The Macdonald father and son here mentioned were engineers attached
to the Stevenson firm and in charge of the harbour works.
_Wick, September 1868. Saturday, 10 A.M._
MY DEAR MOTHER,--The last two days have been dreadfully hard, and I was
so tired in the evenings that I could not write. In fact, last night I
went to sleep immediately after dinner, or very nearly so. My hours have
been 10-2 and 3-7 out in the lighter or the small boat, in a long, heavy
roll from the nor'-east. When the dog was taken out, he got awfully ill;
one of the men, Geordie Grant by name and surname, followed _shoot_ with
considerable _eclat_; but, wonderful to relate! I kept well. My hands
are all skinned, blistered, discoloured, and engrained with tar, some
of which latter has established itself under my nails in a position of
such natural strength that it defies all my efforts to dislodge it. The
worst work I had was when David (Macdonald's eldest) and I took the
charge ourselves. He remained in the lighter to tighten or slacken the
guys as we raised the pole towards the perpendicular, with two men. I
was with four men in the boat. We dropped an anchor out a good bit, then
tied a cord to the pole, took a turn round the sternmost thwart with it,
and pulled on the anchor line. As the great, big, wet hawser came in it
soaked you to the skin: I was the sternest (used, by way of variety, for
sternmost) of the lot, and had to coil it--a work which involved, from
_its_ being so stiff and _your_ being busy pulling with all your might,
no little trouble and an extra ducking. We got it up; and, just as we
were going to sing "Victory!" one of the guys slipped in, the pole
tottered--went over on its side again like a shot, and behold the end of
our labour.
You see, I have been roughing it; and though some parts of the letter
may be neither very comprehensible nor very interesting to _you_, I
think that perhaps it might amuse Willie Traquair, who delights in all
such dirty jobs.
The first day, I forgot to mention, was like mid-winter for cold, and
rained incessantly so hard that the livid white of our cold-pinched
faces wore a sort of inflamed rash on the windward side.
I am not a bit the worse of it, except fore-mentioned state of hands, a
slight crick in my neck from the rain running down, and general
stiffness from pulling, hauling, and tugging for dear life.
We have got double weights at the guys, and hope to get it up like a
shot.
What fun you three must be having! I hope the cold don't disagree with
you.--I remain, my dear mother, your affectionate son,