," when they heard of the victim's fate. The story 
 is as follows. In the year 1222, Adam, Bishop of Caith- 
 ness, occupied the Episcopal palace, which stood by the 
 river of Thurso, five or six miles from the town. On the 
 opposite bank of the stream, and crowning a picturesque 
 rock, rose the strong and stately walls of the Castle of 
 Brawl, originally spelt Brathwell, the residence at that 
 time of John, Earl of Caithness. The Bishop was a rigid 
 exactor of tithe, and, at short intervals, increased more
 
 The Town of Thurso. 177 
 
 and more his demands upon the people. Among other 
 things, he required of each family a certain quantity of but- 
 ter, first from every fifteen cows, then, without abatement, 
 from every twelve cows, and, finally, from every ten cows. 
 As the demand, even in its original form, was sufficiently 
 heavy and galling, this growing imposition exasperated 
 the people, who appealed their case to the Earl at Brawl. 
 At first he declined to interfere, or even to express any 
 opinion ; but at length he gave way to their urgent 
 representations. Caring little for the Bishop or his 
 claims, and worried by the clamour of the people, he 
 testily exclaimed, "Devil take the Bishop and his butter ; 
 you may roast him if you please." According to another 
 version, the latter portion of his words was even less 
 elegant than the above, namely, " Go and seethe him, 
 and sup him, too, if you like." The crowd understood 
 the Earl's vigorous language as a carte blanche permis- 
 sion to treat the Bishop as they pleased, and they acted 
 accordingly. Proceeding to the palace across the river, 
 and with cries of " Roast him alive," the mob surrounded 
 the building. When a monk named Serlo came out to 
 appease their rage, they attacked and despatched him 
 on the spot. Next, the Sheriff of the county attempted 
 to pacify them, but in vain. At length, the Bishop him- 
 self, in full sacerdotal costume, appeared, and on him 
 their full fury burst. They seized him, and, according 
 to one account, dragged him along by the hair, and beat 
 him with sticks as they went. At length they conveyed 
 him to his own large kitchen, where the fire had been 
 abundantly replenished ; and there — they roasted him to
 
 lyS Scenes arid Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 death ! The chief actors in the tragedy are said to have 
 been the family or followers of one John of Harpsdale, 
 a township in the heights of the parish of Halkirk. 
 Nothing can be said in defence or extenuation of so 
 horrible an outrage, but at the same time we may, I 
 think, draw one inference from the story. Considering 
 the tremendous power of the Eomish Church at that 
 period, the Bishop's conduct must, in more ways than 
 one, have been irritating and exasperating, else no body 
 of men would brave the consequences of such a deed to 
 obtain deliverance from his tyranny. Still let us trust 
 he was a good man after all. It has been said that 
 everything suffers by translation except a Bishop. If 
 that adage always holds true, we may hope that Bishop 
 Adam did not suffer by his translation, though the man- 
 ner of it was quite unique. So far as I am aware, no 
 Bishop has ever resided in Caithness since these days ; 
 and it may be well for any such, who must pass through 
 the county, to make their stay as brief and unostenta- 
 tious as possible. Some lingering drops of the old blood 
 may even yet remain in the veins of the people. So it 
 has often happened among the tribes and nations of men, 
 for there is much truth in the doctrine of heredity. 
 Has not the poet said, 
 
 " Thus fought the Greek of old, 
 Thus will he fight again ; 
 Shall not the self-same mould 
 Bring forth the self-same men ? " 
 
 It is surely not too much to hope that my readers do not
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1 79 
 
 now heed the cruel reproach against the people of Thurso. 
 Much rather would I believe, or allow others to believe, 
 in their drowsy propensities during divine service. As- 
 suming, however, that all prejudice is removed, allow me 
 now to offer some sketches, written and otherwise, of 
 certain inhabitants of the town. 
 
 In Thurso, as in many similar communities, there 
 existed what is commonly called a Dame's School, 
 which was maintained by public subscription. It met 
 in humble, and by no means extensive, premises, and 
 was attended by a fair number of the lasses of the town. 
 The mistress was a vigorous, but somewhat eccentric, 
 female, considerably past middle life. The ladies of the 
 town took an active and practical interest in the little 
 school, and frequently honoured it with a visit. On these 
 great occasions, the mistress was in full feather, and put 
 the frightened girls through their facings in grand style. 
 The programme of proceedings usually began in the 
 following remarkable and quite original fashion. The 
 ladies were accommodated with seats on either hand of 
 the teacher, while the girls, meek even to demureness, 
 filled a front bench in the middle. Addressing the 
 ladies, the mistress began by assuring them that her 
 class was composed of the stupidest, laziest, most ill-man- 
 nered, and ill-behaved pupils she had ever known or 
 even heard of. With a wealth and variety of language 
 which I cannot emulate, she appeared to show con- 
 clusively what a ne'er-do-weel lot they were. Having 
 thus unburdened her soul, and prepared the ladies to ex- 
 pect no trace of any excellence whatever, she turned to
 
 180 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 the trembling young creatures whom she had so abused, 
 and, in an encouraging tone, exclaimed, 
 
 "Noo, lasses, stan' up an' mak' yir mistress a leear." 
 The girls rose at once in response to this call and did 
 their best, at the command of their teacher, to show that 
 she really deserved the odious character which she desired 
 to have fastened upon her. This was the invariable intro- 
 duction to the work of examination, which then proceeded 
 with all briskness. How far it would prove successful 
 in a modern Board School and before a Government 
 inspector, I leave to the Educational Institute of Scot- 
 land to decide. If they choose to recommend the 
 plan to teachers generally, it might lead to interesting 
 results. 
 
 It is now time to introduce to my readers three famous 
 " characters," whose faces, figures, and frailties were well 
 known in Thurso fifty years ago or more. As I am 
 happily, or unhappily, too young to have seen any of 
 them, my information regarding them is derived entirely 
 from hearsay and may not be, in all points and absolutely, 
 true to fact. At the same time I have endeavoured to 
 do them no injustice whatever. Fortunately I am saved 
 the trouble of attempting to describe their persons. The 
 graphic pictures of each of the three worthies which 
 adorn and enliven this chapter convey to the eye a faith- 
 ful representation of what manner of men they were. 
 The sketches from which these are taken were executed 
 by a Thurso lady, a relative of my own, but were not 
 secured without some difficulty. One at least of the 
 gentlemen was as strongly opposed to any pictorial re-
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1 8 1 
 
 presentation of his face and figure as any faithful Maho- 
 metan could possibly be, but I have reason to believe 
 that a little pardonable bribery overcame his scruples. 
 In each case the kitchen of Shrubbery Bank, Thurso, 
 became the studio, and there the works were executed. 
 
 We shall begin with "Peelans," or "Pillans," whose 
 lively likeness you will find on the opposite page. His 
 proper name is said to have been John M'Lean. He 
 was, however, universally known by the nickname, that 
 is, eke-name, which I have given above, but the origin 
 or meaning of which I am quite unable to explain. He 
 does not appear to have been a native of Thurso, and is 
 said to have come from the West Highlands. The 
 M'Lean country lay in the district of Morven and 
 neisfhbourino: island of Mull. 
 
 In the case of " Peelans," we have a traditional story 
 as to the origin of his mental aberration. It is gruesome 
 enough in all conscience. When quite a young boy he 
 had been guilty of some petty theft. His father, to 
 mark his righteous indignation, devised a most remark- 
 able and reprehensible punishment. He filled a fish 
 creel with a large number of frogs, well knowing that 
 his son had a special abhorrence of these loathsome 
 creatures. Into that creel, along with the frogs, he 
 deposited his guilty son, and then deliberately set it on 
 a lively fire. What the father intended the issue of that 
 proceeding to be, we cannot say ; but Peelans in some 
 way or other escaped the sad fate of Bishop Adam. 
 From that very hour, indignant and enraged, he quitted 
 his father's roof never to return. The incident quite
 
 1 8 2 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 ■unhinged his mind, and he became the strange, witless 
 creature he ever after was. 
 
 No one who looks at his grotesque figure will wonder 
 that his gait and attitudes were very peculiar. In his 
 later days he often attracted attention by the oddity of 
 his motions. In walking, he frequently came to an 
 abrupt halt as if arrested by the sudden remembrance of 
 something he had forgotten ; he then stood for a few 
 moments stock still with his feet widely apart, while his 
 body bobbed up and down, up and down, in a jerking 
 fashion, as if moved by some automatic mechanism. 
 
 Like many of his class, he often gave way to sullen 
 and sulky fits. These were often produced by the 
 unthinking, if not unkind, treatment which he received 
 from pitiless neighbours. On one occasion he had been 
 rudely handled by a herd boy. By way of revenge, 
 which, unfortunately, could not affect the offender, he sat 
 down bodily in a pool of filthy water, from which, for a 
 length of time, no entreaties could induce him to arise. 
 By-and-bye, a kindly Christian woman, taking pity 
 upon him, lifted him up, and actually carried him off on 
 her back. It is to be hoped that this benevolent action 
 drew him out of his sulks. 
 
 At times his sullenness grew into positive and vin- 
 dictive rage. His chief tormentors were boys, who 
 delighted to annoy him in every possible way. The 
 youth of the towns were most frequently the offenders, 
 and sometimes, because of them, Peelans avoided Wick 
 and Thurso for weeks and even mouths at a time. In 
 dealing with his juvenile enemies, he used one peculiar
 
 The Tozvn of Thurso. 1 8 
 
 j 
 
 formula on almost all occasions. In scornful tones he 
 hurled at them the oft-needed advice, " Go to school, 
 Johnnie, boy." When stung into fury, he made powerful 
 and effective use of a sturdy stick which he always 
 carried as a weapon of defence. Those who had once 
 felt its force seldom did anything which might provoke 
 a second blow. On one occasion he appears to have 
 used it, without any due provocation, in a wantonly 
 wicked and cruel fashion. At a country fair, he came 
 in contact with a woman named Elizabeth, whom he 
 struck so violently, as to leave her wounded and 
 bleedino-. No one seems to have known the cause of this 
 assault. A number of men gathered around and upbraided 
 him for his cruel and cowardly act. In a fawning, 
 mock-humble fashion, Peelans could only plead, " Ocli ! 
 wha is't but ' dulskey Leezag ' ? " The latter word was 
 a familiar form of Elizabeth, and the " dulskey " was an 
 allusion to her avocation. She went about the country 
 selling dulse, a sea-plant of not unpleasant edible 
 properties. Thus Peelans expressed his contempt for the 
 woman, perhaps because of her sex, perhaps because of 
 her humble occupation, perhaps because of both. 
 
 Failing his trusty stick, anything came handy to him 
 for purposes of aggression. In days when newspapers 
 were less common than they now are, two neighbours 
 had a certain journal which passed regularly between 
 them. A youth asked permission to go for the paper to 
 one of the houses. He knew that Peelans was there, 
 and probably sought to get some fun out of him. He 
 found his intended victim lying on a " shake-down "
 
 1 84 Scenes mid Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 before the fire behind the " hallan " or " hallan stane " 
 which sheltered the hearth from the draft of the door. 
 On the entrance of the boy, Peelans at once suspected 
 that he had to do with one of his traditional enemies, 
 and slily took the initiative in hostilities. Rising from 
 his resting-place, and stooping down under pretence of 
 putting on some article of clothing, he lifted a large 
 "tusker" peat of the hardest material, and, with the 
 usual exclamation, "Go to school, Johnnie, boy," hurled 
 it at the lad's head. Fortunately he missed his aim, 
 and the peat striking the opposite wall broke into a 
 wide-spreading cloud of dust. The good woman of the 
 house was horrified, but not a little thankful that 
 the missile had not reached its intended victim. 
 
 Notwithstanding these unfavourable traits in his 
 character, Peelans appears to have had some good 
 inclinations in the direction of religion. Many pious 
 people thought him nearer to the kingdom than others 
 who made sport of his mental infirmity. Peelans carried 
 no purse nor scrip, but these good folks treated him 
 kindly, and generously supplied his wants. He never 
 sat down to any food provided for him without devoutly 
 saying his "grace before meat." The wording of this 
 devotional exercise was most remarkable and mysterious. 
 One who has frequently heard it has kindly supplied me 
 with the following phonetic rendering : " Los mas boce, 
 jeea ; ooas, God ambean ; Los mas boce, jeea." When 
 very hungry, and anxious to attack the viands before 
 him, he used the shortened form, " Los mas boce, jeea ; 
 ooas God ambean." If any of my readers can interpret
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1S5 
 
 these words, I shall be glad to be furnished with a 
 translation. I hope I shall offend no one by suggesting 
 that they look like Gaelic. On other occasions, ;Peelans 
 used a short but intelligible prayer, which ran thus : 
 "God made me, an' God save me — a poor ketar," that 
 is, creature. Surely these words resemble the brief 
 petition of the publican, "God be merciful to me the 
 sinner." Let us hope they were uttered in a like spirit, 
 and with a like result. 
 
 Peelans lived in the days of the first Napoleon, when 
 volunteering was the order of the day all over Britain, 
 even in the far north. Many of the landed proprietors 
 and wealthier farmers took a lead in the movement. 
 They and their sons became officers in the various 
 companies. The drilling of recruits went on actively 
 all over the county ; and whenever Peelans could be 
 present on such occasions, he was a deeply interested 
 spectator. Martial dress and music had a peculiar 
 fascination for him, and at times his enthusiasm knew no 
 bounds. Most faithfully did he endeavour to imitate 
 their various motions, and his attempts awakened no 
 little hilarity among both officers and men. 
 
 Of all the military exercises, the practice of shooting- 
 interested him most, and his delight at times amounted 
 almost to frenzy. On one occasion Peelans was on the 
 drill field, and at a critical moment shouted out, " Present 
 — cock — fire ! ' : The men in the ranks mistook his voice 
 for that of their Captain, and at once obeyed the 
 command. They soon discovered how and by whom 
 they had been deceived. Whether they were taken upon 
 
 M
 
 1 86 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 discipline for this breach of order we are not informed. 
 One thing is certain ; they were known for many a long 
 day as " Peelans' squad." It is also said that in drinking 
 bouts, the reproach of that name often led to high words, 
 and sometimes even to bloodshed. 
 
 By those who knew his military ardour, Peelans was 
 often asked to " call the roll." It afforded a trick which 
 was sometimes played off on those who were not aware 
 in what fashion he performed the duty. When the 
 centre of a little company, some one would suggest, 
 " Peelans, call the roll." The would-be officer at once 
 responded, and his modus operandi was as follows : — 
 He began by lifting his stick and bringing it down 
 vigorously on the head or any other accessible part of the 
 unfortunate individual nearest to him. This was an 
 authoritative beginning, and afforded no little merriment 
 to all except the poor victim. He then proceeded to call 
 over a list of what sounded like names, but no one could 
 ever make anything of them. If the confused syllables 
 represented any persons whatever, no one could ever 
 discover who they were. They might certainly absent 
 themselves from the muster and have no fear of being 
 called to account. Another strange character in Thurso 
 was one Davie Rugg. Sometimes he and Peelans met 
 in the same house. When this occurred, Rugg was in 
 the habit of saying to the master or mistress, " Gie 'im 
 a piece ; Lord help 'im ; he's a feel," that is, a fool. 
 Many who knew them both were of opinion that Davie 
 was himself the bigger fool of the two. As I have heard 
 little of Rugg, I have no means of judging between them.

 
 The Town of Thurso. 187 
 
 Another of the notable characters of Thurso was 
 "Moozie," or more fully, "Johnnie Moozie," whose 
 portrait faces this page. His real name was John 
 Henderson, but he had quite a number of nicknames, 
 such as " Glossey," " Starney," " Buckteeth," and " Kotten 
 Legs." He was a married man, but little is now known 
 of his family history. He was called " Moozie " from a 
 cause which it would not be for edification to mention. 
 The sketch given is a faithful reproduction of his personal 
 appearance. Every one can see at a glance how odd was 
 his figure and how comical his costume. Moozie had 
 a multiplicity of offices and occupations. He was 
 church - officer and bellman, gravedigger, town crier, 
 officer of court, door-keeper at public meetings and 
 entertainments, confidential messenger on all sorts of 
 errands, and a " generally useful " person in many other 
 ways. 
 
 Moozie was certainly most eccentric in character, but 
 he was no fool in the ordinary acceptation of that term. 
 He was shrewd and witty, and if his blunders were often 
 comical, they were not due so much to any deficiency of 
 intellect as to simple want of thought. In many cases 
 his errors arose from the fact that he had never received 
 a sound education. 
 
 One characteristic, not usually to be found in those of 
 weak mind, was his strict fidelity and honesty. Because 
 of this merit, he was often employed on errands of trust. 
 One of the Thurso bankers at times sent him all the way 
 to Inverness with considerable sums of money. Here are 
 some of Moozie's reminiscences, given, I believe, very
 
 1 88 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 nearly in his own language, of two of these journeys. The 
 first story is very brief — 
 
 " I hed often to go wi' money from the bank til 
 Inverness, an' I traivelled on foot all the wey. Ae time, 
 when sittin' on a hillag atin' something, Davie Marshall 
 (a noted robber) cam' til me an' said, ' Ye hev money in 
 'at bag.' I said, " Yes," 'an I laid doon ma pistals aside 
 it. I wis feared he micht tak' 'e money, but he gaed 
 awa withoot touchin't." 
 
 The next is a longer story. 
 
 "Ae time Maister Henderson (the banker) sent for 
 me. I wis livin' then at Thirsay (Thurso) east. He 
 said til me, ' John, you must go to Inverness with money 
 to-day. Get ready as quick as ye can and mind to go 
 with daylight and take up your lodgings when night 
 comes on.' I wis busy wi' some wark at hame so I wis 
 in nae hurry startin'. He ca'ed at 'e hoose an' wis vera 
 angry for me stoppin' sae lang. I got 'e wallat frae 'im 
 wi' 'e money. There wis fine snaw an' frost at 'e time 
 an' bonnie mune licht. I sterted in 'e efterneen an' 
 when I cam til Achkeepster Inn I thocht at first I wud 
 pit up 'ere. Bit when I lookit oot an' saw 'e nicht sae 
 clear, I says til masel, ' Gad, I'll go on.' When I cam 
 til 'e burn o' Rangag, I laid doon ma wallat an' boo'ed 
 doon til tak' a drink. I notticed twa men on 'e aff side 
 — ane on horseback an' 'e ither on feet. I cried ' Wha's 
 ere ? ' but nae answer. I cries a second time, ' Wha's 
 'ere ? ' — still nae answer. I taks oot ane o' ma pistals 
 an' fires her. They said, ' Man, are ye mad ? ' ' Na,' 
 says I, ' I'm nae mad, bit ye! re mad. Whey wadna ye
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1S9 
 
 answer a buddy whan he cried ? This ane brunt primin, 
 but, faith, gin I lied ta'en 'e ither, she wadna miss'd.' 
 Whan they cam' across 'e watter I saw 'at 'it wis a 
 gaeger an' 'e supervcesor. They lied been aff scoorin' 'e 
 country in search 0' smugglers. I didna ken bit they 
 micht be robbers an' as I wis trusted wi' 'e money I wad 
 hae a fecht afore I wad lose it." 
 
 As an evidence of his employment as door-keeper at 
 entertainments, it may be sufficient to quote the follow- 
 ing quaint couplet referring to some such occasion, 
 
 " There was a ball in Murray's hall, got up by Snuffy Diddle ; 
 Eingie Moozie kept the door, an' Sooky Almon' played the fiddle." 
 
 Moozie of course was called " Rinpie " because of his 
 office as bellman. As to the other elegant personal allu- 
 sions in the lines, it is perhaps as well that I cannot 
 explain them. Still, it is possible that even at this time 
 of day they may be understood by some local parties. 
 
 As already mentioned, " Buckteeth " was one of 
 Moozie's nicknames. It was evidently an allusion to his 
 prominent and even protruding front teeth. Johnnie 
 did not like the epithet and frequently resented its 
 application. On one occasion, while standing in a 
 grocer's shop in Thurso, a woman said to him, "Johnnie, 
 why do they ca' ye Buckteeth ? Ye hae as bonnie 
 teeth as ither folk." Moozie's cunning answer was, 
 " Wumman, I hae something mair extrordnar than 'at. 
 I hae hair growin' in ma mooth, 'an if ye pit yer finger in, 
 ye'll feei't." The silly woman did as she was bidden. 
 Moozie bit her finger almost to the bone, and then said 
 with a satisfied grin, " Gad, 'at 'ill learn ye no til ca' me
 
 1 90 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotlana. 
 
 Buckteeth again." Most likely she profited by the 
 lesson. 
 
 In Johnnie Moozie's days, the " cutty stool " was still 
 used in church as a means of punishment for those guilty 
 of offences against chastity. It was his duty to arrange 
 the sackcloth and stool on such occasions, and he was 
 always strict and ofteu severe in the discharge of his 
 functions. In one instance a woman was the unfortun- 
 ate offender with whom he had to deal, and she proved 
 rather refractory. Johnnie set her up to stand on the 
 stool but while he was occupied with some detail of the 
 ceremony, she slipped down and stood upon the floor. 
 Again he ordered her to mount the place of penitence, 
 and again, when his back was turned, she descended 
 from the perch of shame. This contumacy fairly roused 
 Moozie's anger, and in a voice which was heard by most 
 of those present in church, he thundered out the com- 
 mand, 
 
 " Get up, ye , an' stan' on't, an' if ye dinna stan', 
 
 I'll bin' (bind) ye on't, for weel dis yir sins deserv't." 
 
 If Moozie lived in our day, I am not sorry to say that 
 as regards these duties he would find his occupation 
 gone, like many another relic of barbarism. 
 
 At times Moozie came off second best in his dealings 
 with offenders. It seems there was a sort of lock-up in 
 Thurso for mischievous boys, and Johnnie was the 
 warder. He rather enjoyed the process and privilege of 
 shutting up these juvenile criminals under lock and key 
 in that chamber of durance vile. One day, however, the 
 boys turned the tables on him ; they were literally too
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1 9 1 
 
 many for their gaoler. When he entered to give them 
 some food, they fell upon him in a body, bound him 
 with ropes, and laid him groaning and moaning upon 
 the floor. To make all secure, they locked the door 
 behind them and made their escape with all possible 
 speed. At length Moozie's shouts for help were heard, 
 and after some time and trouble he was released from 
 bondage. 
 
 It has been mentioned that Moozie was sexton of the 
 parish. In this capacity it does not appear that he gave 
 entire satisfaction. On one occasion a poor widow com- 
 plained to the minister — the Rev. Mr Macintosh — that 
 she had been overcharged for the expenses of her hus- 
 band's funeral. The amount demanded by Johnnie was 
 seven shillings and sixpence. When the minister stated 
 the widow's complaint, and asked for an explanation, 
 Moozie was indignant, and by way of self-defence asked 
 Mr Macintosh some questions. " Did she tell ye 'at 'e 
 grave was dug six feet instead o' five ? " " No, John," 
 said the minister, " she did not." " Did she tell ye she 
 had 'e eess (use) o' 'e murt-cloth ? " — a black pall thrown 
 over the coffin. The minister had again to confess she 
 
 had not. " 'Ats 'e wey, Maister Macintosh, 'e d set 
 
 'ill come til ye wi' their blue cloaks an' white mutches. 
 Ye'll gie them tea an a' 'e rest o't, an' they'll tell ye a 
 
 lot o' d lees." The minister rebuked him for his 
 
 profane language, but Moozie evidently could not control 
 himself, for he replied, " Gad, it wad mak' a sa'nt sweer. 
 'E grave wis dug six feet instead o' five — that's sax 
 shillins ; an' 'e eess o' 'e murt-cloth wis eichteen pence."
 
 192 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Apparently there was no reply to that statement of the 
 account. 
 
 At certain seasons Moozie wrought along with others 
 in the field work of the manse glebe. Toward the close 
 of a day's work, the minister came with a bottle of 
 whisky and gave a glass to each of the men. When all 
 these had been supplied, Johnnie asked the Rev. gentle- 
 man, " Are ye no til gie a dram til 'e weemen ? ,: " No," 
 said the minister, " the women don't drink." Johnnie 
 met this statement by way of analogy. " Is 'at what ye 
 say ? Eh, 'e dukes 'ill drink as weel's 'e drakes." Pro- 
 bably the minister did not consider that style of argument 
 sufficient in such a case. 
 
 Moozie, being bellman of the Kirk, was also town 
 crier. Let me give a sjDecimen or two of the manner in 
 which he discharged that important public function. In 
 one case he was commissioned to make the following an- 
 nouncement by hand-bell throughout the town : "Mr 
 
 of — will deliver a Lecture this evening on Geography 
 and Biography." Moozie proceeded to discharge his duty, 
 and at every customary corner in the streets rung his bell 
 
 vigorously, and proclaimed aloud, " Mr of — 
 
 will deliver a Lecture this evening on Gography and 
 Bography." At another time, some one, as a practical 
 joke, paid him his usual fee of sixpence, and sent him 
 out with the following notice : " Lost, last night, an 
 empty pock fu' o' sawt (salt). Any person bringing the 
 said pock to me will be liberally rewarded for their 
 trouble." At one point in his journey, a passer-by re- 
 monstrated with him as to the nature of his announce-
 
 The Town of Thurso. 193 
 
 ment. " Johnnie, what nonsense is that ? How can the 
 pock be empty and full of salt ? " Moozie at once replied, 
 " Weel, I noor (never) thocht o' 'at ; but deil cares, I hae 
 'e saxpence." He probably went on his way to accomplish 
 the usual round. 
 
 Probably Moozie's most important office — next, at 
 least, to that of bellman — was officer of court. His 
 discharge of the duties, however, was often marked by 
 eccentricities and blunders. In one particular case — I 
 cannot tell its nature — a man, whose name was Sullivan 
 Keith, was required to appear in Court. The names were 
 apparently unfamiliar to Johnnie, but, of course, he would 
 on no account confess ignorance, or even seem to be beaten. 
 As he must needs cry out some names, he hit upon a 
 happy paraphrase, and with dignity exclaimed, " Silver 
 Teeth, to answer at the instance of so and so. Silver 
 Teeth, once ; Silver Teeth, twice ; Silver Teeth, thrice. 
 He's not in the house, my Lord." 
 
 I have one more incident in the life of Moozie to re- 
 cord. In these days the punishments inflicted on thieves 
 and other criminals were often remarkable. Sometimes 
 they were condemned to be " tied to a cart's tail," and 
 flogged through the streets of the town. In a certain 
 case of the class mentioned, this peculiar sentence was 
 pronounced, and then the presiding Justices had to face 
 the question who should be deputed to do the flogging. 
 The Laird of Freswick, who was a Sinclair, and who 
 delighted to recount Moozie's many titles, said, "Moozie 
 will whip him." One of the other justices who knew, 
 or pretended to know, very little of Johnnie, at once
 
 194 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 asked, " Who is that ? " By way of mischief and fun, 
 Freswick varied the name. " Glossey will whip him." 
 Still the justices professed ignorance of the individual 
 proposed, so Sinclair gave them a still further choice 
 of the names of his nominee, " Starney, Buckteeth, 
 Rotten Legs, Johnnie Henderson, Moozie will do it." 
 By this time there was no possibility of mistake. 
 Johnnie, who was present all the while, was at length 
 asked if he would consent to perform the official duty, 
 but, being indignant with the liberties taken with his 
 name, at once replied, " Na, na, I'll no feep (whip) 'im. 
 The Sinclairs hae hed 'a 'e honours in Caitness 'is mony 
 a day, 'an 'ey can tak' 'at wi' 'e lave." This biting 
 retort upon the Laird of Freswick caused no little 
 amusement, and as a reward, a gentleman named Hen- 
 derson gave Moozie a sovereign to drink his health. 
 Johnnie would no doubt receive the gift with thank- 
 fulness. Who was ultimately induced to execute the 
 sentence, I do not know. It may be safely taken for 
 granted, however, that the Laird of Freswick, like Moozie 
 himself, would decline the honour. 
 
 The third and most original of all the Thurso " char- 
 acters " was Neil Mackay, whose by-name was " Boustie." 
 He does not appear to have been a native of the town ; 
 perhaps he came from the Reay country, the home and 
 territory of the clan whose name he bore. Why he was 
 called "Boustie," it is impossible to affirm with any 
 certainty. The most probable suggestion is that the 
 name was originally " Boastie," and was intended to 
 describe his braggart character. He had several other
 
 The Town of Thurso. 195 
 
 nicknames, such as " Bushans," " Bushey Neilie," and 
 " Mally sookit 'e coo. " The last of these was, I fear, 
 the property, strictly speaking, of his wife, but was on a 
 well-known principle of matrimony applied also to the 
 husband. 
 
 As to his personal appearance, I refer my readers to 
 his portrait, for which he consented to sit, or rather stand, 
 after much persuasion both in the shape of argument 
 and money. His figure was erect and not wanting in 
 a certain rude dignity. His nose was decidedly promin- 
 ent, and his under-lip often hung down like the mouth 
 of a cream jug. His eyeballs rolled about restlessly and 
 were raised upward beneath their eaves when narrating 
 his biggest fibs, as if appealing to high heaven for their 
 truthfulness. 
 
 As has already been said, no one knows whence or 
 when he came to Caithness, though the general belief 
 is that he was a native of the West Highlands. Accord- 
 ing to common tradition, he was first seen in the 
 neighbourhood of Holborn Head, but how, whence, or 
 why he came thither, is an insoluble mystery. One 
 story is that he fell down from the sky like a meteor, 
 but no one could ever find anything about his person or 
 character to support any such view. If an angel, he 
 was certainly a fallen one. He had without doubt not 
 a little affinity of moral sentiment with the father of 
 lies. According to another account, he came to the 
 Caithness coast on an emigrant vessel, from which he 
 somehow made his escape either of his own accord, or 
 when she was wrecked. Yet another tradition is that
 
 196 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 he spent part of his early life as a mason's labourer in 
 Edinburgh. It is further supposed that he there 
 acquired those aristocratic airs which often astonished 
 the simple townspeople of Thurso, and even tickled the 
 fancy of his more cultured and high caste acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 One of Boustie's most marked characteristics was his 
 intense and peculiar pride. He believed himself to be 
 a born aristocrat, and it was one of the motive forces of 
 his life to maintain and act up to that high dignity. In 
 the matter of charity, this feature always came pro- 
 minently to the front. He never would accept of any 
 gift or alms as an ordinary beggar or in an ordinary 
 way ; in fact, he would scorn to stoop so low. But 
 those who knew him well were aware of this peculiarity, 
 and found out how it mio;ht be overcome to the satis- 
 faction of all parties. If the gift were presented as the 
 return of a loan, Boustie would willingly and with 
 dignity consent to accept payment. Let the giver say 
 with polite deference, " Mr Mackay, here is the sixpence 
 I borrowed from you a week ago." Boustie would 
 pocket it at once, very often adding the remark, " Yes, 
 an' it's time it wis paid too." The late Mr Dunbar of 
 Scrabster often slipped something into his hand when 
 he thought no one was likely to notice. One day a few 
 young men, suspecting that Boustie had got some 
 money from his benefactor, cried to him, " Boustie — 
 beggary ! beggary ! " " Mr Mackay " at once drew him- 
 self up proudly, and replied, " Naething o' 'e kind ; it's 
 a shillin' I lent 'im whan he wis buyan' fish at 'e fish-
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1 9 7 
 
 stane." At times, perhaps when he was in straits, 
 Boustie ventured to give a hint to his wealthier friends, 
 but the hint also ran along the familiar lines. If he 
 saw any lady or gentleman buy something, fish or any 
 similar article, he would stand quietly by until the 
 bargain was completed and the money paid. Then, 
 supposing it were a gentleman, Boustie would mutter 
 in a gentle aside, as if addressing himself alone, " It wad 
 set (become) him far better 'e pay me fat (what) he 
 borrowed 'e last year." He then went on his sorrowful 
 way to moralise upon the ingratitude and dishonesty of 
 mankind. These little ways of showing his proud 
 nature pleased him, and did no harm to any body. 
 
 Soon after coming to Thurso, Boustie took unto him 
 a wife. She was a woman named Mally Forsyth, who, 
 though good looking, was of weak intellect like himself. 
 She died long before him, and her funeral was a remark- 
 able occasion in his history. It is a strange comment on 
 human nature to observe how certain persons acquire 
 great importance in their own eyes if they are the chief 
 actors in proceedings connected with death or burial. 
 The prominence which they necessarily assume, the 
 sympathy and consideration extended to them, the 
 superior dress they wear on such occasions : all these 
 combine to raise them in their own estimation, and to 
 induce them to put on airs which at other times they 
 would never think of displaying. Before alluding to 
 this feeling as shown in his own peculiar fashion by 
 Boustie, let me confirm what I have said by an instance 
 from another quarter of the country. In a Scotch low-
 
 198 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 land town there lived a woman of weak intellect who 
 imbibed the notion that several gentlemen were greatly 
 taken with her charms. One of her supposed admirers 
 was a clergyman in the town, who, however, disappointed 
 her by marrying another. A few years afterwards he 
 died. On the occasion of his funeral, the poor creature 
 referred to stood among a group of spectators as the 
 cortege passed through the streets, and she was observed 
 to be weeping. When some one asked her the cause 
 of her tears, she, with much apparent emotion, replied, 
 " If it hedna been for ma mither, I micht hae been the 
 widow the day." The lot of the real widow on that 
 occasion was in her opinion one to be envied. 
 
 Well, something of the same strange feeling seems to 
 have possessed Boustie on the occasion of his wife 
 Mally's funeral. Being the aristocrat he was, he was 
 resolved to appear to the very best advantage at so 
 important a public ceremony. There were not wanting 
 in Thurso those who were quite disposed to humour him 
 to the top of his bent in such a matter. A few of the 
 tailors in town resolved and offered to rig him out in 
 becoming fashion for the ceremony. Little suspecting 
 their waggish intentions, he gratefully accepted their 
 services. I am sorry I cannot fully describe the striking 
 costume which was the fruit of their labours, but I can 
 mention one or two of the articles. Among county 
 gentlemen and other persons of quality, tall white felt 
 hats were fashionable at the time, so, to make him equal 
 with his peers, one of these dashing head-pieces was pro- 
 vided for Boustie. They further adorned it with long,
 
 The Town of Thurso. 1 99 
 
 profuse bands of crape, whose folds hung far down his 
 back. So attired, he followed Mally's remains to the 
 graveyard, with a solemn and haughty dignity which 
 could not have been exceeded had he been the Earl of 
 Caithness or the Chief of his own famous clan. 
 
 If his name was given him because he was a boaster, 
 it was most appropriate, for this at all events is certain, 
 that he was habitually guilty of extravagant lying and 
 bragging. He detailed his own exploits with the utmost 
 calmness and solemnity. They never appeared to him 
 in the least degree improbable, unreal, or untrue. The 
 biggest lie which his brain could invent, he told with 
 the most innocent and guileless of all looks. As few 
 who heard cared to question his wonderful tales, he 
 resented the slightest sign of incredulity on the part of 
 a listener. 
 
 As one of his minor exploits — in fact, scarcely worth 
 mentioning — he often told how he had, without any 
 assistance, built a bridge over the water of Forse in the 
 darkness of a single night. Surely this, small though it 
 be, compares well even with the labours of Hercules. 
 The mighty deed was done as a service to his good 
 friend, Mr Sinclair of Forse, and became necessary 
 because of some dispute with Mr Inncs, the laird of 
 Sandside. As this was quite a trifling event, of which 
 I have not heard all the details, we shall pass on to 
 exploits which were obviously designed on a much more 
 imposing scale. 
 
 One of these was a great feat, the scene of which lay 
 on Holborn Head. We have already spoken of the
 
 200 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Clett, a massive stack standing out in the northern sea 
 at a distance of perhaps 80 yards from the main wall 
 of cliffs. Few have ever been found who could throw a 
 stone from the rock-heads on to its summit. But the 
 distance was nothing to Boustie. He most solemnly 
 declared that he had once, holding a sack of meal in his 
 teeth, leapt clean over from the headland on to the 
 Clett and landed safely on its crown. He might there 
 sing with Robinson Crusoe, though Juan Fernandez was 
 somewhat larger, 
 
 " I am monarch of all I survey, 
 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 From the centre all round to the sea 
 I am lord of the fowl and the brute." 
 
 But Boustie had no intention of taking up his abode on 
 the Clett ; he might even roll off in his sleep. The 
 return, however, was more difficult and must be 
 described, as nearly as may be, in his own words. " I 
 couldna get a rinnen' leap, but whan half wey ower, I 
 gied anither spring an' landed on Hobran Heed." 
 Apparently some sceptical person had expressed a doubt 
 as to whether such a feat was practicable, for Boustie 
 sometimes explained the matter in another fashion. 
 According to this variety of the story, our hero watched 
 his opportunity, and when a mighty eagle was sailing 
 across between the stack and the land, he leapt on its 
 back, and when carried over the brow of the cliffs, 
 dropped from his wonderful saddle safely to the ground. 
 Such were the two accounts. If any persons were 
 disposed to question either version, they were welcome
 
 The Town of Thurso. 201 
 
 to accept the alternative form. No one will doubt the 
 truth of the second account who remembers a similar 
 exploit on the part of Sinbad the Sailor, in whom we 
 have all believed since our early days. 
 
 According to his own story, for which there is possibly 
 a foundation in fact, Boustie had been at one time a 
 sailor. His adventures at sea were very remarkable, 
 especially as these were narrated by his own lips. One 
 who knew him well has supplied me with the following 
 story which is as nearly as possible a reproduction of his 
 own lano-uao-e. I might run the risk of marring the 
 simple truthfulness which appears upon the very surface 
 of the account, if I were to attempt any paraphrase. 
 Please allow me a word upon the Caithness dialect. Tli 
 is almost universally cut oif, so that that becomes 'at, 
 the becomes 'e. Til (which for distinction I spell with 
 one T) is always used for to ; and readers will notice a 
 strong tendency to cut short many of the words. 
 
 Well, a certain person met Boustie one day, and after 
 salutation said, " You're looking very well to-day, Mr 
 Mackay ; I hope you will have a long life yet." Boustie 
 was in good humour, and very soon launched out upon 
 his sea adventures. " Oh no, jewel, I'm a vera old man 
 now, an' 'am sairly bathered wi' 'e rout. (I presume 
 that means asthma, or difficulty in breathing.) I wis 
 a sailor aince, jewel ; I wis eichteen year at sea, an' 
 three year o' 'at I nivver saw day-licht. I wis wi' 
 Cappin Manson — as guid a sailor as ever set feet on sawt 
 watter. Bit ae day a terrible storm cam' on, an' Cappin 
 Manson sed til me, ' Hae, ye black souroo (devil), tak' 
 
 N
 
 202 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 'ir (the ship) an' do wi' 'ir fat ye like for 'am dune wi' 
 'ir.' So I pit e' men under hatches, an' lash't masel til 
 'e helem. I steered 'ir intil a place 'at 'ey ca' Bell Pint. 
 'Ere wis a lot o' cappins o' cod-bangers on shore, an' 'ey 
 'a kent Cappin Manson. Ane o' 'em sed til 'im, ' Dear 
 me, Cappin Manson, hoo did ye mak' 'd oot. We nivver 
 thocht 'at ye wad mak' 'd oot.' 'E Cappin said, ' I 
 hev nae credit for't ; it wis 'at auld black souroo 'at did 
 it.' Bit it wis a terrible cowld place, jewel. It wis 'at 
 cowld 'at ma feet wis frozen til 'e deck, an' I heel til rin 
 an' get bilin' watter til lowse 'em." Such were some of 
 Boustie's adventures on what a northern minister once 
 pathetically called " the wet and stormy ocean." 
 
 The Disruption of the Church of Scotland in 1843 and 
 the formation of the Free Church as a body without 
 State connection or endowment gave rise to keen excite- 
 ment. Many good people hesitated for a time whether 
 to remain in the Established Church, or " go out," as it 
 was called, with the Free. Boustie was present at a 
 small but influential meeting in the " Auld Kirk," at 
 which a few gentlemen were to discuss their own duty 
 in the matter. Here is Boustie's account, but how far 
 it is absolutely true in fact and description it is now 
 impossible to say. He was himself a loyal adherent of 
 mother Church, so it is not likely that he would make 
 things very much worse than they were. On entering 
 the house of an acquaintance on some errand, he was 
 asked where he had come from. In reply he said, 
 
 " I wis at a meetin' in 'e Kirk. C D was 
 
 'ere, W M , B Street, J G , 'e skeel-
 
 The Town of Thurso. 203 
 
 maister, ma friend B frae Sharney Hillag. Maister 
 
 D , daecent, godly man, wis 'ere too, an' masel. 'E 
 
 question wis, whether wid we leave 'e 'Steablish'd Kirk 
 or stick by 'ir. Nane o' 'em spak' for a while. At last 
 
 Maister D , daecent, godly man, brocht 'is han' 
 
 down wi' a thump on 'e table an' said, ' G d it, 
 
 what will we do bit stick by 'e 'Steablish'd Kirk. There 
 wis a 'Steablished Kirk afore 'e world was, and 'ere'll 
 be ane efter she's dune." Of course I could give the 
 whole of the names of which the initials are given, but 
 I have come as near to the personal as courtesy will 
 permit. To do less would spoil my story. 
 
 In his later years Boustie was greatly alarmed by the 
 proposal to erect gas works in Thurso. He was con- 
 vinced that the town would be ruined, and all the 
 inhabitants killed, by some dreadful explosion. Though 
 at that time about ninety years of age, he proved the sin- 
 cerity of his fears by travelling to Wick to consult a 
 lawyer on the subject. His object was to obtain an 
 interdict against the progress of the works, but he was 
 not successful. He lived in Thurso for years after in 
 perfect safety. 
 
 We have still one other feature in Boustie's character 
 to notice, and must narrate a strange adventure to which 
 it gave rise. It must be admitted that in one direction 
 at least he was a notorious thief. Peats were the chief 
 objects of his covetous thoughts and deeds ; and his 
 humble dwelling was at times so full of them that it 
 was almost impossible to move about on the floor. Of 
 course he had too much self-respect to steal openly or in
 
 204 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 broad day-light. Under cover of night however, he 
 sallied forth with a large sack, and helped himself 
 liberally from his neighbours' stacks. This thievish 
 propensity led him on one occasion into a strange 
 adventure. It was about the time when all Scotland 
 was ringing: with the murderous deeds of Burke and 
 Hare, who slew many a victim in the West Port of 
 Edinburgh, and disposed of their bodies to the doctors 
 for purposes of dissection. A few young fellows in 
 Thurso, out on the spree and ready for any lark, detected 
 Boustie filling his sack at a peat-stack, and resolved to 
 play a practical joke at his expense. Catching the 
 guilty creature in the very act, they emptied the sack 
 of its contents and packed Boustie himself inside, in 
 spite of all his protests and resistance. As this process 
 was going on, they audibly whispered to one another 
 that they would carry him off to Dr Laing and get a 
 good round sum for his carcase. Of course they fully 
 intended their victim to hear this proposal and decision. 
 Poor Boustie trembled all over with fright, but what 
 could he do ? Struggle as he might, he was now help- 
 less in their hands. All this time the young men knew 
 well that the much-esteemed doctor was that evening 
 a guest at a fashionable party in town. Lifting upon 
 their shoulders the sack containing their prize, they 
 went direct to the scene of festivity, where they no 
 doubt hoped and intended to create some sensation. On 
 arriving, they stuck the sack up on its end against the 
 jamb of the door, and then rung the bell. Betaking 
 themselves to a little distance, they awaited the result
 
 The Toivn of Thurso. 205 
 
 with lively interest. When the servant opened, the 
 sack, with its shivering occupant, fell inwards on the 
 lobby floor, and Boustie, with much difficulty, wriggled 
 his head out of the folds of the mouth. At once dread- 
 ing the worst that had been threatened him, he apostro- 
 phized the doctor iu frightfully profane language, " , 
 
 Lingie, ye , if ye pit yir ban' on me it'll 
 
 be the blackest job ever ye did in yir life." Recognising 
 his own uame even in its vulgarised form, the doctor, with 
 many of the company, rushed into the lobby and at 
 once discovered the cause of the disturbance. Boustie's 
 sad plight was the liveliest incident of the evening's 
 enjoyment, and — better still — it cured him of the evil 
 habit of peat-stealing. 
 
 Poor Boustie died about the year 1849 as the result 
 of an accident. Being struck by the shaft of a cart and 
 crushed between the wheel and a wall, he sustained 
 injuries from which he never recovered. He was the 
 chief of our three " worthies," and appears to have been 
 a favourite with everybody in Thurso.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SHETLAND ISLANDS. 
 
 A familiar story is told of a south-country minister 
 who spent a summer holiday in Shetland, and lectured 
 to his own people when he returned. Choosing the 
 Islands as his theme, he selected as his text the appro- 
 priate declaration, " There shall be no night there." As 
 regards some six weeks in summer, the words are really 
 true to fact, for, though Shetland is not absolutely the 
 "land of the midnio-ht sun," it comes nearer to that 
 description than any other spot under the British crown, 
 at least in Europe. This is at least one reason why of 
 late years so many travellers visit the Islands. I trust 
 they will not be sorely offended if I tell them that they 
 so become what the Orkney people used in disdain to 
 call " Ferry-loupers ; " that is, leapers over the ferry 
 between these groups and the mainland of Scotland. 
 To see the sun very near to midnight is an interesting 
 sight, but Shetland has far greater and more permanent 
 attractions. To those who know them I need not say 
 that I refer to the magnificent sea-board scenery of the 
 Islands, and the picturesque aspects of life among a 
 people not yet spoiled by contact with the grosser
 
 u 
 Li 
 
 tr. 
 
 ►J 
 
 OS 
 
 > 
 
 < 
 
 W 
 
 K 
 H 
 
 fa 
 O 
 
 Q 
 Z 
 
 — 
 
 a; 
 o 
 
 w
 
 The Shetland Islands. 207 
 
 adjuncts of civilisation. We are still at some distance 
 from the time when a cantilever bridge shall be thrown 
 over the Pentland Firth or the Roost of Suniburgh. I 
 know that the visitor to Shetland may have to endure 
 at times a very considerable tossing by the way, but 
 what can he expect ? We all have our ups and downs 
 in this life whether on land or sea, and we must just 
 grin and bear them. Only the other day I read the 
 following sentence and took a careful note of it for the 
 benefit of others. " There was never yet such a storm 
 but it was jEolian music to a healthy and innocent ear." 
 There you have a choice morsel of philosophy for inward 
 digestion at sea when you can eat nothing else. If you 
 are, or even desire to be thought, healthy and innocent, 
 then be sure you do not grumble at the Atlantic swells 
 which may come from the far west to pay you their 
 respects between Fair Isle and Sumburgh. 
 
 Lerwick, the chief, or rather the only town in Shet- 
 land, lies on the eastern side of the main island, which 
 is called Mainland to distinguish it from those which 
 are smaller. The houses are piled up the steep sides 
 of a deeply-curved bay, the opposite side of which is 
 formed by the island of Bressay. Run your eye along 
 the ridge at the top of the town. It seems as if some 
 powerful giant had brought to the edge a mighty 
 waggon laden with walls, roofs, windows, gables, doors, 
 and chimneys, and had tilted them all over to tumble 
 down the slope and find a resting-place anywhere from the 
 crown of the height to the shelving shore. Many of the 
 houses stand up to their knees in the water, as if they
 
 2o8 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 had come down to the beach to cool their feet and did 
 not mean to return. Their walls are so stained as to 
 mark plainly the level of high water, at which time a 
 native may dive into the sea, or step into his boat, from 
 a back door or window. 
 
 The one main street twists in and out round the 
 sweep of the bay with thin blocks of shops and houses 
 between it and the sea, and, on the opposite side, steep 
 lanes which clamber up to the ridge above. This is of 
 course the great thoroughfare and business mart of the 
 town. The street is paved with flagstones ; and is in 
 many parts very narrow and tortuous. The reason is not 
 far to seek. Owners and builders have stuck walls and 
 gables at every conceivable angle one to another, and 
 just as far out into the street as seemed good in their own 
 eyes. The result is picturesque but awkward. If you 
 make up your mind to walk forward in the twilight ten 
 or twelve yards in a straight line, the chances are you will 
 either smash your face against a gable or topple through 
 a shop window. In this main street you may meet, 
 in strange medley, Dutch sailors, whaling crews from 
 Dundee, fishermen and crofters from all the isles, women 
 bearing heavy keysies (creels) of peats and knitting as 
 they go, ragged Shetland ponies, and jolly tourists in 
 every freak of humour and costume. Here, also, you 
 may note on the faces of the people the plain tokens of 
 their Norse descent, for their Scandinavian blood is 
 purer than that of the people of Caithness or even 
 Orkney. These are the true-blue sons of the Vikings, 
 who can sing of their ancestors —
 
 The Shetland Islands. 209 
 
 " Ho ! We were a band of rovers, 
 Sailing here and sailing there ; 
 Sailing where the wild winds bore us, 
 None to stay our course might dare ! 
 
 Gaily blew and roared the breezes, 
 
 Waved our ravens on the gale ! 
 Forward bounded Norway's galleys 
 
 Winged with many a bellying sail." 
 
 Being the pure Norseman lie is, the real Shetlander does 
 not consider himself a Scotchman. When I first took 
 lodgings in one of the islands, I was advised to visit a 
 farmer, a Mr Grant, some two miles away, because, said 
 they, "He's a Scotchman, like yourself." As, however, 
 the islands have belonged to Scotland for not a few 
 centuries the Shetland dialect is Scotch, with the admix- 
 ture of many Norse words. You may hear its peculiar 
 half-lisped, Quaker-like tones and forms at any corner in 
 the main street of Lerwick. 
 
 Before launching out among the islands, I select two 
 incidents from my memories of the chief town. On the 
 evening of my first Sunday in Shetland, I was lodged 
 along with a friend in the house of a respectable 
 merchant, who did a humble trade in the town. At a 
 somewhat late hour our landlord came into our room 
 and sat down between us at the fireside. He had come 
 to enjoy a chat, or, as we say in Scotland, a " crack." 
 He was a strong man on the side of religion, and our 
 conversation took that direction. At length — I forget 
 how — we came to speak of the patriarch Job and his 
 troubles, and to discuss whether his wife had been a 
 good, pious woman or no. After some arguments, pro
 
 2 1 o Scenes and Stories of the JVort/i of Scotland. 
 
 and con, had been advanced, the conversation took the 
 following turn, and the turn soon led to its termination. 
 
 "Well," said our host, "I have long had a strong 
 opinion upon that point." 
 
 " Come along, then, Mr H ," said one of us ; " we 
 
 have been having our say ; we shall be glad to hear 
 your view." 
 
 " Well," replied he, abruptly, " I believe she was out 
 and out a bad woman." 
 
 " That is decided enough in all conscience," said the 
 former speaker ; " but we should like to hear your 
 reasons. They ought to be strong to support so sweep- 
 ing a charge against the old lady." 
 
 We were prepared to listen to a chain of argument 
 made up of various particulars, but our host's logic was 
 as concise as it was clinching. As nearly as I can 
 remember, his words were — 
 
 " God permitted Satan to take all his good things 
 from Job, and if his wife had been good she would have 
 been taken too. If his wife, being a good woman, had 
 been left to comfort him, his trial would not have been 
 complete." 
 
 No theologian, it seems to me, could have put the 
 matter more conclusively; and few will wonder that 
 our after conversation took a new direction. 
 
 Some years later, during a brief visit to Shetland, I 
 heard of a misfortune which had befallen an old friend. 
 He was a skipper belonging to one of the northern isles, 
 and every inch a sailor. Most vividly can I see at this 
 moment his round, ruddy face, and hear the rapid rattle of
 
 The Shetland Islands. 2 1 1 
 
 his cheery voice. Just before the time I speak of he had 
 been master of a splendid sloop — once a gentleman's yacht 
 — which we shall call the Evangeline. With her he had 
 been trading between Shetland and the Faroe Islands. 
 Magnus had a keen eye to business and profit, and was 
 said to have netted more than once a fair sum by smug- 
 gling. Made rash by impunity, he ventured on larger 
 risks, and at last came to grief. He had left the Faroe 
 Isles with an ordinary cargo of fish, to which he had 
 added several kegs of brandy and a considerable quantity 
 of tobacco. His intention was to land these important 
 extras in a quiet voe (i.e., sea-loch) on the north-west of 
 the Mainland, and then proceed to Lerwick with his 
 proper cargo. The plan miscarried, like many others of 
 the " best laid schemes of mice and men." He had 
 crept into a quiet bay, and had no sooner dropped anchor 
 for the night than great folds of mist enveloped them. 
 Gliding down from Rona's (Ronald's) Hill, they wrapt 
 the Evangeline round and round. Early next morning 
 Magnus and his crew crawled slowly out to seaward, 
 hoping to get clear of the land-born fogs. In this aim 
 they succeeded, but, alas ! it was to their intense chagrin 
 and serious loss. As soon as they could see a mile or 
 little more, there lay a revenue cutter with her raking 
 masts and bio* white sails at no great distance off". In a 
 moment puff came the powder- smoke from her side, and 
 a ball shot whirring across the bows of the sloop. 
 Magnus and his men, maddened and vexed, did their 
 very utmost, crowding all the sail they could upon the 
 Evangeline, but in the light fitful wind which came
 
 2 r 2 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 through the mist they had no chance. Soon their only 
 concern was to sink the evidences of their guilt out of 
 sight. Creeping almost on their knees, they rolled the 
 kegs of brandy to the gangway on the further side from 
 the cutter, and dropped them as gently as possible into 
 the sea. Package after package of tobacco went the 
 same way ; but a considerable quantity still remained 
 when the cutter came alongside and the officers boarded 
 the sloop. Magnus and his crew were at once arrested, 
 and soon after tried at Lerwick. The skipper was sen- 
 tenced to a term of imprisonment, and was confined in 
 Fort Charlotte. 
 
 Having obtained permission, I visited him in his cell, 
 and heard from his own lips — in true sailor lingo and 
 with ample details — the story of his capture. I ventured 
 to suggest bow foolish and dangerous it was — to use no 
 stronger terms — to break the Queen's laws and defy the 
 officers of the Crown. To this view of things he made 
 no reply. At length, however, he " turned his sad soul 
 into smiling," for, just as I was about to leave, he 
 brought down his fist briskly upon some invisible object, 
 and with mingled pride and anger exclaimed : " Say 
 what you like, if I had only had a bit of a breeze, I 
 would soon have let them see my stern." I fear Magnus 
 was incorrigible, and perhaps even suspected I should 
 myself have enjoyed such a flight and chase. 
 
 If you ask me whether or no there is any smuggling 
 still going on among these islands, I shall give as sug- 
 gestive a reply as I dare. The tobacco used by the 
 Shetlanders generally is of one well-known variety, which
 
 The Shetland Islands. 2 1 3 
 
 you will not see exposed in shop windows, but which I 
 think I could get you almost anywhere without much 
 trouble. Moreover, I should not advise a tobacconist to go 
 and settle in Shetland; his occupation is not needed. I 
 remember well how on one occasion a most excellent man 
 gave me a cake or two of first-rate tobacco. When 1 
 discourteously and foolishly asked him where he had got 
 it, he flung the authority of St Paul at my head by say- 
 ing with a peculiar smile, " Eat that which is set before 
 thee — asking no questions for conscience' sake." I 
 accepted the rebuke meekly, and ate, or rather smoked, 
 with much satisfaction. 
 
 The Shetland Islands are an archipelago lying more 
 than 100 miles north-east of Caithness, and separated 
 even from the Orkneys by some 50 miles of open sea. 
 The chief isles of the group are four — Mainland, Yell, 
 Unst, and Fetlar — the first of these being about 60 miles 
 long, the other three less than a third of that size. In 
 addition, there are about a hundred more, which diminish 
 gradually from those of fair dimensions like Bressay, 
 Whalsey, and Muckle Rooe (pronounced Roo) to small 
 holms and islets, many of which are both tenantless and 
 nameless. The group as a whole is most irregular and 
 ragged in contour, as if winds and waves had conspired 
 to tear it into shreds and tatters, so that there is not a 
 spot in Shetland three miles from the sea. Inland, the 
 islands are bare and bleak in the extreme, and their 
 stony or mossy undulations seldom rise even to the rank 
 of hills ; but the coast scenery, especially in the north 
 and west, far surpasses anything of the kind elsewhere
 
 214 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 in the United Kingdom. If I should attempt to describe 
 with any measure of fulness the cloudy cliffs of Foula, 
 1300 feet high ; the marble pillars and deep-sounding 
 caves of Papa Stour ; the fantastic freaks of nature 
 along the coast of Hillswick ; the countless groups of 
 stacks and arches and tunnels which belong to this 
 island or to that, I should swell out this chapter far 
 beyond its intended limits. Therefore I ask you to 
 visit with me two districts only of widely diverse 
 character — the one taking its name from Yell, the other 
 at Hillswick on the extreme north-west of Mainland. 
 
 We shall first visit the Sound of Yell, which runs for 
 nearly 20 miles between that island and the Mainland. 
 More than once have I stood upon the hill- top of Clothan 
 in Yell, and feasted my eyes upon the immense and 
 varied panorama of earth and sea which is visible from 
 that elevated spot. Looking first westward and then to 
 the south, the entire length of the Sound lies immedi- 
 ately before us. The outline of its shores is most 
 irregular, for they often approach each other in capes, 
 and as often recede from one another into half-hidden 
 bays. To use a homely simile, the shape of the Sound 
 is that of a high boot, of which the top is to the north, 
 the heel to the south, and the toe pointing out to the 
 east. You must, however, remember that the main 
 colour is blue, dotted here and there with patches of 
 brilliant green, and these again girt round about with a 
 ragged fringe of brown rock and white foam. From 
 this hill -top the eye may range over three quarters of 
 the compass — from north to west, and west to south, and
 
 The Shetland Islands. 2 1 5 
 
 south to east ; and the view embraces half the islands 
 of the entire group and every feature of its scenery. 
 Eight over against us is the Mainland, dark and hilly, 
 with alternate cape and sea-loch (voe in Shetland), as if 
 earth and ocean had interlaced their fingers in a firm 
 and friendly clasp. Twelve miles away, in the north- 
 west, is the further extremity of the chief island, ter- 
 minating in savage splintered cliffs which frown upon 
 the sea. Still further out, a group of giant stacks, like 
 brown icebergs cut adrift, struggles far to seaward. 
 Neptune has wedged his way between and cut them off 
 from the shore. In time of storm they become his play- 
 things. The western waves creep quivering up their 
 precipitous sides, fall in weighty masses on their heads, 
 and then sink down in cataracts of foam, like the white 
 tresses on an old man's shoulders. 
 
 All up and down the course of the Sound lie islands 
 and clusters of islets like green leaves, some of them 
 tinged with grey or brown, floating down the broad 
 current. Between these the tides rush and roar inces- 
 santly, and in many places dash along at the rate of ten 
 miles an hour. Sometimes they form wide whirling 
 curves, with tiny white threads of foam upon their edges ; 
 at other times they leap and dance like thousands of 
 pointed flames, and then woe betide the silly boat which 
 ventures among them ! How the natives laugh and jeer 
 when they see a whaling steamer attempting to pass up 
 the Sound against the flood-tide ! Well do they know 
 that engines and helm are alike useless, and that very soon 
 she will turn aside and run for some sheltered voe where
 
 2 1 6 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 she may hide from view her failure and her shame. Away 
 to the south lie cape and then bay, cape and then bay, as far 
 as the bold headland of Noss, and on the eastern horizon 
 you may see the long line of the Out Skerries, large and 
 small, like a fleet of boats with white sails full set 
 making for Norway " over the faem." Looking once 
 more over the moorland ridges and hills of the Mainland, 
 we behold, standing up against the distant sky, the 
 stupendous precipices of Foula, not less at their loftiest 
 point than 1300 feet high. Supreme over all their 
 kind, they rear their iron front defiantly against the 
 western ocean. Yet again, far overhead, as we sit on 
 this hill-top, the kingly eagle in stately sail looks down 
 with scorn upon the world beneath ; and from the rocks 
 below there rise fitfully the babbling and screeching of 
 thousands upon thousands of sea-birds, ever flitting and 
 whirling over land and tide. 
 
 There is little in the scene before us, extensive and 
 varied though it be, to be called sweet or beautiful as 
 these terms are generally understood. There is not a 
 tree to be seen within range of the eye from this spot ; 
 no broad fruitful fields ; no gardens of flowers ; little 
 delicate shading and softness of colour. Yet there is 
 breadth, and strength, and grandeur ; variety to feed 
 the mind with ever-new discoveries ; bold and cunning 
 strokes of nature's handiwork to stimulate and inspire. 
 
 " Here rise no groves and here no gardens blow, 
 Here e'en the hardy heath scarce dares to grow ; 
 But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm arrayed, 
 Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade —
 
 The Shetland Islands. 2 1 7 
 
 With many a cavern seamed, the dreary haunt 
 
 Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 
 
 Wild round their rifted brows with frequent cry 
 
 As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly, 
 
 And from tbeir sable base, with sullen sound, 
 
 In sheets of whitening foam the waves rebound." 
 
 The sea — the wild, the glorious sea — is the dominant 
 power over all. It fills and feeds the eye everywhere 
 with its fascinating works and ways. It cuts a blue 
 pathway to the shadowed roots of the hills ; it presents 
 a foreground and mirror to the stately cliffs above ; it 
 becomes a bed of blue in which an emerald isle may 
 float and dream ; it is a nether sky in which the ocean 
 birds swim and dive. 
 
 We are sitting on a hill-top in Yell, an island which 
 is in bad odour among writers on Shetland. It has 
 certainly got a bad name, but, for all that, it will take 
 a lot of hanging. One writer says the word means 
 barren, and is therefore most fitting and appropriate. 
 But the complacent ignoramus gives us no hint of the 
 derivation. It looks as if he keeps his etymological 
 dictionary on that surface shelf of his mind which is 
 labelled imagination. The name is said to be derived 
 from an old Norse word " Yala," signifying health, and 
 this is at least more probable, for, barren though it be, 
 it is certainly a healthy island. It may also be well in 
 this connection to warn all witty persons that already 
 every possible outrage in the shape of pun or joke has 
 been committed upon the name ; but alas ! none of the 
 offenders have yet been brought to justice. A reward 
 of one hundred pounds offered in the press for a really 
 

 
 2i8 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 new specimen might entrap the next criminal, while the 
 money itself would be absolutely safe. To show intend- 
 ing competitors to what level they must attain, I may 
 quote the best example of success in the past. There 
 is a parish on the mainland called Brae ; and the story 
 goes that two young clergymen were sent north by the 
 same steamer — the one to Brae and the other to Yell in 
 the exercise of their office ! Anything which falls short 
 of that standard of excellence must be condemned. 
 
 For myself, I have many pleasing memories of Yell. 
 In it I learnt more of the people of Shetland — their 
 character, circumstances, and manners — than anywhere 
 else in the islands. Allow me only a few words upon 
 their homes. A Shetland township consists of from five 
 or six to ten or twelve families — sometimes even more. 
 Their houses and cultivated land are enclosed by a turf 
 dyke not less than six feet high — the common protection 
 and boundary of the settlement. Outside, the sheep and 
 cattle all graze upon the scathold or common ; inside, 
 the cultivated ground is commonly divided on the run- 
 rig system, that is to say, the first ridge belongs to 
 one family, the next to another, the next again to a 
 third, or in other cases they are held alternately by 
 two tenants. The natives look to the sea to provide 
 them daily food and oil for light, to the in-field for 
 bread and the sustenance of beast and fowl, and to the 
 out-field for pasture and fuel. The houses are in general 
 built of stone and fairly comfortable, but too many of 
 them are homes in which " nature is cook, and necessity 
 caterer." The Shetlanders rarely indulge in fresh ani-
 
 The Shetland Islands. 219 
 
 mal food, and yet more rarely in luxuries, with the 
 exception of tobacco. As to the interior, the houses 
 closely resemble those of Lewis, but they are cleaner, 
 more roomy, and more airy. In one particular there 
 is a notable difference. In many Shetland houses the 
 "but" end contains not only the family, but also the 
 live stock of the farm with the exception of cattle and 
 horses. Sheep and calves mingle with the children ; 
 the poultry bob about everywhere picking what they 
 can find ; the young pigs lie sleeping among the ashes 
 around the central fire. All these creatures have in not 
 a few cases the free run of this part of the premises ; 
 they have obtained burgess tickets for the "but" 
 end of the dwelling. 
 
 By the way, some of the Shetland breed of pigs are 
 most uncouth and repulsive-looking, being small, long- 
 nosed, and covered with bristles almost like those of a 
 hedgehog. Eegarding these, a story is told which, si 
 11011 e vero, e ben trovato. A Shetland vessel carrying 
 a large number of pigs to the London market was 
 wrecked off the Yorkshire coast, and two of the carcases 
 were washed ashore. Never before had the natives 
 beheld such creatures, and many conjectures were afloat 
 as to their nature, name, and genus. At last they came 
 under the skilled eye of the curator of a local museum. 
 After due examination, he pronounced them to be marine 
 monsters of a rare and remarkakle type ; and proved 
 the sincerity of his opinion by buying them, stuffing 
 them, and giving them a place among his treasures and 
 curiosities of natural history.
 
 220 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 Looking from Clothan Hill toward the south, there 
 lies over some moorland ridges the bay of Hamnavoe, 
 an excellent and almost land-locked place of anchorage. 
 Several incidents of a varied kind are among my 
 memories of that arm of the sea. On one occasion a party 
 of young men, seven in number, of whom I was one, sailed 
 into Hamnavoe about sunset and dropped anchor for the 
 night. Our yacht, which we shall call the Ruby, had 
 had a rattling mn from Lerwick of less than four hours 
 — the mainsail reefed, and the water swishing in through 
 the lee scuppers. After some visits on shore we dropped 
 below for the night, and, after supper and a smoke, 
 prepared for rest. Meanwhile the wind, which had been 
 high all day, rose into a moderate gale, and millions of 
 heavy rain drops hissed and pattered on the deck above 
 our heads. Being the party chiefly responsible for the 
 cruise, I had many things to occupy my thoughts and 
 could not drop into sleep. About midnight I thought I 
 heard a cry as of a human voice. Listening intently I 
 at length caught in a lull of the wind the words, " Ruby 
 a-hoy ! " Knowing that two of our party were sleeping 
 ashore, and fearing that something was wrong with 
 them, I sprang up, and rapidly drew on some clothing. 
 On reaching the slippery deck, the cry came again 
 through the wind and rain, "Ruby a-hoy!" "Aye, 
 aye," I shouted in reply, " what do you want?" By 
 this time I had discovered that the voice came not from 
 shore, but from a schooner-yacht which had crept into 
 the voe at a late hour and anchored at no great ^ distance 
 from us. The cause of their distress was soon told.
 
 The Shetland Islands. 
 
 221 
 
 " Our boat's gone ; the painter broke, and she's ashore 
 somewhere among the rocks. Can you help us ? " Well, 
 it was neither a pleasant nor a very safe enterprise on 
 a dark stormy night, but I called up one of the men 
 from the forecastle, and we determined to do what we 
 could. Dropping into our own boat and shoving her 
 oif, we pulled near to the schooner, and then allowed 
 ourselves to drift down upon the shore where the waves 
 were spending themselves in very bad temper upon the 
 rocks. The sea was not really high, for no wind can 
 raise great rollers across a narrow bay ; but still it was 
 ticklish work to drift in among the broken water after 
 the truant boat. We found it at last, and ha vino- secured 
 it with difficulty, towed it away in triumph, the only cost 
 to ourselves being two or three nasty bumps upon the 
 rocks, and a pretty considerable wetting. The party 
 on the schooner were, I have no doubt, glad to get back 
 their boat, but I am sorry to say I can remember no 
 vote of thanks. The sailor and I had no chance of 
 presenting our little bill for what we had done, for 
 when we came on deck next mornino- the schooner was 
 gone, and had not even left a P. P. C. card behind her. 
 Is not this an ungrateful world ? 
 
 After a storm, a calm ; so it proved next morning. 
 A more lovely inspiriting dawn I have seldom known. 
 Summer had evidently set in, as Horace Walpole once 
 said, " with its usual severity." Before breakfast some of 
 our party w T ent ashore as usual for milk, butter, and eggs, 
 while others, if not all the rest, had a refreshing plunge 
 overboard. On this particular morning, one of our
 
 222 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 company, a student, who could not swim, resolved to 
 have a bath like his neighbours. Accordingly he tied 
 a rope round his naked waist, and gave his comrades 
 the other end to hold. Of course they promised not to 
 betray him. Then he sprang from the gangway, not 
 head foremost, but on his feet, as if taking a long leap 
 at some athletic gathering. Down — down — down he 
 sank, his head last covered by the in-curling waters, 
 while the rope went whirring over the bulwarks, as if an 
 anchor was at the end of it. How deep he went neither 
 he nor anybody else can tell, for we forgot to measure 
 the rope ; but "it's a long lane that has no turning." Of 
 course he came up again in due time, and shook his 
 dripping head. For a moment — only a moment — he was 
 speechless with wonder at what he had seen below, but 
 at length he found voice enough to cry, " Haul me in ! 
 Quick ! Haul me in ! ' : There was the ring of true 
 sincerity in his words, so his friends responded to his 
 appeal as well as laughter would allow them. His little 
 escapade was an excellent sauce to breakfast both for 
 him and us. Perhaps he sometimes thinks of it even 
 in the Colonies. 
 
 Hamnavoe has frequently been the scene of a whale 
 hunt. Never did the fiery cross rouse the Highland 
 clans to greater fury of enthusiasm than does the cry 
 of " Whales ! whales ! " in a peaceful Shetland township. 
 I have said township; I might have added " or congrega- 
 tion ; " for the great shoals of whales are said to have a 
 special preference for the Day of Rest as a fitting season 
 for their sportive incursions into the voes. Not once or
 
 The Shetland Islands. 223 
 
 twice, but frequently, have sermons been cut short, and 
 churches emptied in sixty seconds, by the electric con- 
 tagious cry of " Whales ! whales ! " On one occasion a 
 minister, either in Shetland or Orkney — I forget which — 
 bitterly complained of his hearers, not because they 
 rose and left their pews to take to their boats instead, 
 but because they would not give him time to get down 
 from the pulpit, that he and they might start fair in 
 the race for the shore. About twenty-five years ago a 
 shoal of whales came into Hamnavoe on the sacred Day, 
 just before the hour of public worship. Not a man went 
 home to doff his Sunday clothes, and neither would they, 
 even if attired in the richest of court costume. In ten 
 minutes every tub that could hold water was launched 
 and manned, and even those who had to run round to 
 the opposite side of the voe for their boats soon put off 
 from shore and joined in the chase. Not having been 
 a witness, I shall not attempt to describe the exciting 
 details of the hunt. Suffice it to say, that for a time 
 the cordon of boats across the mouth of the voe, using 
 every means of terror, vocal and mechanical, drove the 
 whales inward, until some of them were almost ashore 
 upon the beach. Then the finny monsters seemed all 
 at once to realise their danger, and a panic set in. 
 Lashing the waves in their fury, they charged wildly 
 in amongst the boats, capsizing some, half-swamping 
 others, and in a frantic stampede spread out fan-like 
 into the open sea, and were gone. When the men, wet, 
 weary, and dejected, returned home, there were some 
 who said, " Served them right," and looked upon the
 
 224 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 escape of the whales as a providential rebuke for the 
 abuse of the Day of Rest. 
 
 Now comes the point of special interest. One elder 
 of the kirk, a man of excellent character, was among the 
 raiders, and was taken to task for his share in the pro- 
 ceedings. His defence before the minister and kirk- 
 session was very remarkable in its way. If true, it 
 was, to say the least, peculiar ; if not true, it was 
 ingenious. He was ready for church when the Fiery 
 Cross cry reached his ears. He saw the whales sporting 
 in the voe, and the rush of men and women to the 
 shore. His own boat was down upon the beach, and 
 he went to secure it, lest some one who had no right 
 to do so might launch and use it. When he arrived on 
 the spot his worst suspicions were realised. His boat 
 had already been drawn down to the water's edge, and 
 her stern was actually afloat. What could he do but 
 spring in, and warn off those who were to use his 
 property for an unlawful purpose ? Unfortunately the 
 wicked men whose hands were on the gunwale did 
 not see it in that light, so no sooner was the elder in his 
 boat than they shoved her off, and took him with them 
 to the chase. Whether he lay down, sullen and venge- 
 ful, in the bottom of the boat and groaned the time 
 away over his misfortune, I cannot say ; indeed, I have 
 heard some whispers to the contrary. What the upshot 
 was I really do not remember, but his action forcibly 
 reminds me of a notable name in British history. When 
 Charles the Second came to Scotland, he signed the 
 Solemn League and Covenant. To many, knowing what
 
 The Shetland Islands. 225 
 
 manner of man he was, this must have seemed a strange 
 act on his part. The explanation has been neatly put 
 in brief words. " They compelled him to do it volun- 
 tarily." If the elder had known this little episode in 
 Scottish history, he might have used it as a defence or 
 excuse. This much is certain, that if it amounted to any 
 palliation in the case of the king, it would surely have 
 been more than sufficient in the case of the fisherman. 
 
 Let me present one picture more e'er we descend from 
 the Hill of Clothan. Most of you have, I daresay, 
 heard of a June midnight in Shetland. One such at 
 least I have spent on this height, and several others in 
 open boats at sea. If anywhere in this United Kingdom 
 midnight is truly a " witching " hour, it must be in the 
 north isles of Shetland. 
 
 " Here the light of evening lies 
 Longer than in summer skies." 
 
 So I certainly found it on the Hill of Clothan. When I 
 reached my point of observation — the heap of stones on 
 this heathery brow — the last faint streaks of gold were 
 fading; out of the northern hills of the mainland. The 
 purple rays of the sun grew like the petals of a flower 
 out of the far Atlantic, and then spread outwards and 
 upwards like a fan over the western sky. Thin fleecy 
 banks of cloud edged with orange and yellow lay here 
 and there across the heavens ; and beneath them, in the 
 far north-west, the great orb rolled himself over the hori- 
 zon and dropped out of sight. But delicate tints, like 
 tender memories of some loved one departed, yet lingered 
 in the sky and slowly glided over the northern sea,
 
 226 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 which caught their colours on its face. On and on, even 
 to and beyond the midnight hour, every headland and 
 island and voe retained their distinct outline and fam- 
 iliar features. They were far less obscured than I had 
 more than once seen them on a dark day of storm. 
 About midnight the deeper colours melted imperceptibly 
 into lighter shades, and at length the sun rose again, 
 now in the far north-east, under a fresh canopy of yellow 
 and gold. One had not fully realised his absence till 
 he began to creep back over the shoulder of the world 
 and look you in the face again. He had lain down as 
 it were for a brief rest, and now he greeted us again 
 after a fresh bath in the Arctic seas. 
 
 The parish of Hillswick, on the north-west of the 
 Mainland, contains scenery of quite peculiar interest. 
 Its ragged and contorted coast-line is exposed to the 
 unbroken force and fury of the Atlantic billows, and 
 Neptune has carved the rocks into many a weird and 
 wanton form. Some of these our yacht party were 
 anxious to see, so we left the Ruby at Ollaberry one 
 morning, and trudged over hill and moor to Hillswick. 
 On the way out to the more distant points of the coast, 
 we had striking views of cliffs whose heads seemed to 
 nod over the waters, picturesque stacks out at sea like a 
 group of fishing boats with their brown sails hanging idly 
 in a calm, and rocky islands pierced with tall arches, 
 like great sea-elephants stooping to drink, and unable 
 to lift their heads again. By and by we came to a 
 solitary enclosed churchyard, and wandered among the 
 tombstones in search of anything interesting or curious.
 
 The Shetland Islands. 227 
 
 Our quest was not in vain, for we found the following 
 epitaph : — 
 
 "DONALD ROBERTSON, 
 Born 1st January 1785 ; died 4th June 1848. 
 Aged 63 years. 
 He was a quiet peaceable man, and, to all appearance, a good 
 Christian. His death was very much regretted, which was 
 caused by the stupidity of Laurence Tulloch, of Clothester, who 
 sold him nitre instead of Epsom salts, by which he was killed 
 in the space of three hours after taking of it." 
 
 "Who the cultivated and considerate writer of the inscrip- 
 tion was, I cannot tell ; tradition ascribes it to the 
 parish minister. This, however, is, I believe, true and well 
 known, that ere very long the unfortunate Laurence was 
 obliged to flee from the islands and hide himself in 
 the shadows of Edinburgh. 
 
 From the graveyard we had still a long and stiff walk 
 to the cliffs we wished to see. Some of our company 
 had already dropped off, wishing us bon voyage, and 
 engaging to have all ready for us on board the yacht 
 when we returned. Acting on the Bulgarian proverb 
 that a shower cannot hurt him who is wet to the skin, 
 the rest of us scorned our fatigue, and resolved to see 
 all we could. I ventured, having been there before, 
 to promise my comrades that they should not be disap- 
 pointed. At length we reached a table-land of soft rich 
 grass, the further edge of which dropped in wild walls 
 of rock sheer down into the sea. Here indeed were 
 great wonders of nature. 
 
 Almost ere we were aware, we came upon the edge of the 
 Holes of Scraada. These are immense cavernous pits, per- 
 haps one hundred feet deep from the grassy verge above
 
 2 28 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 to the level of the restless water below. They are con- 
 nected with the ocean by means of a long black tunnel, 
 for the front of the cliffs is some 300 yards away. It is 
 said that a boat has passed through from the sea out- 
 side into the great pit in front of us, but it scarcely 
 seems possible. The bottom of one of these awful holes 
 is half beach and half water ; in the other only water 
 and no beach is to be seen. In storms they are filled 
 with tossing, raging foam, and the spray rises in pillars 
 of cloud above the surrounding grass. 
 
 Still further along the green plateau above the cliffs, a 
 still more wonderful sight may be witnessed. It is called 
 the Grind (or Gateway) of the Navir, but I have been 
 unable to discover the origin or meaning of the latter 
 word. Has it anything to do with the Latin navis, a ship, 
 or with the termination of Scandmawa f Here the ocean 
 waves have burst an entrance through the cliffs from 
 without, and delight, when tide and wind are high, to 
 rush in and out between the jaws of rock. The door- 
 posts of this gateway are immense masses of unyielding 
 porphyry. If ever there was a lintel over their heads it 
 has long ago been torn away and tossed in fragments far 
 in upon the land. In times of wild western tempest the 
 waves lift from the bed of the sea and from its shore 
 great masses of rock — sometimes six, eight, and ten tons 
 in weight — and hurl them like pebbles through the rag- 
 ing Grind on to the plateau behind. Probably no human 
 eye ever saw this deed done, for no one dare approach the 
 spot at such times ; but the evidences of its reality and 
 frequency are plain enough. The threshold of the Grind
 
 The Shetland Islands. 229 
 
 is fairly level, but behind there are enormous boulders and 
 stones piled one above another over a wide area — like 
 the debris of one of Nature's great quarries, out of which 
 were built the giant cliffs of Foula and Noss and the 
 Skaw of Unst. Many a man would give almost any- 
 thing if he could safely stand just inside the gateway in 
 a storm, and behold the ocean in the very wantonness of 
 conscious power thus sporting with its toys. For those 
 who can be impressed with figures, I may add that 
 many of these huge cubical masses have been tossed 
 inland 180 feet; and it has been estimated by the 
 highest authorities that the pressure of the waves at 
 the Grind must often be not less than 6000 lbs. on the 
 square foot. 
 
 Near by these striking objects, there is yet another 
 worthy of notice. Beneath one of these lofty cliffs the 
 waves rush into a deep cavern, whose recesses are hidden 
 far out of sight. At its inner end it must be curved 
 upward, for it opens out on the face of the cliff again 
 like the mouth of a cannon, and so the Cannon it is 
 called. From this singular freak and phenomenon of 
 Nature comes a most striking result. In high westerly 
 gales, when immense billows roll inward from the ocean, 
 they dash into the cave and fill to the very full its every 
 recess. Then the pressure from without forces the water 
 upward, and from the Cannon mouth it bursts out at in- 
 tervals as with the speed of lightning and the boom of a 
 thunder peal. All around this Hillswick coast — the 
 scenery of which is often fantastic and as often sublime, 
 it may well be said —
 
 230 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scottand. 
 
 " The everlasting waters flow, 
 And round the precipices vast 
 Dance to the music of the blast." 
 
 Many of my readers may desire to know something of 
 the Shetland dialect. I have already spoken of it as a 
 form of broad Scotch with a considerable sprinkling of 
 Norse words and idioms. As spoken by the islanders 
 generally, it is sweet, simple, almost tender ; yet it is 
 capable of expressing the most powerful emotions. The 
 two features which first and most strike a stranger are 
 the almost entire absence of the th sound, for which the 
 letter d or dh is always substituted, and the use of the 
 singular pronoun du and de (or rather dhu and dhe) for 
 the plural you and ye. In this respect their speech re- 
 sembles that of the Society of Friends. Many English 
 words are also cut short or softened so much that 
 strangers with difficulty recognise them at all. Here I 
 had intended to make an attempt to reproduce some 
 scraps of conversation between natives and myself, but I 
 have found a safer and more excellent way. At Fetha- 
 land or Feidaland, the extreme northern point of the 
 Mainland, there is a summer fishing station, to which 
 boats resort in large numbers from both sides of Yell 
 Sound. There are two kinds of fishing recognised in 
 Shetland. If it be carried on in small boats near 
 shore, it is called the Eela, referring probably to the isles 
 round about which it is prosecuted. The other is the 
 "Haaf" fishing, when the men go in large six-oared 
 boats far out to sea, and generally remain out two nights 
 at least at a time. I do not know the origin of the
 
 The Shetland Islands. 231 
 
 name. Well, I have before me a description of a voyage 
 to the Haaf fishing as given by a fisherman at Fethaland, 
 and I cannot do better than embody it here. I leave 
 the spelling almost untouched, but have ventured to 
 insert some explanatory words in parenthesis. 
 
 " Mony a foul dae hae I seen at da Haaf, but I tink 
 Martanabullimas dae fearn year (year before last) wis ta 
 warst dae I ever saw. He wis a bonny morning, but a 
 grit lift (great swell) i' da sea, an' a hantle o' brak itil 
 'im. Sae I sed ta wir men, ' We hae a guid nebert 
 (quantity) o' bait ; he's bonny wadder (weather), an' I 
 tink we'll try da deep watter.' Sae we gat wir tows an' 
 cappiestanes (sinkers) itida (into the) boat, an' we set aff, 
 an' we rowed oot upon him (i.e., the sea) till we sank 
 da laigh land, an' dan (then) we began an' led fram 
 (seaward), an' whin we cuist (cast) wir ooter bow (buoy) 
 deel a stane o' Shetland cood we see incep (except) da 
 tap o' Koiinis Hill an' da Pobies 0' Unst. Noo he 
 begood (it began) ta gro (blow hard) frae da sud- 
 aest, sae whan we'd sitten a peerie (little) while, we 
 tuik wir bow an' begood ta hail an' haith ! afore 
 we gat in ae packie o' tows (one bundle of lines) 
 fower men cood du nae mair ir keep hir ida (in the) 
 kaib (thowl). We gat twa ir tree fish frae dat, an' at 
 last sic a grit weight cam' upuda (upon the) line dat it 
 tuik a' mi strent ta hail (all my strength to haul), an' 
 whin it cam' tida wyle (gunwale) what wis it bit a grit 
 devil 0' a skate. Sae I sed ta Tammie, ' Cut hir awa', 
 wha's sawn ta row in onder hir wi' sic a dae.' Sae he 
 tuik da skiinie (knife) an's needed (cut) da tome (small
 
 232 Scenes and S lories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 line with hook). An' at last we gat in wir tows an' 
 haith ! we wir gotten a braw puckle o' fish. ' Noo,' 
 says I, 'boys, i' Gude's name, fit ta mast an' swift ta 
 sail, da aest tide is rinnin', an' we'll sail wast-an'-be 
 sooth ipun him.' Sae I gaed ida starn, an' jiiist as we 
 led till ta sail, he med a watter aff o' da fore kaib, an' 
 whin 'e brook (broke), he tuik Heckie aff o' da skair taft 
 (after seat) an' led 'im ida shott (stern). Dan I cried 
 ta Gibbie, ' for Gudesake strik (strike) ta heid oot o' 
 da drink kig an' owse (bale) de boat,' for da watter wis 
 up ta w T ir fastabaands (cross-beams) ; bit wi' Gude's help 
 we gat hir toomed afore anider watter cam'. Whin da 
 aest tide wis rin aff, I says, ' Boys, we'll tak' down ta 
 sail an' we'll row in ipun him,' an' sae we did, an' whin 
 ta wast tide med, we gae sail ageen, an we ran aest ipun 
 him, an' haith ! we lay ipa Vaalafield in Unst, an' we 
 vrocht on rowin' an' sailin' till, by Gude's providence, we 
 gat ta wir ain banks aboot aucht o'clock at nicht. Oh, 
 man, dat wis a foul dae." 
 
 It has always been understood in Shetland that the 
 fairies — the " guid folk " — show more regard to the 
 wishes of some human beings than others. When one 
 whom they are wont to obey desires to send them away 
 home, he uses this most interesting formula — 
 
 " Da twal, da twal aposels, 
 Da eleven, da eleven evengelists, 
 Da ten, da ten commanders, 
 Da nine da brazen sheeners, 
 Da eiclit da holy waters, 
 Da seven starns i' da heavens, 
 Da six creation moi-nins,
 
 The Shetland Islands. 233 
 
 Da five da tumblers o' my bools, 
 
 Da four da gospel makers, 
 
 Da tree triddle trivers, 
 
 Da twa lily-white boys dat clothe demsells in green, boys ; 
 
 Da ane, da ane, dat walks alon, an' now ye'se a' gang hame, boys." 
 
 Now I have found, as much to ray surprise as to my 
 regret, that many Shetland people have scarcely heard of 
 any such lines, and — still more strange — I can get no 
 one to interpret them all. Twelve apostles ; eleven 
 evangelists ; ten commandments : so far, all is plain 
 sailing. Nine brazen sheeners ; lamps, I suppose, but 
 what or where they were, I cannot guess. Eight holy 
 waters ; perhaps eight sacred rivers, but if so, what are 
 they ? The next two are evident, seven stars — the 
 Pleiades ; and six mornings of creation. Number five 
 is a complete mystery, and will, I fear, remain so. The 
 four are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The three 
 gave me much trouble, but through aid from a friend 
 well acquainted with Norse, I think I have got the key. 
 Triddle may mean treadle, the part of a loom wrought 
 by the feet. Then there is a Norwegian word trive or 
 triver, to drive. Putting these two together, the ex- 
 pression seems to point to the Fates — Clotho, Lachesis, 
 and Atropos — weaving the web of human destiny. The 
 remaining lines are plain enough. I remember the police 
 in a German university town chanting similar lines 
 through the various watches of the night. The Shet- 
 lander sometimes uttered his word of command to the 
 fairies in much briefer language, such as — 
 
 " Skeet howe hame, guid folk," 
 P
 
 234 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 that is, " slide quickly home, good folk." What a pity 
 they are so few in number, or so rarely seen, 
 
 " The joyous nymphs and light-foot fairies, 
 
 Which thither came to hear their music sweet, 
 And to the measure of their melodies, 
 Did learn to move their nimble-shifting feet." 
 
 A few days before leaving Lerwick on the occasion of my 
 last visit, an advertisement of a pleasure excursion caught 
 my eye and took my fancy. The North Isles steamer, the 
 Earl of Zetland, was to make a special run to Sum- 
 burgh Head and Fitful Head, which, with the fine bay 
 of Quendal between them, form the double southern 
 extremity of the Shetland Islands. Having time and 
 leisure I resolved to take advantage of the opportunity 
 for a day's " outing." There were, I should fancy, about 
 two hundred on board — a medley company of all ranks 
 and classes. As is invariably the case on such occasions, 
 there were several clergymen in the number, disguised 
 in suits of russet and grey, and therefore less threaten- 
 ing than they often are to the public in general. It is 
 matter of common experience that, if you wish to pre- 
 vent overcrowding in a railway carriage, all you have 
 got to do is to show a baby or a white necktie at the 
 window — the former as small as you like, the latter the 
 larp-er the better. We had also at least one limb of 
 the law, a number which is decidedly below the general 
 average in human society, for legal gentlemen have 
 abounded, one might almost say like birds of prey, in 
 all ages. You remember how on one occasion Pope 
 Innocent claimed from the Marquis of Carpio a levy of
 
 The Shetland Islands. 235 
 
 30,000 swine. The marquis could not supply so large 
 a number, but told the Pope that instead of these useful 
 animals he was willing to put 30,000 lawyers at his 
 service. As to whether Innocent was innocent enough 
 to accept the alternative tribute, history is silent. Then 
 we had a journalist on board, who was, of course, "takin' 
 notes," and has, I believe, printed them since that time. 
 He was a jolly specimen of the cynical, critical class, 
 one of whose functions it is, like servants, to " brush the 
 dust out of gentlemen's clothes." On the upper deck 
 we had a fair sprinkling of ladies, married and un- 
 married alike. Among the latter, it is almost needless 
 to say, there were one or two spinsters, of strong con- 
 victions and stationary age. Some recollections of past 
 history led me to the conclusion that they had come 
 into the world by bad luck a century later than their 
 proper epoch. It flashed across my memory that, 
 according to thoroughly reliable records, a female 
 parliament was proposed or established in Edinburgh 
 more than a hundred years ago. Whether it still exists 
 or no, I cannot tell ; but rumour says that there are 
 persons, practices, and proceedings in and about the 
 Parliament House to this day which minister to the 
 impression that some of the honourable members, now 
 advancing in years, still linger within the precincts. 
 It is, however, with the past that we have here to do. 
 Among other measures annually introduced, or proposed 
 to be introduced, into the said parliament was, of course, 
 a budget. It had a preamble, and in that preamble its 
 object was defined to be, " To raise the necessary supplies
 
 236 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 of husbands throughout the country." I only mention 
 this because I am sure that one, at least, of our company 
 on board the Earl of Zetland would, if financial minister 
 at the time, have made a speech on that subject com- 
 pared with which Mr Gladstone's finest efforts would 
 seem poor indeed. 
 
 On the lower deck there was evidently quite as great 
 a variety as on the upper deck and bridge : and in that 
 region, before our voyage came to an end, everybody, 
 including the crew, seemed to know everybody else, 
 and the utmost harmony prevailed. 
 
 Steaming out by the southern strait of Bressay Sound, 
 we skirted the rugged promontory of the Knab, of 
 which a curious old story may be told. Paul Jones, the 
 celebrated pirate, once approached this spot in his vessel 
 with the amiable intention of sacking the town of 
 Lerwick. But as they drew near, he and his crew 
 observed that the crest of the Knab was covered with 
 figures in brilliant scarlet. "Who could these be, thought 
 they, but a few stragglers from a garrison of red coats, 
 sent thither by the Government for the protection of 
 the town ? What if he had known his error ? They 
 were only groups of Shetland women arrayed in gorgeous 
 petticoats of the warlike hue ! That interesting dis- 
 covery, as it might have been, he did not make. On 
 the contrary, nearer approach only confirmed his sus- 
 picions, and ere long he turned his ship's head, and fled 
 the coast with all convenient speed. 
 
 After an hour's sail we passed the island of Mousa, 
 with its lofty circular Broch or castle, one remnant and
 
 The Shetland Islands. 237 
 
 evidence of the very early Pictish occupation of these 
 islands. Shetland possesses many such Brochs or their 
 remains, but of all these Mousa is the most perfect, and 
 therefore the most valuable in the eyes of the antiquary. 
 That gentleman, rarer surely than he once was, or less 
 distinctive in appearance and habits, is not a bad sort 
 of fellow after all, when you come to know him well. 
 How he has been lashed alike in prose and poetry let 
 two extracts show. Pope tells all of them who care to 
 listen that they are 
 
 " Foes to all living work except your own, 
 And advocates for folly dead and gone." 
 
 Even more severe are the words of Samuel Butler, who 
 says, "He despises the present age as an innovation, and 
 slights the future ; but has a great value for that Avhich 
 is past and gone, like the madman who fell in love with 
 Cleopatra." The truth is that the work of the antiquary 
 is to himself an innocent and great delight, and may 
 prove in many directions of immense value to his fellow- 
 men. In most cases all that he needs to make him 
 an agreeable and useful member of society is to convince 
 him that Dr Chalmers was right in his declaration, 
 "Truly speaking, we are the fathers; the ancients are 
 the children." 
 
 By the time we were abreast of Mousa, we should 
 have been able to see Sumburgh Head, but, alas for the 
 success of our expedition ! down came a thick mist over 
 land and sea alike. We reached with some difficulty 
 and risk the opening of Grutness Voe — about three 
 miles short of the famous promontory, and into it we
 
 238 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 slowly crept and dropped anchor. The captain told ns 
 he dare not go any further in such a fog, so he landed 
 the whole company to wander where they pleased, but 
 charged us all to return to the vessel not a moment 
 later than six o'clock. 
 
 The party, of which I formed one, visited first the 
 ruins of Jarl's Hof, famed as the residence of the " Pirate," 
 and thence, after a stiff walk, the lighthouse of Sumburgh 
 Head. From the latter great elevation we gazed down 
 as well as the mist would allow over the stern cliffs and 
 fearsome goes — those narrow gullies of rock in which 
 the waves crawl and swirl — which surround the head- 
 land. Peering over the dizzy heights, it was a scene to 
 recall the words of Gloster — 
 
 " The murmuring surge 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes 
 Cannot be heard so high ; I'll look no more 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 Topple down headlong." 
 
 Right in front of the rocks we could hear to right and 
 left, as well as immediately before us, the murmuring 
 roar of the tide in the dreaded " Roost " of Sumburgh, 
 so happily chosen by the great wizard Scott as the 
 scene of the wreck of the " Pirate." There the Gulf 
 Stream, setting eastward towards Norway, and finding 
 the long Mainland of Shetland an obstruction in the 
 way, sweeps at the rate of 12 or 14 miles an hour round 
 the headland — rushing, curling, leaping, diving — ever 
 restless, ever roaring — a wonder by day and a terror by 
 night.
 
 The Shetland Islands. 239 
 
 When we regathered on board the steamer at the 
 appointed hour, the mist had "lifted " just a little, and 
 the captain thought he might venture out in the hope 
 that the sky might be clearer over the open sea. It was 
 a bold venture, but, alas ! a vain hope. Scarcely had 
 we cleared the voe of Grutness than the mist fell down 
 denser than ever. We could not be safe anywhere near 
 so wild and rocky a coast, seeing that we could not see 
 even a faint outline of anything in the shape of land. 
 Treacherous currents might sweep us away in any direc- 
 tion in a very brief space of time. Accordingly, it was 
 not long before the captain turned the ship's head due 
 east and gave the command, " Full speed ahead." Had 
 they understood anything at all, not a few on board 
 might have supposed that they were off on a jaunt to 
 Norway. Many will at once recall the remarkable 
 adventure of the old woman a few years ago who, help- 
 less and alone, yet safely after all, was drifted in a sloop 
 from Shetland to one of the fiords of the Norsemen. To 
 some of us, however, the captain had confided the com- 
 forting secret that he meant to steam straight east for 
 at least two hours until well clear of the land, and then let 
 the vessel roll about in the sea as she pleased for the night. 
 This was a cheering prospect, and it was fully realised. 
 
 In a short time the hatches were removed, and the 
 hold down in front of the bridge was transformed into 
 a ballroom. At first there was a certain shyness on the 
 part of the young ladies. By way of breaking the ice, 
 one or two couples of the sterner sex opened the dance 
 to the screeching and scraping of a fiddle. The said
 
 240 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 instrument, I regret to say, was not a Straduarius. 
 Still, it served its purpose for want of a better ; 
 and ere long men and maidens many, with vigorous 
 hochs and hoochs, twisted and whirled in the giddy 
 dance, while the spectators below and others looking 
 over the rim of the hatches supplied a further accom- 
 paniment of gabble and laughter. For a time we 
 watched the proceedings from the bridge with much 
 interest and amusement, but I confess there came a 
 gradual but decided change of feeling. The interest 
 gave place to indifference, that indifference to annoy- 
 ance, that annoyance to irritation, and that irritation to 
 something on the very borderland of resentment. 
 
 There were, if I remember aright, only four berths in 
 the dingy, stuffy cabin, so that the ladies could not 
 seek refuge either in retirement or sleep. Besides, there 
 were at least thirty or forty persons to ballot for the 
 places, even if they had been a little more attractive 
 than they were. Supper might have been a relief or 
 an interlude, but, alas ! the steward's pantry had long 
 since been despoiled of everything except dishes and 
 glasses. These, however useful on a table, are gener- 
 ally considered unsuitable for human food. There was 
 nothing to drink, for even the fresh water was all gone, 
 and nothing to eat, so that the cook could not, even if 
 so inclined, make our meat our misery. Despite all 
 this, we were wonderfully happy on the bridge, and 
 might have been almost perfectly so, but for the racket 
 and noise below, and especially the everlasting squeak, 
 squeak, squeak, squeak, of the wretched, waspish fiddle,
 
 The Shetland Islands. 241 
 
 out of which evidently only one pretence of a tune 
 could be produced. I also confess that more than once 
 I began to question whether dancing really is after all 
 " the poetry of motion." 
 
 Those long midnight hours were, without doubt, a 
 fitting season to moralize. We had two great consola- 
 tions. One of these, the lesser, was the fact that, 
 despite the fog, the sea was smooth, the air mellow, 
 and the wind far away. Only our outer garments were 
 dusted over with tiny globules out of the mist, and the 
 sleeping vessel at times turned uneasily in its bed, as 
 people often do when away from home. 
 
 Our other comfort lay, as you have doubtless guessed 
 already, in the society of the ladies. Here of course I 
 dare not enter into particulars, for I was not a Benedict, 
 though alone for the time being ; but I am sure we on 
 the bridge, not less than our brethren and sisters in the 
 hold, were confirmed in the belief that neither sex can 
 do without the other. Poetry — always a faithful inter- 
 preter of human life and feeling — has fully recognised 
 this fact. Think, too, how impartial she is, giving due 
 weight to both sides of the question ! We all remember 
 Campbell's lines, 
 
 " Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
 Oh, what were man 1 A world without a sun ! " 
 
 That is one side of the picture ; now, look at the other- — 
 
 " Take man from woman — all that she can show 
 Of her own proper, is nought else but wo ! " 
 
 We found the nice balance of these two companion 
 
 Q
 
 242 Scenes and Stories of the North of Scotland. 
 
 truths sweetly realised ou the bridge of the Earl of 
 Zetland, not less than twenty miles to the east of the 
 Shetland Islands. 
 
 When morning dawned we crept cautiously westward 
 again, and by-and-by fell in with a fishing boat. We 
 hailed the crew, and asked where we were. They told 
 us we were just off the Island of Mousa. Turning our 
 ship's head to the northward, we sailed straight for the 
 Sound of Bressay, and landed at Lerwick just in time 
 for a late breakfast. John Foster, in his journal, says, 
 that all pleasure must be bought at the price of pain, 
 and that the difference between false pleasure and true 
 is just this : for the true, the price is paid before you 
 enjoy it — for the false, after you enjoy it. In view of 
 that nice distinction, I am at a loss whether to call that 
 breakfast a true pleasure or a false, for we paid for it 
 both before and after the enjoyment. 
 
 If my readers have found as much pleasure in per- 
 using these " Scenes and Stories " of the Highlands 
 and Islands of Scotland as I have had in writing them, 
 my work shall not have been in vain. 
 
 TURNBfLL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 i ~. * 
 
 !!!^ 0n the ^ date stamped below. 
 
 
 MAY 9 19^ E 
 
 FormL9-50 w . 7 ,'54(599f)^ 
 
 444
 
 
 
 A 
 
 9 
 
 t 
 
 JT 
 
 3 1158 01258 1566 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LJBRARY FACIU^ 
 
 AA 000 394 232 3