was considerably larger some two centuries ago. Where the community
originally came from no one knows. Their early history is lost in
darkness; but it can be traced back to the fourteenth century. In 1697
Martin visited the island, and wrote a quaint but faithful account of
it. At present there is no regular communication between St Kilda and
any other place except by a boat called 'the smack,' which is sent
out by the proprietor (MacLeod of MacLeod) twice a year--namely in
summer and autumn, to collect the rents, to carry away the produce,
and to furnish supplies. Some bold yachtsman generally pays the island
a hurried visit about the end of summer; but as the anchorage is
dangerous, he seldom or never remains more than two or three hours.
Some of the natives have been as far as Lewis, Harris, and Uist, and
surprise the others with tales of the wonders they have seen in those
distant places; a man with a wooden leg having apparently created
the greatest interest. But the majority have never been farther than
Boreray. No people can be more isolated or less indebted to their
neighbours for example or instruction in the ways of civilised life.
Notwithstanding this, it will be difficult to find a better-behaved
community--one more pious, sober, industrious, polite, and hospitable.
I had always a great desire to see this _Ultima Thule_, and in 1875
the proprietor's factor agreed to give me a passage in his smack to
the island. On the 3d of June I landed, and at my own desire was left
behind when the smack sailed from the bay on the 6th. I remained on
St Kilda about seven weeks, and passed the time in rambling about
the island, trying to learn Gaelic, making excursions to the other
islands in the boats along with the natives, and in visiting them in
their homes. I lived in a house by myself and cooked my own food. I
had a set of bagpipes with me and a flute, and when threatened with
melancholy cheered myself with a tune on these instruments. I bought
some biscuits, oatmeal, &c., and a sheep or two, and the women kept
me supplied gratis with turf for my fire. At the end of seven weeks
the yacht _Crusader_ came into the bay, the owner of which kindly gave
me a passage to Greenock. Before I left St Kilda I had an opportunity
of seeing how the trade was conducted--the low prices which the poor
people received for their produce, and the high prices they were
obliged to pay for their supplies, and I felt no little sympathy for
them. Animated with a desire to better their condition and assimilate
themselves with their more fortunate brethren of the mainland, they
requested me several times to try to get them a boat large enough to
carry a crew and cargo to Harris, where they might carry on their trade
on more profitable terms than with the proprietor. On my return home I
got a boat built for them, and started a subscription to pay for her.
I further resolved to go out in her myself, so as to see her safely
delivered to the people, and to give them a little enlightenment as to
the prices of commodities in the outer world.
On the 30th May 1876 I arrived at Lochgilphead to get possession of the
boat, which seemed suitable for the purpose; and by the kind assistance
of Messrs Hutcheson, the well-known ship-owners, I reached Stornoway,
_en route_ for St Kilda, in safety.
I remained in Stornoway weather-bound until the 12th June, and whilst
waiting for a fair wind to continue our voyage westward, let me narrate
a mysterious occurrence, bearing on my narrative, that took place some
years ago.
In the month of April 1864 a boat left St Kilda for Stornoway with a
woman and seven men on board. Every man had a chest, and the woman a
small box; and they took provisions with them, and some salt-fish and
home-spun cloth to pay expenses. The islanders went up the hill called
Oswald or _Osimhal_ and watched the boat for several hours. All seemed
well. The woman in the boat intended to visit some relations at Loch
Inver.
On a Sunday about a month afterwards, three London smacks entered the
bay and brought the news that the boat was lost near Lewis with all on
board. Never doubting the truth of the intelligence, the inhabitants
gave vent to their grief without restraint. The three skippers came on
shore and beguiled the time by playing quoits with flat stones, and
when they witnessed the agitation of the bereaved St Kildans, they
jeered in mockery. There was no minister on the island at the time, but
a probationer called Kennedy filled the office. Although he understood
English as well as Gaelic, he never thought of taking a note of the
names of the smacks. The St Kildans say the crews belonged to London,
but that _one man could speak Gaelic_. Some time afterwards some of
the clothes of the missing men, torn as if in a scuffle, were brought
to St Kilda by the then factor, and were said to have been found in
a cave at Lewis. The people got gradually resigned to their fate,
although I heard them on my first visit declare that they believed the
lost crew had been murdered. But I thought at the time that this was
a preposterous suspicion, which could only be entertained by people
living in solitude and ignorant of the world outside. But strange to
relate I was told by Mr MacIver, banker in Stornoway, that a letter had
been received from a firm in the Transvaal Republic, by the minister
of Harris, stating that Donald MacKinnon, one of the lost crew, had
just died at Pilgrim's Rest, Lydenburg Gold-fields, of a fever, and had
left property to the amount of thirty-seven pounds. On my expressing a
suspicion that the strange story might be untrue, Mr MacIver informed
me that the money had actually been lodged with him.
Why Donald MacKinnon had never written to St Kilda to inform his father
and other relatives of his fate, is a mystery that none can fathom. But
if he was preserved, it is possible that some others of the missing
crew may have been saved too. I may mention that Sir John MacLeod, then
proprietor of St Kilda, caused an inquiry to be made at Lewis at the
time the boat was lost; but without eliciting any information.
At Stornoway, I was introduced to Captain Macdonald of the fishery
cruiser _Vigilant_, and hospitably entertained in that smart vessel.
He seemed desirous to give me a convoy to St Kilda; but the Board, to
whom I applied, declined to allow him to leave his station. On the 12th
June, however, he took me on board and my boat in tow, and conveyed us
to the island of Scalpa, where I abode for several days in the house
of Mr Campbell, the chief man of the island, who treated me with true
Highland hospitality. Mr Campbell's house stands on the site of one
recently demolished, in which Prince Charlie found shelter when hiding
from his enemies. A stone above the door bearing an inscription in
Gaelic, records the fact. In one of the cottages in Scalpa I saw about
a dozen girls thickening blankets; this they did by tossing them about
upon a broad board. One of the girls sung a Gaelic song, whilst the
others joined in the chorus. On my entering the room the songstress
cleverly composed a verse about me. I was much interested with this
ancient Highland custom.
The land in Scalpa is poor and boggy; but some of the people are fine
specimens of humanity--good-looking and polite. Some of them expressed
an opinion that the island was over-populated, which I am afraid is the
case, although I should be sorry to see such men leave the country. On
the 17th, the _Vigilant_, which had returned to Stornoway, again called
at Scalpa, and took me and my boat on to Obe in the Sound of Harris.
The navigation of these straits is considered very difficult; but
Captain Macdonald, as if to display his seamanship, ran down the Sound
and then tacked up again without fear, and in a manner that excited my
admiration. I had never seen a smarter vessel or seaman.
At Obe I found the factor's smack lying weather-bound. Here also I saw
two St Kildan women who had come to Harris nine months previously, and
were yearning to be home again, never having heard from their husbands
since they left. On the 18th the _Vigilant_ returned to Stornoway.
At Obe I engaged two men to work the boat to St Kilda, agreeing to pay
them eight pounds for the trip, but stipulating that when the boat
reached the bay they were to have no further claim upon me. This seems
a large sum; but for all I knew they might have had to live for weeks
in the island without a chance of returning. However, they arranged
with the smack's skipper (an old friend) for a return passage; and on
the 21st, at seven in the morning, we set sail--two men and myself in
the new boat, a rope connecting us with the smack. When about half-way
St Kilda was descried on the western horizon--'suspected more than
seen,' for though the day was bright and sunny a thick haze obscured
the distance. We reached the island about five in the evening, and
separating from the smack, cast our anchor near the shore. Soon a
crowd began to gather on the rocks, but they did not seem in a hurry
to launch their boat. I observed one of the women who had come with
the smack standing on deck and holding up her infant (born during her
absence from St Kilda) in a triumphant manner, although she was too
distant to be seen from the shore. At length a boat is pushed off and
pulls towards us; the crew stare doubtfully at me, and then, as they
come alongside, repeat my name and grasp my hand. I and the two men who
had come with me jump into the shore-boat, and are landed on the rocky
bank amidst a crowd of men and women. But whilst I am busy shaking
hands with this old friend and that, one of the Harris men suddenly
discloses the story about the lost boat and Donald MacKinnon, and in
a moment all is confusion, grief, and amazement. Women squat upon the
ground and chant their lamentations; and men stand with open mouths and
eyes and mutter observations in Gaelic on the wonderful news.
The boat goes off to the smack and brings the two women on shore, where
they are received with conjugal kisses. Ten months had elapsed from the
receipt in Harris of the letter from Africa until its arrival in St
Kilda--although the one place is visible from the other in a clear day.
I must now try to describe the village. It is built on a comparatively
level piece of ground about twenty feet above the sea, at the foot
of steep hills, has a southerly exposure, and consists of nineteen
cottages, arranged like a crescent. They are plainly built and
roofed with zinc. They were erected about fourteen years ago. But
the old huts in which the people formerly dwelt still stand, and are
picturesque structures. The walls of these are double, with turf
packed in between. They are built without lime, and are thatched with
straw, held down by ropes of the same material attached to stones.
They are said to have been very warm and comfortable. In some of them
are beds in the wall, accessible by a hole like the mouth of a baker's
oven. These huts are now used as cow-houses, barns, and cellars, and
are similar to the houses in Lewis, Harris, and other islands of
the Hebrides. I include the manse or parsonage in the above number,
although it is rather better built. At the back of it stands the
church, a modern and ugly building. The plan of the village was until
lately like the framework of a boy's kite; but the staff is now gone,
and the bow alone remains. In front of the village and between it and
the sea, is a patch of arable ground of about fifteen or twenty acres
in extent, divided into lots. There are also patches of arable ground
behind the village. The whole is inclosed by a massive dry stone wall,
to keep off cattle. But what chiefly excites the attention and wonder
of the stranger is the immense number of small houses everywhere to be
seen around the village and clustered all over the island, up even to
the summit of the hills. These are called _clætan_, and are used as
storehouses for turf and grass. They are called pyramids by Martin.
In general they are built so narrow that single stones can be laid
from one wall to the other to form the roof. Some of these primitive
structures are said to be ancient; but I have seen others erected
on exactly the same system, for architecture has not changed in St
Kilda, as in other places. Behind the village the steep hills rise
to a considerable height, Connagher being one thousand three hundred
feet above the sea. The bay or loch is open on the south-east. It is
sheltered on the south-west by a long craggy island called the Dun.
On the 24th, the factor's smack left for Dunvegan. Before going on
board he presented a document to the men, who were all assembled on
the shore, and requested them to sign it. He made no objection to
their trying to go to Harris in the new boat; but he wanted to know
if they wished the proprietor to send supplies as usual. The men
seemed resolved to make use of the new boat; but were persuaded by the
minister to sign the paper. I was not pleased at this transaction,
for although the boat was found very useful in making trips to the
other islands for birds, she was procured for the express purpose of
enabling the people to trade with Harris. When they had signed the
paper, which bound them still to continue their transactions with the
factor, my object was in a measure frustrated, and the islanders had no
alternative but that of still relying upon the smack for their autumn
supply of oatmeal and other articles from the mainland.
For a few days I took lodgings in one of the cottages; but afterwards I
got a house to myself, and cooked my own food.
On the 29th of June I went with a party of eighteen men and boys in the
new boat to the island of Boreray. All the men but two, who were left
to take charge of the boat, ascended the cliffs, and I was tempted to
go along with them. With the end of a rope round my waist, held by
a man who preceded me, I clambered up such paths as one may see in a
nightmare. I thought it best not to look too far ahead, but to keep my
attention fixed on the ground at my feet. Sometimes I was indebted to
my guide for a pull up some difficult bit; and I succeeded in reaching
the top. The height was probably eight hundred feet--the highest rocks
on this island being over a thousand. Some of the cliffs were white
with solan-geese. All the men dispersed and descended the cliffs to
catch fulmars, and I was left in charge of a youth called _Callum
Beag_, or Little Malcolm, who will retain the same name although he
grows to six feet.
It is the custom of the St Kildans to send a party of young women to
this island every year to catch puffins for the sake of the feathers.
During my first visit I had gone with such a party to Boreray, and saw
them at work. Rearing their young in holes in the turf, these curious
birds (called _Tammie Nories_ in some places) require dodging to get
at, and great care in handling, as their bite is very severe. Being
acquainted with their habits, the women take dogs with them, which are
taught to alarm the puffins and to catch them as they flutter out of
their holes. The girls also place hair-ropes on the ground, held down
at the ends by stones. Nooses of horse-hair are affixed to the rope,
into which the birds (which frequent this island in incredible numbers)
push their feet. In this way some of the girls catch as many as four
or five hundred puffins in a day. The young women remain about three
weeks on the island, all alone by themselves. They work until they drop
asleep. Every one takes her Gaelic Bible with her, for all can read
with ease. They sleep in the clothes they wear during the day. On my
second visit to this island, I took a glance at the houses in which
these bird-catchers reside. They are three in number, and are covered
outside with earth and turf, and look like grassy hillocks. One of them
is fifteen feet long by six feet wide. It is six and a half feet high
at the hearth, which is close to the door. A semicircular stone seat
runs round the hearth. The rest of the floor is raised a foot higher,
and is used as a bed. The door is about two and a half feet high, and
has to be entered on hands and knees. These houses are built on the
same plan as the _clætan_, but are covered outside with earth and turf
for the sake of warmth.
A house of the bee-hive type, described by Martin and Macaulay,
formerly stood on this island; but to my great regret it has been
demolished within the memory of man. It was inhabited by a hermit
called Stallir. The people have several traditionary tales about this
house. When I had seen all that was to be seen, I grew tired sitting
on the top of the cliff, and ventured to descend without assistance.
Callum Beag tried to remonstrate, but I persisted, and fortunately
succeeded in reaching the boat below. I had begun to be familiar with
great heights, for it is all a matter of custom. In a short time
all the men were seen descending the cliffs laden with fulmars; and
hoisting our lug-sail and jib we returned to St Kilda.
One day shortly after my arrival an old man happening to be up the
hill at the back of the village descried what he imagined to be two
marks cut on the turf on the top of Boreray. A party of men, it is
necessary to explain, had gone to that island about a fortnight before
to _pluck_ the sheep which are kept there, for shears are as yet
unknown in St Kilda. He came down in great distress, and communicated
the intelligence to the rest of the people, who, to my surprise, were
thrown into a state of consternation. The women seated themselves on
the ground and chanted lamentations. On inquiring the reason, I was
informed that a system of telegraphy had been long established in St
Kilda, and that two marks cut in the turf in Boreray signified that
one or more of the party were sick or dead, and that a boat was wanted
immediately. I went up the hill, and with a glass discovered that one
of the marks was a number of men building a _clæt_. I explained this to
some of the people who had followed me, but failed to convince them for
a time. In the evening, however, when the boat returned from Boreray
with the plucking-party all well, the sceptics acknowledged with joyful
smiles that my glass was better than their eyes.
THE LUDICROUS.
It would appear that the human memory is more retentive of the
grotesque and ludicrous, whether moral or physical, than of the
sublime and beautiful in nature, the graver incidents of life or the
loftier mental experiences. We recall with realistic distinctness
every object whose saliency has consisted in pleasing distortion,
and every event that has in any way appealed to our sense of humour;
while we may reproduce but faintly the impressions received from the
contemplation of the highest works of art, the most perfect landscape,
or the ordinary vicissitudes of the world. In every-day language, this
is largely accounted for by the force with which the exception to any
given rule, the aberration from ordinary courses of action, and the
departure from universally accepted principles, arrest our attention
in virtue of their rarity. This of course applies to many other
classes of phenomena besides the odd, the distorted, the whimsical,
or the ridiculous; but the human mind, strange though it seems, has
undoubtedly a greater facility for the reception and reproduction of
these than of any other.
If we deliberately cast back in our minds for the images of our early
playmates and school-fellows, we observe that the first to present
themselves, as a rule, are those possessing some marked peculiarities,
and that those peculiarities are the centre-points of the pictures.
Ordinary faces and physiques, even of those near and dear to us, shew
but dimly on memory's canvas; but a squint, a lisp, a burr, freckles,
ungainliness, or oddity of manner, has stamped there the images of
comparative strangers with indelible clearness; and the blemishes which
produce these results are themselves not only plainly delineated,
but frequently exaggerated. Again, if we permit the mind to revert
unrestrainedly to the _events_ of childhood, the earliest to suggest
themselves are, almost invariably, those which have exercised our
risible faculties or sense of the absurd--the laughable scrapes, odd
predicaments, amusing exploits of ourselves or others, are the things
remembered of our youth. The recollections of any two men of middle age
with regard to their common school-days teem with whimsical anecdotes,
to the almost total extinguishing of other things. This experience may
be termed universal, and suggests the curious question: To what extent
should we be at all able, if devoid of the sense of humour, to recall
the companions and incidents of our childhood and youth?
Let us look at our subject from another point of view. What do we
find on attempting to recall our knowledge of 'the men of all times,'
whose biographies we have read? We cast our net, as it were, into the
pool of our recollections--say, for example, regarding a Napoleon, a
Newton, or a Columbus. The result is significant. Beyond an imperfect
conception of the scope and lesson of their lives, nine out of ten
fairly intelligent people will succeed in landing only a few trifles
in the shape of anecdotes, physical peculiarities, or amusing
idiosyncrasies. The first was the ambitious disturber of Europe; the
second, a philosopher; the last, discovered America. In addition--what?
Why, Napoleon was fond of snuff, which he carried loose in his
waistcoat pocket, and was called 'the Little Corporal.' The expounder
of the law of gravitation on one occasion used his sweetheart's finger
as a tobacco-stopper. And the private life of Columbus is epitomised
in the apocryphal story of making an egg stand on end. Popularly, the
portraits of heroes and notabilities are distinct in proportion to
the number and saliency of their blemishes. (Who can forget the wen
on Cromwell's nose?) On the other hand, their hopes, their loves,
their sorrows, their great life-purposes, their very identities, are
held together in the minds of the masses by the force of association
with trivial and adventitious circumstances. It is an odd but not
necessarily a humiliating reflection; for the mind that can find 'good
in all things' will see in it a most wise and important provision in
our mental economy.
The simplest and best known rule in the so-called art of Mnemonics is,
naturally enough, based upon a recognition of the facility with which
anything connected with the grotesque, absurd, or whimsical may be
recalled. Dates, statistics, names, &c. are taken into the memory along
with some catch-word or ludicrous expression, and are by that means
reproducible almost at will. We are not prepared to say in how far
such a rule is in the long-run beneficial or injurious to the natural
memory, nor to decide to what extent thus deliberately burdening the
mind with a host of distorted conceptions goes to counterbalance the
immediate advantages sought. It is sufficient for our present purpose
that its application is illustrative of what we have said.