MARRIAGE AND LIFE AT PERTH
1875-1877
In the spring of 1874 James Geikie returned from Edinburgh to the
Cheviot region. Before starting his field-work he made a brief visit to
the Continent, in regard to which his diary only contains records of
dates and places. The motive of the visit is of interest as throwing
light on his strong family feeling. At his instigation his youngest
sister had gone to Germany to improve herself in the language. On
arriving in the place arranged, however, she found herself very
uncomfortable and unhappy, and informed her brother of the fact. With
characteristic energy he set off at once, met his sister, arranged for
her transference to more congenial surroundings, and in a little more
than a week was back to work again.
Shortly afterwards he went off to Jedburgh to take up again his survey
in the Cheviots. Here he made many friends, and during his stay in the
region acquired an intense love for the scenery of the hills, whose
long gentle slopes and soft melancholy always appealed to him more than
the stern grandeur of the Highlands. This feeling was perhaps not
wholly æsthetic, however, for the district soon acquired associations
for him which are briefly hinted at in the diary for the year. This--of
somewhat unusual form--is adorned, oddly enough, with a portrait
of John Stuart Mill as frontispiece. The philosopher’s serious,
intellectual countenance has, it is to be feared in derision, been
decorated by the owner of the diary with a long pipe. It would indeed
be difficult to imagine two men of more different type; for James
Geikie, the utilitarian’s long years of waiting and longing would have
been as intolerable as the brief fever of the last days.
The entries in the diary are as usual short in the extreme, but under
12th August, which it is carefully noted was a wet day, the diarist was
at a picnic in the Cheviots. He adds the word “lost”? to the laconic
entry. Later entries record calls made to Crailing Hall with brief
comments. About this time James Geikie was writing to his friend Mr
Horne, saying:--“John Horne--come to the Cheviots.... I’ll do what I
can in the way of introductions.” Much of the letter is occupied with
geological matters, and the writer goes on to express a hope that he
won’t be asked to give a course of lectures to working-men during the
coming winter:--“I want all my time for literary work this winter,
seeing that I have agreed to write two books--one for a London house,
the other for an Edinburgh one. Besides, I have at last made up my mind
to go and get married, and as soon as I come across a likely girl, will
lose no time in taking the grand header. I hope never to see another
autumn as a bachelor. So what with hunting libraries for notes, and
hunting up families for a nice wife, I have my winter’s work laid out
before me.”
It will appear from this letter that James Geikie did not keep his
heart on his sleeve. The letter is not perhaps wholly candid, but
candour was doubtless not to be expected at such a time.
A few details may be added to make the story clear. None of the towns
or hamlets at the foot of the Cheviots was near enough to form a good
centre of work, and the region being given up to large sheep farms,
habitations of any kind among the hills are few and scattered. Among
James Geikie’s acquaintances in the Jedburgh district was Mr Simson,
Oxnam Row, to whose farm on the lower slopes were added the hill
grazings higher up the Kale Water. Here, right among the hills, was
the old farmhouse of Buchtrig, in the occupation of a shepherd and
his wife, but with some rooms so furnished as to permit of the family
making occasional visits to the region. Through Mr Simson James Geikie
was able to arrange for accommodation here in the early spring of
1874 to facilitate his work. A few notes of his visit are left in his
own handwriting, in what he styles a “Copy of a Fragment of some very
ancient Manuscript.” This opens as follows:--
It happened once upon a time that a certain youth, who dreamed strange
dreams and wandered about the hill-tops and sojourned in lonely
places, came unto a lonely dwelling among the mountains and there
abode for many days. And an old woman ministered unto his wants with
fear and trembling, for she looked upon him as one that was beside
himself. “Verily,” said she unto herself, “he looketh for some hidden
treasure, and is a magician who smiteth the rocks with a hammer and
writeth strange incantations and evil words in a book.” And she
looked, and behold he brought with him from the mountains pieces of
stone which he treasured and laid in safe places.... Now after many
days the old woman, who was called Katie, put away her fear, for the
young man seemed not to hold communication with the Evil One, neither
was the smell of brimstone perceived in the place. And so she showed
him much kindness, and baked cakes of flour upon the girdle and
brought these to him, and eggs, yea, and much fine butter.
In the early summer of the same year James Geikie went for his holiday
to Skye and Lewis. Not long after his return he was invited to the
picnic already mentioned, which, owing to the weather, was adjourned to
Buchtrig farmhouse. The picnic was given by Mr Simson, and included his
sister, Mrs Johnston, Crailing Hall, and her three daughters, with two
of whom James Geikie was already acquainted. The MS. may be allowed to
take up the story at this point:--
And so the days passed away, and the young man went into a far
country, yea unto the furthermost isles of the sea. But in the
fullness of time he returned, and found the place which had been a
desert now filled with the hum of voices and laughter of damsels. And
he looked, and behold there were chariots and a wagon filled with
good things. And he entered into the house where he had sojourned
aforetime, and lo! a fair damsel met him and bade him welcome. And
she said unto him, “Enter now, and embrace my sisters and my mother,
yea and my mother’s brother’s wife and her daughter.” And it was so.
And when the young man entered into an upper room, behold a maiden
stood near the window.... And his eyes followed her whithersoever
she went--and he spoke unto her presently as one speaketh unto an
old friend. And the sound of her voice was like the music of the
birds in spring, and the heart of the young man began to sing a new
song. Listen and ye shall hear what the young man sang: Here ends the
Manuscript.
This happened in August, and before Christmas James Geikie was engaged
to Mary, youngest daughter of Mr Johnston, Crailing Hall, to whom he
was married on 8th July 1875.
But in addition to what we may call the major associations with the
Cheviot region due to these incidents, he had many minor ones of a
pleasurable nature. He came into contact with all sorts of people in
the course of his wanderings, and in that sparsely peopled district it
was easy to make acquaintances. Among his temporary dwelling-places in
the hills was the little inn, called Carter Bar, which then stood on
the slopes of Carter Fell, and was but little more than a rest-house
for drovers going over the border into England with their sheep. On one
stormy day in spring James Geikie was returning to this poor shelter
over the moor, when he encountered an old lady, somewhat oddly dressed,
drenched with rain, and struggling against the wind. He went to her
assistance, and she was glad to accept the offer of his arm to help
her back to the inn. Here she borrowed dry garments from the hostess,
and sat and talked over the fire with her new-found friend, who found
her full of Border lore, while he no doubt contributed his full share
to the conversation. Eventually, her own garments being dry, and she
herself refreshed, the old lady drove off in a waiting carriage, urging
James Geikie to come to see her. She proved to be Lady John Scott, a
well-known Border personage, famous for her antiquarian tastes, her
Scotch songs, and her great individuality of character.
Another similar meeting which led to a long friendship, though it took
place several years later, may fitly find a place here. This was with
Sir George Douglas, of Springwood Park, Kelso, the author of _The New
Border Tales_, _Poems_, and a number of other works, many referring to
the Border region. Sir George has kindly supplied the following notes
upon the subject:--
I owed my acquaintance with the late Prof. Geikie to a chance meeting.
Starting on a solitary walking-tour, in the summer vacation of the
year 1878, I called at the Collingwood Arms, Cornhill, for tea, and
found him there. He was not yet professor at that date, but was a
member of H.M. Geological Survey, the work of which had brought him
to Cornhill, where he was waiting for a train to Tweedmouth. He was
then in the early prime of manhood, and his work being of a more
active nature and taking him more into the open air, the cheery
vigour which at all times characterised him was more pleasantly
noticeable than ever. I remember that his beard, which he afterwards
wore close-cropped, at that time descended over his chest and was
of a golden colour. I believe that we began by talking of inns, for
I remember that he poked some good-natured fun at the commercial
travellers of those days (“bagmen,” as he perversely preferred to call
them), and told me two or three amusing stories of experiences with
them. But, ere long, we were talking of literature, and especially
of poetry--the poetry of the day. Here was a delight for me! I was
at the poetry-reading age, and had just left Cambridge, where I had
primed myself with Swinburne, William Morris, the Rossettis--that is,
with such of their works as had at that date appeared; and not only
with these, but with such poems as the “Angel in the House,” “White
Rose and Red,” “The Human Tragedy”: the works of lesser masters, then
on their probation, and now, it may be, seldom heard of. Well, here
in a wayside inn at the extremity of Northumberland, I had chanced
upon an unknown traveller who had all these authors and books, so to
speak, at his fingers’ ends. One would have liked, at that age, to
pose him, to make some pedantical allusion, as to a matter of common
knowledge, to something of which he had not happened to hear. But
it was vain to hope to go beyond him. And, if we were fairly evenly
matched in our discussion, it must be borne in mind that I was, as
it were, staking my all in it, whilst he was merely gambling with
his small change. For of course he never professed literature, but
merely turned to it for a change of idea in hours that were not
occupied by science. What was really remarkable in this conversation,
I should say, was the readiness and whole-heartedness with which
he threw himself into it, the stimulus given by his never-failing
interest and occasional enthusiasm, the fine good-nature with which
he unquestioningly put himself on equal terms with one who was many
years younger than himself, and whose opinions, however confidently
expressed, must often have been crude and immature. Neither then, nor
at any subsequent time, was there anything whatever that was pedantic
or academic about Geikie. When I met him next, I was approaching the
middle term of life, but the recollection of that single conversation
suffices to make quite clear to me the power which he wielded over
his students and the popularity which he enjoyed among them. I doubt
if the very best that was in him really made itself felt upon the
lecture-platform. It was in the give-and-take of life--in his Saturday
geological tramps and other more informal relations with his students,
if I may hazard a guess--that the man really stood revealed. He could
impart life and glow to his subject, as perhaps few can. But he did
so best, if I may pretend to judge, when he was talking rather than
lecturing.
I had evidence of this later. On parting after our two or three
hours’ talk at Cornhill, we had exchanged cards, and when I heard
that, in order to be near Mrs Geikie’s relations, he was renting
Kalemouth on Teviot, four or five miles from my house, during one
summer vacation, I hastened to renew acquaintance with him. Since
our former meeting ten or twelve years had passed, and though it had
remained delightfully memorable to me, I did not presume to suppose
that he would remember it, nor was any allusion made to it. Being such
near neighbours throughout that summer we met often, and it was then
that I really got to know the character and qualities which had been
merely suggested at Cornhill. From the geological point of view, Prof.
Geikie knew the Borderland as no one else knew it; but he had also a
remarkable knowledge, not only of its scenery, history, and tradition,
but also of its people, collectively and individually; and this gave
us a strong interest in common.
Some other moorland experiences were of a more humorous nature. Thus
one Sunday night he was walking back from Crailing Hall to his lodgings
at Morebattle, and came in the dusk past the hamlet of Cessford. He
was carrying a small handbag, and as he passed the cottages a woman
ran out and called out in a loud whisper:--“Man, man, can ye gie me
half a pound o’ tea?” She had mistaken him for a pedlar, perhaps not
unwilling to earn an ungodly penny. The situation appealed strongly
to his sense of humour, and he rated the woman severely for tempting
an honest man on the “Sawbath” day, and told her to go home and make
porridge. For him the jest was doubtless seasoned by the fact that
rigid “Sabbath-keeping” did not appeal to his tastes, and that he was
an inveterate tea-drinker--making up for enforced abstinence while out
on the hills by copious draughts at night. Thus to bring down, as it
were, two birds with one stone--the rigid Sabbatarians, and those who
trace the degeneracy of the Scottish people to the substitution of
tea for the ancestral porridge--must have been a real joy to him. The
occasion perhaps permits of the comment that though a Scotsman, he
was a Scotsman with a difference, and had wandered too far, alike in
mind and in body, to have any intense attachment to the pattern of the
parish pump.
The spring of 1875, which saw him still working in the Cheviots,
brought him his first great honour--the fellowship of the Royal Society
of London. A note, undated, written from Morebattle to his future wife,
immediately after he had received the news, is full of justifiable
pride and joy:--“I suppose I am the youngest F.R.S. on the roll ... you
will believe me, I know, when I say that I am pleased as much for your
sake as my own, that my work is recognised. It is no small honour to
be elected F.R.S. out of 57 candidates for the 15 vacancies.” The note
encloses two letters, one from his old friend and honoured chief, Prof.
Ramsay, saying:--“You came in triumphantly yesterday for the Royal
Society, having the largest number of votes of any candidate,” and
another from Mr H. W. Bristow, the Director of the Geological Survey of
England and Wales, which shows clearly with what friendly feeling James
Geikie was regarded by his English colleagues:--
28 JERMYN ST., S.W.,
_17th April 1875_.
MY DEAR JAMES GEIKIE,--It gladdens my heart as one of your “Royal”
sponsors, to congratulate you upon your election into _the_ Society,
which I hope you may live long to adorn. Etheridge[3] is also very
full of rejoicing, and I only regret that the earliest announcement of
the glad tidings did not reach you from one of us.--Believe me, your
faithful confrère,
H. W. BRISTOW.
[3] Mr R. Etheridge, another member of the Survey staff.
As the Survey work in the Cheviot region was finished in the year that
James Geikie married, his friend Prof. Ramsay so arranged matters that
it was possible for him to take a house at Perth, which remained his
headquarters for six years after his marriage, that is until he went to
Edinburgh to take the Chair of Geology.
At Perth Mr and Mrs Geikie made many friends, and the former threw
himself actively into the life of the place, taking especially a great
interest in the Perthshire Society of Natural Science, of which he
became president later. This brought him into contact with Sir Thomas
Moncrieffe, also at one time president of the Society; Mr Andrew
Coates, who took a very great interest in the establishment of the
excellent Perth Museum; Dr Buchanan White, and others. James Geikie
also gave courses of lectures to ladies on geology during his stay
in Perth, and generally did not a little to stimulate an interest in
natural science in the town.
The year 1876 was a very full one. In spring he paid a short visit to
Norfolk and Suffolk to study some interesting glacial results which
his colleague Mr Skertchly had obtained there. At the same time he was
working at _The Great Ice Age_, which had done so well that a second
edition was required. Under date 27th June he writes to Mr Horne:--“My
new edition will be out, I expect, in October--the first of the season!
It is in the printers’ hands now, and we are settling about the size of
page and type. Printed the same size of type as last, the volume would
be 900 pages, which shows that I have made some additions!”
At the beginning of July Prof. Ramsay wrote to ask him if he would
be willing to go to Gibraltar to assist in an investigation of the
water-supply there, the work to count as a piece of Survey duty. The
invitation was promptly accepted, and on 11th September James Geikie
left Perth on his long journey to the South. He stopped a couple
of days in London, and did not finally reach Gibraltar till 19th
September. Here he remained till 25th October, much longer than he had
expected, and in addition to doing a large amount of geological work,
in what both he and Prof. Ramsay found most oppressive heat, received
much kindness and hospitality from the civil and military officials,
and made many interesting excursions. It was apparently the first
time he had seen subtropical vegetation, and his letters to his wife
are filled with accounts of all he saw, written in a spirit of almost
boyish glee, and accompanied by much groaning over the heat, and the
resultant thirst. Even bathing afforded little refreshment, for he says
ruefully:--“Even in the water one has much the feeling that a herring
must have when it is newly put into a pot upon the fire. All the
springs,” he adds, “yield half-warm water--everything indeed is baked,
blistered, and boiled.”
The abundant hospitality, delightful though it was, naturally took
up much time, the hosts perhaps not fully realising that the two
geologists had a fairly heavy piece of work on hand, and James Geikie
complains that it was difficult even to find time to write letters to
his wife, in the midst of the ceaseless round of work and pleasure. An
interesting fact, which he does not fail to record, is that at a Mess
dinner at which he and Prof. Ramsay were the guests of honour, the
military band played Scotch music in compliment to their nationality,
and among the airs James Geikie recognised a selection arranged by his
father for a Scotch regiment many years before.
Among the excursions was included one to the African coast, where
the two made a short stay in Tangier: the diary, with characteristic
orderliness, records the purchases made here for the people at home.
But in addition to making these, the two found time to study the
geology of the coast between Ceuta and Cape Spartel.
A letter to Mr Horne, written from Perth on 18th November, not long
after his return home, makes some mention of the tour, and of the other
events of a crowded summer.
I heard all about your Shetland work. It did my heart good, and
right glad I am that it has been done by a Survey man.... You would
hear about Skertchly’s find. I was down there again ten days ago at
Ramsay’s request, to see the evidence again.... In my new edition,
which is out (and selling well!), I go much more fully into the
English Drifts. I got to-day a long letter from Darwin, along with a
copy of his new edition of _Geological Observations_. His letter is
very complimentary, and of course that is gratifying to me, for I look
upon Darwin as a real genius.
I enjoyed my Gibraltar trip very much. Ramsay was very jolly and in
excellent spirits all the time. We did have some fun, I can tell
you. Also we crossed over to Africa and had a run amongst the Moors.
The result of our Survey was so far satisfactory as it enables us
to say very positively what is best to be done in the matter of the
water-supply.
There are two letters from Darwin about this date. One has been
already quoted (p. 27). In the other, which is taken up largely
with a geological discussion, he says:--“Allow me to tell you with
what extreme pleasure and admiration I have just finished reading
your _Great Ice Age_. It seems to me admirably done and most clear.
Interesting as many chapters are in the history of the world, I do
not think that any one comes nearly to the glacial period or periods.
Though I have steadily read much on the subject, your book makes the
whole appear almost new to me.”
In this month of November also another sign of appreciation of his
work reached James Geikie in the offer by the University of St Andrews
of its LL.D. degree, which was conferred the following year. About
the same time he was approached informally to know whether he would
care to have a knighthood. This was at this date a much rarer honour
than it became later, and the young couple decided that their income
was not large enough to support it. Very many years later, after his
retirement, James Geikie’s friends again urged his claims to the title,
but the matter was dropped at the outbreak of the war, and death came
not long after.
Other letters of the same autumn refer to the “Ice Age,” and to the
report upon the Gibraltar work. In addition to the _Memoir_ upon the
question of the water-supply, a general article on the geology of the
region was contributed to the _Quarterly Journal of the Geological
Society_. Rather curiously, even at Gibraltar Geikie found evidence of
use to him in connection with his glacial work.
In the early spring of 1877 his eldest son was born, and the summer
saw him wandering about the Hebrides, of which he sends so racy a
description to his wife that large extracts from the letters may be
given:--
OBBE, HARRIS, _7th July 1877_.
This is written out on the hill-side--I will tell you why presently.
Yesterday we walked from Tarbert, twenty-three miles, by a wild and
lonely track-road, through a desolate and dreary region--nothing
but bare rock, and a little heather and grass growing in rocks and
crevices. It was all very interesting to me, however, as every square
yard of rock was marked and scored and smoothed by the great ice-sheet
that flowed out from the mainland. We took our time by the way, making
notes and sketches. Every now and then we passed standing stones and
ruins of Picts houses. At each bend in the track there were always
two or three cairns of stones, which mark the spots where coffins
have been rested. When the Harris folk bury anyone they have to carry
the body often for many miles, as there is only one burial-place for
the island. The poor people must rest by the way, therefore, for
refreshment. Much whisky and kebbocks of cheese and scones go down,
and then they raise a cairn to mark the spot. We met no one all the
way for fourteen miles.... The road wound along the sea coast, across
which we had lovely views to the islets that dot the horizon. You
have no idea of the lovely shades of blue and green and saffron and
orange and gold that streak and flush the sea--the water is so clear
and crystalline, too, that one feels as if he should like to throw
his knapsack down and take a header! There are few or no houses. We
passed the ruins of several villages, but the poor people were driven
out some forty years ago, and most of them emigrated to Canada. I
believe they were very unwilling to clear out, and the soldiers had
to be marched upon them. It is very sad to see their poor huts, all
roofless, and grass and nettles growing over them. As we had much to
look at on the road it was nearly ten o’clock before we came to Obbe,
and we passed the inn--not knowing it. Losh keep us a’, what an inn!
It was a mere hut--just like that used by the “natives.” There are
only two rooms--a kitchen and a double-bedded room. The peat-reek
circulates freely through the whole cottage, and the walls are mouldy
and damp. We had a peat fire in our room, and did what we could to
make ourselves jolly. But salt ham is not good to feed on after a long
walk. However, we were satisfied, and after a while got to bed.
To-day we started to climb Roneval, the highest mountain in South
Harris. It has been polished by ice all over, a splendid confirmation
of what I had already described in my book. What a magnificent view
I had from the top! Far away to the west was St Kilda and the little
island of Berneray. Southwards stretched the various islands of the
Outer Hebrides--North Uist, Benbecula, South Uist, and Barra. How
plainly seen they all were--high mountains with broad plains at their
feet, over which were dotted lakes innumerable. In the east, Skye with
its wonderful Coolins lay spread out before us; and north of Skye I
could see our old friend Ben Slioch, and the mountains of Loch Maree
and Loch Torridon. Harris, of course, lay under our feet: and you can
form no idea of its sterile desolation. Endless round-backed hills and
rocks, scraped bare of any soil, and supporting hardly a vestige of
vegetation; great rocky mountains, smoothed and polished all over and
equally bare and desolate, with blue lakelets scattered in hundreds
among the hollows and depressions of the land--such is the appearance
of Harris. Then there lay the great blue sea shining like sapphire in
the sun, and flecked with tiny sails where the fishermen are busy at
their calling.--I began this letter outside to escape the peat-reek,
but the midges have driven me in again!
LOCHMADDY, NORTH UIST,
_Tuesday, 10th July 1877_.
We got here yesterday, after a long and very tedious sail in an open
boat. With a good wind we should have crossed the Sound of Harris
in two hours--instead of which we were nine hours. We kept dodging
about from islet to islet, sighing for a breeze, but no breeze would
come--what little wind there was being in the wrong direction. We
landed hungry as hawks, or any other animal of prey, and found a very
comfortable inn. Of course we were offered the usual ham and eggs,
but prevailed upon the landlady to give us fish instead. This place
is like the sweepings of creation. It is made up of irregular bits of
land, all jumbled about in a shallow sea--or of bits of sea running
into the flat land in all directions--so that to get to a place one
mile in direct distance you may have to walk five or six or even
ten miles, if you can’t get a boat. It is a land of desolation and
dreariness. Bare rocky hills form the eastern coast, and from the
foot of these the low undulating rocky and peaty land stretches for
some ten or twelve miles to the Atlantic. The land, as I have said,
is everywhere intersected by the sea, and sprinkled with innumerable
lakes and peaty tarns. Along the flat Atlantic coast there are dreary
stretches of blown yellow sands that form hills like those of Barry,
near Carnoustie. Near these are a few huts and a kirk and manse! Not a
tree, not even a bush higher than heather is anywhere to be seen--peat
and rock and water--water and rock and peat--that is North Uist.... I
have been vastly pleased with what I have seen, and will have a lot to
tell geologists that is new.
CAIRNISH, NORTH UIST,
_11th July 1877_.
This place is still further out of the world than Lochmaddy. We walked
to it to-day accompanied by one of the Inland Revenue officers, a
very good intelligent fellow, who is quite an antiquarian and takes
an intelligent interest in geology. He knew of me quite well and had
read my “great work.” The road lay for twelve miles through bogs,
morasses, rocks, and lakes, and passed over as dreary a stretch of
country as I ever set eyes on. The sky was cold grey, and the wind too
was none of the kindest. Here we found a wretched inn, where we were
waited on by a great hulking Heeland lassie with a back as broad as
a barn door, and bare feet which haven’t been in a tub since the day
she saw the light of this weary world. She is shy, the dear creature,
and has not one word of English. When I ring for her with the bell
that lies on the table, she looks into the room with a grin on her
face. I want salt, so I take up a bit of the Australian meat and dab
it on the side of the plate. She twigs at once what I want, makes a
guttural sound, and in half-an-hour or so returns with a soap-dish
full of dirty salt. However, she gives us good scones and not bad tea,
and strong peat-reekie whisky. The landlord has been a soldier, I
think, for he speaks of Hyderabad. Fancy a man coming from the sunny
plains of India to this fearful howling wilderness. It would make
a fine penal settlement. You see poor, ragged, dirty women bending
under their creels of peat, and men digging the mosses as for dear
life. It is hard living for them, poor devils. There is no shelter in
the land, even the heather is low and stunted, and the wind howls in
from the Atlantic with a long melancholy sough that is depressing in
the extreme. No sportsman ever comes here, for there is nothing to
shoot. It is said that there are fine trout in the lakes. It may be
so; but the man who could fish such peaty holes and feel happy in the
occupation, could only be an escaped convict or downright lunatic.
The inn at Lochmaddy was snug, if the country was miserable. Here
everything is in keeping.... Most of the houses are mere stone-and-mud
huts with mud floors and heather roofs. Cattle enter them freely and
mingle with the family. I was amused with an old man who came up to
us and asked our friend the Inland Revenue man what we were doing. He
took us for drovers come to buy cattle. When he heard that we had come
to look at rocks and stones he said--“We were great fools, and must
be very idle, and light in the head.” And indeed when I looked round
the miserable dreary wilderness I was half inclined to agree with him.
Who but a geologist would ever think of visiting such a land. Well, it
won’t be my fault if I ever revisit the place.
LOCH BOISDALE, _15th July 1877_.
Some days have passed since I last had an opportunity of writing to
you. We have had much walking and no time to write since we left
Cairnish in South Uist. We started from Cairnish about twelve o’clock
on the 11th in a broken-down gig with a one-eyed horse, which was led
or rather pulled along by a native named Angus Macdougall.... North
Uist and Benbecula are separated by an arm of the sea which is some
five miles in breadth, but is so shallow that at low water it can be
forded. What a peculiar scene it was! A long stretch of mud-flats and
sand-banks broken here and there with reefs of tangle-covered rocks
and low green islets on which a few black cattle were grazing. Men
and women were busy cutting the tangle for kelp-burning, the smoke of
the fires rising here and there from various points of the dry land
on the Benbecula coast. Heavy drizzle wetted me through and through,
and it was most cheerless. At the opposite side of the ford we reached
a little inn, as dirty and clarty as all the inns are. We now got
out of the trap to walk, as we wished to save the poor horse as much
as possible, for the weary tramp before us. At the pace we went we
calculated we should reach Loch Boisdale about two or three in the
morning. Benbecula is about eight or nine miles in length, and is
perhaps the dreariest bit of land I ever traversed. It is nothing but
a big peat-moss, with a lot of lakes or boggy holes running through
it in all directions. Indeed there is about as much water as land.
Cultivation is a mere parody, everything bespeaks poverty. The people
are as usual haggard and ill-clad, and dirty in the extreme. Things
looked a little better as we got near the shore at Creagorry. Here
our friend Mr Carmichael met us and took us into his house.... It
was pleasant to get into a real house again and to sleep in a clean
comfortable bed. Next morning we were up at three o’clock in order to
catch the early ford between Benbecula and South Uist.... The ford
between Benbecula and South Uist is not nearly so broad as the North
Ford, but it is deeper. We got across about half-past four, and then I
got out to walk so that I might make observations as I went along. It
rained heavily for the first six miles and then cleared off, so that
I had time to dry again. The road goes through much the same kind of
scenery as Benbecula, but there are fine mountains immediately to the
left, and these we gradually neared, and skirted the base of them for
many miles. I saw so much glacial geology that I did not feel in the
least degree fatigued.... As we took our time by the way, stopping to
look at this, that, and t’other thing, it was nearly eight o’clock
when we reached a place called Askernish about six miles or so from
Loch Boisdale.... At five we set off again, and loitering by the way
to chat and smoke and do geology, we did not get into Loch Boisdale
until nine o’clock at night, having been out since four o’clock in the
morning. So off to bed somewhat fagged. Next morning we were astir by
six o’clock and set off in a boat for a sixteen-miles sail up the east
coast to Loch Eynort, intending to land there and climb Ben More, the
highest hill in South Uist. It was wet and cold, but we determined
to go on. The cliffs are wild and dreary, and fearful places to be
wrecked upon, for deep water runs up to the very rocks. We landed at
a place where Prince Charlie lay in hiding while the King’s cruisers
sailed past. It was a picturesque spot. Wild bare mountains cleft
by mountain-torrents surrounded the small glen, down which leapt a
noisy stream, on the bank of which were one or two thatched cots. The
shepherd came out and asked us to drink milk. It was a picturesque
interior that we were introduced to. There was the peat fire in the
centre, dogs, cocks and hens, cats, and a small pig crowded round the
fire, and the wife and lassies were bustling about. The spinning-jenny
stood in a corner. None of the women looked well. They were all white
and haggard. Carmichael told me afterwards that they wanted me to
prescribe for them, as they had imagined I was a medical man! Poor
things! I could not help thinking they were consumptive. Yet they all
seemed happy enough, and certainly though I have seen much poverty
all through these islands, yet I have not noticed any of that squalid
misery which is so common in our large towns. The people are poor, but
they always have something to eat. Their wardrobe can’t cost much, for
they make everything themselves, and what they make seems to last half
a lifetime. But to return to the shepherd’s house, we got our milk
and after sitting for a while rose to go. They are very polite these
Highlanders, much more so than most country folks in the mainland of
Scotland. I was only sorry I could not speak Gaelic, for few of them
had more than one or two words of English. The shepherd told us it
had been a bad year for the sheep, but not so bad, he thought, as it
seems to have been on the mainland. We bade good-bye and sailed into
Loch Eynort at a wild part of the coast, where we landed and dismissed
the boatmen and boat. But mists hung heavy on all the hills, and after
much climbing we were compelled much against our will to give up all
hope of getting to the top of Ben More. However, we managed to see a
good deal, and then struck right across the mountain tract to the flat
ground of the east coast, along which we had walked the day before.
Just before we got down to the road, the mists cleared away, and the
mountain-peak shone brilliantly forth; but it was now too late to
think of climbing Ben More. We had been tramping over rock and bog and
hill and dale for six hours, and we had still some twelve miles to
walk before reaching Loch Boisdale, and were reluctantly obliged to
abandon Ben More. But I was able nevertheless to make out all the main
geological points that were important--so that, after all, we did not
lose much.... I shall be right glad when my face is homeward turned.
It is so wet and dismal it makes one dull whether he will or no. But
I have very much enjoyed my visit, and have gathered material for a
great geological paper, which will bring me much credit, I know.
The rest of the year 1877 was occupied with the writing of the Hebrides
paper, published in the following year, and in various geological
controversies, especially in regard to the superficial deposits of
Norfolk and Suffolk. These years at Perth were thus a period of severe
and productive work, for after long days in the field he would sit
and write far into the night. He kept himself also carefully abreast
of all recent work in his own subject, and with the help of grammars
and dictionaries, read in the original the papers of all his foreign
confrères, Norwegian, Danish, Swedish, etc. The Norwegian geologist,
Dr Amund Helland, afterwards professor at Christiania, it may be
noted, paid a visit to the house at Perth in 1877, and James Geikie
and he became great friends. A couple of years later they paid a visit
together, an enjoyable and profitable one, to the Färoe Islands.