_Monday, October 2nd._
[Illustration: KILCHURN CASTLE AND LOCH AWE.]
We left our comfortable quarters at Dalmally at seven o'clock in the
morning, and presently reached Loch Awe, with the poet's monument still
in sight and some islands quite near to us in the loch. We soon left
Loch Awe, turning off when we reached Cladich and striking over the
hills to the left. After walking about two miles all uphill, we reached
the summit, whence we had a fine backward view of Loch Awe, which from
this point appeared in a deep valley with its sides nicely wooded. Here
we were in the neighbourhood of the Cruachan mountains, to which, with
Loch Awe, a curious tradition was attached that a supernatural being
named "Calliach Bhere," or "The Old Woman," a kind of female genie,
lived on these high mountains. It was said that she could step in a
moment with ease from one mountain to another, and, when offended, she
could cause the floods to descend from the mountains and lay the whole
of the low ground perpetually under water. Her ancestors were said to
have lived from time immemorial near the summit of the vast mountain of
Cruachan, and to have possessed a great number of herds in the vale
below. She was the last of her line, and, like that of her ancestors,
her existence was bound up with a fatal fountain which lay in the side
of her native hill and was committed to the charge of her family since
it first came into existence. It was their duty at evening to cover the
well with a large flat stone, and in the morning to remove it again.
This ceremony was to be performed before the setting and the rising of
the sun, that its last beam might not die upon nor its first ray shine
upon the water in the well. If this care were neglected, a fearful and
mysterious doom would be the punishment. When the father of the Calliach
Bhere died, he committed the charge to her, warning her of its
importance and solemnity and the fatality attending its neglect. For
many years this mysterious woman attended carefully to her duties, but
one unlucky evening, tired with her exertions in hunting and ascending
the hills, she sat down by the fountain to await the setting of the sun,
and falling asleep, did not awake until morning. When she arose she
looked around, but the vale had vanished and a great sheet of water
taken its place. The neglected well had overflowed while she slept, the
glen was changed into a lake, the hills into islets, and her people and
cattle had perished in the deluge. The Calliach took but one look over
the ruin she had caused, and all that remained of her large possessions
in the glen was Loch Awe and its islands! Then she herself vanished into
oblivion.
It is strange how these old stories are told with but little variation
in so many places. This very story appears in Wales and Ireland and
other regions where Celts predominate, and except in one instance, that
of the destruction of the Lowland Hundreds, now under the water of
Cardigan Bay, always in connection with a woman. We first heard it in
Shropshire, but there it was an old woman who lived in a small cottage
and possessed the only well in the place, charging the townspeople one
farthing per bucket for the water. In those remote times this formed a
great tax on the poor people, and many were the prayers offered up that
the imposition might be removed. These prayers were answered, for one
night a great storm arose, the well continued to overflow, and in the
morning the old woman and her cottage had disappeared, and in place of
the well appeared the beautiful Lake of Ellesmere.
[Illustration: INVERARY CASTLE.]
We had a fine walk down Glen Aray, with the River Aray on the left for
some distance to keep us company, and after about four miles' walking we
came to a ladder inserted in a high stone wall to the left of our road,
which was here covered with trees. My brother climbed up to see what was
on the other side, and reported that there was a similar ladder in the
wall for descent, that he could see the river rushing down the rocks,
and that a pretty little pathway ran under the trees alongside the
stream. We had not met a single person since leaving the neighbourhood
of Cladich, and as there was no one about from whom to make inquiries,
we took "French leave" and climbed over the fence, to see at once a
pretty waterfall and to follow a lovely path for a mile or two until it
landed us in one of the main drives from Inverary Castle. Here we
stopped to consider whether we should proceed or retreat, for we were
sure we had been trespassing. My brother reminded me of an experience
that occurred to us in the previous year in London. Before we began our
walk home from that great city we visited as many of the sights of
London as we could, and amongst these was the famous Tower. We had
passed through the Gateway, but were then uncertain how to proceed,
when, peeping round a corner, we saw a man dressed in a very
strange-looking uniform, whom we afterwards learned was called a
"Beef-eater." We approached him rather timidly to make inquiries, to
which he kindly replied, but told us afterwards that he knew we were
Englishmen the minute he saw us coming round the corner. Foreigners in
coming through the gateway always walked firmly and quickly, while the
English came creeping along and looking round the corners as if they
were afraid. "My advice to you, young men," he said, "when visiting
strange places, is to go on until you are stopped!" So on this occasion
we decided to follow that advice and to go on towards the castle we
could see in the distance. We had not proceeded very far, however,
before we met a couple of two-horse open carriages followed by quite a
number of persons on horseback. Feeling rather guilty, we stepped upon
the grass by the roadside, and tried to look as if we were not there,
but we could see that we had been observed by the occupants of the
carriages and by their retinue. We knew from their appearance that they
belonged to the aristocracy, and were not surprised to learn that the
second carriage contained the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, while the
people on horseback were the younger members of their family. We had
almost reached the castle when we were stopped by a servant in livery,
to whom we explained the cause of our presence, asking him the nearest
way to Inverary, which he pointed out. He told us, among other things,
that the Duke could drive many miles in his own domain, and that his
family consisted of thirteen children, all of whom were living. We
thanked him, and as we retired along the road he had directed us, we
considered we had added one more adventure to enliven us on our journey.
We had only walked a little way from the castle when a lady came across
the park to speak to us, and told us that the cannon and the large
wooden structure we could see in the park had been used for the "spree"
at the royal wedding, when the Marquis of Lome, the eldest son of the
Duke, had been married to the Princess Louise of England. She also told
us that the Princess and the Marquis had been staying at the castle a
short time before, but were not there then. Who the lady was we did not
know, but she was of fine appearance and well educated, and from her
conversation had evidently travelled extensively both at home and
abroad. We thanked her for her courage and courtesy in coming to speak
to us, at which she smiled and, bowing gracefully, retired towards the
castle. How her conduct compared with that of some people in England may
be judged from the following extract which we clipped from a Scottish
newspaper shortly afterwards:
A War Office clerk was riding outside the Oban coach from Inverary. A
fellow-passenger at his side remarked, "What a glorious view! what a
lovely scene!" to which the young gentleman of the War Office, with a
strong glance at the speaker, replied, "Sir, I don't know you; we
have not been introduced."
It was a fine afternoon, and Inverary town looked at its best and quite
pleasant in the sunshine, for most of the houses were coloured white. We
halted awhile at the picturesque sculptured cross, where many a weary
pilgrim had rested before us, with a glorious view over Loch Fyne and
the mountains beyond. The church stood at the end of the street, and the
"Argyll Arms Hotel" would have been a fine place to stay at for the
night. There was also quite a large temperance hotel where carriages
could be hired; but we had only walked about sixteen miles, so we had to
resist these attractions and walk on to Cairndow, a further distance of
ten miles.
[Illustration: INVERARY CROSS]
Loch Fyne, along the edge of which our road ran all the way to Cairndow,
is tidal and about two miles wide at Inverary. We were now on the
opposite side of the castle grounds, and could see another entrance
gate, which had been decorated for the royal wedding. Fine woods bounded
our road on the left until we reached the round hill of Duniquaich,
where it turned rather abruptly until at Strone Point it was nearly
opposite Inverary. From this place we had a magnificent view of the
district we had just passed through; the splendid castle with its grey
walls and the lofty tower on the wooded hill adjoining it contrasted
finely with the whitened houses of the town of Inverary, as it stood in
the light of the setting sun. We journeyed on alongside the loch, when
as the shades of evening were coming on we met a young man and a young
woman apparently in great distress. They told us they had crossed the
loch in a small boat to look for ferns, and as the tide was going out
had thought they might safely leave their boat on the side of the loch,
but when they returned they could not find it anywhere. They seemed to
have been equally unsuccessful with regard to the ferns, as we could not
see any in their possession, but we guessed they had other interests, so
we went to their assistance and soon found the boat, which doubtless was
in the place where they had left it. The tide must have receded farther
than they had anticipated, and they had looked for it too near the
water. We assisted them to launch the boat, and when they were safely
seated the young woman, who had looked far more alarmed than her
companion, smiled upon us sweetly. In response to their looks and words
of thanks we wished them a pleasant and safe journey; but we never saw
any ferns! Our conversation as we resumed our walk was largely upon this
adventure, and we wondered if the ferns could not have been found as
easily on the other side of the loch as on this--but then we knew that
Love is proverbially blind, and we consigned this fern story to the
region of our mythological remembrances, and were still in good humour
and not too tired when we reached the Cairndow inn, where we were
hospitably, sumptuously, and we could safely add, when we paid the bill
next morning, expensively entertained. But was this partly accounted for
by the finely flavoured herrings known as Loch Fyne kippers we had for
breakfast, which were said to fetch a higher price than any others in
Scotland?
(_Distance walked twenty-five miles_.)
_Tuesday, October 3rd._
We left Cairndow early in the morning, and soon afterwards turned away
from Loch Fyne to ascend a rough and lonely road leading towards Loch
Long, about eight miles distant. It was a cold, bleak, and showery
morning as we travelled along Glen Kinglas against a strong head wind,
which greatly impeded our progress. On reaching the top of the glen, we
came to the small Loch Restil, reposing at the foot of a mountain the
summit of which was 2,955 feet above sea-level. The only persons we had
seen on our way up the glen were two shepherds on the slope of one of
the hills some distance from our road; but now we came to two men
mending the road, in which great holes had been caused by the heavy
rainfall. We chatted with them, and they told us that a little farther
on we should come to "The Rest." Though it may seem a trifling matter to
record, we were very glad to see those two men, as our way had been
excessively lonely and depressing, for the pass only reached about 900
feet at its crown, while the great hills which immediately adjoined the
road on either side rose to an altitude of from 2,500 to 3,300 feet!
When we arrived at "The Rest" we found a rock on which were inscribed
the words "Rest and be Thankful," while another inscription informed us
that "This is a Military Road repaired by the 93rd Regiment in 1768." We
thought that at one time there must have been a stone placed there, to
do duty as a travellers' rest, where weary travellers might "Rest and be
Thankful," but nothing of the kind existed now except the surface of the
road on which we were walking. On reaching a short stiff rise, followed
by a sharp double bend in the road, we passed the entrance of a track
leading down to "Hell's Glen"; but if this glen was any worse than Glen
Kinglas which we had just ascended, or Glen Croe which we now descended,
it must have been a very dreadful place indeed. Fortunately for us, the
weather began to improve, and before we reached Loch Long with its lofty
ramparts the sun shone out in all its matchless glory and lighted up not
only the loch but the whole of the amphitheatre formed by the lofty
hills that surrounded it. A passenger steamboat plying on the bosom of
the loch lent additional interest to the scene, and the combined view
quite cheered our drooping spirits. The change, both as regarded scenery
and atmosphere, between this side of the pass and the other was really
marvellous, reminding us of the contrast between winter and summer. The
sight of the numerous little waterfalls flowing over the rocks above to
contribute their quota to the waters of the loch below was quite
refreshing. One of the great hills we had passed without being able to
see its summit--for it was quite near our road--was the well-known Ben
Arthur, 2,891 feet high, commonly spoken of either as "The Cobbler" or
"The Cobbler and his Wife." It was not until we had got some distance
away that our attention was called to it. We walked round the head of
Loch Long and crossed a bridge, some words on the iron fixtures
informing us that we were now passing from Argyllshire into
Dumbartonshire. The coping on the bridge was of fresh, neatly clipped
grass instead of the usual stonework we expected to find, and looked
very remarkable; we saw nothing like it on our further travels.
[Illustration: "REST AND BE THANKFUL," GLEN CROE.]
We asked a gentleman who was standing in the road about the various
objects of interest in the neighbourhood. Pointing to Ben Arthur in the
distance, he very kindly tried to explain the curious formation of the
rocks at the summit and to show us the Cobbler and his Wife which they
were said to represent. We had a long argument with him, and although he
explained that the Cobbler was sitting down, for the life of us we could
not distinguish the form either of him or of his Wife. We could see that
he considered we were very stupid for not being able to see objects so
plain to himself; and when my brother asked him jocularly for the third
time which was the Cobbler and which was his Wife, he became very angry
and was inclined to quarrel with us. We smoothed him down as well as we
could by saying that we now thought we could see some faint resemblance
to the objects referred to, and he looked as if he had, as the poet
says, "cleared from thick films of vice the visual ray."
[Illustration: "THE COBBLER," FROM ARROCHAR.]
We thanked him kindly for all the trouble he had taken, and concluded,
at first, that perhaps we were not of a sufficiently imaginative
temperament or else not in the most favourable position for viewing the
outlines. But we became conscious of a rather strong smell of whisky
which emanated from our loquacious friend, from which fact we persuaded
ourselves that he had been trying to show us features visible only under
more elevated conditions. When we last saw him he was still standing in
the road gazing at the distant hills, and probably still looking at the
Cobbler and his Wife.
I asked my brother, as we walked along, why he put his question in that
particular form: "Which is the Cobbler and which is his Wife?" He told
me he was thinking of a question so expressed many years ago, long
before revolving pictures were thought of, and when pictures of any kind
were very scarce. A fair was being held in the country, and a showman
was exhibiting pictures which were arranged in a row alongside his booth
or van in such a way that his customers could pass from one picture to
another and which they could see by looking through slightly magnifying
glasses placed in pairs, one to fit each eye after the fashion of a pair
of spectacles. Before the show stood a number of small boys who would
have been pleased to have a peep at the pictures if they could have
raised the money. Just at that moment a mother with her two little girls
appeared, and when the children came near the show, one of them called
out, "Oh, Ma! may we see the peep-shows? It's only a penny!" whereupon
the mother took out her purse and handed each of the little girls a
penny. When the showman saw them approaching, he shouted angrily to the
small boys who were blocking the entrance; "Get away, you little ragged
rascals that have no money," and then he added in a much milder tone,
"and let the little dears come up what's a-going to pay." When the
children reached the first peep-show, he said: "Now, my little dears,
look straight forwards, blow your noses, and don't breathe upon the
glass! Here you see the combat between the Scotch Lion, Wallace, and the
English Bulldogs, for eight hundred guineas a side, while the spectators
are a-looking on in the most facetious manner. Here you see the lion has
got his paws on one of the dogs whilst he is whisking out the eyes of
another with his tail!"
The little girls could see a picture but could not quite make out what
it was, so one of them called out: "Please, Mr. Showman, which is the
lion and which is the dogs?" and he said: "Oh! whichever you please, my
little dears, and the likes was never seen, and all for the small sum of
one penny!"
My brother said that when he asked the gentleman which was the Cobbler
and which was his Wife he would not have been surprised if he had said
angrily, "Whichever you please," and had walked away, since he seemed in
a very irritable frame of mind.
Since those "good old times" the character of these country fairs has
changed entirely, and we no longer sing the old ballad:
Oh yes, I own 'tis my delight
To see the laughter and the fright
In such a motley, merry sight
As at a country fair.
Boys on mamma's treacle fed,
On spicy cakes and gingerbread.
On everybody's toes they tread
All at a country fair.
The village of Arrochar stood in a very pleasant position, at the head
of Loch Long amid scenery of the loftiest and most varied description.
Illuminated as it was by the magic rays of the sun, we thought it would
compare favourably with any other watering-place in the Highlands, and
was just the spot to offer irresistible temptations to those who
required a short respite from the more busy scenes of life.
[Illustration: LOCH LOMOND FROM INVERSNAID.]
We were in high spirits and inclined to speak to every one we saw, so,
when we met a boy, we asked him if he had seen a cow on the road, to
which he replied, rather seriously, that he had not. We thought
afterwards that we had laid ourselves open to a reply like that given by
the Orkneyman at Stromness, for the loss of a cow in Scotland was looked
upon as a very serious matter, but we escaped for a time. Shortly
afterwards, however, we saw a vehicle approaching in the distance
labelled "Royal Mail," and then another vehicle, similarly marked,
passed us from the opposite direction, in which we noticed the boy we
had just seen. When the two conveyances met, they stopped and a number
of bags were transferred from the one conveyance to the other, so that
it was obvious that they were exchanging their sacks of letters. When we
came up to them, the driver of the one that had overtaken us asked if we
had lost a cow, and when we answered "No," he said, "But didn't you ask
the boy there if he had seen one on the road?" When we answered "Yes,"
and it was found to be all a joke, there was a general laugh all round,
which was joined in heartily by the boy himself, for he had evidently
got a ride on the strength of the story of the lost cow. We observed
that the cart that overtook us had two horses, whilst that we met had
only one, so we conjectured that our further way would be comparatively
level, and this we afterwards found to be correct. The boy did not
altogether miss his opportunity, for when we had reached, as he thought,
a safe distance, we heard him shout: "Ask your mother when you get home
if _she_ has seen a cow!"--but perhaps "two calves" would have been
nearer the mark.
We had a lovely two-mile walk between Arrochar and Tarbet, with a
magnificent view of Loch Lomond on our way; while before us, across the
loch, stood Ben Lomond, a mountain which rises to the height of 3,192
feet above sea-level.
The scene was one that cannot properly be described--the blue waters, of
the loch, with the trees beyond, and behind them this magnificent
mountain, its top covered with pure white snow, and the sun shining on
all, formed a picture beautiful beyond description, which seemed to
lift our hearts and minds from the earth to the blue heavens above, and
our thoughts to the great Almighty Who is in all and over all in that
"land of pure delight where saints immortal reign."
[Illustration: LOCH LOMOND AND THE BEN.]
Our road now skirted the banks of Loch Lomond, the largest fresh-water
lake in Scotland or England, being twenty-four miles long and five miles
in width at its broadest point, and containing over twenty islands, some
of which we saw. At the hotel where we called for tea it was thus
described:
Loch Lomond is the paragon of Scottish lakes. In island beauty
unrivalled, for all that forms romance is here--scenery varying and
increasing in loveliness, matchless combinations of grandeur and
softness united, forming a magic land from which poesy and painting
have caught their happiest inspirations. Islands of different forms
and magnitude. Some are covered with the most luxuriant wood of every
different tint; but others show a beautiful intermixture of rock and
coppices--some, like plains of emerald, scarcely above the level of
the water, are covered with grass; and others, again, are bare rocks,
rising into precipices and destitute of vegetation.
Scotland has produced many men mighty in mind as well as in body, and
their ideas have doubtless been enlarged not only by their advanced
system of education, but by the great things which have surrounded
them--the great rocks and the great waters. So long as these qualities
are turned in a good direction, all goes well, but when in a bad one
like the "facilis descensus" described in George Cruikshank's great
picture "The Worship of Bacchus," then all goes badly. An illustration
of these large ideas turned to a bad account appeared in a story we read
of a degenerate son of the North to whom the gods had granted the
fulfilment of three wishes: First, he would have a Loch Lomond of
whisky; secondly, a Ben Lomond of snuff; thirdly, (with some hesitation)
another Loch Lomond of whisky.
We did not attempt the ascent of Ben Lomond, as our experiences of
mountain climbing hitherto had not been very encouraging. Nor did we
require the aid of those doubtful articles so ardently desired by the
degenerate Scot as we walked along the good road, sheltered with trees,
that lay alongside Loch Lomond, with the slopes of the high hills to the
right and to the left, the great loch with its lovely islands backed by
the mountains beyond.
Tarbet, which we soon left behind us, was notorious as the port of
Magnus the Norseman, whose followers dragged their boats there from the
sea to harry the islands whither so many of the natives had fled for
safety.
Ninnius, writing in the eighth century, tells of the great King Arthur,
who defeated the Scots and drove them for refuge to Loch Lomond, "in
which there were sixty islands and sixty rocks, and on each an eagle's
nest. Every first of May they came together, and from the sound of their
voices the men of that country knew what should befall during the coming
year. And sixty rivers fell into this remarkable lake, but only one
river ran from the lake to the sea." The exactness of every point rather
amused us, for of course the invincible Arthur, like all other
mythological heroes, must ever succeed, and he soon cleared the Scots
from their stronghold.
Sir Walter Scott has made this district famous, and we could have
lingered long in the region of the Trossachs, and should have been
delighted to see Loch Katrine, close by, which the "Lady of the Lake"
had rendered so familiar, but time is a hard taskmaster and we had to be
content with what Loch Lomond provided for us.
We therefore hurried on, and eventually reached the lovely little
village of Luss, where, as we entered, we were welcomed by the warbling
of a robin singing out right merrily, as if to announce our arrival. Our
first impression soon told us that Luss was well patronised by visitors
and by artists ever on the alert for scenery such as here abounded. It
was quite an English-looking village, with a small quarry, not as
extensively worked as formerly, we were informed, for only about twenty
men were now employed.
Before proceeding farther we called for refreshments, and learned that a
steamboat called periodically at Luss. We left this favourite resort by
the Dumbarton road, walking alongside Loch Lomond--one of the finest
walks we ever took and quite baffling description. It was rather
provoking, therefore, when darkness came on just as we reached the
widest part of the Loch where quite a number of islands could be seen.
The road still continued beautiful, being arched over with trees in some
places, with the stars shining brightly above.
Luss, we learned, had its place in history as the home of the
Colquhouns, whose feud with the MacGregors led to such murderous
results. But perhaps its associations with Robert Bruce in his days of
adversity form its greater claim to fame, and the yews on Inch Lonaig,
just above, are said to have been planted by him to supply his bowmen.
Before we reached the end of the loch we turned on the Dumbarton road,
following the road for Helensburgh, as we wanted to see the River Clyde.
This road was fairly level, but about two miles from Helensburgh it rose
to an elevation of about 300 feet. On reaching the top, we saw a sight
which fairly startled us, for a great stretch of water suddenly and
unexpectedly came in view, and across its surface we could see hundreds
of gas lights, twinkling like stars in the darkness. We found afterwards
that they were those of the town of Greenock, on the other side of the
Clyde Estuary, which was some five or six miles across this, its widest
part. We considered this was one of the greatest sights of our journey,
and one well worth while climbing the hill to see. It must, however, be
noted that these were the first gas lights we had seen for what seemed
to us to be ages. We went straight to the Temperance Hotel, which had
been closed for the night, but we gained admission and found comfortable
quarters there.
(_Distance walked thirty-one miles_.)
_Wednesday, October 4th._
We had pictured Helensburgh, from its name, as a very old town, and were
rather surprised when we discovered that it was only founded at the
close of the eighteenth century, by Sir James Colquhoun, who named the
place after his wife, the Lady Helen Sutherland. At the time of our
visit it was a favourite resort of visitors from across the Clyde and
elsewhere. We were unable to explore the town and its environs, owing to
a dense mist or fog which had accumulated during the night; and this
probably accounted for our sleeping longer than usual, for it was quite
nine o'clock before we left Helensburgh on our way to Dumbarton. If the
atmosphere had been clear, we should have had fine views of Greenock,
Port Glasgow, Roseneath Castle, the residence of the Marquis of Lorne,
and other places of interest across the Clyde, and of the ships passing
up and down the river. As it was, we had to be content with listening to
the busy sounds of labour and the thuds of the steam hammers in the
extensive shipbuilding yards across the water, and the ominous sounds of
the steam-whistles from the ships, as they ploughed their way along the
watery tracks on the Clyde. We were naturally very much disappointed
that we had to pass along this road under such unfavourable conditions,
but, as the mist cleared a little, we could just discern the outlines of
one or two of the steamboats as we neared Dumbarton. The fields
alongside our road were chiefly devoted to the growth of potatoes, and
the fine agricultural land reminded us of England. We stayed to speak
with one of the farmers, standing at his gate, and he told us that he
sent potatoes to the Manchester market, which struck us with surprise
because of the great distance. We also stayed awhile, just before
entering Dumbarton, as there had been a slight railway accident,
probably owing to the fog, and the officials, with a gang of men, were
making strenuous efforts to remove the remains of a truck which had come
to grief. We were walking into the town quite unconscious of the
presence of the castle, and were startled at its sudden appearance, as
it stood on an isolated rock, rising almost perpendicularly to the
height of about 300 feet, and we could only just see its dim outline
appearing, as it were, in the clouds. We left it for future inspection
and, as it was now twelve o'clock, hurried into the town for a noon
dinner, for which we were quite ready.
As a sample of the brief way in which the history of an important town
can be summarised, we give the following extract:--
Dumbarton, immortalised by Osian, possessed in turns by first Edward
and John Balliol, the prison of William Wallace, and the scene of
that unavailing remorse which agonised the bosom of his betrayer (a
rude sculpture within the castle represents Sir John Monteith in an
attitude of despair, lamenting his former treachery), captured by
Bruce, unsuccessfully besieged by the fourth Edward, reduced by the
Earl of Argyll, surprised, while in false security, by the daring of
a bold soldier, Captain Crawford, resided in by James V, visited by
that fair and erring Queen, the "peerless Mary," and one of the four
castles kept up by the Act of Union.
And we have been told that it was the birthplace of Taliesin, the early
poet of the Celts, and Gildas their historian.
In former times the castle of Dumbarton was looked upon as one of the
strongest places in the world, and, rising precipitously from the level
plain, it appeared to us to be quite impregnable. Captain Crawford's
feat in capturing this castle equals anything else of the kind recorded
in history. In the time of Queen Elizabeth of England, when a quarrel
was raging in Scotland between the partisans of King James and his
mother Queen Mary, and when even the children of the towns and villages
formed themselves into bands and fought with sticks, stones, and even
knives for King James or Queen Mary, the castle of Dumbarton was held
for the Queen; but a distinguished adherent of the King, one Captain
Crawford of Jordanhill, resolved to make an attempt to take it. There
was only one access to the castle, approached by 365 steps, but these
were strongly guarded and fortified. The captain took advantage of a
misty and moonless night to bring his scaling-ladders to the foot of the
rock at the opposite side, where it was the most precipitous, and
consequently the least guarded by the soldiers at the top. The choice of
this side of the rock was fortunate, as the first ladder broke with the
weight of the men who attempted to climb it, and the noise of the fall
must have betrayed them if they had been on the other and more guarded
side. Crawford, who was assisted by a soldier who had deserted from the
castle, renewed the attempt in person, and, having scrambled up a
projecting ledge of rock, fastened the ladder by tying it to the roots
of a tree which grew midway up the rock. Here they found a footing for
the whole party, which was, of course, small in number. In scaling the
second precipice, however, one of the party was seized with an
epileptic fit, to which he was subject, brought on, perhaps, by terror
in the act of climbing the ladder. He could neither ascend nor descend;
moreover, if they had thrown him down, apart from the cruelty of the
thing, the fall of his body might have alarmed the garrison. Crawford,
therefore, ordered him to be tied fast to one side of the ladder, and,
turning it round, they mounted with ease. When the party gained the
summit, they slew the sentinel before he had time to give the alarm, and
easily surprised the slumbering garrison, who had trusted too much to
the security of their position. Some of the climbing irons used are
shown within the castle.
[Illustration: DUMBARTON CASTLE]
We now set out from Dumbarton, with its old castle, and the old sword
worn by the brave Wallace reposing in the armoury, at the same time
leaving the River Clyde and its fine scenery, which, owing to the fog,
we had almost totally missed. We proceeded towards Stirling, where we
hoped to arrive on the following day; but we now found ourselves passing
through a semi-manufacturing district, and gradually it dawned upon us
that we had now left the Highlands and were approaching the Lowlands of
Scotland. We thought then and many times afterwards of that verse of
Robbie Burns's:--
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe--
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
We passed through Renton, where there were bleaching and calico
printing works. A public library graced the centre of the village, as
well as a fine Tuscan column nearly 60 feet high, erected to Tobias
Smollett, the poet, historian and novelist, who was born in 1721 not
half a mile from the spot. The houses were small and not very clean. The
next village we came to was Alexandria, a busy manufacturing place where
the chief ornament was a very handsome drinking-fountain erected to a
member of the same family, a former M.P., "by his tenants and friends,"
forming a striking contrast to its mean and insignificant surroundings
of one-storied houses and dismal factories. We were soon in the country
again, and passed some fine residences, including the modern-looking
Castle of Tullichewan situated in a fine park, and reached Balloch at
the extreme end of Loch Lomond, from which point we had a momentary view
of the part of the lake we had missed seeing on the preceding evening.
Here we paid the sum of one halfpenny each for the privilege of passing
over the Suspension Bridge, which gave us access to a very pleasant part
of the country, and crossed one spur of a hill, from the top of which,
under favourable conditions, we might have seen nearly the whole of Loch
Lomond, including the islands and the ranges of hills on either side--
[Illustration: MAINS CASTLE, KILMARONOCK]
Mountains that like giants stand
To sentinel enchanted land.
But though it was only about a mile and a half from our path to the
summit, and the total elevation only 576 feet, 297 of which we had
already ascended, we did not visit it, as the mist would have prevented
an extended view. It stood in a beautiful position, surrounded by woods
and the grounds of Boturich Castle; why such a pretty place should be
called "Mount Misery" was not clear, unless it had some connection with
one of the Earls of Argyll who came to grief in that neighbourhood in
1685 near Gartocharn, which we passed shortly afterwards. He had
collected his clan to overthrow the Government of James VII (James II of
England) and had crossed the Leven at Balloch when he found Gartocharn
occupied by the royal troops. Instead of attacking them, he turned
aside, to seek refuge among the hills, and in the darkness and amid the
bogs and moors most of his men deserted, only about five hundred
answering to their names the following morning. The Earl, giving up the
attempt, was captured an hour or two later as he was attempting to cross
the River Clyde, and the words applied to him, "Unhappy Argyll,"
indicated his fate. We passed Kilmaronock church in the dark and, after
crossing the bridge over Endrick Water, entered Drymen and put up at the
"Buchanan Arms" Inn, where we had been recommended to stay the night.
(_Distance walked twenty miles_.)
_Thursday, October 5th._
We were up early this morning and went to have a look round the village
of Drymen and its surroundings before breakfast. We were quite near
Buchanan Castle, and took the liberty of trespassing for a short time in
the walks and woods surrounding it. The Duke of Montrose here reigned
supreme, his family the Grahams having been in possession for twenty
generations; among his ancestors were Sir Patrick de Graham, who was
killed at the Battle of Dunbar in 1296, and Sir John de Graham, the
beloved friend of the immortal Wallace, who was slain at the Battle of
Falkirk in 1298. The village had been built in the form of a square
which enclosed a large field of grass called the Cross Green, with
nothing remarkable about it beyond an enormous ash tree supposed to be
over 300 years old which stood in the churchyard. It measured about 17
feet in circumference at 5 feet from the ground, and was called the Bell
Tree, because the church bell which summoned the villagers to worship
was suspended from one of its branches. The tree began to show signs of
decay, so eventually the bell had to be taken down and a belfry built to
receive it.
[Illustration: THE SQUARE, DRYMEN]
We finished our breakfast at 8.30, and then, with the roads in a
fearfully muddy condition owing to heavy downfalls of rain, started on
our walk towards Stirling. The region here was pleasing agricultural
country, and we passed many large and well-stocked farms on our way,
some of them having as many as a hundred stacks of corn and beans in
their stack-yards. After walking about seven miles we arrived at the
dismal-looking village of Buchlyvie, where we saw many houses in ruins,
standing in all their gloominess as evidences of the devastating effects
of war. Some of the inhabitants were trying to eke out their livelihood
by hand-loom weaving, but there was a poverty-stricken appearance about
the place which had, we found, altered but little since Sir Walter Scott
wrote of it in the following rhyme which he had copied from an old
ballad:
Baron of Buchlivie,
May the foul fiend drive ye
And a' to pieces rive ye
For building sic a town,
Where there's neither horse meat
Nor man's meat, nor a chair to sit down.
We did not find the place quite so bad as that, for there were two or
three small inns where travellers could get refreshments and a chair to
sit down upon; but we did not halt for these luxuries until we reached
Kippen, about five miles farther on. Before arriving there we overtook
two drovers who were well acquainted with Glencoe and the Devil's
Stairs, and when we told them of our adventures there they said we were
very lucky to have had a fine day when we crossed those hills. They told
us the story of the two young men who perished there, but thought their
death was partially caused through lack of food. Kippen, they informed
us, was on the borders of Perthshire and Stirlingshire, and when we told
them we intended calling for refreshments they advised us to patronise
the "Cross Keys Inn." We found Kippen, or, as it was sometimes named,
the Kingdom of Kippen, a pleasant place, and we had no difficulty in
finding the "Cross Keys." Here we learned about the King of Kippen, the
Scottish Robin Hood, and were told that it was only two miles away to
the Ford of Frew, where Prince Charlie crossed the River Forth on his
way from Perth to Stirling, and that about three minutes' walk from the
Cross there was a place from which the most extensive and beautiful
views of the country could be obtained. Rising like towers from the
valley of the Forth could be seen three craigs--Dumyate Craig, Forth
Abbey Craig, and the craig on which Stirling Castle had been built;
spreading out below was the Carse of Stirling, which merged into and
included the Vale of Monteith, about six miles from Kippen; while the
distant view comprised the summits of many mountains, including that of
Ben Lomond.
[Illustration: OLD BELFRY, KIPPEN]
As usual in Scotland, the village contained two churches--the Parish
Church and the United Free Church. In the old churchyard was an ancient
ivy-covered belfry, but the church to which it belonged had long since
disappeared. Here was the burial-place of the family of Edinbellie, and
here lived in olden times an attractive and wealthy young lady named
Jean Kay, whom Rob Roy, the youngest son of Rob Roy Macgregor, desired
to marry. She would not accept him, so leaving Balquidder, the home of
the Macgregors, accompanied by his three brothers and five other men, he
went to Edinbellie and carried her off to Rowardennan, where a sham form
of marriage was gone through. But the romantic lover paid dearly for his
exploit, as it was for robbing this family of their daughter that Rob
forfeited his life on the scaffold at Edinburgh on February 16th, 1754,
Jean Kay having died at Glasgow on October 4th, 1751.
[Illustration: QUEEN MARY'S BOWER, INCHMAHOME.]
We were well provided for at the "Cross Keys," and heard a lot about
Mary Queen of Scots, as we were now approaching a district where much of
the history of Scotland was made. Her name seemed to be on everybody's
lips and her portrait in everybody's house, including the smallest
dwellings. She seemed to be the most romantic character in the minds of
the Scots, by whom she was almost idolised--not perhaps so much for her
beauty and character as for her sufferings and the circumstances
connected with her death. The following concise account of the career of
this beautiful but unfortunate Queen and her son King James greatly
interested us. She was born at Linlithgow Palace in the year 1542, and
her father died when she was only eight days old. In the next year she
was crowned Queen of Scotland at Stirling, and remained at the Castle
there for about four years. She was then removed to Inchmahome, an
island of about six acres in extent situated in the small Lake of
Monteith, about six miles north of Kippen. In 1547, when six years old,
she was sent to France in a Flemish ship from Dumbarton, and in the
following year she was married to the Dauphin of France, afterwards King
Francis II, who died in the year 1560. Afterwards she returned to
Scotland and went to Stirling Castle, where she met her cousin Lord
Darnley and was married to him at Holyrood in 1565, her son being born
in 1566. Troubles, however, soon arose, and for a short time she was
made a prisoner and placed in the Castle of Loch Leven, from which she
escaped with the intention of going to Dumbarton Castle for safety. Her
army under the Earl of Argyll accompanied her, but on the way they met
an opposing army commanded by the Regent Murray, who defeated her army,
and Queen Mary fled to England. Here she again became a prisoner and was
placed in various castles for the long period of nineteen years, first
in one and then in another, with a view probably to preventing her being
rescued by her friends; and finally she was beheaded in 1587 in the
forty-eighth year of her age at Fotheringay Castle in Northamptonshire,
by command of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth.
Her son James VI of Scotland, who subsequently became James I of
England, was baptised in the Royal Chapel at Stirling Castle in 1566,
and in 1567, when he was only about thirteen months old, was crowned in
the parish church at Stirling, his mother Queen Mary having been forced
to abdicate in favour of her son. The great Puritan divine John Knox
preached the Coronation sermon on that occasion, and the young king was
educated until he was thirteen years of age by George Buchanan, the
celebrated scholar and historian, in the castle, where his class-room is
still to be seen. He succeeded to the English throne on the death of
Queen Elizabeth, and was crowned as King James I of England in the year
1603.
Leaving Kippen, we passed through Gargunnock, with the extraordinary
windings of the River Forth to our left, and arrived at Stirling at 5.15
p.m., where at the post-office we found a host of letters waiting our
arrival and at the railway-station a welcome change of clothing from
home.
(_Distance walked twenty-two miles_.)
_Friday, October 6th._
Stirling is one of the most attractive towns in Scotland, and we could
not resist staying there awhile to explore it. It is the "key to the
Highlands," and one of the oldest of the Royal burghs. It was a place of
some importance in the time of the Romans, as it stood between the two
great Firths of the Clyde and the Forth, where the Island of Britain is
at its narrowest. The first Roman wall was built between the Forth and
the Clyde, and the Second Roman Legion was stationed at Stirling.
According to an old inscription on a stone near the Ballengeich road,
they kept a watch there day and night, and in A.D. 81 a great battle
was fought near by against 30,000 Caledonians, who were defeated.
Stirling has a commanding geographical position, and all the roads
converge there to cross the River Forth. It was at Stirling Bridge that
Wallace defeated the army of 50,000 soldiers sent against him in the
year 1297 by Edward I, King of England. The town had also a lively time
in the days of Charles Edward Stuart, "Bonnie Prince Charlie," whose
father, during his exile in France, had been encouraged by the French to
return and lay claim to the English Crown. Landing in Inverness-shire in
1745, Prince Charlie was immediately joined by many of the Highland
clans, and passed with his army through Stirling on his way towards
London. Not finding the support they expected from the south, they were
compelled to return, followed closely along their line of retreat by the
English Army, and they were soon back again at Stirling, where they made
a desperate but unsuccessful effort to obtain possession of the castle,
which was held for the English. The Duke of Cumberland's Army by this
time was close upon their heels, and gave them no rest until they caught
them and defeated them with great slaughter up at Culloden, near
Inverness.
[Illustration: STIRLING CASTLE AND NECROPOLIS.]
There was much in Stirling and its environs that we wished to see, so we
were astir early in the morning, although the weather was inclined to be
showery. First of all, we went to see the cemetery, which occupies a
beautiful position on a hill overlooking the wonderful windings of the
River Forth, and here we found the tomb of the Protestant martyrs
"Margaret and Agnes," the latter only eighteen years of age, who were
tied to stakes at low water in the Bay of Wigtown on May 11th, 1685,
and, refusing an opportunity to recant and return to the Roman Catholic
faith, were left to be drowned in the rising tide. Over the spot where
they were buried their figures appeared beautifully sculptured in white
marble, accompanied by that of an angel standing beside them; the
epitaph read: