room. I desired to have a fire, and was answered with the old scruple
about 'giving fire,'--with, at the same time, an excuse 'that it was so
late,'--the girl, however, would ask the landlady, who was lying-in; the
fire was brought immediately, and from that time the girl was very civil.
I was not, however, quite at ease, for William stayed long, and I was
going to leave my fire to seek after him, when I heard him at the door
with the horse and car. The horse had taken fright with the roughness of
the river-bed and the rattling of the wheels--the second fright in
consequence of the ferry--and the men had been obliged to unyoke him and
drag the car through, a troublesome affair for William; but he talked
less of the trouble and alarm than of the pleasure he had felt in having
met with such true good-will and ready kindness in the Highlanders. They
drank their glass of whisky at the door, wishing William twenty good
wishes, and asking him twice as many questions,--if he was married, if he
had an estate, where he lived, etc. etc. This inn is the ferry-house on
the main road up into the Highlands by Fort-William, and here Coleridge,
though unknown to us, had slept three nights before. {165}
* * * * *
_Saturday_, _September_ 3_d_.--When we have arrived at an unknown place
by moonlight, it is never a moment of indifference when I quit it again
with the morning light, especially if the objects have appeared
beautiful, or in any other way impressive or interesting. I have kept
back, unwilling to go to the window, that I might not lose the picture
taken to my pillow at night. So it was at Ballachulish: and instantly I
felt that the passing away of my own fancies was a loss. The place had
appeared exceedingly wild by moonlight; I had mistaken corn-fields for
naked rocks, and the lake had appeared narrower and the hills more steep
and lofty than they really were.
We rose at six o'clock, and took a basin of milk before we set forward on
our journey to Glen Coe. It was a delightful morning, the road
excellent, and we were in good spirits, happy that we had no more ferries
to cross, and pleased with the thought that we were going among the grand
mountains which we saw before us at the head of the loch. We travelled
close to the water's edge, and were rolling along a smooth road, when the
horse suddenly backed, frightened by the upright shafts of a roller
rising from behind the wall of a field adjoining the road. William
pulled, whipped, and struggled in vain; we both leapt upon the ground,
and the horse dragged the car after him, he going backwards down the bank
of the loch, and it was turned over, half in the water, the horse lying
on his back, struggling in the harness, a frightful sight! I gave up
everything; thought that the horse would be lamed, and the car broken to
pieces. Luckily a man came up in the same moment, and assisted William
in extricating the horse, and, after an hour's delay, with the help of
strings and pocket-handkerchiefs, we mended the harness and set forward
again, William leading the poor animal all the way, for the regular
beating of the waves frightened him, and any little gushing stream that
crossed the road would have sent him off. The village where the
blacksmith lived was before us--a few huts under the mountains, and, as
it seemed, at the head of the loch; but it runs further up to the left,
being narrowed by a hill above the village, near which, at the edge of
the water, was a slate quarry, and many large boats with masts, on the
water below, high mountains shutting in the prospect, which stood in
single, distinguishable shapes, yet clustered together--simple and bold
in their forms, and their surfaces of all characters and all
colours--some that looked as if scarified by fire, others green; and
there was one that might have been blasted by an eternal frost, its
summit and sides for a considerable way down being as white as hoar-frost
at eight o'clock on a winter's morning. No clouds were on the hills; the
sun shone bright, but the wind blew fresh and cold.
When we reached the blacksmith's shop, I left William to help to take
care of the horse, and went into the house. The mistress, with a child
in her arms and two or three running about, received me very kindly,
making many apologies for the dirty house, which she partly attributed to
its being Saturday; but I could plainly see that it was dirt of all days.
I sate in the midst of it with great delight, for the woman's benevolent,
happy countenance almost converted her slovenly and lazy way of leaving
all things to take care of themselves into a comfort and a blessing.
It was not a Highland hut, but a slated house built by the master of the
quarry for the accommodation of his blacksmith,--the shell of an English
cottage, as if left unfinished by the workmen, without plaster, and with
floor of mud. Two beds, with not over-clean bedclothes, were in the
room. Luckily for me, there was a good fire and a boiling kettle. The
woman was very sorry she had no butter; none was to be had in the
village: she gave me oaten and barley bread. We talked over the fire; I
answered her hundred questions, and in my turn put some to her. She
asked me, as usual, if I was married, how many brothers I had, etc. etc.
I told her that William was married, and had a fine boy; to which she
replied, 'And the man's a decent man too.' Her next-door neighbour came
in with a baby on her arm, to request that I would accept of some fish,
which I broiled in the ashes. She joined in our conversation, but with
more shyness than her neighbour, being a very young woman. She happened
to say that she was a stranger in that place, and had been bred and born
a long way off. On my asking her where, she replied, 'At Leadhills;' and
when I told her that I had been there, a joy lighted up her countenance
which I shall never forget, and when she heard that it was only a
fortnight before, her eyes filled with tears. I was exceedingly affected
with the simplicity of her manners; her tongue was now let loose, and she
would have talked for ever of Leadhills, of her mother, of the quietness
of the people in general, and the goodness of Mrs. Otto, who, she told
me, was a 'varra discreet woman.' She was sure we should be 'well put
up' at Mrs. Otto's, and praised her house and furniture; indeed, it
seemed she thought all earthly comforts were gathered together under the
bleak heights that surround the villages of Wanlockhead and Leadhills:
and afterwards, when I said it was a wild country thereabouts, she even
seemed surprised, and said it was not half so wild as where she lived
now. One circumstance which she mentioned of Mrs. Otto I must record,
both in proof of her 'discretion,' and the sobriety of the people at
Leadhills, namely, that no liquor was ever drunk in her house after a
certain hour of the night--I have forgotten what hour; but it was an
early one, I am sure not later than ten.
The blacksmith, who had come in to his breakfast, was impatient to finish
our job, that he might go out into the hay-field, for, it being a fine
day, every plot of hay-ground was scattered over with hay-makers. On my
saying that I guessed much of their hay must be spoiled, he told me no,
for that they had high winds, which dried it quickly,--the people
understood the climate, 'were clever at the work, and got it in with a
blink.' He hastily swallowed his breakfast, dry bread and a basin of
weak tea without sugar, and held his baby on his knee till he had done.
The women and I were again left to the fireside, and there were no limits
to their joy in me, for they discovered another bond of connexion. I
lived in the same part of England from which Mr. Rose, the superintendent
of the slate-quarries, and his wife, had come. 'Oh!' said Mrs.
Stuart--so her neighbour called her, they not giving each other their
Christian names, as is common in Cumberland and Westmoreland,--'Oh!' said
she, 'what would not I give to see anybody that came from within four or
five miles of Leadhills?' They both exclaimed that I must see Mrs. Rose;
she would make much of me--she would have given me tea and bread and
butter and a good breakfast. I learned from the two women, Mrs. Stuart
and Mrs. Duncan--so the other was called--that Stuart had come from
Leadhills for the sake of better wages, to take the place of Duncan, who
had resigned his office of blacksmith to the quarries, as far as I could
learn, in a pet, intending to go to America, that his wife was averse to
go, and that the scheme, for this cause and through other difficulties,
had been given up. He appeared to be a good-tempered man, and made us a
most reasonable charge for mending the car. His wife told me that they
must give up the house in a short time to the other blacksmith; she did
not know whither they should go, but her husband, being a good workman,
could find employment anywhere. She hurried me out to introduce me to
Mrs. Rose, who was at work in the hay-field; she was exceedingly glad to
see one of her country-women, and entreated that I would go up to her
house. It was a substantial plain house, that would have held
half-a-dozen of the common huts. She conducted me into a sitting-room
up-stairs, and set before me red and white wine, with the remnant of a
loaf of wheaten bread, which she took out of a cupboard in the
sitting-room, and some delicious butter. She was a healthy and
cheerful-looking woman, dressed like one of our country lasses, and had
certainly had no better education than Aggy Ashburner, but she was as a
chief in this secluded place, a Madam of the village, and seemed to be
treated with the utmost respect.
In our way to and from the house we met several people who interchanged
friendly greetings with her, but always as with one greatly superior.
She attended me back to the blacksmith's, and would not leave me till she
had seen us set forward again on our journey. Mrs. Duncan and Mrs.
Stuart shook me cordially, nay, affectionately, by the hand. I tried to
prevail upon the former, who had been my hostess, to accept of some
money, but in vain; she would not take a farthing, and though I told her
it was only to buy something for her little daughter, even seemed grieved
that I should think it possible. I forgot to mention that while the
blacksmith was repairing the car, we walked to the slate-quarry, where we
saw again some of the kind creatures who had helped us in our
difficulties the night before. The hovel under which they split their
slates stood upon an out-jutting rock, a part of the quarry rising
immediately out of the water, and commanded a fine prospect down the loch
below Ballachulish, and upwards towards the grand mountains, and the
other horn of the vale where the lake was concealed. The blacksmith
drove our car about a mile of the road; we then hired a man and horse to
take me and the car to the top of Glen Coe, being afraid that if the
horse backed or took fright we might be thrown down some precipice.
But before we departed we could not resist our inclination to climb up
the hill which I have mentioned as appearing to terminate the loch. The
mountains, though inferior to those of Glen Coe, on the other side are
very majestic; and the solitude in which we knew the unseen lake was
bedded at their feet was enough to excite our longings. We climbed steep
after steep, far higher than they appeared to us, and I was going to give
up the accomplishment of our aim, when a glorious sight on the mountain
before us made me forget my fatigue. A slight shower had come on, its
skirts falling upon us, and half the opposite side of the mountain was
wrapped up in rainbow light, covered as by a veil with one dilated
rainbow: so it continued for some minutes; and the shower and rainy
clouds passed away as suddenly as they had come, and the sun shone again
upon the tops of all the hills. In the meantime we reached the
wished-for point, and saw to the head of the loch. Perhaps it might not
be so beautiful as we had imaged it in our thoughts, but it was beautiful
enough not to disappoint us,--a narrow deep valley, a perfect solitude,
without house or hut. One of the hills was thinly sprinkled with Scotch
firs, which appeared to be the survivors of a large forest: they were the
first natural wild Scotch firs we had seen. Though thinned of their
numbers, and left, comparatively, to a helpless struggle with the
elements, we were much struck with the gloom, and even grandeur, of the
trees.
Hastened back again to join the car, but were tempted to go a little out
of our way to look at a nice white house belonging to the laird of Glen
Coe, which stood sweetly in a green field under the hill near some tall
trees and coppice woods. At this house the horrible massacre of Glen Coe
began, which we did not know when we were there; but the house must have
been rebuilt since that time. We had a delightful walk through fields,
among copses, and by a river-side: we could have fancied ourselves in
some part of the north of England unseen before, it was so much like it,
and yet so different. I must not forget one place on the opposite side
of the water, where we longed to live--a snug white house on the
mountain-side, surrounded by its own green fields and woods, the high
mountain above, the loch below, and inaccessible but by means of boats.
A beautiful spot indeed it was; but in the retired parts of Scotland a
comfortable white house is itself such a pleasant sight, that I believe,
without our knowing how or why, it makes us look with a more loving eye
on the fields and trees than for their own sakes they deserve.
At about one o'clock we set off, William on our own horse, and I with my
Highland driver. He was perfectly acquainted with the country, being a
sort of carrier or carrier-merchant or shopkeeper, going frequently to
Glasgow with his horse and cart to fetch and carry goods and merchandise.
He knew the name of every hill, almost every rock; and I made good use of
his knowledge; but partly from laziness, and still more because it was
inconvenient, I took no notes, and now I am little better for what he
told me. He spoke English tolerably; but seldom understood what was said
to him without a 'What's your wull?' We turned up to the right, and were
at the foot of the glen--the laird's house cannot be said to be _in_ the
glen. The afternoon was delightful,--the sun shone, the mountain-tops
were clear, the lake glittered in the great vale behind us, and the
stream of Glen Coe flowed down to it glittering among alder-trees. The
meadows of the glen were of the freshest green; one new-built stone house
in the first reach, some huts, hillocks covered with wood, alder-trees
scattered all over. Looking backward, we were reminded of Patterdale and
the head of Ulswater, but forward the greatness of the mountains overcame
every other idea.
The impression was, as we advanced up to the head of this first reach, as
if the glen were nothing, its loneliness and retirement--as if it made up
no part of my feeling: the mountains were all in all. That which fronted
us--I have forgotten its name--was exceedingly lofty, the surface stony,
nay, the whole mountain was one mass of stone, wrinkled and puckered up
together. At the second and last reach--for it is not a winding vale--it
makes a quick turning almost at right angles to the first; and now we are
in the depths of the mountains; no trees in the glen, only green
pasturage for sheep, and here and there a plot of hay-ground, and
something that tells of former cultivation. I observed this to the
guide, who said that formerly the glen had had many inhabitants, and that
there, as elsewhere in the Highlands, there had been a great deal of corn
where now the lands were left waste, and nothing fed upon them but
cattle. I cannot attempt to describe the mountains. I can only say that
I thought those on our right--for the other side was only a continued
high ridge or craggy barrier, broken along the top into petty spiral
forms--were the grandest I had ever seen. It seldom happens that
mountains in a very clear air look exceedingly high, but these, though we
could see the whole of them to their very summits, appeared to me more
majestic in their own nakedness than our imaginations could have
conceived them to be, had they been half hidden by clouds, yet showing
some of their highest pinnacles. They were such forms as Milton might be
supposed to have had in his mind when he applied to Satan that sublime
expression--
'His stature reached the sky.'
The first division of the glen, as I have said, was scattered over with
rocks, trees, and woody hillocks, and cottages were to be seen here and
there. The second division is bare and stony, huge mountains on all
sides, with a slender pasturage in the bottom of the valley; and towards
the head of it is a small lake or tarn, and near the tarn a single
inhabited dwelling, and some unfenced hay-ground--a simple impressive
scene! Our road frequently crossed large streams of stones, left by the
mountain-torrents, losing all appearance of a road. After we had passed
the tarn the glen became less interesting, or rather the mountains, from
the manner in which they are looked at; but again, a little higher up,
they resume their grandeur. The river is, for a short space, hidden
between steep rocks: we left the road, and, going to the top of one of
the rocks, saw it foaming over stones, or lodged in dark black dens;
birch-trees grew on the inaccessible banks, and a few old Scotch firs
towered above them. At the entrance of the glen the mountains had been
all without trees, but here the birches climb very far up the side of one
of them opposite to us, half concealing a rivulet, which came tumbling
down as white as snow from the very top of the mountain. Leaving the
rock, we ascended a hill which terminated the glen. We often stopped to
look behind at the majestic company of mountains we had left. Before us
was no single paramount eminence, but a mountain waste, mountain beyond
mountain, and a barren hollow or basin into which we were descending.
We parted from our companion at the door of a whisky hovel, a building
which, when it came out of the workmen's hands with its unglassed
windows, would, in that forlorn region, have been little better than a
howling place for the winds, and was now half unroofed. On seeing a
smoke, I exclaimed, 'Is it possible any people can live there?' when at
least half a dozen, men, women, and children, came to the door. They
were about to rebuild the hut, and I suppose that they, or some other
poor creatures, would dwell there through the winter, dealing out whisky
to the starved travellers. The sun was now setting, the air very cold,
the sky clear; I could have fancied that it was winter-time, with hard
frost. Our guide pointed out King's House to us, our resting-place for
the night. We could just distinguish the house at the bottom of the
moorish hollow or basin--I call it so, for it was nearly as broad as
long--lying before us, with three miles of naked road winding through it,
every foot of which we could see. The road was perfectly white, making a
dreary contrast with the ground, which was of a dull earthy brown. Long
as the line of road appeared before us, we could scarcely believe it to
be three miles--I suppose owing to its being unbroken by any one object,
and the moor naked as the road itself, but we found it the longest three
miles we had yet travelled, for the surface was so stony we had to walk
most of the way.
The house looked respectable at a distance--a large square building,
cased in blue slates to defend it from storms,--but when we came close to
it the outside forewarned us of the poverty and misery within. Scarce a
blade of grass could be seen growing upon the open ground; the
heath-plant itself found no nourishment there, appearing as if it had but
sprung up to be blighted. There was no enclosure for a cow, no
appropriated ground but a small plot like a church yard, in which were a
few starveling dwarfish potatoes, which had, no doubt, been raised by
means of the dung left by travellers' horses: they had not come to
blossoming, and whether they would either yield fruit or blossom I know
not. The first thing we saw on entering the door was two sheep hung up,
as if just killed from the barren moor, their bones hardly sheathed in
flesh. After we had waited a few minutes, looking about for a guide to
lead us into some corner of the house, a woman, seemingly about forty
years old, came to us in a great bustle, screaming in Erse, with the most
horrible guinea-hen or peacock voice I ever heard, first to one person,
then another. She could hardly spare time to show us up-stairs, for
crowds of men were in the house--drovers, carriers, horsemen, travellers,
all of whom she had to provide with supper, and she was, as she told us,
the only woman there.
Never did I see such a miserable, such a wretched place,--long rooms with
ranges of beds, no other furniture except benches, or perhaps one or two
crazy chairs, the floors far dirtier than an ordinary house could be if
it were never washed,--as dirty as a house after a sale on a rainy day,
and the rooms being large, and the walls naked, they looked as if more
than half the goods had been sold out. We sate shivering in one of the
large rooms for three quarters of an hour before the woman could find
time to speak to us again; she then promised a fire in another room,
after two travellers, who were going a stage further, had finished their
whisky, and said we should have supper as soon as possible. She had no
eggs, no milk, no potatoes, no loaf-bread, or we should have preferred
tea. With length of time the fire was kindled, and, after another hour's
waiting, supper came,--a shoulder of mutton so hard that it was
impossible to chew the little flesh that might be scraped off the bones,
and some sorry soup made of barley and water, for it had no other taste.
After supper, the woman, having first asked if we slept on blankets,
brought in two pair of sheets, which she begged that I would air by the
fire, for they would be dirtied below-stairs. I was very willing, but
behold! the sheets were so wet, that it would have been at least a
two-hours' job before a far better fire than could be mustered at King's
House,--for, that nothing might be wanting to make it a place of complete
starvation, the peats were not dry, and if they had not been helped out
by decayed wood dug out of the earth along with them, we should have had
no fire at all. The woman was civil, in her fierce, wild way. She and
the house, upon that desolate and extensive Wild, and everything we saw,
made us think of one of those places of rendezvous which we read of in
novels--Ferdinand Count Fathom, or Gil Blas,--where there is one woman to
receive the booty, and prepare the supper at night. She told us that she
was only a servant, but that she had now lived there five years, and
that, when but a 'young lassie,' she had lived there also. We asked her
if she had always served the same master, 'Nay, nay, many masters, for
they were always changing.' I verily believe that the woman was attached
to the place like a cat to the empty house when the family who brought
her up are gone to live elsewhere. The sheets were so long in drying
that it was very late before we went to bed. We talked over our day's
adventures by the fireside, and often looked out of the window towards a
huge pyramidal mountain {177} at the entrance of Glen Coe. All between,
the dreary waste was clear, almost, as sky, the moon shining full upon
it. A rivulet ran amongst stones near the house, and sparkled with
light: I could have fancied that there was nothing else, in that
extensive circuit over which we looked, that had the power of motion.
In comparing the impressions we had received at Glen Coe, we found that
though the expectations of both had been far surpassed by the grandeur of
the mountains, we had upon the whole both been disappointed, and from the
same cause: we had been prepared for images of terror, had expected a
deep, den-like valley with overhanging rocks, such as William has
described in these lines, speaking of the Alps:--