_Monday, September 25th._
[Illustration: CAIRN ON THE BATTLEFIELD OF CULLODEN MUIR.]
We rose early, but were not in very good trim for walking, for a mild
attack of diarrhoea yesterday had become intensified during the night,
and still continued. After breakfast we went to the post office for our
"poste restante" letters, and after replying to them resumed our march.
Culloden Muir, the site of the great battle in 1746, in which the
Scottish Clans under Prince Charlie suffered so severely at the hands of
the Duke of Cumberland, is only six miles away from Inverness, and we
had originally planned to visit it, but as that journey would have taken
us farther from the Caledonian Canal, the line of which we were now
anxious to follow, we gave up the idea of going to Culloden. We were,
moreover, in no humour for digressions since we had not yet recovered
from the effects of our long walk on Saturday, and our bodily ailments
were still heavy upon us. As we crossed the suspension-bridge, in close
proximity to the castle, we purchased a few prints of the town and the
neighbourhood through which we were about to pass.
Inverness is built in a delightful situation, skirting the Ness, which
here takes the form of a beautiful, shallow river moving peacefully
forward to its great receptacle, Loch Ness, a few miles away; but,
although the country near the town is comparatively level, it is
surrounded by mountain scenery of the most charming description. Our
route lay along the north-western side of the Caledonian Canal in the
direction of Fort Augustus, and we again passed the Tomnahurich Hill.
Near this we saw a large building which we were surprised to learn was a
lunatic asylum--an institution we did not expect to find here, for we
had only heard of one madman in the three counties of Scotland through
which we had passed. We concluded it must have been built for persons
from farther south.
[Illustration: CULLODEN MUIR.]
The diarrhoea still continued to trouble us, so we asked the advice of a
gentleman we met on the road, and he recommended us to call at the next
farmhouse, which, fortunately, happened to be only a short distance
away, and to "take a quart of milk each, as hot as you can drink it." So
away we walked to the farm, which we found standing a short distance
from our road, and, after explaining our troubles and wishes to the
farmer, were invited into the house, where the mistress quickly provided
us with the hot milk, which luckily proved to be a safe and simple
remedy. The farmer and his wife were as pleased with our company as we
were with theirs, and were just the sort of people that tourists like to
meet. We had a long talk with them about the crops, the markets, our
long walk, and, last but not least, the weather. Speaking of diarrhoea,
the farmer informed us that the water of Inverness often affected
strangers in that way, and that it had even been known to produce
dysentery.
After regaining our road, we had a lovely walk that day; the scenery
and the weather were both very fine, and, about a mile farther on, we
had a glorious view over Loch Ness, beside which our walk led us,
through a delightful country studded with mansions amidst some of
nature's most beautiful scenery. Presently we met a party of men,
consisting of two soldiers and three civilians, engaged in cutting
branches from the trees that were likely to interfere with the working
of the telegraph, which passed along the side of the road. It consisted
of a single wire, and had only just been erected, for we noticed each
post bore the Government mark and the date 1871. We asked the men if
they knew of a good remedy for our complaint, and one of the soldiers,
who had seen service abroad, recommended "a spoonful of sweet oil and
cinnamon mixed with it." Our former remedy had proved to be efficacious,
so we had no need to try this, but we give the information here for the
benefit of all whom it may concern.
[Illustration: THE BURYING-PLACE OF THE CLANS.]
We were certainly in for the best day's march we had yet experienced, if
not for distance, certainly for beauty of route; and if we had had the
gift of poetry--which only affected us occasionally--we should have had
here food for poems sufficient to fill the side of a newspaper. Mountain
rills, gushing rivulets, and murmuring waters! Here they were in
abundance, rolling down the rocky mountains from unknown heights, and
lending an additional charm to the landscape! Is it necessary to dilate
on such beauties?--for if words were conjured in the most delicate and
exquisite language imaginable, the glories of Loch Ness and its
surroundings are, after all, things to be seen before they can be fully
appreciated. The loch is over twenty miles long, and averages about a
mile broad; while a strange fact is that its water never freezes.
Scientific men, we were told, attributed this to the action of
earthquakes in distant parts of the world, their vibrations affecting
the surface of the water here; while others, apparently of the more
commonsense type, attribute it to the extreme depth of the water in the
loch itself, for in the centre it is said to exceed 260 yards.
As we loitered along--for we were very lazy--we decided to have a picnic
amongst the large stones on the shore of the loch, so we selected a
suitable position, and broke into the provisions we carried in our bags
as a reserve for emergencies. We were filling our water-boiling
apparatus from the loch, when we saw a steamboat approaching from the
direction of Glasgow. It presented quite a picture as it passed us, in
the sunshine, with its flags flying and its passengers crowded on the
deck, enjoying the fine scenery, and looking for Inverness, where their
trip on the boat, like the Caledonian Canal itself, would doubtless end.
There was music on board, of which we got the full benefit, as the sound
was wafted towards us across the water, to echo and re-echo amongst the
hills and adjoining woods; and we could hear the strains of the music
long after the boat was cut off from our vision by the branches of the
trees which partially surrounded us.
[Illustration: THE WELL OF THE DEAD, CULLODEN MUIR. The stone marks the
spot where MacGillivray of Dunmaglass died while stretching out his hand
toward the little spring of water.]
We were, in reality, having a holiday compared with our exertions on
Saturday, and, as we were practically on the sick-list, considered
ourselves fully entitled to it. We thought we had travelled quite far
enough for invalids when, at fourteen miles from Inverness, and in the
light of a lovely sunset, we reached Drumnadrochit, a village on the
side of the loch.
Is it to be wondered at that we succumbed to the seductions of the
famous inn there, as distinguished men had done before us, as the
records of the inn both in prose and poetry plainly showed? One poetical
Irishman had written a rhyme of four verses each ending with the word
Drumnadrochit, one of which we thought formed a sufficient invitation
and excuse for our calling there; it read:
Stop, traveller! with well-pack'd bag,
And hasten to unlock it;
You'll ne'er regret it, though you lag
A day at Drumnadrochit.
One of the best advertisements of this hotel and Drumnadrochit generally
appeared in a letter written by Shirley Brooks to _Punch_ in 1860, in
which he wrote:
The inn whence these lines are dated faces a scene which, happily, is
not too often to be observed in this planet. I say happily, sir,
because we are all properly well aware that this world is a vale of
tears, in which it is our duty to mortify ourselves and make
everybody else as uncomfortable as possible. If there were many
places like Drumnadrochit, persons would be in fearful danger of
forgetting that they ought to be miserable.
But who would have thought that a quiet and sedate-looking Quaker like
John Bright, the famous M.P. for Birmingham, could have been moved by
the spirit to write a verse of poetry--such an unusual thing for a
member of the Society of Friends! Here it is:
In the Highland glens 'tis far too oft observed,
That man is chased away and game preserved;
Glen Urquhart is to me a lovelier glen--
Here deer and grouse have not supplanted men.
But was the position reversed when Mr. Bright visited it? and did the
men supplant the deer and grouse then?
[Illustration: DRUMNADROCHIT.]
Glen Urquhart was one of the places we had to pass on the following day,
but as we had no designs on the deer and grouse, since our sporting
proclivities did not lie in that direction, we thought that we might be
safely trusted to leave the game undisturbed.
(_Distance walked fourteen miles_.)
_Tuesday, September 26th._
We set out from Drumnadrochit early in the morning, and, leaving Glen
Urquhart to the right, after walking about two miles turned aside to
view Urquhart Castle, a ruin occupying a commanding position on the side
of Loch Ness and immediately opposite the entrance to the glen. The
castle was besieged by Edward I when he was trying to subdue Scotland,
and a melancholy story was told of that period. The Scots, who were
defending the castle, were "in extremis," as their provisions were
exhausted and they knew that when they surrendered they would all be
slain. The Governor, however, was anxious to save his wife, who was
shortly to become a mother, so he bade her clothe herself in rags and
drove her from the gate as though she were a beggar who had been shut up
in the castle and whom they had driven away because their provisions
were running short. The ruse succeeded, for the English, believing her
story, let her go; after the garrison saw that she was safe they sallied
forth to meet their fate, and were all killed.
[Illustration: URQUHART CASTLE.]
The approach to the ruins from the road is by upwards of a hundred rough
hardwood steps, and the castle must have been a well-nigh impregnable
stronghold in former times, protected as it was on three sides by the
water of the loch and by a moat on the fourth, the position of the
drawbridge being still clearly denned.
Beneath the solitary tower is a dismal dungeon, and we wondered what
horrors had been enacted within its time-worn and gloomy walls! Once a
grim fortress, its ruins had now been mellowed by the hand of time, and
looked quite inviting amidst their picturesque surroundings. To them
might fitly be applied the words: "Time has made beautiful that which at
first was only terrible."
Whilst we were amongst the ruins, a steamboat which had called at
Drumnadrochit passed close alongside the castle, and we waved our
handkerchiefs to those on board, our silent salutations being returned
by some of the passengers. We afterwards learned we had been recognised
by a gentleman who had met us on the previous day.
About ten miles from Drumnadrochit we reached Invermoriston, and visited
a church which was almost filled with monuments to the memory of the
Grant family, the lairds of Glenmoriston. Among them was the tombstone
of the son of a former innkeeper, with the following inscription, which
reminded us of our own mortality:
Remember, Friend, when this you see,
As I am now so you must be;
As you are now so once was I.
Remember, Friend, that you must die.
There was also another tombstone, apparently that of his mother,
inscribed:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JEAN SCOTT, THE AMIABLE WIFE OF WILLIAM
FALL, INVERMORISTON, INNKEEPER, WHO DIED ON THE 13TH DAY OF
APRIL 1837 AGED 68 YEARS.
and on this appeared the following epitaph:
Weep not for me, O friends,
But weep and mourn
For your own sins.
[Illustration: LOCH NESS FROM FORT AUGUSTUS.]
We then went to visit the remarkable waterfall of Glenmoriston, where
the water after rushing down the rocks for some distance entered a
crevice in a projecting rock below, evidently worn in the course of ages
by the falls themselves. Here the water suddenly disappeared, to
reappear as suddenly some distance below, where, as if furious at its
short imprisonment, it came out splashing, dashing, and boiling in
fantastic beauty amongst the rocks over which it pursued its downward
course. We descended a few paces along a footpath leading to a small
but ancient building, probably at one time a summer house, in the centre
of which a very old millstone had done duty as a table. Here we were
fairly in the whirl of waters, and had a splendid view of the falls and
of the spray which rose to a considerable height. There was no doubt
that we saw this lovely waterfall under the best possible conditions,
and it was some recompense to us when we thought that the heavy rainfall
through which we had passed had contributed to this result. The thistle
may overshadow many more beautiful falls than the falls of Glenmoriston,
but we claim a share of praise for this lively little waterfall as
viewed by us in full force from this shady retreat.
[Illustration: GENERAL WADE'S ROAD NEAR FORT AUGUSTUS, WITH LOCH NESS IN
THE DISTANCE.]
[Illustration: A LIGHTHOUSE ON LOCH NESS.]
[Illustration: FALLS OF FOYERS AND LOCH NESS. "Here in the whirl of
waters ... the spray rose to a considerable height."]
After refreshing ourselves at the inn, we started on our next stage of
ten miles to Fort Augustus, the loneliness of our journey through its
beauties of scenery being enlivened by occasionally watching the pranks
of the squirrels and gazing at the many burns that flowed down the
mountain slopes. Before reaching Fort Augustus we had a splendid view as
we looked backward over Loch Ness, dotted here and there with several
ships tacking and retacking, their white sails gleaming in the sunshine.
It had been a calm and lovely day; the sun was sinking in the west as
we entered Fort Augustus, but we had only time enough for a superficial
survey, for we had to proceed farther, and, however important the Fort
might have been in 1729 when General Wade constructed his famous
military road, or when the Duke of Cumberland made it his headquarters
while he dealt severely with the adherents of Prince Charlie, shooting
ruthlessly, laying waste on every side, and driving women and children
into the moors only to die, it looked very insignificant that night. The
Highland Clans never looked favourably on the construction of these
military roads, and would doubtless have preferred the mountain tracks
to remain as they were, for by using the Fort as a base these roads
became a weapon to be used against them; their only eulogy was said to
have been written by an Irish officer:
Had you but seen these roads before they were made,
You would lift up your eyes, and bless General Wade.
My brother said he must have been a real Irishman, with the eye of
faith, to see roads _before they were made_!
[Illustration: PRINCE CHARLIE'S CAVE, INVERMORISTON.]
Fort Augustus stands at the extremity of Loch Ness, at the point where
its surplus waters are lowered by means of locks to swell those of Loch
Oich, so as to make both lochs navigable for the purposes of the
Caledonian Canal. We noticed some corn-stacks here that were thatched
with broom, and some small houses that were roofed with what looked like
clods of earth, so we concluded that the district must be a very poor
one.
[Illustration: IN GLENMORISTON.]
As darkness was now coming on, we were anxious to find lodgings for the
night, and, hearing that there was an inn at a place called Invergarry,
seven and a half miles from Fort Augustus, we were obliged to go there.
The moon was just beginning to relieve the darkness when we reached
Invergarry, and, seeing a servant removing some linen from a
clothes-line in a small garden, we asked the way to the inn; she pointed
to a building opposite, and said we had "better go in at that door." We
entered as directed at the side door, and found ourselves in a rather
large inn with a passage through it from end to end. We saw what we
supposed to be the master and the mistress snugly ensconced in a room,
and asked the master if we could obtain lodgings for the night. He said
"yes," but we heard the mistress, who had not seen us, mutter something
we could not hear distinctly. My brother said he was sure he heard the
words "Shepherd's room." The landlord then conducted us into a room at
the end of the long dark passage, in which, we found several shepherds
drinking and conversing with each other in Gaelic. One of them said to
us "Good night," and as we returned his salutation they all retired from
the room. We were now able to look about us, and found the room
contained two tables, four forms, and at least two beds ranged
lengthways along one side. Presently a servant came in and began to make
one of the beds, and then another servant came who, we thought, eyed us
rather closely, as we were holding our faces down to conceal the
laughter which we could scarcely restrain. When she had made the other
bed my brother asked if both the beds were for us. The servant said she
couldn't tell, but "Missis says they are both to be made." We had
evidently been taken for shepherds, and at first we were inclined to
feel angry, for no one came to ask us if we required anything to eat or
drink. We could have done with a good supper, but fortunately we had
replenished our bags at Fort Augustus, so we were in no danger of being
starved. We scribbled in our diaries by the feeble light of the candle
which the servants had left on one of the tables, and as no one turned
up to claim the second bed we occupied both. There was no lock or
fastening on the door, but we barricaded it securely with two of the
forms--and it was perhaps as well that we did so, for some one tried to
open it after we were in bed--and we slept that night not on feathers,
but on chaff with which the beds or mattresses were stuffed.
(_Distance walked twenty-seven miles_.)
_Wednesday, September 27th._
"The sleep of a labouring man is sweet," and so was ours on the
primitive beds of the shepherds. But the sounds in the rear of the hotel
awoke us very early in the morning, and, as there was every appearance
of the weather continuing fine, we decided to walk some distance before
breakfast. We asked one of the servants how much we had to pay, and she
returned with an account amounting to the astounding sum of sixpence!
Just fancy, ye Highland tourists! ye who have felt the keen grip of many
an hotel-keeper there--just fancy, if ye can, two of us staying a night
at a large hotel in the Highlands of Scotland for sixpence!
We followed the servant to a small room at the front of the hotel, where
a lady was seated, to whom the money had to be paid; the surprised and
disappointed look on her face as we handed her a sovereign in payment of
our account was rich in the extreme, amply repaying us for any annoyance
we might have experienced the night before. What made the matter more
aggravating to the lady was that she had not sufficient change, and had
to go upstairs and waken some unwilling money-changer there! Then the
change had to be counted as she reluctantly handed it to us and made a
forlorn effort to recover some of the coins. "Won't you stay for
breakfast?" she asked; but we were not to be persuaded, for although we
were hungry enough, we were of an unforgiving spirit that morning, and,
relying upon getting breakfast elsewhere, we thanked her and went on our
way rejoicing!
About a mile farther on we reached the ruins of Glengarry Castle, which
stand in the private grounds of the owner, but locks and bolts prevented
us from seeing the interior. This castle remains more complete than many
others and still retains its quadrangular appearance, much as it was
when Prince Charlie slept there during his flight after Culloden, and,
although not built on any great elevation, it looks well in its wooded
environs and well-kept grounds. A story was told of the last Lord
Glengarry who, in 1820, travelled 600 miles to be present at the
Coronation of King George IV. He was dressed on that magnificent and
solemn occasion in the full costume of a Highland chief, including, as a
matter of course, a brace of pistols. A lady who was at the reception
happened to see one of the pistols in his clothing, and, being greatly
alarmed, set up a loud shriek, crying, "Oh Lord! Oh Lord! there's a man
with a pistol," and alarming the whole assembly. As she insisted on
Glengarry being arrested, he was immediately surrounded, and the Garter
King of Arms came forward and begged him to give up the much-dreaded
pistols; but he refused, as they were not loaded, and pleaded that they
formed an essential part of his national garb. At length, however, after
much persuasion, he gave them up.
Glengarry wrote a letter to the editor of _The Times_, in which he said:
"I have worn my dress continually at Court, and was never so insulted
before. Pistols, sir, are as essential to the Highland courtier's dress
as a sword is to English, French, or German; and those used by me on
such occasions as unstained with powder as any courtier's sword, with
blood. It is only grossest ignorance of Highland character and costume
which imagined that the assassin lurked under their bold and manly
form."
Glengarry, who, it was said, never properly recovered from the effects
of this insult, died in 1828.
After about another mile we came to a monument near the side of the
road, on the top of which were sculptured the figures of seven human
heads held up by a hand clasping a dagger. On each of the four sides of
the base there was an inscription in one of four different
languages--English, French, Latin, and Gaelic--as follows:
As a memorial to the ample and summary vengeance which in the swift
course of Feudal justice inflicted by the orders of the Lord
MacDonnell and Aross overtook the perpetrators of the foul murder of
the Keppoch family, a branch of the powerful and illustrious Clan of
which his Lordship was the Chief, this Monument is erected by Colonel
MacDonnell of Glengarry XVII Mac-Minc-Alaister his successor and
Representative in the year of our Lord 1812. The heads of the seven
murderers were presented at the feet of the noble chief in Glengarry
Castle after having been washed in this spring and ever since that
event which took place early in the sixteenth century it has been
known by the name "Tobar-nan-Ceann" or the Well of the Heads.
The monument was practically built over the well, an arched passage
leading down to the water, where we found a drinking-utensil placed for
any one who desired a drink. We were glad to have one ourselves, but
perhaps some visitors might be of such refined and delicate taste that
they would not care to drink the water after reading the horrible
history recorded above.
It appeared that Macdonald of Keppoch, the owner of the estate, had two
sons whom he sent to France to be educated, and while they were there he
died, leaving the management of his estate to seven kinsmen until the
return of his sons from France; when they came back, they were murdered
by the seven executors of their father's will. The Bard of Keppoch urged
Glengarry to take vengeance on the murderers, and this monument was
erected to commemorate the ample and summary vengeance inflicted about
1661.
[Illustration: INVERGARRY CASTLE.]
Leaving this memorial of "ample and summary vengeance," we crossed the
Loggan Bridge and gained the opposite bank of the Caledonian Canal. The
country we now passed through was very lonely and mountainous, and in
one place we came to a large plantation of hazel loaded with nuts. We
reflected that there were scarcely any inhabitants to eat them, as the
persons we met did not average more than a dozen in twenty miles, and on
one occasion only six all told; so we turned into nut-gatherers
ourselves, spurred on by the fact that we had had no breakfast and our
appetites were becoming sharpened, with small prospect of being appeased
in that lonely neighbourhood.
A little farther on, however, we met a man with two dogs, who told us he
was the shepherd, and, in reply to our anxious inquiry, informed us that
we could get plenty to eat at his house, which we should find a little
farther on the road. This was good news, for we had walked eight miles
since leaving Invergarry. When we reached the shepherd's house, which
had formerly been an inn, we found the mistress both civil and
obliging, and she did her best to provide for our hungry requirements.
The house was evidently a very old one, and we wondered what queer
people had sat in that ingle-nook and what strange stories they had told
there. The fireplace was of huge dimensions; hanging above it was a
single-and a double-barrelled gun, while some old crockery and ancient
glass bottles adorned various parts of the kitchen--evidently family
heirlooms, which no doubt had been handed down from one generation to
another--and a very old bed reposed in the chimney corner.
The mistress provided us with a splendid breakfast, upon which we
inflicted "ample and summary vengeance," for those words were still
ringing in our minds and ears and had already become by-words as we
travelled along. The "best tea-pot," which looked as if it had not been
used for ages, was brought from its hiding-place; and, amongst other
good things, we were treated by way of dessert to some ripe
blackberries, which the mistress called brambleberries and which she
told us she had gathered herself. It was half-past ten o'clock when we
left the shepherd's house, and shortly afterwards we had a view of the
snow-covered summit of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Great Britain.
We had a lonely walk alongside Loch Lochy, which is ten miles in length;
but in about six miles General Wade's road, which we followed, branched
off to the left. About four miles from the junction we reached Spean
Bridge, over which we crossed the river of that name, which brings along
the waters of sundry lochs as well as others from the valley of Glen
Roy. This Glen forms an almost hidden paradise beloved of geologists, as
along the sides of the valley are the famous "Parallel Roads" belonging
to the Glacial Period. We replenished our stock of provisions, which we
had rather neglected, at Spean Bridge, and treated ourselves to another
little picnic in the lonely country beyond. It was dark before we
reached Fort William, where we found comfortable lodgings at the house
of Mrs. MacPherson opposite the Ben Nevis Hotel, and retired with the
intention of ascending Ben Nevis the following day.
(_Distance walked twenty-five and a half miles_.)
_Thursday, September 28th._
After breakfast we commissioned Mrs. MacPherson to engage the services
of the guide to conduct us to the top of Ben Nevis, which is 4,406 feet
high, offering to pay him the sum of one sovereign for his services. We
had passed the old castle of Inverlochy in the dark of the previous
night, and, as we wished to visit it in the daylight that morning, we
arranged that the guide should meet us on a bridge outside the town,
which we must cross on our way to and from what we were told was once a
royal castle, where King Achius signed a treaty with Charlemagne. The
castle was some distance from the town, and quite near the famous
distillery where the whisky known as "Long John" or the "Dew of Ben
Nevis" was produced. We found ready access to the ruins, as the key had
been left in the gate of the walled fence which surrounded them. "Prince
Charlie," we learned, had "knocked" the castle to its present shape from
an adjoining hill, and what he had left of it now looked very solitary.
It was a square structure, with four towers one at each corner, that at
the north-west angle being the most formidable. The space enclosed was
covered with grass. What interested us most were four very old guns, or
cannons, which stood in front of the castle, mounted on wheels supported
on wood planks, and as they were of a very old pattern, these relics of
the past added materially to the effect of the ancient and warlike
surroundings.
We did not stay long in the ruins, as we were anxious to begin our big
climb, so we returned to the bridge to await the arrival of the guide
engaged for us by our hostess, and whom we had not yet seen. We waited
there for more than half an hour, and were just on the point of
returning to the town when we noticed the approach of a military-looking
man carrying a long staff spiked at one end, who turned out to be the
gentleman we were waiting for, and under whose guidance we soon began
the ascent of the big mountain. After climbing for some time, we came to
a huge stone on which the Government engineers had marked the altitude
as 1,000 feet above sea-level, and as we climbed higher still we had a
grand view of the hills and waters in the distance. We went bravely
onward and upward until we arrived at a lake, where on a rock we saw the
Government mark known as the "broad arrow," an emblem which we also saw
in many other places as we walked through the country, often wondering
what the sign could mean. We surmised that it stood for England,
Scotland, and Ireland united in one kingdom, but we afterwards learned
that it was introduced at the end of the seventeenth century to mark
Government stores, and that at one time it had a religious significance
connected with the Holy Trinity. The altitude was also marked on the
rock as 2,200 feet, so that we had now ascended half-way to the top of
Ben Nevis.
[Illustration:]
On our way up the mountain we had to stop several times, for our guide
complained of diarrhoea, but here he came to a dead stop and said he
could not proceed any farther. We were suspicious at first that he was
only feigning illness to escape the bad weather which we could see
approaching. We did our best to persuade him to proceed, but without
effect, and then we threatened to reduce his fee by one-half if he did
not conduct us to the summit of Ben Nevis as agreed. Finally we asked
him to remain where he was until we returned after completing the ascent
alone; but he pleaded so earnestly with us not to make the attempt to
reach the summit, and described the difficulties and dangers so vividly,
that we reluctantly decided to forgo our long-cherished ambition to
ascend the highest mountain in Great Britain. We were very much
disappointed, but there was no help for it, for the guide was now really
ill, so we took his advice and gave up the attempt.
Ben Nevis, we knew, was already covered with snow at the top, and a
further fall was expected, and without a guide we could not possibly
find the right path. We had noticed the clouds collecting upon the upper
peaks of the great mountain and the sleet was already beginning to fall,
while the wind, apparently blowing from an easterly direction, was icy
cold. My brother, who had had more experience in mountain-climbing than
myself, remarked that if it was so bitterly cold at our present altitude
of 2,200 feet, what might we expect it to be at 4,400, and reminded me
of a mountain adventure he had some years before in North Wales.
On his first visit to the neighbourhood he had been to see a relative
who was the manager of the slate quarries at Llanberis and resided near
Port Dinorwic. The manager gave him an order to ride on the slate train
to the quarries, a distance of seven miles, and to inspect them when he
arrived there. Afterwards he went to the Padaro Villa Hotel for dinner,
and then decided to go on to Portmadoc. There was no railway in those
days, and as the coach had gone he decided to walk. The most direct way,
he calculated, was to cross Snowdon mountain, and without asking any
advice or mentioning the matter to any one he began his walk over a
mountain which is nearly 3,600 feet high. It was two o'clock in the
afternoon when he left the hotel at Llanberis, and from the time he
passed a stone inscribed "3-3/4 miles to the top of Snowdon" he did not
see a single human being. It was the 23rd of November, and the top of
the mountain, which was clearly visible, was covered with snow.
All went well with him until he passed a black-looking lake and had
reached the top of its rocky and precipitous boundary, when with
scarcely any warning he suddenly became enveloped in the clouds and
could only see a yard or two before him. He dared not turn back for fear
he should fall down the precipice into the lake below, so he continued
his walk and presently reached the snow. This, fortunately, was frozen,
and he went on until he came to a small cabin probably used by the guide
in summertime, but the door was locked, the padlock resting upon the
snow; soon afterwards he arrived at the cairn which marked the summit of
Snowdon. It was very cold, and he was soon covered with the frozen
particles from the clouds as they drifted against him in the wind, which
gave out a mournful sound like a funeral dirge as it drove against the
rocks.
He walked round the tower several times before he could find a way down
on the other side, but at length his attention was attracted by a black
peak of rock rising above the snow, and to his astonishment, in a
sheltered corner behind it, he could distinctly see the footprints of a
man and a small animal, probably a dog, that had gone down behind the
rock just before the snow had frozen. The prints were not visible
anywhere else, but, fortunately, it happened to be the right way, and he
crossed the dreaded "Saddleback" with a precipice on each side of him
without knowing they were there. It was a providential escape, and when
he got clear of the clouds and saw miles of desolate rocky country
before him bounded by the dark sea in the background and strode down the
remainder of the seven miles from the top of Snowdon, his feelings of
thankfulness to the Almighty may be better imagined than described. He
himself--a first-class walker--always considered they were the longest
and quickest he ever accomplished. He occupied two hours in the ascent,
but not much more than an hour in the descent, reaching, just at the
edge of dark, the high-road where the words "Pitt's Head" were painted
in large letters on some rocks, which he afterwards learned represented
an almost exact profile of the head of William Pitt the famous Prime
Minister. He stayed for tea at Beddgelert and then walked down the Pass
of Aberglaslyn on a tree-covered road in almost total darkness, with the
company of roaring waters, which terrified him even more than the
dangers he had already encountered, as far as Tremadoc, where he stayed
the night.
We had a dismal descent from Ben Nevis, and much more troublesome and
laborious than the ascent, for our guide's illness had become more acute
and he looked dreadfully ill. It was a pitiable sight to see him when,
with scarcely strength enough to stand, he leaned heavily upon his staff
on one side and on ourselves alternately on the other. We could not help
feeling sorry for him for we had so recently suffered from the same
complaint ourselves, though in a much milder form. We were compelled to
walk very slowly and to rest at frequent intervals, and to add to our
misery the rain was falling heavily. We were completely saturated long
before reaching Fort William, and were profoundly thankful when we
landed our afflicted friend at his own door. We handed him his full fee,
and he thanked us and said that although he had ascended Ben Nevis on
nearly 1,200 occasions, this was the only time he had failed.
[Illustration: BEN NEVIS]
We had not been quite satisfied that the cause assigned to our attack at
Inverness was the real one, as we had drunk so little water there. We
thought now that there might be some infectious epidemic passing through
that part of Scotland, perhaps a modified form of the cholera that
decimated our part of England thirty or forty years before, and that our
guide as well as ourselves had contracted the sickness in that way.
We must not forget to record that on our way up the "Ben" we saw a most
beautiful rainbow, which appeared to great advantage, as it spread
itself between us and the opposite hills, exhibiting to perfection all
its seven colours.
We were as hungry as hunters when we returned to our lodgings, and,
after changing some of our clothes and drying the others, we sat down to
the good things provided for our noon dinner, which we washed down with
copious libations of tea.
As the rain continued, we decided to stop another night at Mrs.
MacPherson's, so we went out to make some purchases at the chemist's
shop, which also served as an emporium--in fact as a general stores. We
had a chat with the proprietor, who explained that Fort William was a
very healthy place, where his profession would not pay if carried on
alone, so he had to add to it by selling other articles. The Fort, he
told us, was originally built in the time of Cromwell by General Monk to
overawe the Highlanders, but was afterwards re-erected on a smaller
scale by William III; hence its name of Fort William.
[Illustration: BEN NEVIS AS SEEN FROM BANAVIE.]
We asked the chemist if he could recommend to us a good shoemaker, who
could undertake to sole and heel two pairs of boots before morning, as
ours were showing signs of wear-and-tear owing to the long distances we
had walked both before and after reaching John o' Groat's. This he
promised to do, and he sent one across to Mrs. MacPherson's immediately.
After we had parted with our boots, we were prisoners for the remainder
of the day, though we were partially reconciled to our novel position
when we heard the wind driving the rain against the windows instead of
against ourselves. But it seemed strange to us to be sitting down hour
after hour reading the books our hostess kindly lent to us instead of
walking on the roads. The books were chiefly historical, and interested
us, as they related to the country through which we were passing.
Terrible histories they contained too! describing fierce battles and
murders, and giving us the impression that the Scots of the olden times
were like savages, fighting each other continually, and that for the
mere pleasure of fighting. Especially interesting to us was the record
of the cruel massacre of Glencoe, for we intended visiting there, if
possible, on the morrow. It was not the extent of the carnage on that
occasion, but the horrible way in which it was carried out, that excited
the indignation of the whole country, and my brother spent some time in
copying in his note-book the following history of--