over the hill, and when we had reached the top of it we had long views up
and down the water. Passed a troop of women who were resting themselves
by the roadside, as if returning from their day's labour. Amongst them
was a man, who had walked with us a considerable way in the morning, and
told us he was just come from America, where he had been for some
years,--was going to his own home, and should return to America. He
spoke of emigration as a glorious thing for them who had money. Poor
fellow! I do not think that he had brought much back with him, for he had
worked his passage over: I much suspected that a bundle, which he carried
upon a stick, tied in a pocket-handkerchief, contained his all. He was
almost blind, he said, as were many of the crew. He intended crossing
the lake at the ferry; but it was stormy, and he thought he should not be
able to get over that day. I could not help smiling when I saw him lying
by the roadside with such a company about him, not like a wayfaring man,
but seeming as much at home and at his ease as if he had just stepped out
of his hut among them, and they had been neighbours all their lives.
{80b} Passed one pretty house, a large thatched dwelling with
out-houses, but the prospect above and below was solitary.
The sun had long been set before we returned to the inn. As travellers,
we were glad to see the moon over the top of one of the hills, but it was
a cloudy night, without any peculiar beauty or solemnity. After tea we
made inquiries respecting the best way to go to Loch Ketterine; the
landlord could give but little information, and nobody seemed to know
anything distinctly of the place, though it was but ten miles off. We
applied to the maid-servant who waited on us: she was a fine-looking
young woman, dressed in a white bed-gown, her hair fastened up by a comb,
and without shoes and stockings. When we asked her about the Trossachs
she could give us no information, but on our saying, 'Do you know Loch
Ketterine?' she answered with a smile, 'I _should_ know that loch, for I
was bred and born there.' After much difficulty we learned from her that
the Trossachs were at the foot of the lake, and that by the way we were
to go we should come upon them at the head, should have to travel ten
miles to the foot {80a} of the water, and that there was no inn by the
way. The girl spoke English very distinctly; but she had few words, and
found it difficult to understand us. She did not much encourage us to
go, because the roads were bad, and it was a long way, 'and there was no
putting-up for the like of us.' We determined, however, to venture, and
throw ourselves upon the hospitality of some cottager or gentleman. We
desired the landlady to roast us a couple of fowls to carry with us.
There are always plenty of fowls at the doors of a Scotch inn, and eggs
are as regularly brought to table at breakfast as bread and butter.
* * * * *
_Friday_, _August_ 26_th_.--We did not set off till between ten and
eleven o'clock, much too late for a long day's journey. Our boatman
lived at the pretty white house which we saw from the windows: we called
at his door by the way, and, even when we were near the house, the
outside looked comfortable; but within I never saw anything so miserable
from dirt, and dirt alone: it reminded one of the house of a decayed
weaver in the suburbs of a large town, with a sickly wife and a large
family; but William says it was far worse, that it was quite
Hottentotish.
After long waiting, and many clumsy preparations, we got ourselves seated
in the boat; but we had not floated five yards before we perceived that
if any of the party--and there was a little Highland woman who was going
over the water with us, the boatman, his helper, and ourselves--should
stir but a few inches, leaning to one side or the other, the boat would
be full in an instant, and we at the bottom; besides, it was very leaky,
and the woman was employed to lade out the water continually. It
appeared that this crazy vessel was not the man's own, and that _his_ was
lying in a bay at a little distance. He said he would take us to it as
fast as possible, but I was so much frightened I would gladly have given
up the whole day's journey; indeed not one of us would have attempted to
cross the lake in that boat for a thousand pounds. We reached the larger
boat in safety after coasting a considerable way near the shore, but just
as we were landing, William dropped the bundle which contained our food
into the water. The fowls were no worse, but some sugar, ground coffee,
and pepper-cake seemed to be entirely spoiled. We gathered together as
much of the coffee and sugar as we could and tied it up, and again
trusted ourselves to the lake. The sun shone, and the air was
calm--luckily it had been so while we were in the crazy boat--we had
rocks and woods on each side of us, or bare hills; seldom a single
cottage and there was no rememberable place till we came opposite to a
waterfall of no inconsiderable size, that appeared to drop directly into
the lake: close to it was a hut, which we were told was the ferry-house.
On the other side of the lake was a pretty farm under the mountains,
beside a river, the cultivated grounds lying all together, and sloping
towards the lake from the mountain hollow down which the river came. It
is not easy to conceive how beautiful these spots appeared after moving
on so long between the solitary steeps.
We went a considerable way further, and landed at Rob Roy's Caves, which
are in fact no caves, but some fine rocks on the brink of the lake, in
the crevices of which a man might hide himself cunningly enough; the
water is very deep below them, and the hills above steep and covered with
wood. The little Highland woman, who was in size about a match for our
guide at Lanerk, accompanied us hither. There was something very
gracious in the manners of this woman; she could scarcely speak five
English words, yet she gave me, whenever I spoke to her, as many
intelligible smiles as I had needed English words to answer me, and
helped me over the rocks in the most obliging manner. She had left the
boat out of good-will to us, or for her own amusement. She had never
seen these caves before; but no doubt had heard of them, the tales of Rob
Roy's exploits being told familiarly round the 'ingles' hereabouts, for
this neighbourhood was his home. We landed at Inversneyde, the
ferry-house by the waterfall, and were not sorry to part with our
boatman, who was a coarse hard-featured man, and, speaking of the French,
uttered the basest and most cowardly sentiments. His helper, a youth
fresh from the Isle of Skye, was innocent of this fault, and though but a
bad rower, was a far better companion; he could not speak a word of
English, and sang a plaintive Gaelic air in a low tone while he plied his
oar.
The ferry-house stood on the bank a few yards above the landing-place
where the boat lies. It is a small hut under a steep wood, and a few
yards to the right, looking towards the hut, is the waterfall. The fall
is not very high, but the stream is considerable, as we could see by the
large black stones that were lying bare, but the rains, if they had
reached this place, had had little effect upon the waterfall; its noise
was not so great as to form a contrast with the stillness of the bay into
which it falls, where the boat, and house, and waterfall itself seemed
all sheltered and protected. The Highland woman was to go with us the
two first miles of our journey. She led us along a bye foot-path a
shorter way up the hill from the ferry-house. There is a considerable
settling in the hills that border Loch Lomond, at the passage by which we
were to cross to Loch Ketterine; Ben Lomond, terminating near the
ferry-house, is on the same side of the water with it, and about three
miles above Tarbet.
We had to climb right up the hill, which is very steep, and, when close
under it, seemed to be high, but we soon reached the top, and when we
were there had lost sight of the lake; and now our road was over a moor,
or rather through a wide moorland hollow. Having gone a little way, we
saw before us, at the distance of about half a mile, a very large stone
building, a singular structure, with a high wall round it, naked hill
above, and neither field nor tree near; but the moor was not overgrown
with heath merely, but grey grass, such as cattle might pasture upon. We
could not conjecture what this building was; it appeared as if it had
been built strong to defend it from storms; but for what purpose?
William called out to us that we should observe that place well, for it
was exactly like one of the spittals of the Alps, built for the reception
of travellers, and indeed I had thought it must be so before he spoke.
This building, from its singular structure and appearance, made the
place, which is itself in a country like Scotland nowise remarkable, take
a character of unusual wildness and desolation--this when we first came
in view of it; and afterwards, when we had passed it and looked back,
three pyramidal mountains on the opposite side of Loch Lomond terminated
the view, which under certain accidents of weather must be very grand.
Our Highland companion had not English enough to give us any information
concerning this strange building; we could only get from her that it was
a 'large house,' which was plain enough.
We walked about a mile and a half over the moor without seeing any other
dwelling but one hut by the burn-side, with a peat-stack and a
ten-yards'-square enclosure for potatoes; then we came to several
clusters of houses, even hamlets they might be called, but where there is
any land belonging to the Highland huts there are so many outbuildings
near, which differ in no respect from the dwelling-houses except that
they send out no smoke, that one house looks like two or three. Near
these houses was a considerable quantity of cultivated ground, potatoes
and corn, and the people were busy making hay in the hollow places of the
open vale, and all along the sides of the becks. It was a pretty sight
altogether--men and women, dogs, the little running streams, with linen
bleaching near them, and cheerful sunny hills and rocks on every side.
We passed by one patch of potatoes that a florist might have been proud
of; no carnation-bed ever looked more gay than this square plot of ground
on the waste common. The flowers were in very large bunches, and of an
extraordinary size, and of every conceivable shade of colouring from
snow-white to deep purple. It was pleasing in that place, where perhaps
was never yet a flower cultivated by man for his own pleasure, to see
these blossoms grow more gladly than elsewhere, making a summer garden
near the mountain dwellings.
At one of the clusters of houses we parted with our companion, who had
insisted on bearing my bundle while she stayed with us: I often tried to
enter into conversation with her, and seeing a small tarn before us, was
reminded of the pleasure of fishing and the manner of living there, and
asked her what sort of food was eaten in that place, if they lived much
upon fish, or had mutton from the hills; she looked earnestly at me, and
shaking her head, replied, 'Oh yes! eat fish--no papistes, eat
everything.' The tarn had one small island covered with wood; the stream
that runs from it falls into Loch Ketterine, which, after we had gone a
little beyond the tarn, we saw at some distance before us.
Pursued the road, a mountain horse-track, till we came to a corner of
what seemed the head of the lake, and there sate down completely tired,
and hopeless as to the rest of our journey. The road ended at the shore,
and no houses were to be seen on the opposite side except a few widely
parted huts, and on the near side was a trackless heath. The land at the
head of the lake was but a continuation of the common we had come along,
and was covered with heather, intersected by a few straggling foot-paths.
Coleridge and I were faint with hunger, and could go no further till we
had refreshed ourselves, so we ate up one of our fowls, and drank of the
water of Loch Ketterine; but William could not be easy till he had
examined the coast, so he left us, and made his way along the moor across
the head of the lake. Coleridge and I, as we sate, had what seemed to us
but a dreary prospect--a waste of unknown ground which we guessed we must
travel over before it was possible for us to find a shelter. We saw a
long way down the lake; it was all moor on the near side; on the other
the hills were steep from the water, and there were large coppice-woods,
but no cheerful green fields, and no road that we could see; we knew,
however, that there must be a road from house to house; but the whole
lake appeared a solitude--neither boats, islands, nor houses, no grandeur
in the hills, nor any loveliness in the shores. When we first came in
view of it we had said it was like a barren Ulswater--Ulswater dismantled
of its grandeur, and cropped of its lesser beauties. When I had
swallowed my dinner I hastened after William, and Coleridge followed me.
Walked through the heather with some labour for perhaps half a mile, and
found William sitting on the top of a small eminence, whence we saw the
real head of the lake, which was pushed up into the vale a considerable
way beyond the promontory where we now sate. The view up the lake was
very pleasing, resembling Thirlemere below Armath. There were rocky
promontories and woody islands, and, what was most cheering to us, a neat
white house on the opposite shore; but we could see no boats, so, in
order to get to it we should be obliged to go round the head of the lake,
a long and weary way.
After Coleridge came up to us, while we were debating whether we should
turn back or go forward, we espied a man on horseback at a little
distance, with a boy following him on foot, no doubt a welcome sight, and
we hailed him. We should have been glad to have seen either man, woman,
or child at this time, but there was something uncommon and interesting
in this man's appearance, which would have fixed our attention wherever
we had met him. He was a complete Highlander in dress, figure, and face,
and a very fine-looking man, hardy and vigorous, though past his prime.
While he stood waiting for us in his bonnet and plaid, which never look
more graceful than on horseback, I forgot our errand, and only felt glad
that we were in the Highlands. William accosted him with, 'Sir, do you
speak English?' He replied, 'A little.' He spoke however, sufficiently
well for our purpose, and very distinctly, as all the Highlanders do who
learn English as a foreign language; but in a long conversation they want
words; he informed us that he himself was going beyond the Trossachs, to
Callander, that no boats were kept to 'let;' but there were two
gentlemen's houses at this end of the lake, one of which we could not yet
see, it being hidden from us by a part of the hill on which we stood.
The other house was that which we saw opposite to us; both the gentlemen
kept boats, and probably might be able to spare one of their servants to
go with us. After we had asked many questions, which the Highlander
answered with patience and courtesy, he parted from us, going along a
sort of horse-track, which a foot-passenger, if he once get into it, need
not lose if he be careful.
When he was gone we again debated whether we should go back to Tarbet, or
throw ourselves upon the mercy of one of the two gentlemen for a night's
lodging. What we had seen of the main body of the lake made us little
desire to see more of it; the Highlander upon the naked heath, in his
Highland dress, upon his careful-going horse, with the boy following him,
was worth it all; but after a little while we resolved to go on, ashamed
to shrink from an adventure. Pursued the horse-track, and soon came in
sight of the other gentleman's house, which stood on the opposite side of
the vale, a little above the lake. It was a white house; no trees near
it except a new plantation of firs; but the fields were green, sprinkled
over with haycocks, and the brook which comes down the valley and falls
into the lake ran through them. It was like a new-made farm in a
mountain vale, and yet very pleasing after the depressing prospect which
had been before us.
Our road was rough, and not easy to be kept. It was between five and six
o'clock when we reached the brook side, where Coleridge and I stopped,
and William went up towards the house, which was in a field, where about
half a dozen people were at work. He addressed himself to one who
appeared like the master, and all drew near him, staring at William as
nobody could have stared but out of sheer rudeness, except in such a
lonely place. He told his tale, and inquired about boats; there were no
boats, and no lodging nearer than Callander, ten miles beyond the foot of
the lake. A laugh was on every face when William said we were come to
see the Trossachs; no doubt they thought we had better have stayed at our
own homes. William endeavoured to make it appear not so very foolish, by
informing them that it was a place much celebrated in England, though
perhaps little thought of by them, and that we only differed from many of
our countrymen in having come the wrong way in consequence of an
erroneous direction.
After a little time the gentleman said we should be accommodated with
such beds as they had, and should be welcome to rest in their house if we
pleased. William came back for Coleridge and me; the men all stood at
the door to receive us, and now their behaviour was perfectly courteous.
We were conducted into the house by the same man who had directed us
hither on the other side of the lake, and afterwards we learned that he
was the father of our hostess. He showed us into a room up-stairs,
begged we would sit at our ease, walk out, or do just as we pleased. It
was a large square deal wainscoted room, the wainscot black with age, yet
had never been painted: it did not look like an English room, and yet I
do not know in what it differed, except that in England it is not common
to see so large and well-built a room so ill-furnished: there were two or
three large tables, and a few old chairs of different sorts, as if they
had been picked up one did not know how, at sales, or had belonged to
different rooms of the house ever since it was built. We sat perhaps
three-quarters of an hour, and I was about to carry down our wet coffee
and sugar and ask leave to boil it, when the mistress of the house
entered, a tall fine-looking woman, neatly dressed in a dark-coloured
gown, with a white handkerchief tied round her head; she spoke to us in a
very pleasing manner, begging permission to make tea for us, an offer
which we thankfully accepted. Encouraged by the sweetness of her
manners, I went down-stairs to dry my feet by the kitchen fire; she lent
me a pair of stockings, and behaved to me with the utmost attention and
kindness. She carried the tea-things into the room herself, leaving me
to make tea, and set before us cheese and butter and barley cakes. These
cakes are as thin as our oat-bread, but, instead of being crisp, are soft
and leathery, yet we, being hungry, and the butter delicious, ate them
with great pleasure, but when the same bread was set before us afterwards
we did not like it.
After tea William and I walked out; we amused ourselves with watching the
Highlanders at work: they went leisurely about everything, and whatever
was to be done, all followed, old men, and young, and little children.
We were driven into the house by a shower, which came on with the evening
darkness, and the people leaving their work paused at the same time. I
was pleased to see them a while after sitting round a blazing fire in the
kitchen, father and son-in-law, master and man, and the mother with her
little child on her knee. When I had been there before tea I had
observed what a contrast there was between the mistress and her kitchen;
she did not differ in appearance from an English country lady; but her
kitchen, roof, walls, and floor of mud, was all black alike; yet now,
with the light of a bright fire upon so many happy countenances, the
whole room made a pretty sight.
We heard the company laughing and talking long after we were in bed;
indeed I believe they never work till they are tired. The children could
not speak a word of English: they were very shy at first; but after I had
caressed the eldest, and given her a red leather purse, with which she
was delighted, she took hold of my hand and hung about me, changing her
side-long looks for pretty smiles. Her mother lamented they were so far
from school, they should be obliged to send the children down into the
Lowlands to be taught reading and English. Callander, the nearest town,
was twenty miles from them, and it was only a small place: they had their
groceries from Glasgow. She said that at Callander was their nearest
church, but sometimes 'got a preaching at the Garrison.' In explaining
herself she informed us that the large building which had puzzled us in
the morning had been built by Government, at the request of one of the
Dukes of Montrose, for the defence of his domains against the attacks of
Rob Roy. I will not answer for the truth of this; perhaps it might have
been built for this purpose, and as a check on the Highlands in general;
certain it is, however, that it was a garrison; soldiers used to be
constantly stationed there, and have only been withdrawn within the last
thirteen or fourteen years. Mrs. Macfarlane attended me to my room; she
said she hoped I should be able to sleep upon blankets, and said they
were 'fresh from the fauld.'
* * * * *
_Saturday_, _August_ 27_th_.--Before I rose, Mrs. Macfarlane came into my
room to see if I wanted anything, and told me she should send the servant
up with a basin of whey, saying, 'We make very good whey in this
country;' indeed, I thought it the best I had ever tasted; but I cannot
tell how this should be, for they only make skimmed-milk cheeses. I
asked her for a little bread and milk for our breakfast, but she said it
would be no trouble to make tea, as she must make it for the family; so
we all breakfasted together. The cheese was set out, as before, with
plenty of butter and barley-cakes, and fresh baked oaten cakes, which, no
doubt, were made for us: they had been kneaded with cream, and were
excellent. All the party pressed us to eat, and were very jocose about
the necessity of helping out their coarse bread with butter, and they
themselves ate almost as much butter as bread. In talking of the French
and the present times, their language was what most people would call
Jacobinical. They spoke much of the oppressions endured by the
Highlanders further up, of the absolute impossibility of their living in
any comfort, and of the cruelty of laying so many restraints on
emigration. Then they spoke with animation of the attachment of the
clans to their lairds: 'The laird of this place, Glengyle, where we live,
could have commanded so many men who would have followed him to the
death; and now there are none left.' It appeared that Mr. Macfarlane,
and his wife's brother, Mr. Macalpine, farmed the place, inclusive of the
whole vale upwards to the mountains, and the mountains themselves, under
the lady of Glengyle, the mother of the young laird, a minor. It was a
sheep-farm.