Mr. Macqueen travelled with us, and directed our attention to all that
was worthy of observation. With him we went to see an ancient building,
called a dun or borough. It was a circular inclosure, about forty-two
feet in diameter, walled round with loose stones, perhaps to the height
of nine feet. The walls were very thick, diminishing a little toward the
top, and though in these countries, stone is not brought far, must have
been raised with much labour. Within the great circle were several
smaller rounds of wall, which formed distinct apartments. Its date, and
its use are unknown. Some suppose it the original seat of the chiefs of
the Macleods. Mr. Macqueen thought it a Danish fort.
The entrance is covered with flat stones, and is narrow, because it was
necessary that the stones which lie over it, should reach from one wall
to the other; yet, strait as the passage is, they seem heavier than could
have been placed where they now lie, by the naked strength of as many men
as might stand about them. They were probably raised by putting long
pieces of wood under them, to which the action of a long line of lifters
might be applied. Savages, in all countries, have patience proportionate
to their unskilfulness, and are content to attain their end by very
tedious methods.
If it was ever roofed, it might once have been a dwelling, but as there
is no provision for water, it could not have been a fortress. In Sky, as
in every other place, there is an ambition of exalting whatever has
survived memory, to some important use, and referring it to very remote
ages. I am inclined to suspect, that in lawless times, when the
inhabitants of every mountain stole the cattle of their neighbour, these
inclosures were used to secure the herds and flocks in the night. When
they were driven within the wall, they might be easily watched, and
defended as long as could be needful; for the robbers durst not wait till
the injured clan should find them in the morning.
The interior inclosures, if the whole building were once a house, were
the chambers of the chief inhabitants. If it was a place of security for
cattle, they were probably the shelters of the keepers.
From the Dun we were conducted to another place of security, a cave
carried a great way under ground, which had been discovered by digging
after a fox. These caves, of which many have been found, and many
probably remain concealed, are formed, I believe, commonly by taking
advantage of a hollow, where banks or rocks rise on either side. If no
such place can be found, the ground must be cut away. The walls are made
by piling stones against the earth, on either side. It is then roofed by
larger stones laid across the cavern, which therefore cannot be wide.
Over the roof, turfs were placed, and grass was suffered to grow; and the
mouth was concealed by bushes, or some other cover.
These caves were represented to us as the cabins of the first rude
inhabitants, of which, however, I am by no means persuaded. This was so
low, that no man could stand upright in it. By their construction they
are all so narrow, that two can never pass along them together, and being
subterraneous, they must be always damp. They are not the work of an age
much ruder than the present; for they are formed with as much art as the
construction of a common hut requires. I imagine them to have been
places only of occasional use, in which the Islander, upon a sudden
alarm, hid his utensils, or his cloaths, and perhaps sometimes his wife
and children.
This cave we entered, but could not proceed the whole length, and went
away without knowing how far it was carried. For this omission we shall
be blamed, as we perhaps have blamed other travellers; but the day was
rainy, and the ground was damp. We had with us neither spades nor
pickaxes, and if love of ease surmounted our desire of knowledge, the
offence has not the invidiousness of singularity.
Edifices, either standing or ruined, are the chief records of an
illiterate nation. In some part of this journey, at no great distance
from our way, stood a shattered fortress, of which the learned minister,
to whose communication we are much indebted, gave us an account.
Those, said he, are the walls of a place of refuge, built in the time of
James the Sixth, by Hugh Macdonald, who was next heir to the dignity and
fortune of his chief. Hugh, being so near his wish, was impatient of
delay; and had art and influence sufficient to engage several gentlemen
in a plot against the Laird's life. Something must be stipulated on both
sides; for they would not dip their hands in blood merely for Hugh's
advancement. The compact was formerly written, signed by the
conspirators, and placed in the hands of one Macleod.
It happened that Macleod had sold some cattle to a drover, who, not
having ready money, gave him a bond for payment. The debt was
discharged, and the bond re-demanded; which Macleod, who could not read,
intending to put into his hands, gave him the conspiracy. The drover,
when he had read the paper, delivered it privately to Macdonald; who,
being thus informed of his danger, called his friends together, and
provided for his safety. He made a public feast, and inviting Hugh
Macdonald and his confederates, placed each of them at the table between
two men of known fidelity. The compact of conspiracy was then shewn, and
every man confronted with his own name. Macdonald acted with great
moderation. He upbraided Hugh, both with disloyalty and ingratitude; but
told the rest, that he considered them as men deluded and misinformed.
Hugh was sworn to fidelity, and dismissed with his companions; but he was
not generous enough to be reclaimed by lenity; and finding no longer any
countenance among the gentlemen, endeavoured to execute the same design
by meaner hands. In this practice he was detected, taken to Macdonald's
castle, and imprisoned in the dungeon. When he was hungry, they let down
a plentiful meal of salted meat; and when, after his repast, he called
for drink, conveyed to him a covered cup, which, when he lifted the lid,
he found empty. From that time they visited him no more, but left him to
perish in solitude and darkness.
We were then told of a cavern by the sea-side, remarkable for the
powerful reverberation of sounds. After dinner we took a boat, to
explore this curious cavity. The boatmen, who seemed to be of a rank
above that of common drudges, inquired who the strangers were, and being
told we came one from Scotland, and the other from England, asked if the
Englishman could recount a long genealogy. What answer was given them,
the conversation being in Erse, I was not much inclined to examine.
They expected no good event of the voyage; for one of them declared that
he heard the cry of an English ghost. This omen I was not told till
after our return, and therefore cannot claim the dignity of despising it.
The sea was smooth. We never left the shore, and came without any
disaster to the cavern, which we found rugged and misshapen, about one
hundred and eighty feet long, thirty wide in the broadest part, and in
the loftiest, as we guessed, about thirty high. It was now dry, but at
high water the sea rises in it near six feet. Here I saw what I had
never seen before, limpets and mussels in their natural state. But, as a
new testimony to the veracity of common fame, here was no echo to be
heard.
We then walked through a natural arch in the rock, which might have
pleased us by its novelty, had the stones, which incumbered our feet,
given us leisure to consider it. We were shown the gummy seed of the
kelp, that fastens itself to a stone, from which it grows into a strong
stalk.
In our return, we found a little boy upon the point of rock, catching
with his angle, a supper for the family. We rowed up to him, and
borrowed his rod, with which Mr. Boswell caught a cuddy.
The cuddy is a fish of which I know not the philosophical name. It is
not much bigger than a gudgeon, but is of great use in these Islands, as
it affords the lower people both food, and oil for their lamps. Cuddies
are so abundant, at sometimes of the year, that they are caught like
whitebait in the Thames, only by dipping a basket and drawing it back.
If it were always practicable to fish, these Islands could never be in
much danger from famine; but unhappily in the winter, when other
provision fails, the seas are commonly too rough for nets, or boats.