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Ewing Ritchie</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 30%; } + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Cruise of the Elena, by J. Ewing Ritchie + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Cruise of the Elena + or Yachting in the Hebrides + + +Author: J. Ewing Ritchie + + + +Release Date: June 17, 2010 [eBook #32858] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUISE OF THE ELENA*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1877 James Clarke & Co. edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>THE<br /> +CRUISE OF THE<br /> +ELENA</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">or</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>YACHTING IN THE HEBRIDES</i></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +J. EWING-RITCHIE</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Author of</i> “<i>The +Night Side of London</i>,” <i>&c. &c.</i></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">London<br /> +JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13, FLEET STREET<br /> +1877</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page ii--><a +name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ii</span><span +class="smcap">london</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">w. speaight & sons</span>, <span +class="smcap">printers</span>, <span class="smcap">fetter +lane</span>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page iii--><a +name="pageiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iii</span><span +class="smcap">to</span><br /> +JOHN ANDERSON, ESQ.,<br /> +<span class="smcap">of glen tower</span>, <span +class="smcap">argyleshire</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">owner of the elena</span>,<br /> +This Little Volume is Dedicated<br /> +<span class="smcap">by the author</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">in memory of a pleasant cruise on board the +elena</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">in the autumn of</span> 1876.</p> +<h2><!-- page iv--><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iv</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">chapter</span></p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">page</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">I.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Off for Greenock</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">II.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">From Greenock to Ardrossan</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">III.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Sunday at Oban</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IV.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">From Oban to Glencoe</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">V.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Off Mull</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VI.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Fast Day at Portree</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To Stornoway</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">VIII.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Kintyre and Campbeltown</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page83">83</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right">IX.</p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Back Again</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>CHAPTER I.<br /> +<span class="smcap">off for greenock</span>.</h2> +<p>The late—I had almost written the last—Imperial +ruler of France was wont to say—indeed, it was his +favourite maxim—“Everything comes to him who +waits.” It was not exactly true in his case. +Just as he was to have placed himself at the head of his +followers, and make his reappearance in France, and to have +effaced the recollections of Sedan, Death, who waits for no one, +who comes at the appointed time to all, put a stop to his +career. Nevertheless, the saying is more or less true, and +especially as regards my appearance on board the +<i>Elena</i>. Whether my great great grandfather was a +Viking or no, I am unable to say; all I know is, from my youth +upwards I have longed for a yacht in which I could cruise at my +own sweet will. I am no great hand at singing, but when I +do sing it is always of a</p> +<blockquote><p>“Life on the ocean wave,<br /> +A home on the rolling deep.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>And thus it happened that, when an invitation was sent to +me, just as I was on the point of giving up the ghost, in +consequence of the heat of a London summer, to leave Fleet +Street, and cruise among the Western Islands of Scotland, I +accepted it, as the reader may well suppose, at once.</p> +<p>It is somewhat of a journey by the Midland night express from +London to Greenock; but the journey is one well worth taking, +even if, as in my case, you do not get a Pullman car, as that had +been already filled, and was booked full, so the ticket manager +said, for at any rate twelve days in advance. It is really +interesting to see that express start. “It is an +uncommon fine sight,” said a man to me the other night, as +he lit his pipe at the St. Pancras Station. “I always +come here when I’ve done work; it is cheaper than a +public-house.” And so it is, and far better in +awakening the intellect or stimulating the life. It is true +I did not see the express start, as I happened to be in it; but I +had another and a greater pleasure—that of being whirled +along the country, from one great city or hive of industry to +another, till I found myself early in the morning looking down +from <!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>the heights of Greenock on the busy Clyde below. It +was a grand panorama, not easily to be forgotten. All at +once it opens on you, and you enjoy the view all the more as it +comes in so unexpected a manner.</p> +<p>Let me pause, and say a good word for the line that bears me +swiftly and safely and pleasantly on.</p> +<p>The story of railway enterprise as connected with the Midland +Railway has been told in a very bulky volume by Mr. J. +Williams. I learn from it that forty years have elapsed +since, originating in the necessity of a few coal-owners, it has +gradually stretched out its iron arms till its ramifications are +to be found in all parts of the land. Actually, up to the +present time it has involved an expenditure of fifty millions, +and its annual revenue reaches five. Daily—hourly, it +rushes, with its heavy load of tourists, or holiday-makers, or +men of business, past the ancient manor-houses of Wingfield, +Haddon, and Rousbery; the abbeys of St. Albans, Leicester, +Newstead, Kirkstall, Beauchief, and Evesham; the castles of +Someries, Skipton, Sandal, Berkeley, Tamworth, Hay, Clifford, +Codnor, Ashby, Nottingham, Leicester, Lincoln, and Newark; the +battle-fields of St. <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 6</span>Albans, Bosworth, Wakefield, +Tewkesbury, and Evesham.</p> +<p>But it is to that part of the line between Carlisle and Settle +that I would more particularly refer—that boon to the +southern tourist who, as the writer did, takes his seat in a +Midland carriage at St. Pancras, and finds himself, without a +change of carriage, the next morning at Greenock in time for the +far-famed breakfasts on board the <i>Iona</i>. The ordinary +traveller has no idea of the difficulties which at one time lay +between him and his journey’s end. “It is a +very rare thing,” once said Mr. Allport, the great Midland +Railway manager, a name honoured everywhere, “for me to go +down to Carlisle without being turned out twice. Then, +although some of the largest towns in England are upon the +Midland system, there is no through carriage to Edinburgh, unless +we occasionally have a family going down, and then we make an +especial arrangement, and apply for a special carriage to go +through. We have applied in vain for through carriages to +Scotland over and over again.” And so the Midland had +no alternative but to have a line of their own. When it was +known at Appleby that their Bill had passed the Commons, <!-- +page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>the +church bells were rung, and, as was quaintly remarked, the people +wrote to the newspapers, and did all that was proper under the +circumstances. No wonder Appleby rejoiced and was glad; +for, though the county town of Westmoreland, it is not much of a +place after all, and the railway must have been a boon to the +natives—especially to the ladies, who otherwise, it is to +be feared, would have wasted their sweetness on the desert +air.</p> +<p>On Monday, the 2nd of August, 1875, after an expenditure of +three millions, the Settle and Carlisle line was opened for goods +traffic. It must have been an awful undertaking, the making +of it. “I declare,” said a rhetorical farmer, +“there is not a level piece of ground big enough to build a +house upon all the way between Settle and Carlisle.” +An ascent had to be made to a height of more than a thousand feet +above the level of the sea, by an incline that should be easy +enough for the swiftest passenger expresses and for the heaviest +mineral trains to pass securely and punctually up and down, not +only in the light days of summer, but in the darkest and +“greasiest” December nights. To construct it +the men had to cut the boulder clay—very unpleasant <!-- +page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>stuff to deal with—to hew through granite, to build +on morasses and dismal swamps. Near the southernmost end of +the valley, watered by the roaring Ribble, the town of Settle +stands among wooded hills, overhung by a lofty limestone rock +called Castlebar; while far beyond on the left and right rise, +above the sea of mountains, the mighty outlines of Whernside and +Pennegent, often hid in the dark clouds of trailing mists. +Up the valley the new line runs, pursuing its way among perhaps +the loneliest dales, the wildest mountain wastes, and the +scantiest population of any part of England. Three miles +from Settle we reach Stainforth Force, and just beyond are the +remains of a Roman camp. At Batty Green the navvies +declared that they were in one of the wildest, windiest, coldest, +and dreariest localities in the world. In the old coaching +days the journey across these wilds was most disagreeable and +trying. It was no unusual thing, we read, for rain to come +down upon the travellers in torrents; for snow to fall in +darkened flakes or driving showers of powdered ice; for winds to +blow and howl with hurricane force, bewildering to man and beast; +for frost to bite and benumb both hands and face till feeling was +almost gone; and <!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 9</span>for hail and sleet to blind the +traveller’s eyes and to make his face smart as if beaten +with a myriad of slender cords. In Dent Dale, which is +almost ten miles in length, the scenery is remarkably fine. +Nearly five hundred feet below, now sparkling in the sunlight, +now losing itself among some clusters of trees, winds the river +Dee; while first on one side and then on the other is the road +that leads to Sedbergh. Leaving the tunnel, we find +ourselves in Garsdale, in a milder clime and amidst more +attractive scenery. Some four hundred feet below us the +river may be observed winding over its rocky bed in the direction +of Sedbergh, while we get extensive views on the west. +Presently we see the Moorside Inn, a far-famed hostelry abounding +in mountain dew, standing at the head of the valleys—the +Wensleydale, winding eastward towards Hawes; the Garsdale Valley, +going westward towards Sedbergh; and the Mallerstang, leading +northwards towards Kirkby Stephen.</p> +<p>At Ais Gill Moor the line attains its highest altitude, 1,167 +feet above the sea, from whence it falls uninterruptedly down to +Carlisle. The country here is very wild and rugged. +Stone walls mark the division of the properties, and <!-- page +10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>scarcely any house can be seen. On the west the +grandly impressive form of Wild Boar Fell rises. Still +higher on the east is Mallerstang Edge. In the winter you +can well believe that along this valley sweeps the wind in bitter +blasts. Three miles after we have left the Moor Loch we are +in Cumberland, and are reminded of other days when all the old +manor-houses and other edifices were built for defence against +the invasions of the Picts. Though the upper part of the +Eden valley is now occupied by a few industrious farmers and +peaceful shepherds, we instinctively think of the time when the +slogan of border chiefs and their clansmen sent a thrill of +terror through Mallerstang, and when sword and fire did terrible +work to man and beast. Here is Wild Boar Fell, where, says +tradition, the last wild boar was killed by one of the Musgrave +family; and there in a narrow dale, overlooked by mountains and +washed by the Eden, are the crumbling ruins of a square +tower—all, alas! that remains of Pendragon Castle. +About a mile before we come to Kirkby Stephen we pass on our +right Wharton Hall, the seat of the now extinct dukes of that +name. Near the town are two objects of especial +interest—the <!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 11</span>Ewbank Scar and Stenkrith +Falls. The sight from Ormside Viaduct is wonderfully +fine. Appleby, as seen from the line, has a very pleasing +appearance. The railway runs past Eden Hall, the residence +of Sir Richard Musgrave, the chief of the clan of that +name. At the summit of a hill, near the Eden Lacy Viaduct, +we find the remains of a Druid’s temple, known by the name +of “Long Meg and her Daughters.” Close by is +Lazonby, a village in the midst of interesting historical +associations. As we pass through the ancient forest, we +would fain stop and linger, as the scenery about here is deeply +romantic, as much so as that of Derbyshire. At Armathwaite +the beauty of the district culminates; and we gaze with rapture +at its ancient quaint square castle, its picturesque viaduct of +nine arches eighty feet high, its road bridge of freestone, its +cataract, and its elm—said to be the finest in +Cumberland. At Carlisle there is a fine railway hotel, +which you enter by a side door from the platform, and where the +traveller may attain such refreshment as he requires. +Indeed, it is open to the public on the same reasonable terms as +the London Tavern when it was the head-quarters of aldermanic +turtle. The town <!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 12</span>is delightfully clean, and has many +interesting associations; and as I stood upon the ramparts of the +castle there on my return, smoking a cigar, there came to me +memories of William Rufus, who built the wall, and planted in the +town the industrious Flemings; of King David of Scotland; of +Wallace, the Scottish hero, who quartered his troops there; of +Cromwell, “our chief of men,” as Milton calls him; +and of the Pretenders, father and son. It is with interest +I look at the church of St. Mary, remembering, as I do, that it +was there Sir Walter Scott was married. I am told the +interior of the cathedral is very beautiful, and crowded with +memorials of a truly interesting character. Externally the +place looks in good condition, as it was repaired as lately as +1853–6. Altogether the town appears comfortable, as +it ought to do, considering it has extensive founderies and +breweries, manufactories of woollen, linen, cotton, and other +fabrics; communication with six lines of railway; a canal, two +rivers, and two local newspapers. Nor is Carlisle +ungrateful. I find in its market-place a statue to Lord +Lonsdale, who has much property in these parts. One can +tarry there long. Afar off you see the hills of the Lake +<!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>Country—the country of Southey and +Wordsworth—and, if you but keep your seat, in an hour or +two you may be, according to your taste, “touring it” +in the land of Burns, or in the district immortalised by the +genius of Sir Walter Scott.</p> +<p>As I went one way, and returned another, I enjoyed this +privilege and pleasure. At Dumfries I could not but +recollect that there the poet Burns wrote his</p> +<blockquote><p>“Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace +bled;”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>that there he died prematurely worn-out in 1796; that there, +as he lay dying, the whole town was convulsed with grief; and +that there his funeral was attended by some ten or twelve +thousand of the people whose hearts he had touched, and who loved +him, in spite of his errors, to the end. +“Dumfries,” wrote Allan Cunningham, “was like a +besieged place. It was known he was dying, and the anxiety, +not of the rich and learned, but of the mechanics and peasants, +exceeded all belief. Wherever two or three people stood +together, their talk was of Burns, and him alone. They +spoke of his history, of his person, of his works, of his family, +and of his untimely and approaching fate, with a warmth <!-- page +14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>and +enthusiasm which will ever endear Dumfries to my +remembrance.” Thinking of Burns, the time passed +pleasantly, as I mused, half awake and half dreaming, that early +summer morning, till I reached Greenock, where sleeps that +Highland Mary, who died during their courtship, and of whom Burns +wrote, in lines that will last as long as love, and woman, and +the grave—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ah! pale—pale now those rosy lips<br +/> + I aft hae kissed sae fondly;<br /> +And closed for aye the sparkling glance<br /> + That dwelt on me sae kindly.<br /> +And mouldering now in silent dust<br /> + That heart that loved me dearly;<br /> +But still within my bosom’s core<br /> + Shall live my Highland Mary.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>CHAPTER II.<br /> +<span class="smcap">from greenock to ardrossan</span>.</h2> +<p>I shall never forget my first view of the Clyde from the +heights above Greenock. It is true I had seen the Clyde +before, but it was at Glasgow years ago, and it had left on my +mind but a poor impression of its extent, or utility, or +grandeur. What a sight you have of dockyards, where +thousands of men are ship-building! and what a fleet of vessels +laden with the produce of every country under heaven! As I +take up a Scotch paper, I read:—“The cargoes imported +during the month included 64 of grain, &c., 65 of sugar, 22 +of timber, 5 of wine, 2 of fruits, 1 of brandy, 1 of ice, 3 of +esparto grass and iron ore, 3 of rosin, 2 of oil, 1 of tar, 1 of +guano, 1 of nitrate of soda, and 4 with minerals.” +And then how grand is the prospect beyond—of distant +watering-places, crammed during the summer season, not alone with +Glasgow and Edinburgh citizens, <!-- page 18--><a +name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>but with +English tourists, who find in these picturesque spots a charm +they can discover nowhere else. Almost all the way—at +any rate, since I left Leeds—I have had my carriage almost +entirely to myself; and now I am in a crowd greater and busier +than of Cheapside at noon, with knapsacks and carpet-bags and +umbrellas, all bent on seeing those beauties of Nature of which +Scotland may well be proud.</p> +<p>To leave the train and hurry down the pier, and rush on board +the <i>Iona</i>, is the work of a minute, but of a minute rich in +marvels. The <i>Iona</i> is a fine saloon steamer, which +waits for the train at Greenock, and thence careers along the +Western Coast, leaving her passengers at various ports, and +picking up others till some place or other, with a name which I +can hardly pronounce, and certainly cannot spell, is +reached. It must carry some fourteen or fifteen hundred +people. I should think we had quite that number on +board—people like myself, who had been travelling all +night—people who had joined us at such places as Leicester, +or Leeds, or Carlisle—people who had come all the way in +her from Glasgow—people who had come on +business—people who were bent on pleasure—<!-- page +19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>people who had never visited the Highlands +before—people who are as familiar with them as I am with +Cheapside or the Strand—people with every variety of +costume, of both sexes and of all ages—people who differed +on all subjects, but who agreed in this one faith, that to +breakfast on board the <i>Iona</i> is one of the first duties of +man, and one of the noblest of woman’s rights. Oh, +that breakfast! To do it justice requires an abler pen than +mine. Never did I part with a florin—the sum charged +for breakfast—with greater pleasure. We all know +breakfasts are one of those things they manage well in Scotland, +and the breakfast on board the <i>Iona</i> is the latest and most +triumphant vindication of the fact. Cutlets of salmon fresh +from the water, sausages of a tenderness and delicacy of which +the benighted cockney who fills his paunch with the flabby and +plethoric article sold under that title by the provision dealer +can have no idea; coffee hot and aromatic, and suggestive of +Araby the blest; marmalades of all kinds, with bread-and-butter +and toast, all equally good, and served up by the cleanest and +most civil of stewards. Sure never had any mother’s +son ever such a breakfast before. It was with something of +regret that I <!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 20</span>left it, and that handsome saloon +filled with happy faces and rejoicing hearts.</p> +<p>In about half-an-hour after leaving Greenock, I was at Kirn, a +beautiful watering-place in Argyleshire, in one of the handsomest +villas of which I was to find my host, and the owner of the +<i>Elena</i>, one of the finest of the four or five hundred +yachts which grace the lake-like waters of the Clyde, and which +carry the ensign of the Royal Clyde Yacht Club. A volume +might be written of the owner, whose place of business in Glasgow +is one of the real wonders of that ancient town. Morrison, +the founder of the Fore Street Warehouse, and the father of the +late M.P. for Plymouth, was accustomed to say that he owed all +his success in life to the realisation of the fact that the great +art of mercantile traffic was to find out sellers rather than +buyers; that if you bought cheap and satisfied yourself with a +fair profit, buyers—the best sort of buyers, those who have +money to buy with—would come of themselves. It is on +this principle the owner of the <i>Elena</i> has acted. It +is worth something to see the Sèvres china, the fine oil +paintings, the spoils of such palaces as the Louvre or St. Cloud, +the rarest ornaments of such exhibitions as those of <!-- page +21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>Vienna, all gathered together in the Glasgow +Polytechnic, and to seek which the proprietor is always on the +look-out, and to recollect that all this display has been got +together by one individual, who began the world in a much smaller +way, and who is still in the prime of life. A further +interest attaches to the gentleman of whom I write, inasmuch as +it was under his roof that the first article of the <i>Christian +Cabinet</i>, swallowed up in the <i>Christian World</i>, was +written. It may be to this it is due that at once I am at +home with him, and that here on board the <i>Elena</i> we chat of +what goes on in London as if we had known each other all our +lives. By my side is his son-in-law—one of those +well-trained, thoughtful divines who have left Scotland for the +South, and who are doing so much to introduce into England that +Presbyterianism the yoke of which our fathers could not bear, but +on which we, their more liberal sons, have learned to look with a +less jealous eye; and no wonder, for to know such a man as the +Doctor is to love him. And now let me say a word as to the +<i>Elena</i>, which is a picture to admire, as she floats calmly +on the water, or speeds her way from one scene of Scottish story +and romance to another. It is <!-- page 22--><a +name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>rarely one +sees a yacht more tastefully fitted-up, and we have a +ladies’ drawing-room on board not unworthy of Belgravia +itself. She is slightly rakish in build, but not +disagreeably so. Her tonnage is 200 tons, and her crew +consists, including the stoker and steward, of some eight +clever-looking, sailor-like men. As we sleep on board I am +glad of this. With Gonsalo I exclaim, “The wills +above be done; but I had rather die a dry death.”</p> +<p>And now, after skirting the greater and the lesser Cumbraes, +and the cave where Bruce hid himself, &c., &c., we are +coaling off Ardrossan, apparently a busy town on the Ayrshire +coast. I have been on shore, and have seen no end of coal +and lumber ships in the docks, and in the streets are many shops +with all the latest novelties from town, and with ladies lounging +in and out. I know I am in Scotland, as I hear the bagpipes +droning in the distance, and stop to judge the beef and mutton +exposed for sale at the shop of the nearest +“flesher.” On a hill behind me is a monument +which, the natives inform me, is in memory of Dr. Mac-something, +of whom I never heard, and respecting whom no one apparently can +tell me anything. I know <!-- page 23--><a +name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>further I am +in Scotland, as I see everywhere Presbyterian places of worship, +and hear accents not familiar to an English ear. I know +also I am in Scotland, as I see no gaudy public-house with +superfine young ladies to attract my weak-kneed brethren to the +bar, but instead dull and dark houses, in which only sots would +care to go. I know I am in Scotland, because it is only +there I read of “self-contained houses” to let or +sell; and as to Ardrossan in particular, let me say that it is +much frequented by the Glasgow merchants in the season; that it, +with its neighbour Saltcoats, supports a <i>Herald</i>, published +weekly for a penny; that from it, as a local poet +writes—</p> + +<blockquote><p> “We +see bold Arran’s mountains gray,<br /> +In dark sublimity, stand forth in grandeur day by day.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The poet speaks truly. As I write I see the heights of +the Scottish Alps, whose feet are fringed with the white villas +of the Glasgow merchants for miles, and washed by the romantic +waters of the Clyde.</p> +<p>Anciently Ardrossan was a hamlet of miserable huts, says Mr. +Murray—Mr. Thomas, of Glasgow, not Mr. John, of +London—gathered around an old castle on Castle Hill, the +scene of <!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 24</span>some of Wallace’s daring +achievements, and destroyed by Cromwell. It was said to +have belonged to a warlock, known as the Deil of Ardrossan. +The present town was originated in 1806 as a seaport for Glasgow, +but, like Port Glasgow, proved a failure in this respect. +It is, however, generally well filled with shipping. The +Pavilion, a residence of the Earl of Eglinton, adjoins the +town. Steamers run thence to Belfast and Newry, and to Ayr +and Arran and Glasgow.</p> +<p>Let me here remark, as indicating the cultivated character of +the Scotchman, one is surprised at the number of local papers one +sees in all the Scotch towns. They are mostly well written, +and have a London Correspondent. It is beautiful to find +how in the Scotch towns there is still faith left in the London +Correspondent. The people swallow him as they do the +Greater and Lesser Catechism, and even the London papers quote +him as with happy audacity he describes the dissensions in the +Cabinet—the hopes and fears of Earl Beaconsfield, the +secret purposes of the garrulous Lord Derby, or the too amiable +and communicative Marquis of Salisbury. When yachting I +<!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>made a point to buy every Scotch paper I could, for the +express purpose of reading what Our London Correspondent had got +to say. I was both amused and edified. It is said you +must go from home to hear the news. I realised that in +Scotland as I had never done before. On the dull, wet days, +when travelling was out of the question, what a boon was our +“Own Special London Correspondent!”</p> +<h2><!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>CHAPTER III.<br /> +<span class="smcap">a sunday at oban</span>.</h2> +<p>Taking advantage of a fine day, we left Ardrossan, with its +coal and timber ships, early one Saturday, and were soon tossing +up and down that troubled spot known as the Mull of +Kintyre. It was a glorious sight, and one rarely enjoyed by +tourists, who make a short cut across a canal, and lose a great +deal in the way of beautiful effects of earth, and sea, and +sky. On our left was the Irish coast, here but fifteen +miles across, and far behind were the dark forms of the mountains +of Arran. Islay, famed for its whisky in modern and for its +romantic history in ancient times, next rises out of the +waters. Jura, with its three Paps, as its hills are called, +comes next, and then, in the narrow sound between Jura and +Scarba, there is the terrible whirlpool of Corrybrechan, the +noise and commotion of whose whirling waves are often, writes the +local Guide-book, audible from <!-- page 30--><a +name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>the +steamer. The tradition is, as referred to in +Campbell’s “Gertrude of Wyoming,” that there a +Danish prince, who was foolhardy enough to cast anchor in it, +lost his life. To-day it is silent and at rest, and it +requires some stretch of imagination to believe, as the poet +tells us, that “on the shores of Argyleshire I have often +listened with delight to the sound of the vortex at the distance +of many leagues.” At length we reach Scarba, Mull is +swiftly gained, and there, on the other side of us, not, however, +to be visited now, are Staffa and Iona. Altogether, we seem +in a deserted district. It is only now and then we see a +house, or gentleman’s residence, and, except where we pass +some slate works on our right, the rocks and hills around seem +utterly unutilised. Occasionally we see a few sheep or +cattle feeding, and once or twice we are cheered with arable +land, and crops growing on it; but the rule is to leave Nature +pretty much to herself. It is the same on the water. +We on board the fairy <i>Elena</i>, and the gulls following in +our wake, are almost entirely monarchs of all we survey. On +we glide up the Frith of Lorne, which seems to narrow as we come +near to Kerrera, which has on its lofty sea-cliff the ancient +Castle of Glen; and <!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 31</span>there before us lies Oban, or the +white bay, in all its charms of wood and hill and water. +Oban is a growing place, and we land where the steamer which +brings on the tourists from Iona has just put down its +passengers, amongst whom I see Dr. Charles Mackay, who, in the +evening of his days, much affects this delightful retreat—a +place, I imagine, quiet enough in winter, but now seemingly the +head-quarters of the human race. There are yachts all +round, but none equalling the <i>Elena</i>. The hotels +which line the bay are handsome, beautifully fitted up, and the +proprietors are looking forward to the 12th of August and the +advent of the English. All the shops are doing a roaring +trade, and as to eggs, not one has been seen in Oban these four +days. Here come the coaches, something of a cross between +omnibuses and wagonettes, which run to Glencoe and Fort William, +and other spots more or less famed in Scottish story; and here is +the band to remind one of watering-places nearer home. I +find here the original Christy’s Minstrel (I never thought +of finding him so far North), and the proprietor of an American +bazaar, who tells me that he has been taking his £40 a +night, but who finds himself too well known to the natives, and +<!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>intimates that he will have to move off shortly; and +last, but not least, a gentleman who modestly enters himself in +the fashionable announcements as Smith, of London! I should +like to see that Smith. I dare say I should know him; but +at present I have not succeeded in running him down. If he +is going to stay long at Oban, it strikes me he should have +plenty of money in his pocket. I don’t blame the Oban +hotel-keepers. They have a very short summer, and are bound +to make hay while the sun shines; but they do stick it on. +The Doctor tells me of a Scotchman who came to London, and who, +to illustrate the costliness of his visit, remarked to his friend +that he had not been half-an-hour in the place but bang went +sixpence. That economical Scot would find money go quite as +quickly here. At any rate, such are my reflections as I +turn into my little cot after, one by one, the lights in Oban +have been put out, and the last of the pleasure-seekers has +retired to roost.</p> +<p>On Sunday morning I wake to find that it has rained steadily +all night, and that it is raining still. Mrs. Gamp +intimates that life “is a wale o’ tears.” +Oban seems to be such emphatically. <!-- page 33--><a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>This is +awkward, as I hear the refined and accomplished lady who shares +with us the perils and the dangers of the deep intimates that in +Scotland people are not expected to laugh on the +Sabbath-day. It rains all breakfast; it rains as we descend +the <i>Elena’s</i> side, and are rowed ashore; it rains as +we make our way to the Established Church, in which that popular +minister, the Rev. Mr. Barclay, of Greenock, is to preach. +His sermon is on the death of Moses. He glides lightly over +the subject, telling us that his text, which is Deut. xxxv. 5, +teaches the incompetency of the noblest life, the penal +consequences of sin, the mercy mingled with the Divine judgment, +and the uniformity of God’s method of dealing. Mr. +Barclay is listened to with attention. In his black gown, +his tall, dark figure looks well in the pulpit, and there must be +some eight or nine hundred people present. There is a +collection after, but I see no gold coin in the plate, though the +bay is full of yachts, and there must be many wealthy people +there. Perhaps, however, they patronise the small +Episcopalian church close by. After the sermon, we are +rowed back in the heavy rain to the yacht, and “it is +regular Highland weather” is all the consolation that I +get, as I <!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 34</span>dry myself in the stoke-hole, while +the Doctor philosophically smokes.</p> +<p>In the evening we are rowed again on shore, and seek out the +Free Church, where Professor Candlish, the son of the far-famed +Doctor of that name, is to preach. He has the reputation of +being a remarkably profound divine, and certainly reputation has +not done him injustice in this respect. His sermon is a +great contrast to that I heard in the morning. It is full +fifty minutes long, and is an argumentative defence of the text, +“Being justified freely by His grace through the redemption +that is in Christ Jesus.” The preacher proposed to +deal with the objection, which he admitted might be fairly made, +that if Jesus paid the debt, our salvation was not a matter of +grace at all; and for this purpose we had line upon line in +thoroughly old Scotch fashion, the hearers all the while looking +out the passages of Scripture referred to in their Bibles. +The sermon was old-fashioned as to thought, but the language was +modern. I was glad I went to hear it. The +congregation was not above half the size of that which appeared +in the Established Church, and a great deal less +fashionable. There you saw a good deal of the tourist +element. <!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 35</span>Here we had the real natives, as it +were; and I must own that I saw more men than I should have seen +in a congregation of the same size at home. At the church +in the morning we had, in addition to the Scotch Psalms, such +hymns as “I lay my sins on Jesus,” and “Lord of +the worlds above.” In the evening we had no novelties +of that kind. Indeed, the whole service was dry and severe +to a degenerate Southern. Mr. Barclay quoted a good deal of +Mrs. Alexander’s fine poem on the death of Moses. +Professor Candlish did nothing of the kind. His sermon was, +in fact, quite in accordance with the day and the <i>genius +loci</i>. I felt it was such a sermon as I had a right to +expect. As I leave the church, I wonder to myself how the +tourists manage. It is too wet to walk, and if they do take +a walk it is not considered the correct thing in these northern +latitudes, where, to make matters worse, the Sunday is nearly an +hour longer than it is in London. I am afraid, however, +some of the townsfolk find the time hang heavily on their +hands. It seemed to me that there was an unusually large +number of female faces at the window, and when the boat comes to +fetch us on board the <i>Elena</i> all the <!-- page 36--><a +name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>windows are +full of, I fear, frivolous spectators. It is true that I am +adorned with a genuine Highland bonnet, and would make my fortune +in London as a Guy on the fifth of November; but here Highland +bonnets are common. It is true my companion is a great +divine from town, and one well known in Exeter Hall; but here you +would take him for a skipper, and nautical men are as common as +Highland bonnets. I fear it is for very weariness that Oban +ladies sit staring out of the windows on the empty streets and +silent bay this dull and watery Sabbath night. I can almost +fancy I hear them sing—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am a-weary, a-weary;<br /> +Oh! would that I were dead!”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +<span class="smcap">from oban to glencoe</span>.</h2> +<p>A couple of days’ heavy rain quite exhausted the +gaieties of Oban, and it was with no little pleasure that I heard +the orders given to weigh the anchor and get up steam. I +shed no tears as I saw the last of the long line of monster +hotels, which rejoice when the Englishman, who has, perhaps, +never been up St. Paul’s, and who certainly has never +visited Stratford-on-Avon, makes up his mind to turn his face +northwards and do the Western Highlands and Islands of +Scotland. I believe the hotels are excellent. I am +sure one of them is—that kept by Mr. McArthur, who is an +artist, and whose son, a little lad of ten years, paints in a way +to remind one of similar achievements by Sir Thomas Lawrence; but +it is much to be regretted that so many of the best spots for +pleasant views above the town are marked off as private, and so +shut out from the tourist altogether. As possibly these +brief notes may be <!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 40</span>read in Oban, I refer to the fact, in +order that the authorities of the place, ere it be too late, may +be reminded of the impolicy of killing the goose for the sake of +the eggs. There ought to be an abundance of pleasant walks +and seats around Oban to tempt the tourist to linger there. +It is related of Norman Macleod, as he stood on the esplanade, +pointing to the town, the bay crowded with yachts, the Kerrera +reflected on the sea as in a mirror, with the distant hills of +Morven and Mull behind, that he exclaimed, “Where will you +find in the whole world a scene so lovely as this?” and +this was said after he had visited America, and India, and +Palestine, and the whole continent of Europe. I am not +prepared exactly to endorse that statement, but the language is +natural to a Scotchman, who can see nowhere a land so romantic as +his own. Oban, with its fine hotels on the front, with its +beautiful bay, with its wooded or bare hills behind, looks well +from the water; but nevertheless I had tired of it, after +spending a couple of days contemplating its features from the +deckhouse of the yacht, bathed as they were in what in London we +should call unmitigated rain, but which here poetically is termed +Scottish mist.</p> +<p><!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>Well, as I have said, there was a shaking amongst the +dry bones when it became known that the morning was bright and +fine, or, in other words, that it did not rain. A noble +peer, who had been shut up in his yacht two whole days, came up +on deck and looked out. A great Birmingham man, anchored on +the other side of us, hoisted his sails and cleared off. +With the aid of the glass I could see the tourists turn out of +the hotels, without mackintoshes and with umbrellas furled. +Away flew the <i>Elena</i> past the ancient Castle of Dunollie, +the seat in former ages of the powerful Lords of Lorn, and still +the property of their lineal descendant, Colonel +Macdougall. Rounding Dunollie Point, and passing the Maiden +Island, the steamer enters on the broad waters of Loch Linnie, +and here a magnificent scene opens on us. To the left are +seen the lofty mountains of Mull, the Sound of Mull, the green +hills of Morven, the rugged peaks of Kingairloch, and the low +island of Lismore, where MacLean of Duart left his wife, a sister +of the Earl of Argyll, to perish on a rock, whilst he pretended +to solemnise her funeral with a coffin filled with stones. +Fortunately, the lady was rescued, and the rest of <!-- page +42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>the +story may be read in Joanna Baillie’s “Tragedy of +Revenge.” On our right stretches the picturesque +coast of the mainland, revealing fresh beauties at every turn, +with a splendid back-ground of towering mountains, such as the +noble Ben Cruachan, who only a week since had his head covered +with snow, and the rugged hills of Glen Etive and +Glencreran. Lismore itself is well worthy of a short stay, +as one of the earliest spots visited by the missionary, St. +Maluag, from Iona, whose chair and well are yet shown. +There are also in the island the remains of an ancient +Scandinavian fortress, and many other objects of interest. +We pass another old castle, that of Stalker, on a small island, a +stronghold of the ancient and powerful Stewarts of Appin, who, +though now extinct, anciently ruled over this region, and, +connected with the royal family of that name, occupied a +distinguished place in Scottish story. In the sunlight our +trip is immensely enjoyable. The air has healing in its +wings. You feel younger and lighter every mile. On +the left are the splendid mountains of Kingairloch and Ardour, +and on the right those of Appin and Glencoe. The view of +the pass is very fine, and <!-- page 43--><a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>to enjoy it +more we land at Ballachulish, and take such a drive as I may +never hope to enjoy again. Ballachulish itself is an +interesting place. Here a son of a King of Denmark was +drowned, and at the adjacent slate quarry some six hundred men +are employed at wages averaging about three pounds a-week. +It is their dinner hour as we pass, and I am struck with the +fineness of their <i>physique</i>. Though they speak mostly +Gaelic, and are shut out from English literature, they must, from +their appearance, be a decent set. In an English mining +village of the same size I should see a Wesleyan and a Primitive +Methodist Chapel, and a goodly array of public-houses and +beer-shops. Here I see neither the one nor the other. +At this end of the village is an Episcopalian place of worship, +with its graveyard filled with slate stones. At the other +end is the Free Church, and then, separated from it by a rocky +stream, are the Established Church and the Roman Catholic +Chapel. The village street is, I fancy, nearly a mile long, +and the cottages, which are well built and whitewashed, seem to +me crammed with children and poultry—the former, +especially, very fine, with their <!-- page 44--><a +name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>unclad feet, +and with hair streaming like that of Mr. Gray’s bard. +How they rush after our carriage like London arabs! I am +sorry I don’t carry coppers. Late as the season is, a +few women are hay-making. What sunburnt, weather-beaten, +wrinkled faces they have! Plump and buxom at eighteen, they +are old women when they have reached twice that age.</p> +<p>As to Glencoe, what can I say of it that is not already +recorded in the guide-books, and familiar to the reader of +English history? The road is carried along the edge of Loch +Leven, and is really romantic, with the rocks on one side, the +winding glen in front, and the loch beneath. It is very +narrow, and as we meet two four-horse cars returning with +tourists we have scarce room to pass. Another inch would +send us howling over into the loch below, but our steeds and our +driver are trustworthy, and no such accident is to be +feared. In the loch beneath we see St. Mungo’s Isle, +marked by the ruins of a chapel, and long used as a burial-place, +the Lochaber people at one end, the Glencoe people at the other, +as their dust may no more intermingle than may that of Churchmen +and Dissenters in some parts of <!-- page 45--><a +name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>England. A little further on is the gable wall, +still standing, of the house of M‘Ian, the unfortunate +chief, who was shot down by his own fireside on that memorable +morning of February, 1690. Is it for this the Glasgow +people erected a statue to William III.? Further on we see +the stones still remaining of what were once houses in which +lived and loved fair women and brave men. One sickens now +as we read the story of that atrocious massacre. A little +more on our right is a rocky knoll, from which, it is said, the +signal pistol-shot was fired. Happily, such atrocities are +now out of date, but the blot remains to sully the fair fame of +our great Protestant hero, and to stain to all eternity the +memories of such men as Argyll and Stairs. Independently of +the massacre, the spot is well worthy of a visit. There is +no more rocky and weird a glen in all Scotland, and when the sun +is hidden the aspect of the place is sombre in the extreme, and +the further you advance the more does it become such. The +larch and fir disappear from the sides of the hills, the river +Coe dashes angrily and noisily at their feet, and before us is +the waterfall which, here they tell us, was Ossian’s +shower-bath. Close by, Ossian <!-- page 46--><a +name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>himself is +reported to have been born, and what more natural than that he +should thus have utilised the stream? On the south is the +mountain of Malmor, and to the north is the celebrated Car Fion, +or the hill of Fingal. I gather a thistle as a souvenir of +the place. Of course it is a Scotch thistle, therefore to +be honoured, but for the credit of my native land, I must say it +is a pigmy to such as I have seen within a dozen miles of St. +Paul’s. As a Saxon, I am especially interested in the +horned sheep in these parts, which at first sight naturally you +take for goats; with the Highland cattle, though by no means the +fine specimens you see at the Agricultural Hall, and with the +exquisite aroma (when taken in moderation) of the Ben Nevis +“mountain dew.” Returning, we pass the entrance +to the Caledonian Canal—called by the natives the +cana<i>w</i>l—along which we were to have made our way to +Nairn; but the <i>Elena</i> scorns the narrow confines of the +canal, and claims to be a free rover of the sea.</p> +<h2><!-- page 49--><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>CHAPTER V.<br /> +<span class="smcap">off mull</span>.</h2> +<p>As I sit musing in the dining-saloon of the <i>Elena</i>, it +occurs to me that a Scotchman is bound to be a better educated +man than an Englishman; for these simple reasons—in the +first place, he does not drink beer—and beer is fatal to +the intellect, inasmuch as it magnifies and fattens the body; and +secondly, because the climate compels him to lead the life of a +student. In the south, we Englishmen have fine +weather. In this world everything is comparative. We +in Middlesex may not have the warm sunshine and blue skies of +France or Italy, but we have weather which admits of garden +parties, and country sports, and pastimes; up in this region of +mountain, rock, and river, it is perpetually blowing big guns or +raining cats and dogs, and the Scotchman, as he can’t go +out, must sit at home and improve his mind. In dull weather +Oban is not a lively spot, <!-- page 50--><a +name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>but here at +Tobermory dulness fails adequately to express the thorough +stagnation of the place. Few of my readers have ever heard +of Tobermory; yet Tobermory is the principal town—indeed, +the only one that is to be found in all Mull. It rose to +its present height of greatness as far back as the year 1788, +when it was developed under the auspices of the Society for the +Encouragement of British Fisheries. But the place was +founded before then, as three or four miles off there are the +remains of a monastery, and in a niche in the wall of one of the +hotels there was, evidently, a crucifix or an image of the Virgin +Mary, whose name seems to be connected with the town. +Tobermory means Well of St. Mary, and up at the top of the town +there is shown to you the well of that name. The +<i>Florida</i>, one of the ships of the Spanish Armada, was sunk +off Tobermory, and some of her timbers and her brass and iron +guns have occasionally been fished up. The place must be +valuable, as the present proprietor gave £90,000 for the +estate, which had been bought by the former owner for about a +third of that sum. The house and ground are on the left, +and his yacht lies in the bay as we enter. By our side are +a few trading vessels <!-- page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 51</span>which have entered the harbour for +shelter. On the right, at the entrance of the harbour, is a +rock, on which some one has had painted, in large red letters, +“God is love.” In rough seas, on this +rock-bound coast, where the wind howls like a hurricane as it +rushes down the gorges of the hills, and where the Atlantic seems +to gather up its strength, here and there, at fitful intervals, +ere it becomes still and tame—under the soothing influence +of Scotch bag-pipes—it is well to remind the traveller on +the deep that He, who holds the waters in the hollow of His +hands, is love. Tobermory is, I imagine, a very religious +place; on a Sunday night the Sheriff preaches in the Court House, +and there, on our left, is a Baptist chapel—where, once +upon a time, the Doctor preached, and in his warmth upset the +candle over the head and shoulders of his colleague sitting +below—and up on the hill is a kirk and a churchyard; the +latter, as is the case with all the churchyards in this part of +the world, in a truly disgraceful state of neglect, with the +graves, which are but a few inches deep, covered with long grass +and weeds. At one corner is what evidently was a receptacle +for holy water, and all around the place there is an +antiquity—in the <!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 52</span>grass growing in many of the streets, +in the deserted walls of houses crumbling to decay, in the +weather-beaten, ancient look of the people, certainly by no means +suggestive of gaiety or life. Tobermory reminds me, says +the Doctor, of what the auld woman said of the sermon—that +it was neither amusing nor edifying. The Doctor’s +lady, overcome by her feelings, writes verses, which I transcribe +for the benefit of my readers who may not enjoy the honour of her +acquaintance.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Off Mull<br /> +’Tis rather dull.<br /> +Hope is vain,<br /> +Down pours the rain;<br /> +The wind howls<br /> +Like groans of ghouls.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But the subject is too much for her, and we land to have a +chat with the natives. A deal we get out of them, as we +wander, something like the river of the poet—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Remote, unfriended, melancholy, +slow.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They seem to me suspicious and reserved, as the Irishman when +at home. We meet one of the natives—an ancient +mariner, with a long, grey beard, and glistening eye. He +can tell us all about the legends connected with the Well of St. +Mary, we are told.</p> +<p><!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>“You have lived here all your life?</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” replies he, thoughtfully, picking the +lower set of left grinders in his mouth.</p> +<p>“And you know the place well?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” says he, commencing picking on the +other side of his mouth.</p> +<p>“And you can tell us all about it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, sure,” says he, as he calmly proceeds to +pick the remainder of his teeth individually and +collectively.</p> +<p>“What about the well—you know that?”</p> +<p>“Yes, it is up there,” pointing to the spot we had +just left.</p> +<p>“What do the people call it?”</p> +<p>“The Well of St. Mary.”</p> +<p>“Can you tell us why?” said we, thinking that at +last the secret which had been hidden from the policeman of the +district and the inn-keeper (I beg his pardon, in these parts +every little cabin in which you can buy whisky or get a crust of +bread is an hotel), and every man we met. “Can you +tell me why the place is so called?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” says he, “the Well of St. +Mary—that is the question.” And then he shut +up—the oracle was dumb. I need not describe my +feelings of <!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 54</span>disappointment. I could have +punched that man’s head.</p> +<p>I learn that Mull is a cheap place—as it ought to +be—to live in. In Tobermory, butter—beautiful +in its way—is eighteenpence a-pound; mutton, tenpence; +eggs, eightpence a dozen; and, says my informant, things are now +very dear. The people are agricultural, and each one +cultivates his little crop. The women are fearfully and +wonderfully made; they seem born for hard work, and a large +number of the young ones leave yearly for Glasgow, where, as +maids-of-all-work, they are much in request. In the mud and +rain, children, barefooted, come out to stare. The girls +have no bonnets on, the boys mostly wear kilts, but they have all +the advantages of a school, and the steamers from Oban now and +then bring batches of the Glasgow papers. One of the things +that most strikes a stranger in these Western isles is the +astonishing number of sweetshops. Every one is born, it is +said, with a sweet tooth in his head, but here every islander +must have a dozen at least. Tobermory is no exception to +the general rule. The lower part of the town, at the far +end of the bay, is chiefly devoted to trade, and at every other +shop I see sweets <!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 55</span>exposed for sale. It is the +same at Portree, the capital of Skye, and it is the same at the +still more important town of Stornoway, in the island of +Lewis. At Tobermory, one sees in the shop windows, besides +ship stores, mutton—you never see beef either in the Inner +or Outer Hebrides; articles symptomatic of feminine love for +fashion—actually a skating-rink hat being one of the +attractions at one of the leading shops, though I can’t +hear of a skating-rink on this side of the world at all. In +the interior of the island are farmers and farmers’ wives, +who evidently have cash to spare. As we skirt along the +coast we see here and there a grey castle in ruins, telling of a +time and manners and customs long since passed away. At one +castle—that of Moy, for instance—the laird was a real +knight and chief, and behaved as such. One part of the +castle was built over a precipice, and in the wall was a niche in +which a man could just stand, and barely that; a man or woman +charged with a crime was placed in that niche; after a certain +time the door was opened, and if he or she was still standing the +result was a verdict of “Not guilty.” Had +strength or nerve failed, the unhappy individual was considered +guilty and had <!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 56</span>received the punishment due to his or +her crime. It was rather hard, this, for weak brethren, and +perhaps it is as well that the system is in existence no +longer. There was a good deal of the right that is born of +might in Scotland then; it is to be hoped that the land is +happier now with its castles in ruins, and its sons and daughters +wanderers on the face of the earth, farming in Canada, climbing +to wealth and power in the United States, governing in India, +growing wool in Natal, coming to the front with true Scotch +tenacity and instinct everywhere. At the same time, when we +need men for our armies and our fleets, and remember that the +flower of them come from such islands as Mull, one may regret the +forced exile of these hardy sons of the Celt or the Norseman.</p> +<h2><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>CHAPTER <span class="smcap">VI.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">fast day at portree</span>.</h2> +<p>In rough weather it requires no little courage to make +one’s way in a steamer from Tobermory to Portree, the +capital of the Isle of Skye. Our noble-hearted owner is +very careful on this point. The <i>Elena</i> is a beautiful +yacht, and he treats her tenderly. It is true, off +Ardanamurchan Point we tumble about on the troubled waves of the +Atlantic, and are glad to shelter in the quiet harbour of +Oronsay, where we pass the night, after the Doctor’s lady +has gone on shore in search of milk, whilst the Doctor smokes his +cigar on the top of the highest spot he can find, and I interview +the one policeman of the district, who is unable to put on his +official costume, as he tells me it rained heavily yesterday, and +his clothes are hung by the fire to dry. At Oronsay there +are some six houses, including what is called an hotel. +Here and there are some old <!-- page 60--><a +name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>tubs about us +which would cause Mr. Plimsoll’s hair to stand on an end, +and which seek in this stagnant spot shelter from the gale. +Next morning we resume our voyage, leaving Oronsay with a very +light heart—to quote a celebrated phrase—and in a few +hours are at Portree, after passing the residence of the +Macdonald who is a descendant of the Lord of the Isles, and such +islands as Rum and Muck, and others with names equally unpoetical +in English ears. From afar we watch the giant hills of the +Isle of Skye, their summits wreathed in clouds. Mr. Black +and Mr. Smith have between them much to answer for. They +write of fine weather when the sun shines, when you may see ocean +and heaven and earth all alike, serene and beautiful, when the +novelty and the beauty of the scene excite wonder and praise and +joy. It is then people are glad to come to the Isle of +Skye, and find a charm in its lonely and rustic life, in its +tranquil lochs and its purple hills; but I fancy in Skye it is as +often wet as not; and when we were there the rain was in the +ascendant, and one would, except for the name of the thing, have +been often just as soon at home. Mr. Spurgeon once said to +a Scotchman, as he was <!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 61</span>pointing out the grandeur of a +Highland scene, that it seemed as if God, after He had finished +making the world, got together all the spare rubbish, and shot it +down there. Apparently something similar has been done with +regard to Skye. You are bewildered with their number and +variety—rocks to the right, rocks to the left, rocks +before, rocks behind, rocks rising steep out of the sea with all +sorts of rugged outlines, rocks sloping away into wide moors +where no life is to be seen, or into lochs where the fish have it +almost all to themselves. It is as well that it should be +so. The land does not flow with milk and honey. The +hut of a Skye peasant, with its turf walls, its bare and filthy +floor, not the sweeter for the fact that the cow—if the +owner is rich enough to have one—sleeps behind, its peat +fire, with no chimney for the escape of smoke, its bare-legged +boys and girls, its sombre men, its gaunt women, seemed to me the +climax of human wretchedness.</p> +<p>It is with no common pleasure we get in our boat and are rowed +ashore. It is a secular day with us in England. Here, +in Portree, it is fast day, and all the shops are closed, and if +we had not laid in a stock of mutton at Oronsay, it <!-- page +62--><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>would +have been fast day with us on board the <i>Elena</i> as well as +with the pious people ashore. It seems to me there are +services in the churches, either in English or in Gaelic, all day +long. Of course I attend the Gaelic sermon. It is +recorded of an old Duke of Argyll that on one occasion he was +heard to declare that if he wanted to court a young lady he would +talk French, as that was the language of flattery; that if he +wished to curse and swear, he would have recourse to English; but +that if he wanted to worship God, he would employ the Gaelic +tongue. It may be that I heard a bad specimen, as the +sermon or service did not seem to be particularly impressive; and +as the preacher took a whole hour in which to expound and amplify +his text, it must be admitted that, considering I did not +understand a word of it, it was not a little wearying. I +must, however, own that the people listened with the utmost +attention, and that even such of them as were asleep all the +time, slept in a quiet, subdued, and reverential manner. +Indeed, they think much of religion in this Isle of Skye, and +have a profound respect for the clergy. “Sure,” +said an island guide one day, as he was speaking of a +distinguished divine, <!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 63</span>whom he had attended during a summer +tour—“sure he’s a verra godly man, he gave me a +drink out o’ his ain flask.” And yet Portree is +not a drinking place. There are two or three good hotels +for the tourists, and little more. I saw no sign of +intoxication on the evening of the fast day, but I did see +churches filled, and all business suspended, and the sight of the +Gaelic congregation was extremely interesting. The men in +good warm home-spun frieze, the women with clean faces, and plaid +shawls, and white caps, the younger ones with the last new thing +in bonnets, looking as unlike the big, bare-footed damsels of the +streets, and the old withered women whom you see coming in from +the wide and dreary moor, as it is possible to imagine. In +London heresy may prevail—sometimes, it is said, it crosses +the Scottish border; but here, at any rate, since the Reformation +has flourished the sincere milk of the Word. These men and +women have their Gaelic Bible, and that they cling to as their +guide in life, their comfort in adversity, their stay and support +in death, and as the foundation of their hopes of immortal life +and joy. An old gossiping writer, who died a year or two +since, relates how a Presbyterian clergyman <!-- page 64--><a +name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>confessed to +him that his congregation, who only used the Gaelic, were so well +versed in theology, that it was impossible for him to go beyond +their reach in the most profound doctrines of Christianity. +Perhaps it is as well for some ministers whom I have heard, but +should be sorry to name, that they have not Gaelic hearers. +They must be terrible fellows to preach to, these men, fed on the +Shorter Catechism, the Proverbs of Solomon, and the rest of the +Old and New Testaments. It is little to them what the +philosophers think. Mill, and Spencer, and Tyndall, and +Huxley they ignore. Dark-eyed, black-haired, with heads +which you might knock against a rock without cracking, and with +arms and legs that one would fancy could stop the Flying +Dutchman,—evidently these are not the men to be tossed +about with every wind of doctrine or cunning craftiness of men +who lie in wait to deceive. Little pity would they have for +the imperfect, weak-kneed brother, who, in the pulpit or out of +it, could presume to doubt what they had learnt at their +mothers’ knees. Up here in Skye, the religion known +is bright and clear. The shops are of the poorest +description, merely one room in a common dwelling, with a stone +or earth <!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 65</span>floor. There is no paper +published in all the Isle of Skye, but the people believe. +You man of the nineteenth century, the heir of all the ages +underneath the sun, would think little of the peasant of that +wintry region. I believe he thinks as little of you as you +do of him. You mock, and he believes; you scorn, and he +worships; you stammer about Protoplasms and Evolutions, he says +in his old Gaelic tongue, “God said, Let there be light, +and there was light.” There are many in London who +would give all that they have if they could believe as these men +and women of the North.</p> +<p>There were sermons again in the afternoon, sermons at night, +sermons again next day, sermons on the coming Sunday, and to them +came the fisher from the sea, the little tradesman from his shop, +the ploughman from his croft, the milkmaid from her dairy, and +the child from school; and it must further be remembered that +these fasts are voluntary, and not in accordance with Acts of +Parliament. Remember, also, that nothing is done to make +the service attractive. It is simply the usual form of +Presbyterian worship that is followed. The chapel was as +plain as could be, and the singing was almost <!-- page 66--><a +name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>funereal. But, after all, the chapel was to be +preferred to the empty streets, along which the wind raged like a +hurricane, or to the contemplation of bleak rocks and angry +seas. I can quite believe at Skye it is more comfortable to +go to kirk than stay at home. Indeed, more than once on the +night after, I felt perhaps my safest place would have been the +kirk, as the wind came rushing in through a gully in the +mountains, and kept the water in a constant fury. Really, +from the deck of the <i>Elena</i>, Portree looked a very +comfortable place, with the bay lined with buildings, and +conspicuous among them all the Imperial Hotel, where the Empress +of the French stayed while travelling in these parts. There +is a good deal of excitement here as steamers rush in and out, +and yachts lazily drop their anchors. It seems to me that +the people quite appreciate the charms of their rocky +island. Coming down the cliff, I saw a +notice—“Furnished Apartments to Let”—and +the price asked was quite conclusive on that head. Down by +the harbour an enterprising Scot, who had been a +gentleman’s servant in London, had established a store for +the sale of bottled beer and such pleasant drinks, and seemed +quite satisfied <!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 67</span>with the result of his +experiment. At any rate, he preferred Portree to residence +further inland, where he said even the very eggs were uneatable, +so strongly did they taste of peat. My lady +friend—rather, I should say, “our +lady”—is as much affected by the gale that dolorous +night as myself, and writes, plaintively begging me to excuse the +irregularity of the metre on account of the rolling of the +vessel, as follows:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Here off Skye,<br /> +The tide runs high;<br /> +Through hill and glen<br /> +Wind howls again.<br /> +The Coolan hills<br /> +No more we see,<br /> +Save through the mists<br /> +Of memory.<br /> +The sea birds float,<br /> +And seem to gloat,<br /> +With loud, shrill note,<br /> +Above our boat;<br /> +For they, like us,<br /> +Are forced to stay<br /> +For shelter in this friendly bay;<br /> +And now I seek, in balmy sleep,<br /> +Oblivion of the perils of the deep,<br /> +And wishing rocks and hills good night,<br /> +Let’s hope to-morrow’s log will be more +bright.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A cottage in the Hebrides is by no means a cottage +<i>ornée</i>. Its walls are made of stone and <!-- +page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>clay of a tremendous thickness. On this wall, on a +framework of old oars or old wood, are laid large turfs and a +roof of thatch. In this roof the fowls nestle, and lay an +infinite number of eggs; but all things inside and out are +tainted with turf in a way to make them disagreeable. There +is no chimney, and but one door, and the floor is the bare earth, +with a bench for the family formed of earth or peat or +stone. Beds and bedding are unknown. If the family +keeps a cow, that has the best corner, for it is what the pig is +to the Irishman, the gentleman that pays the rent. Small +sheep, almost as horned and hardy as goats, may be met with, but +never pigs. Pork seems an abomination in the eyes of the +natives. Every cotter has a portion of the adjacent moor in +which to cut peat sufficient to supply his wants. Out of +the homespun wool the women make good warm garments—and +they need them. Fish and porridge seem their principal +diet, and it agrees with them. The girls are wonderfully +fat and healthy; and consumption is utterly unknown. While +I was at Stornoway, an old woman had just died in the workhouse +considerably over a century old. As to agricultural +operations, they are conducted on a most primitive <!-- page +69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>scale. A few potatoes may here and there be seen +struggling for dear life; and as the hay is cut when the sun +shines, it is often in August or September that the farmer reaps +his scanty harvest. You miss the flowers which hide the +deformity of the peasant’s cottage in dear old +England. It seems altogether in these distant regions, +where the wild waves of the Atlantic dash and roar; where the +days are dark with cloud; where you see nothing but rock, and +glen, and moorland; where forests are an innovation, that man +fights with the opposing powers of nature for existence under +very great disadvantage.</p> +<h2><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +<span class="smcap">to stornoway</span>.</h2> +<p>A fine day came at last, and we steered off from Portree, +leaving the grand Cachullin Mountains, rising to a height of +3,220 feet, and the grave of Flora Macdonald, and the cave where +Prince Charles hid himself far behind. On the right were +the distant mountains of Ross-shire, and on our left Skye, and +the other islands which guard the Western Highlands against the +awful storms of the ever-restless Atlantic. Here, as +elsewhere, was to be noticed the absence of all human life, +whether at sea or on land. It was only now and then we saw +a sail, but, as if to compensate for their absence, the birds of +the air and the fishes of the sea seemed to follow in a +never-ending crowd. More than once we saw a couple of +whales spouting and blowing from afar, and the gulls, and divers, +and solan-geese at times made the surface of the water absolutely +<!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>white, like snow-islands floating leisurely along. +Just before we got up to Stornoway, at a great distance on our +right, Cape Wrath, more than a hundred miles off, lifted up its +head into the clear blue sky, the protecting genius, as it were, +of the Scottish strand. It was perfectly delightful, this; +one felt not only that in Scotland people had at rare intervals +fine weather, but that by means of steamers and yachts and +sailing vessels of all kinds, the people of Scotland knew how to +improve the shining hour. It was beautiful, this floating +on a glassy sea, clear as a looking-glass, in which were +reflected the clouds, and the skies, and the sun, and the birds +of the air, and the rocks, with a wonderful fidelity. It +seemed that you had only to plunge into that cool and tempting +depth, and to be in heaven at once. At Stornoway we spent a +couple of days. The town stands in a bay, perhaps not quite +so romantic as some in which we have sheltered, but very +picturesque, nevertheless. The first object to be +distinctly seen as we entered was the fine castle which Sir James +Mathieson has erected for himself, at a cost altogether of half a +million, and the grounds of which are in beautiful order; them we +<!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>had ample time to inspect that evening, as in Stornoway +the daylight lasted till nearly ten o’clock. Happily, +Sir James was at home, and we on board the yacht had an +acceptable present of vegetables, and cream, and butter, very +welcome to us poor toilers of the sea. Stornoway is a very +busy place, and has at this time of the year a population of +2,500. In May and June it is busier still, as at that time +there will be as many as five hundred fishing boats in the +harbour, and a large extra population are employed on shore in +curing and packing the fish. In the country behind are +lakes well stocked with fish, and mountains and moors where game +and wild deer and real eagles yet abound. But a great +drawback is the climate. An old sportsman +writes:—“The savagery of the weather in the Lewes, +the island of which Stornoway is the capital, is not to be +described. A gentleman from the county of Clare once shot a +season with me, and had very good sport, which he enjoyed +much. I asked him to come again. ‘Not for five +thousand pounds a year,’ he replied, ‘would I +encounter this climate again. I am delighted I came, for +now I can go back to my own country with pleasure, since, bad as +the <!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>climate is, it is Elysium to this.’” +Let me say, however, the weather was superb all the time the +<i>Elena</i> was at Stornoway.</p> +<p>As a town, Stornoway is an immense improvement on +Portree. It rejoices in churches, and the shops are +numerous, and abound with all sorts of useful articles. The +chief streets are paved. It has here and there a gas lamp, +and the proprietor of the chief hotel boasted to me that so +excellent were his culinary arrangements, that actually the +ladies from the yachts come and dine there. Stornoway has a +Freemasons’ Hall, and, wandering in one of the streets, I +came to a public library, which I found was open once a +week. On Saturday night the shops swarmed with customers, +chiefly peasant women—who put their boots on when they came +into the town, and who took them off again and walked barefoot as +soon as they had left the town behind—and ancient mariners, +with a very fish-like smell. On Sunday the churches were +full, and at the Free Church, where the service was in Gaelic, +the crowd was great. In a smaller church I heard a cousin +of Norman Macleod—a fine, burly man—preach a powerful +sermon, which seemed to me made up partly of two +sermons—one by <!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 77</span>the late T. T. Lynch, and the other +by the late Alfred Morris. I strayed also into a U. P. +church, but there, alas! the audience was small. In +Stornoway, as elsewhere, the couplet is true—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The free kirk, the poor kirk, the kirk +without the steeple,<br /> +The auld kirk, the rich kirk, the kirk without the +people.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On the Monday morning we turned our faces homeward, and as the +weather was fine, we passed outside Skye, and saw Dunvegan Bay, +of which Alexander Smith writes so much; passing rocky islands, +all more or less known to song, and caves with dark legends of +blood, and cruelty, and crime. One night was spent in +Bunessan Bay, where some noble sportsmen were very needlessly, +but, <i>con amore</i>, butchering the few peaceful seals to be +found in those parts; and a short while we lay off Staffa, which +rises straight out of the water like an old cathedral, where the +winds and waves ever play a solemn dirge. In its way, I +know nothing more sublime than Staffa, with its grey arch and +black columns and rushing waves. No picture or photograph I +have seen ever can give any adequate idea of it. +“Altogether,” writes Miss Gordon Cumming, “it +is a scene of which no words can convey the smallest idea;” +and for once I agree with the <!-- page 78--><a +name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>lady. +It is seldom the reality surpasses your expectations. As +regards myself, in the case of Staffa I must admit it did.</p> +<p>The same morning we land at Columba, or the Holy Isle. +The story of St. Columba’s visit to Iona is laid somewhere +in the year <span class="smcap">a.d.</span> 563. He, it +seems, according to some authorities, was an Irishman, and from +Iona he and his companions made the tour of Pagan Scotland; and +hence now Scotland is true blue Presbyterian and always +Protestant. Here, as at Staffa, we miss the tourists, who +scamper and chatter for an hour at each place, and then are off; +and I was glad. As Byron writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p> “I love not man the less, +but nature more,<br /> + From these our interviews, in +which I steal<br /> + From all I may be or have been before,<br /> + To mingle with the universe, and +feel<br /> +What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all +conceal.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The history of Iona is a history of untold beauty and human +interest. Druids, Pagans, Christian saints, have all +inhabited the Holy Isle. Proud kings, like Haco of Norway, +were here consecrated, and here—</p> + +<blockquote><p> “Beneath +the showery west,<br /> +The mighty kings of three fair realms were laid.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>All that I could do was to visit the ruins of the <!-- page +79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>monastery and the cathedral, and one of the stone +crosses, of which there were at one time 360, and to regret that +these beautiful monoliths were cast into the sea by the orders of +the Synod as “monuments of idolatrie.” St. +Columba, like all the saints, was a little ungallant as regards +the fair sex. Perhaps it is as well that his rule is +over. He would not allow even cattle on the sacred +isle. “Where there is a cow,” argued the saint, +“there must be a woman; and where there is a woman there +must be mischief.” Clearly, the ladies have very much +improved since the lamented decease of the saint. From Iona +we made our way to the very prosperous home of commerce and +whisky known as Campbeltown. Actually, the duty on the +latter article paid by the Campbeltown manufacturers amounts to +as much as £60,000 a year. At one time it was the +very centre of Scottish life. For three centuries it was +the capital of Scotland. It is still a very busy place, and +it amused me much of a night to watch the big, bare-footed, +bare-headed women crowding round the fine cross in the High +Street, which ornaments what I suppose may be called the +Parochial Pump. Close to the town is the church and cave of +St. Kieran, <!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 80</span>the Apostle of Cantyre, the tutor of +St. Columba. At present the chief boast of Campbeltown is +that there were born the late Norman Macleod and Burns’ +Highland Mary. When Macleod was a boy the days of smuggling +were not yet over in that part of the world. Here is one of +his stories:—“Once an old woman was being tried +before the Sheriff, and it fell to his painful duty to sentence +her. ‘I dare say,’ he said uneasily to the +culprit, ‘it is not often you have fallen into this +fault.’ ‘No, indeed, shura,’ was the +reply; ‘I hae na made a drap since yon wee keg I sent +yoursel’.’” Let me remark, <i>en +passant</i>, that my friend, the Doctor, was born here, and that +is proof positive that at Campbeltown the breed of great men is +not yet exhausted. I mention this to our lady, and she is +of the same opinion.</p> +<h2><!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +<span class="smcap">kintyre and campbeltown</span>.</h2> +<p>In my wanderings in the latter town I pick up the last edition +of a useful and unpretending volume called “The History of +Kintyre,” by Mr. Peter M‘Intosh—a useful +citizen who carried on the profession of a catechist, and who is +now no more. The book has merits of its own, as it shows +how much may be done by any ordinary man of average ability who +writes of what he has seen and heard. Kintyre is a +peninsula on the extreme south of the shire of Argyle, in length +about forty geographical miles. That the Fingalians +occasionally resided at Kintyre is without doubt, and a +description of their bravery and generosity is graphically given +in some of the poems of Ossian. At one time there was much +wood in its lowlands, and in them were elk, deer, wild boars, +&c., and the rivers abounded with fish. There were +clans who gathered together with the greatest <!-- page 84--><a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>enthusiasm +around their chiefs, who repaired to a high hill, and set up a +large fire on the top of it, in full view of the surrounding +district, each unfolding his banner, ensign, or pennant, his +pipers playing appropriate tunes. The clan got into motion, +repaired to their chief like mountain streams rushing into the +ocean. He eloquently addressed them in the heart-stirring +language of the Gael, and, somewhat like a Kaffir chief of the +present day, dwelt at length on the heroism of his +ancestors. The will of the chief instantly became law, and +preparations were soon made; the chief in his uniform of clan +tartan takes the lead, the pipers play well-known airs, and the +men follow, their swords and spears glittering in the air.</p> +<p>Up to very recent times there were those who remembered this +state of things. An old man who died not a century ago told +my informant, writes Mr. M‘Intosh, that the first thing he +ever recollected was a great struggle between his father and his +mother in consequence of the father preparing to join his clan in +a bloody expedition. The poor wife exerted all her +strength, moral and physical, but in vain. He left her +never to return alive from the battlefield. <!-- page +85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>The +proprietors of Kintyre were wise in their generation, and +mustered men in their different districts to oppose Prince +Charles, partly on account of his religion, and partly to retain +their lands. On one occasion they marched to Falkirk, but +not in time to join in the battle, it being over before they +reached there. Prince Charles being victorious, they went +into a church, which the Highlanders surrounded, coming in with +their clothes dyed with blood, and crying out “Massacre +them”; but they were set at liberty on the ground that +their hearts were with the Prince, and had been compelled by +their chiefs to take arms on the side of the House of Hanover +against their will. But even the chiefs were not always +masters, and men often did that which was right in their own eyes +alone. An instance of this kind is traditionally told about +the Black Fisherman of Lochsanish. The loch, which is now +drained, was a mile in length and half-a-mile in breadth, and +contained a great number of salmon and trout. The Black +Fisherman would not suffer any person to live in the +neighbourhood, but claimed, by the strength of his arm, sole +dominion over the loch. The Chief Largie, who lived +eighteen miles north of the <!-- page 86--><a +name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>loch, kept a +guard of soldiers, lest the Fisherman should make an attack on +him. He sent his soldiers daily to Balergie Cruach to see +if the Fisherman was on the loch fishing, and if they saw him +fishing they would come home, not being afraid of an attack on +that day. A stranger one day coming to Largie’s house +asked him why he kept soldiers. The answer was, it was on +account of the Fisherman. When he saw him sitting he went +and fought the Fisherman, bidding the soldiers wait the result on +a neighbouring hill. When the battle was over, the +Fisherman was minus his head. We read the head, which was +very heavy, was left at Largie’s door. These old men +were always fighting. The number of large stones we see +erected in different parts of Kintyre have been set up in memory +of battles once fought at these places. On one occasion two +friendly clans prepared to come and meet. They met +somewhere north of Tarbert, but did not know each other, and +began to ask their names, which in those days it was considered +cowardice to answer. They drew swords, fought fiercely, and +killed many on both sides. At last they found out their +mistake, were very, very sorry, and, after burying their dead, +returned to <!-- page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 87</span>their respective places. The +feuds and broils among the clans were frequent, and really for +the most trifling causes, as the whole clans always stood by +their chiefs, and were ready at a moment’s notice to fight +on account of any insult, real or imaginary. It appears +that in this distant part of the Empire, though the whole +district is not far from Glasgow, with its commerce and +manufactures, and university and newspapers, and the modern +Athens, with its great literary traditions, there still linger +many old Druid superstitions.</p> +<p>Some are particularly interesting. Old M‘Intosh +thus writes of May-day and the first of November, called in +Gaelic Bealtuinn, or Beil-teine, signifying Belus fire, and +Samhuinn, or serene time.</p> +<p>On the first of May the Druids kindled a large fire on the top +of a mountain, from which a good view of the horizon might be +seen, that they might see the sun rising; the inhabitants of the +whole country assembling, after extinguishing their fire, in +order to welcome the rising sun and to worship God. The +chief Druid, blessing the people and receiving their offerings, +gave a kindling to each householder. If the Druid was +displeased at any of the people, he would not <!-- page 88--><a +name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>give him a +kindling; and no other person was allowed to give it, on pain of +being cursed, and being unfortunate all the year round. +This superstition is observed by some to this day. On the +first of November the Druids went nearly through the same +ceremony.</p> +<p>The superstition of wakes in Kintyre is nearly worn out. +The origin of this superstition is, that when one died the Druid +took charge of his soul, conveying it to Flath-innis, or heaven; +but the friends of the deceased were to watch, or wake, the body, +lest the evil spirits should take it away, and leave some other +substance in its place. When interred, it could never be +removed.</p> +<p>An old man named John M‘Taggart, who died long ago, was +owner of a fine little smack, with which he trafficked from +Kintyre to Ireland and other places. Being anxious to get a +fair wind to go to Ireland, and hearing of an old woman who +pretended to have the power to give this, he made a bargain with +her. She gave him two strings with three knots on each; +when he undid the first, he got a fine fair breeze; getting into +mid-channel he opened the second, and got a strong gale; and when +near the Irish <!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 89</span>shore he wished to see the effect of +the third knot, which, when he loosed, a great hurricane blew, +which destroyed some of the houses on shore. With the other +string he came back to Kintyre, only opening two of the +knots. The old man believed in this superstition.</p> +<p>On the island of Gigha is a well with some stones in it, and +it is said that if the stones be taken out of it a great storm +will arise. Two or three old men told M‘Intosh that +they opened the well, and that a fearful storm arose, and they +would swear to it if pressed to confirm their belief; they would +affirm also to the existence of the Brunie in Cara.</p> +<p>In Carradale is a hill called Sroin-na-h-eana-chair, in which +it is said an old creature resides from generation to generation, +who makes a great noise before the death of individuals of a +certain clan. An old man with whom M‘Intosh conversed +on the subject declared that he had heard the cries himself, +which made the whole glen tremble.</p> +<p>A little dwarf, called the “Caointeach,” or +weeper, is said to weep before the death of some persons. +Some people thought this supernatural creature very +friendly. An old wife <!-- page 90--><a +name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>affirmed that +she saw the little creature, about the size of a new-born infant, +weep with the voice of a young child, and shortly afterwards got +notice of the death of a friend. Others affirmed that they +heard the trampling of people outside of the house at night, and +shortly after a funeral left the house. Many stories are +told about apparitions in the hearing of the young, making an +impression which continues all their days. Peter the +Catechist deprecates such conduct. He writes: “I have +seen those who would not turn on their heel to save their life on +the battle-field, who would tremble at the thought of passing +alone a place said to be frequented by a spirit.”</p> +<p>Very provokingly he next observes, “It would be +ridiculous to speak of the charms, omens, gestures, dreams, +&c.” Now, the fact is, it is just these things +which are matters of interest to an inquiring mind. They +are absurdities to us, but they were not so once; and then comes +the question, Why? He does, however, add a little to our +fund of information relative to the second sight.</p> +<p>“An old man who lived at Crossibeg, four generations +ago, saw visions, which were explained to <!-- page 91--><a +name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>him by a +supernatural being, descriptive of future events in +Kintyre. An account of them was printed, and entitled +‘Porter’s Prophecies,’ which I have perused, +but cannot tell if any of them have come to pass as yet, but some +people believed them.</p> +<p>“The Laird of Caraskie, more than a century ago, is said +to have had a familiar spirit called Beag-bheul, or little mouth, +which talked to him, and took great care of him and his +property. The spirit told him of a great battle which would +be fought in Kintyre, and that the magpie would drink human blood +from off a standing stone erected near Campbeltown. The +stone was removed, and set as a bridge over the mill water, over +which I have often traversed; but the battle has not been fought +as yet, and perhaps never will be.</p> +<p>“The Rev. Mr. Boes, a minister of Campbeltown, more than +a century ago, was said to have the second sight. One time +being at the Assembly, and coming home on Saturday to preach to +his congregation, he was overtaken by a storm, which drove the +packet into Rothesay. He went to preach in the church on +the Sabbath. The rafters of the church above not being +lathed, in <!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 92</span>the middle of his sermon he looked +up, and with a loud voice cried, ‘Ye’re there, Satan; +ye kept me from preaching to my own congregation, but ye cannot +keep me from preaching for all that,’ and then went on with +his sermon. At another time, his congregation having +assembled on the Sabbath as usual, the minister was walking +rapidly on the grass after the time of meeting, the elders not +being willing to disturb him by telling him the time was +expired. At last he clapped his hands, exclaiming, +‘Well done, John;’ the Duke of Argyle being at that +moment at the head of the British army in Flanders fighting a +battle in which he was victorious. The minister, by the +power of the second sight, witnessed the battle, and exclaimed, +when he saw it won, ‘Well done, John.’ He went +afterwards and preached to his congregation.</p> +<p>“Another Sabbath, when preaching, a member of the +congregation having fallen asleep, he cried to him +‘Awake.’ In a short time the man fell asleep +again. The minister bade him awake again and hear the +sermon. The man fell asleep the third time, when the +minister cried, with a loud voice, ‘Awake, and hear this +sermon, for it will be the last you will ever hear in this <!-- +page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>life.’ Before the next Sabbath the man was +dead. On the morning of a Communion Sabbath, Mr. Boes got +up very early, convinced that something was wrong about the +church. He examined it, and found that the beams of the +gallery were almost sawn through by the emissaries of Satan, in +order that the congregation, by the falling of the gallery, might +be killed. He got carpenters and smiths employed till they +put the church in a safe state, and proceeded with the solemn +service of the day with great earnestness. Mr. Boes was +sometimes severely tried with temptations, having imaginary +combats with Satan, and, being very ill-natured, he would not +allow any person to come near him. On one of these +occasions he shut himself up in his room for three days. +His wife being afraid he would starve with hunger, sent the +servant-man with food to him, but the minister scattered it on +the floor. The servant-man exclaimed, ‘The +devil’s in the man!’ In a moment the minister, +becoming calm, answered, ‘You are quite right,’ then +partook of the food, and returned to his former +habits.”</p> +<p>The following is a good illustration of an olden +chief:—We have many traditional stories about <!-- page +94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>Saddell Castle, in which Mr. M‘Donald or +“Righ Fionghal” resided. He claimed despotic +power over the inhabitants of Kintyre. It is said he knew +the use of gunpowder, and often made a bad use of it. He +would for sport shoot people, though they did him no harm, with +his long gun, which was kept in Carradale for a long time after +his death. His character is represented as being very +tyrannical. Being once in Ireland, he saw a beautiful +married woman, whom he fancied, and took away from her husband to +Saddell. Her husband followed; but M‘Donald finding +him, intended to have starved him to death without his wife +knowing it. He was put in a barn, but he kept himself alive +by eating the corn which he found there. M‘Donald +removed him to another place, but a hen came in every day and +kept him alive with her eggs. M‘Donald was anxious +that the poor man should die, and placed him in another place, +where he got nothing to eat, and it is said the miserable +prisoner ate his own hand, then his arm to the elbow, before he +died, and said, in Gaelic, “Dh’ith mi mo choig meoir +a’s mo lamh gu’m uilleann. Is mor a thig air +neach nach eiginu fhulang.” When they were burying +him, his wife was on the top of the <!-- page 95--><a +name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>castle, and +asked whose funeral it was; she was told it was +Thomson’s. “Is it my Thomson?” she +inquired. “Yes,” they replied. She then +said they might stop for a little till she would be with +them. She immediately threw herself over the castle wall, +and was carried dead with her husband to the same grave.</p> +<p>Perhaps, after all, Saxon rule has not been such an injury to +the Western Isles of Scotland as some people think. At +Kintyre there are plenty of schools, and parsons and policemen +instead of robber chiefs; and if there are few freebooting +expeditions to Ireland and elsewhere, it is quite as well that +people have taken to a more decent mode of life.</p> +<p>Alas! my “to-morrow”—unlike that of the +poet, which “never comes”—is at hand. +Under a smiling sky, and on a summer sea, we thread our way past +Arran, or the Land of Sharp Pinnacles, down the Kyles of Bute, +where the scenery is of exquisite beauty; past Rothesay, the +Hastings of the West, and with an aquarium said to be the finest +in the world, and almost as flourishing as that Hastings of the +South which rejoices in a yatchsman for M.P. of unrivalled fame; +past Dunoon, till we drop anchor at <!-- page 96--><a +name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>Hunters’ Quay. We seem all at once to have +come into the world again. On every side of us there are +steamers bearing tourists, and holiday-makers, and health-seekers +to the crowded bathing-places and health resorts. As we +approach our journey’s end, the Clyde seems covered with +rowing-boats, and music and laughter echo along its waters. +I feel a little sad to think that my brief holiday is over. +The Doctor and the Doctor’s lady tell me we shall meet in +London, and that is a consolation. Yes, we shall meet, but +no more as equals on deck. He will be in the pulpit or on +the platform, I beneath. There is no equality when a man +puts on the black gown, and begins lecturing to the pew. +The mutual standpoint vanishes like a dream. But when, oh, +when shall I sail in such a model yacht as the <i>Elena</i> +again, or meet with such hospitality as I enjoyed at its worthy +owner’s hands? His sons, amphibious as are all the +Scotchmen, apparently, in these parts, row out to meet us. +The greeting is as affectionate as mostly the greetings of the +British race are. “What did you come back for? +We were getting on very well without you,” were the first +words I heard.</p> +<h2><!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +<span class="smcap">back again</span>.</h2> +<p>As next morning I crossed the Clyde, and took my seat in a +crowded and early train, it seemed to me that rain was not far +off, and that at Edinburgh Royalty might be favoured with a sight +of what in England is known as Scotch mist. Nor were my +forebodings wrong. The modern Athens was under a cloud, and +many were the heavy-hearted who had come from far and near to do +honour to the day. The Glasgow men have but a poor opinion +of the citizens of Edinburgh. They took a very unfavourable +view of the matter. If Edinburgh desired to have a statue +of Albert the Good, why not? If the Queen liked to be +present at its inauguration, there was no harm in that; if there +were a little fuller ceremonial on the occasion, it was only what +was to be expected; but that Edinburgh should hasten to wash her +statues and decorate her streets; that she should clean up her +shop-fronts, <!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 100</span>and drape her balconies; that she +should devote a day to holiday-making; that she should go to the +expense of Venetian masts and scarlet cloth—in short, that +in this way Edinburgh should attempt to rival a London Lord +Mayor’s Show, was one of those things no Glasgow fellow +could understand.</p> +<p>And I own at first sight there seemed to be a good deal in the +Glasgow criticism. Few cities have so fair a site as the +noble metropolis of our northern brethren; few cities less +require ornamentation. Hers emphatically is that beauty +which unadorned is adorned the most. To stand in Princes +Street, with the castle frowning on you on one side, and with the +Calton Hill in front; to loiter under the fair memorial to Sir +Walter Scott (by the side of which I am pleased to see a statue +of Livingstone has just been placed); to look from the bridge +which connects the New Town with the Old—on the distant +hills and the blue sea beyond—is a pleasure in +itself. With its far-reaching associations, with its +memories of Wilson and Brougham, and Jeffery and Walter Scott, +with its dark churches, in which John Knox thundered away at the +fair and frail Mary, with its <!-- page 101--><a +name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>ancient +palaces grim and venerable with stirring romance or startling +crime, it seemed almost profane to send for the upholsterer, and +to bid him deck out the streets and squares with gaudy colours +and gay flowers. When on Thursday the morning opened +cloudily on the scene, it seemed as if all this preparation had +been thrown away; and bright eyes were for awhile dark and sad, +and refusing to be comforted. However, the thing went on, +nevertheless. The crowd turned out into the streets, the +railways brought their tens of thousands from far and near; +balconies were full, and all the windows; and the sight was one +such as has not feasted the eyes of the oldest inhabitant for +many a year. There were the soldiers to line the streets, +there were the archers to guard the daïs, there were the +Town Council and Lord Provost in their scarlet robes, there were +the men whom Edinburgh delights to honour all before them, and, +above all, the Duke of Connaught, the Princess Beatrice, Prince +Leopold, Brown—the far-famed Highlander—and the +Queen. The ceremony itself was not long. When +Charlotte Square was reached, Her Majesty took the place assigned +to her, and the work was speedily performed. As <!-- page +102--><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>Her Majesty went back by Princes Street, an additional +interest was created, and Princes Street looked very well; its +hotels and fashionable shops rejoiced in crimson and yellow +banners, and the Walter Scott memorial even broke out in honour +of the day. It was decorated with flags, which waved gaily +in the sun—for the sun did come out, after all. But +Princes Street was not the chief route. It was down George +Street that Royalty drove, and it was there that the efforts of +the decorative artist had been most effective. Some of them +were very beautiful, and full of taste; but the lettering was +rather small. Nor did the inscriptions display much +ingenuity. They were mostly “Welcomes,” or +invitations to “Come again.” It was the +advertising tradesmen who were most ingenious in that way, and it +was in the papers that their efforts appeared. As, for +instance, an enterprising shoemaker writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Welcome, Victoria! Queen of Scottish +hearts!<br /> +In many a breast the loyal impulse starts”—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and then finishes with a recommendation of his boots and +shoes. As a crowd, also, it must be noted that the mob was +far graver than a London one, and that little attempt was made +either to relieve the tedium of waiting the arrival of <!-- page +103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>the procession, or to turn a penny by the sale of the +various articles which seem invariably to be required by a London +mob. The boys who sell the evening papers, one would have +thought, would have had correct programmes of the procession, and +portraits of the Queen and Prince Albert to dispose of. As +it was, all that was hawked about was an engraving of the statue +itself.</p> +<p>As to the statue, it will be one of the many for which +Edinburgh is famous, and at present, as the latest, is considered +one of the best. It is in a good position in Charlotte +Square—the finest of the Edinburgh squares—and stands +by itself. Afar off is William Pitt; and, further off +still, unfortunately for the morals of Albert the Good, who is +placed just by, is George the Magnificent, swaggering in his +cloak, in tipsy gravity, as it were; and at St. Andrew’s +Square, at the other end, proudly towers above all the Melville +Monument. That was utilised on the day in question in an +admirable manner—Venetian masts were erected at the end of +the grass-plat which surrounds it. Ropes rich with bunting +were suspended between them and the statue, which was gaily +decked with flags. It was in this neighbourhood, and as you +went on <!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>to Holyrood, that the ornaments were +of the richest character. Of the sixty designs submitted to +the committee, the preference was given to that of Mr. John +Steell, R.S.A., who was subsequently knighted by Her +Majesty. It was on the occasion of the great Volunteer +review in the Queen’s Park, in 1861, that Prince Albert was +seen by the largest number of Scotch people; and it has evidently +been the aim of the artist to represent him as he was +then—in his uniform of field-marshal, with his cocked hat +in his right hand, while he holds the reins in his left. +The princely rank of the wearer is indicated by an order on the +left breast. In order that the representation might be as +perfect as possible, Her Majesty lent the artist the very uniform +worn on the occasion referred to. The modelling of the +busts was also done at Windsor Castle, under Royal +supervision. The horse was modelled from one lent by the +Duke of Buccleugh. On the pedestal are bas-reliefs +indicative of the character and pursuits of His Royal +Highness. On one side his marriage is represented; on +another his visit to the International Exhibition. Again we +see him peacefully happy at home in the bosom of his family; then +<!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>again as a rewarder of the merit he was ever anxious to +discover and befriend. In one part of the design are +quotations from the Prince’s speeches, and classical +emblems; rank and wealth and talent, in all phases of society, +down to the very lowest, are represented as uniting to do honour +to the dead. In this varied work Mr. Steell was assisted, +at his own request, by Mr. William Brodie, Mr. Clark Stanton, and +the late Mr. MacCallum, whose unfinished work was completed by +Mr. Stevenson. The equestrian figure is upwards of fourteen +feet high, and weighs about eight tons. The pedestal is of +five blocks of Peterhead granite. According to a +contemporary, the Queen’s emotion was manifest when the +statue was unveiled. The Scotch are a cautious people, and +are very slow in expressing an opinion on the memorial. All +I can say is, that I prefer it very much to that statue at the +commencement of the Holborn Viaduct, on which Mr. Meeking’s +young men look down every day.</p> +<p>It was on the next day that you saw the statue and the +preparations to the most advantage, and such seemed to be the +opinion of all Edinburgh and the surrounding country. A +cloudless sky <!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 106</span>and an Indian sun tinted everything +with gold, and a smart breeze set all the flags of the Venetian +masts waving all along the line in a way at once effective and +bewildering. Fashionable people filled up the streets, +dashing equipages drove rapidly past, shops were crammed, waiters +at the hotels were tired to death. I never saw so many +hungry Scots as I did at a celebrated restaurant, and a hungry +Scot is not a pleasant sight; and at the railway station I +question whether half the people got into their right carriages +after all. Porters and guards seemed alike confused; and +the people walked up and down the platform of the Waverley +Station as sheep without a shepherd. However, wearied and +hungry and bewildered as they were, they had had a day’s +pleasure, and that was enough.</p> +<p>As for myself I took the Waverley route, and gliding past the +ruins of Craig Millar Castle—the prison-house of James the +Fifth, and the favourite residence of Queen Mary—and vainly +trying to catch a view of Abbotsford, of which one can see but +the waving woods, was gratified with a glimpse of Melrose, where +rests the heart of Bruce, which the Douglas had vainly striven to +carry to Palestine. All round me are <!-- page 107--><a +name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>names and +places connected with border tradition and song. Dryburgh +Abbey is not far off, nor Hazeldean, nor Minto House. +Passing along the banks of the Teviot, by the frowning heights of +Rubertslaw on the left, I reach Hawick, whose history abounds in +heroic tale and legendary lore, although the present town is now +only known as an important and flourishing emporium of the +woollen manufactures. Passing up the vale of the Slitrig, +famous in legendary story, we come to Stobs Castle and Branxholme +House, celebrated in the “Lay of the Last +Minstrel.” Close by is Hermitage Castle, founded by +Comyn, Earl of Monteith, where Lord de Soulis was boiled as a +reputed sorcerer at a Druidical spot, named the Nine Stane Rig, +at the head of the glen. At Kershope Foot the railway, +having passed through the land of the Armstrongs, renowned in +border warfare, enters England. Once more I am at home, +thankful to have seen so much of beauty and blessedness, of +wonders in heaven above, and on the earth beneath, and in the +waters underneath the earth; thankful also for improved health +and power of work acquired by yachting among the islands of the +Western Coast.</p> +<h2><!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 108</span>MIDLAND RAILWAY.</h2> +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Improved and Accelerated Service +of<br /> +NEW EXPRESS TRAINS<br /> +<span class="smcap">between</span><br /> +ENGLAND & SCOTLAND<br /> +<span class="smcap">by the</span><br /> +SETTLE AND CARLISLE ROUTE.</p> +<p>The SUMMER SERVICE of EXPRESS TRAINS between LONDON (St. +Pancras) and SCOTLAND is now in operation, and Express Trains +leave St. Pancras for Scotland at 5.15 and 10.30 a.m., and at 8.0 +and 9.15 p.m. on Week-Days, and at 9.15 p.m. only on Sundays.</p> +<p>A new NIGHT EXPRESS TRAIN now leaves St. Pancras for Edinburgh +and Perth at 8 p.m. on Week-Days, arriving at Perth at 8.40 a.m., +in connection with Trains leaving Perth for Montrose and Aberdeen +at 9.20 a.m., and for Inverness and Stations on the Highland +Railway at 9.30 a.m.</p> +<p>A new Night Express in connection with the Train leaving +Inverness at 12.40 p.m., Aberdeen at 4.5 p.m., and Dundee at 6.30 +p.m., leaves Perth at 7.25 p.m., and Edinburgh at 10.30 p.m. on +Week-Days, arriving at St. Pancras at 8.30 a.m.</p> +<p>A PULLMAN SLEEPING CAR is run between ST. PANCRAS and PERTH in +each direction by these Trains.</p> +<p>Pullman Sleeping Cars are also run from St. Pancras to +Edinburgh and Glasgow by the Night Express leaving London at 9.15 +p.m.; and from Edinburgh and Glasgow to St. Pancras by the +Express leaving Edinburgh at 9.20 p.m., and Glasgow at 9.15 p.m. +on Week-Days and Sundays. Pullman Drawing-Room Cars are run +between the same places by the Day Express Trains leaving St. +Pancras for Edinburgh and Glasgow at 10.30 a.m., and Glasgow at +10.15 a.m., and Edinburgh at 10.30 a.m. for St. Pancras.</p> +<p>These Cars are well ventilated, fitted with Lavatory, &c., +accompanied by a special attendant, and are <i>unequalled for +comfort and convenience</i> in travelling.</p> +<p>The 9.15 p.m. Express from St. Pancras reaches Greenock in +ample time for passengers to join the “Iona” +steamer.</p> +<p>Tourist Tickets, available for two months, are issued from St. +Pancras and all principal stations on the Midland Railway to +Edinburgh, Glasgow, Greenock, Oban (by “Iona” steamer +from Greenock), and other places of tourist resort in all parts +of Scotland.</p> +<p>The Passenger Fares and the Rates for Horses and Carriages +between stations in England and stations in Scotland have been +revised and considerably reduced by the opening of the Midland +Company’s Settle and Carlisle Route.</p> +<p>Guards in charge of the Through Luggage and of Passengers +travelling between London and Edinburgh and Glasgow by the Day +and Night Express Trains in each direction.</p> +<p><i>Derby</i>, <i>August</i>, 1877.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">JAMES ALLPORT, <i>General +Manager</i>.</p> +<div class="gapline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">GLASGOW and the HIGHLANDS.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">THE ROYAL MAIL STEAMERS,<br /> +(<i>Royal Route viâ Crinan and Caledonian Canals</i>)</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>Iona,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Linnet,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Islay,</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Chevalier,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Cygnet,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Clydesdale,</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Gondolier,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Plover,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Clansman,</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Mountaineer,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Staffa,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Lochawe,</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Pioneer,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Glencoe,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Lochiel,</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Glengarry,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Inverary Castle,</p> +</td> +<td><p>Lochness,</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center">and Queen of the +Lake,</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>Sail during the season for Islay, Oban, Fort-William, +Inverness, Staffa, Iona, Lochawe, Glencoe, Tobermory, Portree, +Gairloch, Ullapool, Lochinver, and Stornoway; affording Tourists +an opportunity of visiting the magnificent scenery of Glencoe, +the Coolin Hills, Loch Coruisk, Loch Maree, and the famed Islands +of Staffa and Iona.</p> +<p>Time Bill with Maps free by post on application to DAVID +HUTCHESON & CO., 119, Hope-street, Glasgow.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRUISE OF THE ELENA***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 32858-h.htm or 32858-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/2/8/5/32858 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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