the green hill where we stood, as heedless as if we had been trees or
stones, and amused us exceedingly with their activity: they wrestled,
rolled down the hill, pushing one another over and over again, laughing,
screaming, and chattering Erse: they were all without shoes and
stockings, which, making them fearless of hurting or being hurt, gave a
freedom to the action of their limbs which I never saw in English
children: they stood upon one another, body, breast, or face, or any
other part; sometimes one was uppermost, sometimes another, and sometimes
they rolled all together, so that we could not know to which body this
leg or that arm belonged. We waited, watching them, till we were assured
that the boatman had noticed our signal--By the bye, if we had received
proper directions at Loch Lomond, on our journey to Loch Ketterine, we
should have made our way down the lake till we had come opposite to the
ferryman's house, where there is a hut, and the people who live there are
accustomed to call him by the same signal as here. Luckily for us we
were not so well instructed, for we should have missed the pleasure of
receiving the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Macfarlane and their family.
A young woman who wanted to go to the island accompanied us to the
water-side. The walk was pleasant, through fields with hedgerows, the
greenest fields we had seen in Scotland; but we were obliged to return
without going to the island. The poor man had taken his boat to another
place, and the waters were swollen so that we could not go close to the
shore, and show ourselves to him, nor could we make him hear by shouting.
On our return to the public-house we asked the woman what we should pay
her, and were not a little surprised when she answered, 'Three
shillings.' Our horse had had a sixpenny feed of miserable corn, not
worth threepence; the rest of the charge was for skimmed milk, oat-bread,
porridge, and blue milk cheese: we told her it was far too much; and,
giving her half-a-crown, departed. I was sorry she had made this
unreasonable demand, because we had liked the woman, and we had before
been so well treated in the Highland cottages; but, on thinking more
about it, I satisfied myself that it was no scheme to impose upon us, for
she was contented with the half-crown, and would, I daresay, have been so
with two shillings, if we had offered it her at first. Not being
accustomed to fix a price upon porridge and milk, to such as we, at
least, when we asked her she did not know what to say; but, seeing that
we were travelling for pleasure, no doubt she concluded we were rich, and
that what was a small gain to her could be no great loss to us.
When we had gone a little way we saw before us a young man with a bundle
over his shoulder, hung on a stick, bearing a great boy on his back:
seeing that they were travellers, we offered to take the boy on the car,
to which the man replied that he should be more than thankful, and set
him up beside me. They had walked from Glasgow, and that morning from
Inverary; the boy was only six years old, 'But,' said his father, 'he is
a stout walker,' and a fine fellow he was, smartly dressed in tight clean
clothes and a nice round hat: he was going to stay with his grandmother
at Dalmally. I found him good company; though I could not draw a single
word out of him, it was a pleasure to see his happiness gleaming through
the shy glances of his healthy countenance. Passed a pretty chapel by
the lake-side, and an island with a farm-house upon it, and corn and
pasture fields; but, as we went along, we had frequent reason to regret
the want of English hedgerows and English culture; for the ground was
often swampy or moorish near the lake where comfortable dwellings among
green fields might have been. When we came near to the end of the lake
we had a steep hill to climb, so William and I walked; and we had such
confidence in our horse that we were not afraid to leave the car to his
guidance with the child in it; we were soon, however, alarmed at seeing
him trot up the hill a long way before us; the child, having raised
himself up upon the seat, was beating him as hard as he could with a
little stick which he carried in his hand; and when he saw our eyes were
on him he sate down, I believe very sorry to resign his office: the horse
slackened his pace, and no accident happened.
When we had ascended half-way up the hill, directed by the man, I took a
nearer footpath, and at the top came in view of a most impressive scene,
a ruined castle on an island almost in the middle of the last compartment
of the lake, backed by a mountain cove, down which came a roaring stream.
The castle occupied every foot of the island that was visible to us,
appearing to rise out of the water; mists rested upon the mountain side,
with spots of sunshine between; there was a mild desolation in the low
grounds, a solemn grandeur in the mountains, and the castle was wild, yet
stately, not dismantled of its turrets, nor the walls broken down, though
completely in ruin. After having stood some minutes I joined William on
the high road, and both wishing to stay longer near this place, we
requested the man to drive his little boy on to Dalmally, about two miles
further, and leave the car at the inn. He told us that the ruin was
called Kilchurn Castle, that it belonged to Lord Breadalbane, and had
been built by one of the ladies of that family for her defence during her
Lord's absence at the Crusades, for which purpose she levied a tax of
seven years' rent upon her tenants; {139a} he said that from that side of
the lake it did not appear, in very dry weather, to stand upon an island;
but that it was possible to go over to it without being wet-shod. We
were very lucky in seeing it after a great flood; for its enchanting
effect was chiefly owing to its situation in the lake, a decayed palace
rising out of the plain of waters! I have called it a palace, for such
feeling it gave to me, though having been built as a place of defence, a
castle or fortress. We turned again and reascended the hill, and sate a
long time in the middle of it looking on the castle and the huge mountain
cove opposite, and William, addressing himself to the ruin, poured out
these verses:--
Child of loud-throated War! the mountain stream
Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest
Is come, and thou art silent in thy age. {139b}
We walked up the hill again, and, looking down the vale, had a fine view
of the lake and islands, resembling the views down Windermere, though
much less rich. Our walk to Dalmally was pleasant: the vale makes a turn
to the right, beyond the head of the lake, and the village of Dalmally,
which is, in fact, only a few huts, the manse or minister's house, the
chapel, and the inn, stands near the river, which flows into the head of
the lake. The whole vale is very pleasing, the lower part of the
hill-sides being sprinkled with thatched cottages, cultivated ground in
small patches near them, which evidently belonged to the cottages.
We were overtaken by a gentleman who rode on a beautiful white pony, like
Lilly, and was followed by his servant, a Highland boy, on another pony,
a little creature, not much bigger than a large mastiff, on which were
slung a pair of crutches and a tartan plaid. The gentleman entered into
conversation with us, and on our telling him that we were going to Glen
Coe, he advised us, instead of proceeding directly to Tyndrum, the next
stage, to go round by the outlet of Loch Awe to Loch Etive, and thence to
Glen Coe. We were glad to change our plan, for we wanted much to see
more of Loch Awe, and he told us that the whole of the way by Loch Etive
was pleasant, and the road to Tyndrum as dreary as possible; indeed, we
could see it at that time several miles before us upon the side of a
bleak mountain; and he said that there was nothing but moors and
mountains all the way. We reached the inn a little before sunset,
ordered supper, and I walked out. Crossed a bridge to look more nearly
at the parsonage-house and the chapel, which stands upon a bank close to
the river, a pretty stream overhung in some parts by trees. The vale is
very pleasing; but, like all the other Scotch vales we had yet seen, it
told of its kinship with the mountains and of poverty or some neglect on
the part of man.
* * * * *
_Thursday_, _September_ 1_st_.--We had been attended at supper by a civil
boy, whom we engaged to rouse us at six o'clock, and to provide us each a
basin of milk and bread, and have the car ready; all which he did
punctually, and we were off in good time. The morning was not
unpleasant, though rather cold, and we had some fear of rain. Crossed
the bridge, and passed by the manse and chapel, our road carrying us back
again in the direction we had come; but on the opposite side of the
river. Passed close to many of the houses we had seen on the hill-side,
which the lame gentleman had told us belonged to Lord Breadalbane, and
were attached to little farms, or 'crofts,' as he called them. Lord
Breadalbane had lately laid out a part of his estates in this way as an
experiment, in the hope of preventing discontent and emigration. We were
sorry we had not an opportunity of seeing into these cottages, and of
learning how far the people were happy or otherwise. The dwellings
certainly did not look so comfortable when we were near to them as from a
distance; but this might be chiefly owing to what the inhabitants did not
feel as an evil--the dirt about the doors. We saw, however--a sight
always painful to me--two or three women, each creeping after her single
cow, while it was feeding on the slips of grass between the corn-grounds.
Went round the head of the lake, and onwards close to the lake-side.
Kilchurn Castle was always interesting, though not so grand as seen from
the other side, with its own mountain cove and roaring stream. It
combined with the vale of Dalmally and the distant hills--a beautiful
scene, yet overspread with a gentle desolation. As we went further down
we lost sight of the vale of Dalmally. The castle, which we often
stopped to look back upon, was very beautiful seen in combination with
the opposite shore of the lake--perhaps a little bay, a tuft of trees, or
a slope of the hill. Travelled under the foot of the mountain Cruachan,
along an excellent road, having the lake close to us on our left, woods
overhead, and frequent torrents tumbling down the hills. The distant
views across the lake were not peculiarly interesting after we were out
of sight of Kilchurn Castle, the lake being wide, and the opposite shore
not rich, and those mountains which we could see were not high.
Came opposite to the village where we had dined the day before, and,
losing sight of the body of the lake, pursued the narrow channel or pass,
{142} which is, I believe, three miles long, out of which issues the
river that flows into Loch Etive. We were now enclosed between steep
hills, on the opposite side entirely bare, on our side bare or woody; the
branch of the lake generally filling the whole area of the vale. It was
a pleasing, solitary scene; the long reach of naked precipices on the
other side rose directly out of the water, exceedingly steep, not rugged
or rocky, but with scanty sheep pasturage and large beds of small stones,
purple, dove-coloured, or red, such as are called Screes in Cumberland
and Westmoreland. These beds, or rather streams of stones, appeared as
smooth as the turf itself, nay, I might say, as soft as the feathers of
birds, which they resembled in colour. There was no building on either
side of the water; in many parts only just room for the road, and on the
other shore no footing, as it might seem, for any creature larger than
the mountain sheep, and they, in treading amongst the shelving stones,
must often send them down into the lake below.
After we had wound for some time through the valley, having met neither
foot-traveller, horse, nor cart, we started at the sight of a single
vessel, just as it turned round the point of a hill, coming into the
reach of the valley where we were. She floated steadily through the
middle of the water, with one large sail spread out, full swollen by the
breeze, that blew her right towards us. I cannot express what romantic
images this vessel brought along with her--how much more beautiful the
mountains appeared, the lake how much more graceful. There was one man
on board, who sate at the helm, and he, having no companion, made the
boat look more silent than if we could not have seen him. I had almost
said the ship, for on that narrow water it appeared as large as the ships
which I have watched sailing out of a harbour of the sea. A little
further on we passed a stone hut by the lake-side, near which were many
charcoal sacks, and we conjectured that the vessel had been depositing
charcoal brought from other parts of Loch Awe to be carried to the
iron-works at Loch Etive. A little further on we came to the end of the
lake, but where exactly it ended was not easy to determine, for the river
was as broad as the lake, and we could only say when it became positively
a river by the rushing of the water. It is, indeed, a grand stream, the
quantity of water being very large, frequently forming rapids, and always
flowing very quickly; but its greatness is short-lived, for, after a
course of three miles, it is lost in the great waters of Loch Etive, a
sea loch.
Crossed a bridge, and climbing a hill towards Taynuilt, our
baiting-place, we saw a hollow to the right below us, through which the
river continued its course between rocks and steep banks of wood.
William turned aside to look into the dell, but I was too much tired. We
had left it, two or three hundred yards behind, an open river, the hills,
enclosing the branch of the lake, having settled down into irregular
slopes. We were glad when we reached Taynuilt, a village of huts, with a
chapel and one stone house, which was the inn. It had begun to rain, and
I was almost benumbed with the cold, besides having a bad headache; so it
rejoiced me to see kind looks on the landlady's face, and that she was
willing to put herself in a bustle for our comfort; we had a good fire
presently, and breakfast was set out--eggs, preserved gooseberries,
excellent cream, cheese, and butter, but no wheat bread, and the oaten
cakes were so hard I could not chew them. We wished to go upon Loch
Etive; so, having desired the landlady to prepare a fowl for supper, and
engaged beds, which she promised us willingly--a proof that we were not
in the great road--we determined to find our way to the lake and
endeavour to procure a boat. It rained heavily, but we went on, hoping
the sky would clear up.
Walked through unenclosed fields, a sort of half-desolate country; but
when we came to the mouth of the river which issues out of Loch Awe, and
which we had to cross by a ferry, looking up that river we saw that the
vale down which it flowed was richly wooded and beautiful.
We were now among familiar fireside names. We could see the town of
Bunawe, a place of which the old woman with whom William lodged ten years
at Hawkshead used to tell tales half as long as an ancient romance. It
is a small village or port on the same side of Loch Etive on which we
stood, and at a little distance is a house built by a Mr. Knott of
Coniston Water-head, a partner in the iron-foundry at Bunawe, in the
service of whose family the old woman had spent her youth. It was an
ugly yellow-daubed building, staring this way and that, but William
looked at it with pleasure for poor Ann Tyson's sake. {145} We hailed
the ferry-boat, and a little boy came to fetch us; he rowed up against
the stream with all his might for a considerable way, and then yielding
to it, the boat was shot towards the shore almost like an arrow from a
bow. It was pleasing to observe the dexterity with which the lad managed
his oars, glorying in the appearance of danger--for he observed us
watching him, and afterwards, while he conveyed us over, his pride
redoubled; for my part, I was completely dizzy with the swiftness of the
motion.
We could not have a boat from the ferry, but were told that if we would
walk to a house half a mile up the river, we had a chance of getting one.
I went a part of the way with William, and then sate down under the
umbrella near some houses. A woman came out to talk with me, and pressed
me to take shelter in her house, which I refused, afraid of missing
William. She eyed me with extreme curiosity, asking fifty questions
respecting the object of our journey. She told me that it rained most
parts of the year there, and that there was no chance of fine weather
that day; and I believe when William came to tell me that we could have a
boat, she thought I was half crazed. We went down to the shore of the
lake, and, after having sate some time under a wall, the boatman came to
us, and we went upon the water. At first it did not rain heavily, and
the air was not cold, and before we had gone far we rejoiced that we had
not been faint-hearted. The loch is of a considerable width, but the
mountains are so very high that, whether we were close under them or
looked from one shore to the other, they maintained their dignity. I
speak of the higher part of the loch, above the town of Bunawe and the
large river, for downwards they are but hills, and the water spreads out
wide towards undetermined shores. On our right was the mountain
Cruachan, rising directly from the lake, and on the opposite side another
mountain, called Ben Durinish, craggy, and exceedingly steep, with wild
wood growing among the rocks and stones.
We crossed the water, which was very rough in the middle, but calmer near
the shores, and some of the rocky basins and little creeks among the
rocks were as still as a mirror, and they were so beautiful with the
reflection of the orange-coloured seaweed growing on the stones or rocks,
that a child, with a child's delight in gay colours, might have danced
with joy at the sight of them. It never ceased raining, and the tops of
the mountains were concealed by mists, but as long as we could see across
the water we were contented; for though little could be seen of the true
shapes and permanent appearances of the mountains, we saw enough to give
us the most exquisite delight: the powerful lake which filled the large
vale, roaring torrents, clouds floating on the mountain sides, sheep that
pastured there, sea-birds and land birds. We sailed a considerable way
without coming to any houses or cultivated fields. There was no
horse-road on either side of the loch, but a person on foot, as the
boatman told us, might make his way at the foot of Ben Durinish, namely
on that side of the loch on which we were; there was, however, not the
least track to be seen, and it must be very difficult and laborious.
We happened to say that we were going to Glen Coe, which would be the
journey of a long day and a half, when one of the men, pointing to the
head of the loch, replied that if we were there we should be but an
hour's walk from Glen Coe. Though it continued raining, and there was no
hope that the rain would cease, we could not help wishing to go by that
way: it was an adventure; we were not afraid of trusting ourselves to the
hospitality of the Highlanders, and we wanted to give our horse a day's
rest, his back having been galled by the saddle. The owner of the boat,
who understood English much better than the other man, his helper, said
he would make inquiries about the road at a farm-house a little further
on. He was very ready to talk with us, and was rather an interesting
companion; he spoke after a slow and solemn manner, in book and sermon
language and phrases:
"A stately speech, such as grave livers do in Scotland use."
When we came to the farm-house of which the man had spoken, William and
he landed to make the necessary inquiries. It was a thatched house at
the foot of the high mountain Ben Durinish--a few patches or little beds
of corn belonging to it; but the spot was pastoral, the green grass
growing to the walls of the house. The dwelling-house was distinguished
from the outer buildings, which were numerous, making it look like two or
three houses, as is common in Scotland, by a chimney and one small window
with sash-panes; on one side was a little woody glen, with a precipitous
stream that fell into the bay, which was perfectly still, and bordered
with the rich orange-colour reflected from the sea-weed. Cruachan, on
the other side of the lake, was exceedingly grand, and appeared of an
enormous height, spreading out two large arms that made a cove down which
fell many streams swoln by the rain, and in the hollow of the cove were
some huts which looked like a village. The top of the mountain was
concealed from us by clouds, and the mists floated high and low upon the
sides of it.
William came back to the boat highly pleased with the cheerful
hospitality and kindness of the woman of the house, who would scarcely
permit him and his guide to go away without taking some refreshment. She
was the only person at home, so they could not obtain the desired
information; but William had been well repaid for the trouble of landing;
indeed, rainy as it was, I regretted that I had not landed also, for I
should have wished to bear away in my memory a perfect image of this
place,--the view from the doors, as well as the simple Highland comforts
and contrivances which were near it. I think I never saw a retirement
that would have so completely satisfied me, if I had wanted to be
altogether shut out from the world, and at the same time among the
grandest of the works of God; but it must be remembered that mountains
are often so much dignified by clouds, mists, and other accidents of
weather, that one could not know them again in the full sunshine of a
summer's noon. But, whatever the mountains may be in their own shapes,
the farm-house with its pastoral grounds and corn fields won from the
mountain, its warm out-houses in irregular stages one above another on
the side of the hill, the rocks, the stream, and sheltering bay, must at
all times be interesting objects. The household boat lay at anchor,
chained to a rock, which, like the whole border of the lake, was edged
with sea-weed, and some fishing-nets were hung upon poles,--affecting
images, which led our thoughts out to the wide ocean, yet made these
solitudes of the mountains bear the impression of greater safety and more
deep seclusion.
The rain became so heavy that we should certainly have turned back if we
had not felt more than usual courage from the pleasure we had enjoyed,
which raised hope where none was. There were some houses a little higher
up, and we determined to go thither and make further inquiries. We could
now hardly see to the other side of the lake, yet continued to go on, and
presently heard some people pushing through a thicket close to us, on
which the boatman called out, 'There's one that can tell us something
about the road to Glen Coe, for he was born there.' We looked up and saw
a ragged, lame fellow, followed by some others, with a fishing-rod over
his shoulder; and he was making such good speed through the boughs that
one might have half believed he was the better for his lame leg. He was
the head of a company of tinkers, who, as the men told us, travel with
their fishing-rods as duly as their hammers. On being hailed by us the
whole company stopped; and their lame leader and our boatmen shouted to
each other in Erse--a savage cry to our ears, in that lonely and romantic
place. We could not learn from the tinker all we wished to know,
therefore when we came near to the houses William landed again with the
owner of the boat. The rain was now so heavy that we could see nothing
at all--not even the houses whither William was going.
We had given up all thought of proceeding further at that time, but were
desirous to know how far that road to Glen Coe was practicable for us.
They met with an intelligent man, who was at work with others in a hay
field, though it rained so heavily; he gave them the information they
desired, and said that there was an acquaintance of his between that
place and Glen Coe, who, he had no doubt, would gladly accommodate us
with lodging and anything else we might need. When William returned to
the boat we shaped our course back again down the water, leaving the head
of Loch Etive not only unvisited, but unseen--to our great regret. The
rain was very heavy; the wind had risen, and both wind and tide were
against us, so that it was hard labour for the boatmen to push us on.
They kept as close to the shore as they could, to be under the wind; but
at the doubling of many of the rocky points the tide was so strong that
it was difficult to get on at all, and I was sometimes afraid that we
should be dashed against the rocks, though I believe, indeed, there was
not much danger.