[Illustration: Distant View of Staffa.]
Staffa, one of the Hebrides, or Western Isles of Scotland, lies a few
miles to the west of Mull, within a sort of bay formed by the two
projecting extremities of that island, and a short distance to the
north-east of the more celebrated islet of the same group, Iona, or
Icolmkill. It forms part of the county of Argyle, and of the parish of
Kilninian, the principal portion of which is in Mull. Staffa is a very
small island, scarcely a mile in length from north to south, and about
half that extent at its greatest breadth from east to west. Although one
of the most wonderful natural curiosities in the world, and lying so
near our own shores, this island appears to have remained almost
entirely unnoticed till a comparatively very recent period. It is said,
in most of the late accounts of it (which are in great part copied from
one another,) that its columns and caverns are shortly described by
Buchanan. In point of fact, however, that historian merely mentions its
name. It is not, we believe, so much as named by Martin in his account
of the Western Isles, published in the beginning of last century. Its
existence was first made generally known by Sir Joseph Banks who visited
it in August, 1772, and whose account was printed in the second volume
of ‘Pennant’s Tour in Scotland.’ Banks, in the course of a voyage to
Iceland, in company with Dr. Uno von Troil (afterwards Archbishop of
Upsal,) was induced to put in at a port in Mull, where he was very
hospitably received by Mr. Maclean, the principal proprietor of the
island. At Mr. Maclean’s the travellers met with a Mr. Leach, an Irish
gentleman, who told them that the day before, in the course of a fishing
excursion, he had fallen in with what, in his opinion, was one of the
greatest wonders in the world, though none of his Highland acquaintances
seemed ever to have had their attention attracted to it. His account so
greatly excited the curiosity of Banks and his friend, that it was
resolved forthwith to make an expedition to the island. They reached it,
and found it to be by far the most stupendous example of that striking
production of nature, basaltic architecture, of which they had ever
heard.
At that time the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland was the chief collection of
pillars of basalt which was generally known either to the public or
among scientific inquirers. Since then, many other specimens of the same
phenomenon have been described by travellers and geologists in Wales,
Iceland, Germany, Italy, France, and other countries. Various theories
have been suggested to account for the origin and formation of these
pillars. They may be described generally as consisting of a greyish or
brownish stone, of finer or coarser grain, formed into clusters of
angular columns, having each from three or four to six or seven sides or
faces, and in many cases so regularly cut, if we may so express
ourselves, as to rival the symmetry of human architecture. Sometimes
these columns are found as it were chopped down into fragments, and
lying scattered and in confusion like a heap of ruins; in other
instances, although the several blocks which compose each shaft still
adhere firmly together, the inclination of the whole from the
perpendicular is so considerable as to present at best only the
appearance of an edifice half fallen down; but in some rare specimens
the magnificent pile stands almost as erect as any work of human hands,
thus forming a structure in which all the regularity of art is combined
with a grandeur which art never reached. From the circumstance of lava
being always an accompaniment of these basaltic formations, it is now
commonly held that they are a volcanic product, or in other words have
been thrown up from the earth by the action of internal fire. It does
not, however, seem so easy to explain how the fused stone, in the
process of cooling, crystallized into the regular shapes which it now
exhibits. This effect can only be supposed to have taken place in virtue
of certain affinities or mutual tendencies naturally belonging to the
atoms of which the material consists.
The island of Staffa is a mere mass of lava and basalt. The columns of
the latter substance, which compose the chief part of it, are generally
hidden beneath a thin layer of soil; but in many places, even of the
surface of the island, they are to be found shooting out through this
acquired covering; and the stone is every where come at on digging a few
feet down. Around almost the whole circumference of the island the rock
stands bare to the view. The grassy top of the isle seems to be
supported nearly all round on a range of pillars, in some places indeed
so low as to be almost on a level with the surface of the water, but for
the greater part elevated far above it, and in some places rising into
the air to the lofty height of 150 feet. The name of this extraordinary
isle, accordingly, describes it by its most remarkable feature. Staffa
is a Norse term, meaning staffs or columns.
[Illustration: Entrance to Fingal’s Cave.]
The highest part of the line of pillars is at the southern end of the
island; and it is here that the celebrated natural excavation called
Fingal’s Cave is situated. Its opening is very near the south-east
corner, and it extends nearly due north. The name by which it is
commonly known, we may remark in passing, would rather appear to be
merely a modern and accidental designation. Sir Joseph Banks states,
that upon asking his Highland guide what it was called, the boy answered
in Gaelic, the Cave of Finlin; and in reply to a second question,
explained Finlin to be Finlin-Mac-Coul; or, as he had been called by the
English translator of Ossian’s poems, Fingal. This fragment of
criticism, however, we may fairly suppose to have been really the
remark, not of the guide, but of the interpreter. A subsequent visitor
of Staffa, the French geologist, M. Faujas Saint Fond, says, that on
making minute and careful inquiry into the matter, on the spot and in
the neighbourhood, he could not learn that any person there knew the
cave by the name which Banks had given it. It was universally called
Uamh an Binn, that is, the Cave of Music. And the explanation which he
received of Banks’s error, or rather that of his interpreter, was, that
_binn_ being pronounced _vinn_, and _Finlin_ being in the genitive
_Fin_, of which the sound is nearly the same, the one word had been
mistaken for the other. This is a curious and not an uninstructive
example of the degree of certainty that belongs to information thus
obtained. However, it is not impossible, whatever be the common name of
the cave, that there may be also a tradition of its having been the work
of the great Fingal, to whom other such stupendous miracles of nature in
various other parts of the Highlands of Scotland are popularly ascribed,
and who has also, we believe, the credit of being the architect of the
Giant’s Causeway in the sister island. This conjecture is rather
confirmed by an anecdote which is related by another traveller among the
Hebrides, Dr. Thomas Garnett, who has also given us an account of
Staffa. “Our interpreter,” says he, “on hearing me express my admiration
of this wonder of nature, told me that it was generally considered as
the work of Fion-macool, but that for his part he thought it had been
built by St. Columba!”
The excavation in question, at all events, is a vast opening, 42 feet in
width at the mouth, extending 227 feet in depth, and gradually
diminishing from nearly 100 to about 50 feet in height, supported
throughout on both sides by perpendicular columns of extraordinary
regularity. The opening is surmounted by a noble arch, and from this to
the farther extremity of the cave the roof extends in an unbroken
surface, composed in some parts of smooth and unvariegated rock, in
others at the ends of pillars stuck together in groups or bunches, and
with the stalagmitic substance which fills up the interstices,
displaying a species of mosaic work of great regularity and beauty. On
the west side the wall of pillars is 36 feet in height; but on the east,
although the roof is of the same elevation, they spring from a much
higher base, and are themselves only 18 feet in length. Along this side
is a narrow footpath, raised above the water which covers the floor,
along which it is possible for an expert climber to make his way to the
farther end of the cave, although the attempt is rather hazardous. The
proper and usual mode of viewing the cave is by entering it in a boat;
but even this can only be done with safety when the weather is tolerably
calm. From the opening being so spacious there is abundance of light to
the extremity; and from the same cause the waves, when there is a heavy
sea, roll into it with great force. Dr. von Troil, who has given us a
description of it in his Letters on Iceland, states that, very far in,
there is a hole in the rock below the water, which makes a singularly
agreeable sound on the flux and reflux of the tide. It is this melodious
murmur of the waters passing into it, which has doubtless given origin
to its common name of the Cave of Music.
According to Dr. Macculloch, who, in his Description of the Western
Islands, has given the latest and most accurate account of Staffa that
has appeared, the basaltic pillars of this cave are “of one ingredient
only, which is a granular splintery material resembling clinkstone,
highly coloured with iron, but of a greenish black hue.” Between the
several pillars has exuded a yellowish substance, producing everywhere a
deep contrast of two distinctly defined colours, which admirably
relieves what would otherwise be the sombre aspect of the cave. The
stone, according to Dr. Garnett, is in many places richly coloured with
light green, yellow, and orange, produced by different species of lichen
growing on it. Dr. Macculloch says, in concluding his account, “It would
be no less presumptuous than useless to attempt a description of the
picturesque effect of that to which the pencil itself is inadequate. But
if this cave were even destitute of that order and symmetry, that
richness arising from multiplicity of parts, combined with greatness of
dimensions and simplicity of style, which it possesses; still the
prolonged length, the twilight gloom, half concealing the playful and
varying effects of reflected light, the echo of the measured surge as it
rises and falls, the transparent green of the water, and the profound
and fairy solitude of the whole scene, could not fail strongly to
impress a mind gifted with any sense of beauty in art or in nature. If
to those be added that peculiar sentiment with which nature perhaps most
impresses us when she allows us to draw comparisons between her works
and those of art, we shall be compelled to own it is not without cause
that celebrity has been conferred on the Cave of Fingal.”
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