some little time reached Fellowes and myself from M'Ian junior, to
the effect that a boat would be at our service at the head of Loch
Eishart on the arrival at Broadford of the Skye mail; and that six
sturdy boatmen would therefrom convey us to our destination. This
information was satisfactory, and we made our arrangements
accordingly. The coach from Inverness to Dingwall--at which place we
were to catch the mail--was advertised to start at four o'clock in
the morning, and to reach its bourne two hours afterwards; so, to
prevent all possibility of missing it, we resolved not to go to bed.
At that preposterous hour we were in the street with our luggage, and
in a short time the coach--which seemed itself not more than half
awake--came lumbering up. For a while there was considerable noise;
bags and parcels of various kinds were tumbled out of the coach
office, mysterious doors were opened in the body of the vehicle into
which these were shot. The coach stowed away its parcels in itself,
just as in itself the crab stows away its food and _impedimenta_. We
clambered up into the front beside the driver, who was enveloped in a
drab great-coat of many capes; the guard was behind. "All right,"
and then, with a cheery chirrup, a crack of the whip, a snort and
toss from the gallant roadsters, we were off. There is nothing so
delightful as travelling on a stage coach, when you start in good
condition, and at a reasonable hour. For myself, I never tire of the
varied road flashing past, and could dream through a country in that
way from one week's end to the other. On the other hand, there is
nothing more horrible than starting at four A.M., half-awake,
breakfastless, the chill of the morning playing on your face as the
dewy machine spins along. Your eyes close in spite of every effort,
your blood thick with sleep, your brain stuffed with dreams; you wake
and sleep, and wake again; and the Vale of Tempe itself, with a
Grecian sunrise burning into day ahead, could not rouse you into
interest, or blunt the keen edge of your misery. I recollect nothing
of this portion of our journey save its disagreeableness; and alit at
Dingwall, cold, wretched, and stiff, with a cataract of needles and
pins pouring down my right leg, and making locomotion anything but a
pleasant matter. However, the first stage was over, and on that we
congratulated ourselves. Alas! we did not know the sea of troubles
into which we were about to plunge--the Iliad of misfortune of which
we were about to become the heroes. We entered the inn, performed
our ablutions, and sat down to breakfast with appetite. Towards the
close of the meal my companion suggested that, to prevent accidents,
it might be judicious to secure seats in the mail without delay.
Accordingly I went in quest of the landlord, and after some
difficulty discovered him in a small office littered with bags and
parcels, turning over the pages of a ledger. He did not lift his
eyes when I entered. I intimated my wish to procure two places
toward Broadford. He turned a page, lingered on it with his eye as
if loath to leave it, and then inquired my business. I repeated my
message. He shook his head. "You are too late; you can't get on
to-day." "What! can't two places be had?" "Not for love or money,
sir. Last week Lord Deerstalker engaged the mail for his servants.
Every place is took." "The deuce! do you mean to say that we can't
get on?" The man, whose eyes had returned to the page, which he held
all the while in one hand, nodded assent. "Come, now, this sort of
thing won't do. My friend and I are anxious to reach Broadford
to-night. Do you mean to say that we must either return or wait here
till the next mail comes up, some three days hence?" "You can post,
if you like: I'll provide you with a machine and horses." "You'll
provide us with a machine and horses," said I, while something shot
through my soul like a bolt of ice.
I returned to Fellowes, who replied to my recital of the interview
with a long whistle. When the mail was gone, we formed ourselves
into a council of war. After considering our situation from every
side, we agreed to post, unless the landlord should prove more than
ordinarily rapacious. I went to the little office and informed him
of our resolution. We chaffered a good deal, but at last a bargain
was struck. I will not mention what current coin of the realm was
disbursed on the occasion; the charge was as moderate as in the
circumstances could have been expected. I need only say that the
journey was long, and to consist of six stages, a fresh horse at
every stage.
In due time a dog-cart was brought to the door, in which was
harnessed a tall raw-boned white horse, who seemed to be entering in
the sullen depths of his consciousness a protest against our
proceedings. We got in, and the animal was set in motion. There
never was such a slow brute. He evidently disliked his work: perhaps
he snuffed the rainy tempest imminent. Who knows! At all events,
before he was done with us he took ample revenge for every kick and
objurgation which we bestowed on him. Half an hour after starting, a
huge rain-cloud was black above us; suddenly we noticed one portion
crumble into a livid streak which slanted down to earth, and in a
minute or two it burst upon us as if it had a personal injury to
avenge. A scold of the Cowgate, emptying her wrath on the husband of
her bosom, who has reeled home to her tipsy on Saturday night, with
but half his wages in his pocket, gives but a faint image of its
virulence. Umbrellas and oil-skins--if we had had them--would have
been useless. In less than a quarter of an hour we were saturated
like a bale of cotton which has reposed for a quarter of a century at
the bottom of the Atlantic; and all the while, against the fell lines
of rain, heavy as bullets, straight as cavalry lances, jogged the
white horse, heedless of cry and blow, with now and again but a
livelier prick and motion of the ear, as if to him the whole thing
was perfectly delightful. The first stage was a long one; and all
the way from Strathpeffer to Garve, from Garve to Milltown, the rain
rushed down on blackened wood, hissed in marshy tarn, boiled on iron
crag. At last the inn was descried afar; a speck of dirty white in a
world of rainy green. Hope revived within us. Another horse could
be procured there. O Jarvie, cudgel his bones amain, and Fortune may
yet smile!
On our arrival, however, we were informed that certain travellers
had, two hours before, possessed themselves of the only animal of
which the establishment could boast. At this intelligence hope fell
down stone dead as if shot through the heart. There was nothing for
it but to give our steed a bag of oats, and then to hie on. While
the white was comfortably munching his oats, we noticed from the
inn-door that the wet yellow road made a long circuit, and it
occurred to us that if we struck across country for a mile or so at
once, we could reach the point where the road disappeared in the
distance quite as soon as our raw-boned friend. In any case waiting
was weary work, and we were as wet now as we could possibly be.
Instructing the driver to wait for us should we not be up in time--of
which we averred there was not the slightest possibility--we started.
We had firm enough footing at first; but after a while our journey
was the counterpart of the fiend's passage through chaos, as
described by Milton. Always stick to beaten tracks: short cuts,
whether in the world of matter, or in the world of ethics, are bad
things. In a little time we lost our way, as was to have been
expected. The wind and rain beat right in our faces, we had swollen
streams to cross, we tumbled into morasses, we tripped over knotted
roots of heather. When, after a severe march of a couple of hours,
we gained the crest of a small eminence, and looked out on the wet,
black desolation, Fellowes took out a half-crown from his waistcoat
pocket, and expressed his intention there and then to "go in" for a
Highland property. From the crest of this eminence, too, we beheld
the yellow road beneath, and the dog-cart waiting; and when we got
down to it, found the driver so indignant that we thought it prudent
to propitiate him with our spirit flask. A caulker turneth away
wrath--in the Highlands at least.
Getting in again the white went at a better pace, the rain slackened
somewhat, and our spirits rose in proportion. Our hilarity, however,
was premature. A hill rose before us, up which the yellow road
twisted and wriggled itself. This hill the white would in nowise
take. The whip was of no avail; he stood stock-still. Fellowes
applied his stick to his ribs--the white put his fore legs steadily
out before him and refused to move. I jumped out, seized the bridle,
and attempted to drag him forward; the white tossed his head high in
air, showing at the same time a set of vicious teeth, and actually
backed. What was to be done? Just at this moment, too, a party of
drovers, mounted on red uncombed ponies, with hair hanging over their
eyes, came up, and had the ill-feeling to _tee-hee_ audibly at our
discomfiture. This was another drop of acid squeezed into the bitter
cup. Suddenly, at a well-directed whack, the white made a desperate
plunge and took the hill. Midway he paused, and attempted his old
game, but down came a hurricane of blows, and he started off--
"'Twere long to tell and sad to trace"
the annoyance that raw-boned quadruped wrought us. But it came to an
end at last. And at parting I waved the animal, sullen and
unbeloved, my last farewell; and wished that no green paddock should
receive him in his old age, but that his ill-natured flesh should be
devoured by the hounds; that leather should be made of his
be-cudgelled hide, and hoped that, considering its toughness, of it
should the boots and shoes of a poor man's children be manufactured.
Late in the afternoon we reached Jean-Town, on the shores of Loch
Carron. 'Tis a tarry, scaly village, with a most ancient and
fish-like smell. The inhabitants have suffered a sea-change. The
men stride about in leather fishing-boots, the women sit at the open
doors at work with bait-baskets. Two or three boats are moored at
the stone-heaped pier. Brown, idle nets, stretched on high poles
along the beach, flap in the winds. We had tea at the primeval inn,
and on intimating to the landlord that we wished to proceed to
Broadford, he went off to engage a boat and crew. In a short time an
old sea-dog, red with the keen breeze, and redolent of the fishy
brine, entered the apartment with the information that everything was
ready. We embarked at once, a sail was hoisted, and on the
vacillating puff of evening we dropped gently down the loch. There
was something in the dead silence of the scene and the easy motion of
the boat that affected one. Weary with travel, worn out with want of
sleep, yet, at the same time, far from drowsy, with every faculty and
sense rather in a condition of wide and intense wakefulness,
everything around became invested with a singular and frightful
feeling. _Why_, I know not, for I have had no second experience of
the kind; but on this occasion, to my overstrained vision, every
object became instinct with a hideous and multitudinous life. The
clouds congealed into faces and human forms. Figures started out
upon me from the mountain-sides. The rugged surfaces, seamed with
torrent lines, grew into monstrous figures, and arms with clutching
fingers. The sweet and gracious shows of nature became, under the
magic of lassitude, a phantasmagoria hateful and abominable. Fatigue
changed the world for me as the microscope changes a dewdrop--when
the jewel, pure from the womb of the morning, becomes a world
swarming with unutterable life--a battle-field of unknown existences.
As the aspects of things grew indistinct in the fading light, the
possession lost its pain; but the sublimity of one illusion will be
memorable. For a barrier of mountains standing high above the
glimmering lower world, distinct and purple against a "daffodil sky,"
seemed the profile of a gigantic man stretched on a bier, and the
features, in their sad imperial beauty, seemed those of the first
Napoleon. Wonderful that mountain-monument, as we floated seaward
into distance--the figure sculptured by earthquake, and fiery deluges
sleeping up there, high above the din and strife of earth, robed in
solemn purple, its background the yellow of the evening sky!
About ten we passed the rocky portals of the loch on the last sigh of
evening, and stood for the open sea. The wind came only in
intermitting puffs, and the boatmen took to the oars. The
transparent autumn night fell upon us; the mainland was gathering in
gloom behind, and before us rocky islands glimmered on the level
deep. To the chorus of a Gaelic song of remarkable length and
monotony the crew plied their oars, and every plash awoke the
lightning of the main. The sea was filled with elfin fire. I hung
over the stern, and watched our brilliant wake seething up into a
kind of pale emerald, and rushing away into the darkness. The coast
on our left had lost form and outline, withdrawing itself into an
undistinguishable mass of gloom, when suddenly the lights of a
village broke clear upon it like a bank of glow-worms. I inquired
its name, and was answered, "Plockton." In half an hour the
scattered lights became massed into one; soon that died out in the
distance. Eleven o'clock! Like one man the rowers pull. The air is
chill on the ocean's face, and we wrap ourselves more closely in our
cloaks. There is something uncomfortable in the utter silence and
loneliness of the hour--in the phosphorescent sea, with its ghostly
splendours. The boatmen, too, have ceased singing. Would that I
were taking mine ease with M'Ian! Suddenly a strange sighing sound
is heard behind. One of the crew springs up, hauls down the sail,
and the next moment the squall is upon us. The boatmen hang on their
oars, and you hear the rushing rain. Whew! how it hisses down on us,
crushing everything in its passion. The long dim stretch of coast,
the dark islands, are in a moment shut out; the world shrinks into a
circumference of twenty yards; and within that space the sea is
churned into a pale illumination--a light of misty gold. In a moment
we are wet to the skin. The boatmen have shipped their oars, drawn
their jacket-collars over their ears, and there we lie at midnight
shelterless to the thick hiss of the rain. But it has spent itself
at last, and a few stars are again twinkling in the blue. It is
plain our fellows are somewhat tired of the voyage. They cannot
depend upon a wind; it will either be a puff, dying as soon as born,
or a squall roaring down on the sea, through the long funnels of the
glens; and to pull all the way is a dreary affair. The matter is
laid before us--the voices of the crew are loud for our return. They
will put us ashore at Plockton--they will take us across in the
morning. A cloud has again blotted the stars, and we consent. Our
course is altered, the oars are pulled with redoubled vigour; soon
the long dim line of coast rises before us, but the lights have
burned out now, and the Plocktonites are asleep. On we go; the boat
shoots into a "midnight cove," and we leap out upon masses of
slippery sea-weed. The craft is safely moored. Two of the men seize
our luggage, and we go stumbling over rocks, until the road is
reached. A short walk brings us to the inn, or rather public-house,
which is, however, closed for the night. After some knocking we were
admitted, wet as Newfoundlands from the lake. Wearied almost to
death, I reached my bedroom, and was about to divest myself of my
soaking garments, when, after a low tap at the door, the owner of the
boat entered. He stated his readiness to take us across in the
morning; he would knock us up shortly after dawn; but as he and his
companions had no friends in the place, they would, of course, have
to pay for their beds and their breakfasts before they sailed; "an'
she was shure the shentlemens waana expect her to pay the same."
With a heavy heart I satisfied the cormorant. He insisted on being
paid his full hire before he left Jean-Town, too! Before turning in,
I looked what o'clock. One in the morning! In three hours M'Ian
will be waiting in his galley at the head of Eishart's Loch.
Unfortunates that we are!
At least, thought I when I awoke, there is satisfaction in
accomplishing something quite peculiar. There are many men in the
world who have performed extraordinary actions; but Fellowes and
myself may boast, without fear of contradiction, that we are the only
travellers who ever arrived at Plockton. Looking to the rottenness
of most reputations nowadays, our feat is distinction sufficient for
the ambition of a private man. We ought to be made lions of when we
return to the abodes of civilisation. I have heard certain beasts
roar, seen them wag their tails to the admiration of beholders, and
all on account of a slighter matter than that we wot of. Who, pray,
is the pale gentleman with the dishevelled locks, yonder, in the
flower-bed of ladies, to whom every face turns? What! don't you
know? The last new poet; author of the "Universe." Splendid
performance. Pooh! a reed shaken by the wind. Look at us. We are
the men who arrived at Plockton! But, heavens! the boatmen should
have been here ere this. Alarmed, I sprang out of bed, clothed in
haste, burst into Fellowes' room, turned him out, and then proceeded
down stairs. No information could be procured, nobody had seen our
crew. That morning they had not called at the house. After a while
a fisherman sauntered in, and in consideration of certain stimulants
to be supplied by us, admitted that our fellows were acquaintances of
his own; that they had started at day-break, and would now be far on
their way to Jean-Town. The scoundrels, so overpaid too! Well,
well, there's another world. With some difficulty we gathered from
our friend that a ferry from the mainland to Skye existed at some
inconceivable distance across the hills, and that a boat perhaps
might be had there. But how was the ferry to be reached? No
conveyance could be had at the inn. We instantly despatched scouts
to every point of the compass to hunt for a wheeled vehicle. At
height of noon our messengers returned with the information that
neither gig, cart, nor wheelbarrow could be had on any terms. What
was to be done? I was smitten by a horrible sense of helplessness;
it seemed as if I were doomed to abide for ever in that dreary place,
girdled by these gray rocks scooped and honey-combed by the washing
of the bitter seas--were cut off from friends, profession, and
delights of social intercourse, as if spirited away to fairyland. I
felt myself growing a fisherman, like the men about me; Gaelic seemed
forming on my tongue. Fellowes, meanwhile, with that admirable
practical philosophy of his, had lit a cigar, and was chatting away
with the landlady about the population of the village, the
occupations of the inhabitants, their ecclesiastical history. I
awoke from my gloomy dream as she replied to a question of his--"The
last minister was put awa for drinkin'; but we've got a new ane, a Mr
Cammil, an' verra weel liket he is." The words were a ray of light,
and suggested a possible deliverance. I slapped him on the shoulder,
crying, "I have it! There was a fellow-student of mine in Glasgow, a
Mr Donald Campbell, and it runs in my mind that he was preferred to a
parish in the Highlands somewhere; what if this should prove the
identical man? Let us call upon him." The chances were not very
much in our favour; but our circumstances were desperate, and the
thing was worth trying. The landlady sent her son with us to point
the way. We knocked, were admitted, and shown to the tiny
drawing-room. While waiting, I observed a couple of photograph cases
on the table. These I opened. One contained the portrait of a
gentleman in a white neckcloth, evidently a clergyman; the other that
of a lady, in all likelihood his spouse. Alas! the gentleman bore no
resemblance to my Mr Campbell: the lady I did not know. I laid the
cases down in disappointment, and began to frame an apology for our
singular intrusion, when the door opened--and my old friend entered.
He greeted us cordially, and I wrung his hand with fervour. I told
him our adventure with the Jean-Town boatmen, and our consequent
helplessness; at which he laughed, and offered his cart to convey
ourselves and luggage to Kyleakin ferry, which turned out to be only
six miles off. Genial talk about college scenes and old associates
brought on the hour of luncheon; that concluded, the cart was at the
door. In it our things were placed; farewells were uttered, and we
departed. It was a wild, picturesque road along which we moved;
sometimes comparatively smooth, but more frequently rough and stony,
as the dry torrent's bed. Black dreary wastes spread around. Here
and there we passed a colony of turf-huts, out of which wild ragged
children, tawny as Indians, came trooping, to stare upon us as we
passed. But the journey was attractive enough; for before us rose a
permanent vision of mighty hills, with their burdens of cloudy rack;
and every now and then, from an eminence, we could mark, against the
land, the blue of the sea flowing in, bright with sunlight. We were
once more on our way; the minister's mare went merrily; the breeze
came keen and fresh against us; and in less than a couple of hours we
reached Kyleakin.
The ferry is a narrow passage between the mainland and Skye; the
current is powerful there, difficult to pull against on gusty days;
and the ferrymen are loath to make the attempt unless well
remunerated. When we arrived, we found four passengers waiting to
cross; and as their appearance gave prospect of an insufficient
supply of coin, they were left sitting on the bleak windy rocks until
some others should come up. It was as easy to pull across for ten
shillings as for two! One was a girl, who had been in service in the
south, had taken ill there, and was on her way home to some wretched
turf-hut on the hill-side, in all likelihood to die; the second a
little cheery Irishwoman, with a basketful of paper ornaments, with
the gaudy colours and ingenious devices of which she hoped to tickle
the æsthetic sensibilities, and open the purses, of the Gael. The
third and fourth were men, apparently laborious ones; but the younger
informed me he was a schoolmaster, and it came out incidentally in
conversation that his schoolhouse was a turf-cabin, his writing-table
a trunk, on which his pupils wrote by turns. Imagination sees his
young kilted friends kneeling on the clay floor, laboriously forming
pot-hooks there, and squinting horribly the while. The ferrymen
began to bestir themselves when we came up; and in a short time the
boat was ready, and the party embarked. The craft was crank, and
leaked abominably, but there was no help; and our bags were deposited
in the bottom. The schoolmaster worked an oar in lieu of payment.
The little Irishwoman, with her precious basket, sat high in the bow,
the labourer and the sick girl behind us at the stern. With a strong
pull of the oars we shot out into the seething water. In a moment
the Irishwoman is brought out in keen relief against a cloud of
spray; but, nothing daunted, she laughs out merrily, and seems to
consider a ducking the funniest thing in the world. In another, I
receive a slap in the face from a gush of blue water, and emerge,
half-blinded, and soaked from top to toe. Ugh, this sea-waltz is
getting far from pleasant. The leak is increasing fast, and our
carpet-bags are well-nigh afloat in the working bilge. We are all
drenched now. The girl is sick, and Fellowes is assisting her from
his brandy-flask. The little Irishwoman, erst so cheery and gay,
with spirits that turned every circumstance into a quip and crank,
has sunk in a heap at the bow; her basket is exposed, and the
ornaments, shaped by patient fingers out of coloured papers, are
shapeless now; the looped rosettes are ruined; her stock-in-trade,
pulp--a misfortune great to her as defeat to an army, or a famine to
a kingdom. But we are more than half-way across, and a little ahead
the water is comparatively smooth. The boatmen pull with greater
ease; the uncomfortable sensation at the pit of the stomach is
redressed; the white lips of the girl begin to redden somewhat; and
the bunch forward stirs itself, and exhibits signs of life. Fellowes
bought up the contents of her basket; and a contribution of
two-and-sixpence from myself made the widow's heart to sing aloud for
joy. On landing, our luggage is conveyed in a cart to the inn, and
waits our arrival there. Meanwhile we warm our chilled limbs with a
caulker of Glenlivet. "Blessings be with it, and eternal praise."
How the fine spirit melts into the wandering blood, like "a purer
light in light!" How the soft benignant fire streams through the
labyrinthine veins, from brain to toe! The sea is checkmated; the
heart beats with a fuller throb; and the impending rheumatism flies
afar. When we reached the inn, we seized our luggage, in the hope of
procuring dry garments. Alas! when I went up-stairs, mine might have
been the carpet-bag of a merman; it was wet to the inmost core.