To us, with minds at ease, the walk was delightful; it could not be
otherwise, for we passed by a continual succession of rocks, woods, and
mountains; but the houses were few, and the ground cultivated only in
small portions near the water, consequently there was not that sort of
variety which leaves distinct separate remembrances, but one impression
of solitude and greatness. While the Highlander and I were plodding on
together side by side, interspersing long silences with now and then a
question or a remark, looking down to the lake he espied two small rocky
islands, and pointing to them, said to me, 'It will be gay {225a} and
dangerous sailing there in stormy weather when the water is high.' In
giving my assent I could not help smiling, but I afterwards found that a
like combination of words is not uncommon in Scotland, for, at Edinburgh,
William being afraid of rain, asked the ostler what he thought, who,
looking up to the sky, pronounced it to be 'gay and dull,' and therefore
rain might be expected. The most remarkable object we saw was a huge
single stone, I believe three or four times the size of Bowder Stone.
{225b} The top of it, which on one side was sloping like the roof of a
house, was covered with heather. William climbed up the rock, which
would have been no easy task but to a mountaineer, and we constructed a
rope of pocket-handkerchiefs, garters, plaids, coats, etc., and measured
its height. It was so many times the length of William's walking-stick,
but, unfortunately, having lost the stick, we have lost the measure. The
ferryman told us that a preaching was held there once in three months by
a certain minister--I think of Arrochar--who engages, as a part of his
office, to perform the service. The interesting feelings we had
connected with the Highland Sabbath and Highland worship returned here
with double force. The rock, though on one side a high perpendicular
wall, in no place overhung so as to form a shelter, in no place could it
be more than a screen from the elements. Why then had it been selected
for such a purpose? Was it merely from being a central situation and a
conspicuous object? Or did there belong to it some inheritance of
superstition from old times? It is impossible to look at the stone
without asking, How came it hither? Had then that obscurity and
unaccountableness, that mystery of power which is about it, any influence
over the first persons who resorted hither for worship? Or have they now
on those who continue to frequent it? The lake is in front of the
perpendicular wall, and behind, at some distance, and totally detached
from it, is the continuation of the ridge of mountains which forms the
vale of Loch Lomond--a magnificent temple, of which this spot is a noble
Sanctum Sanctorum.
We arrived at Glenfalloch at about one or two o'clock. It is no village;
there being only scattered huts in the glen, which may be four miles
long, according to my remembrance: the middle of it is very green, and
level, and tufted with trees. Higher up, where the glen parts into two
very narrow ones, is the house of the laird; I daresay a pretty place.
The view from the door of the public-house is exceedingly beautiful; the
river flows smoothly into the lake, and the fields were at that time as
green as possible. Looking backward, Ben Lomond very majestically shuts
in the view. The top of the mountain, as seen here, being of a pyramidal
form, it is much grander than with the broken outline, and stage above
stage, as seen from the neighbourhood of Luss. We found nobody at home
at the inn, but the ferryman shouted, wishing to have a glass of whisky,
and a young woman came from the hay-field, dressed in a white bed-gown,
without hat or cap. There was no whisky in the house, so he begged a
little whey to drink with the fragments of our cold meat brought from
Callander. After a short rest in a cool parlour we set forward again,
having to cross the river and climb up a steep mountain on the opposite
side of the valley. I observed that the people were busy bringing in the
hay before it was dry into a sort of 'fauld' or yard, where they intended
to leave it, ready to be gathered into the house with the first
threatening of rain, and if not completely dry brought out again. Our
guide bore me in his arms over the stream, and we soon came to the foot
of the mountain. The most easy rising, for a short way at first, was
near a naked rivulet which made a fine cascade in one place. Afterwards,
the ascent was very laborious, being frequently almost perpendicular.
It is one of those moments which I shall not easily forget, when at that
point from which a step or two would have carried us out of sight of the
green fields of Glenfalloch, being at a great height on the mountain, we
sate down, and heard, as if from the heart of the earth, the sound of
torrents ascending out of the long hollow glen. To the eye all was
motionless, a perfect stillness. The noise of waters did not appear to
come this way or that, from any particular quarter: it was everywhere,
almost, one might say, as if 'exhaled' through the whole surface of the
green earth. Glenfalloch, Coleridge has since told me, signifies the
Hidden Vale; but William says, if we were to name it from our
recollections of that time, we should call it the Vale of Awful Sound.
We continued to climb higher and higher; but the hill was no longer
steep, and afterwards we pursued our way along the top of it with many
small ups and downs. The walk was very laborious after the climbing was
over, being often exceedingly stony, or through swampy moss, rushes, or
rough heather. As we proceeded, continuing our way at the top of the
mountain, encircled by higher mountains at a great distance, we were
passing, without notice, a heap of scattered stones round which was a
belt of green grass--green, and as it seemed rich, where all else was
either poor heather and coarse grass, or unprofitable rushes and spongy
moss. The Highlander made a pause, saying, 'This place is much changed
since I was here twenty years ago.' He told us that the heap of stones
had been a hut where a family was then living, who had their winter
habitation in the valley, and brought their goats thither in the summer
to feed on the mountains, and that they were used to gather them together
at night and morning to be milked close to the door, which was the reason
why the grass was yet so green near the stones. It was affecting in that
solitude to meet with this memorial of manners passed away; we looked
about for some other traces of humanity, but nothing else could we find
in that place. We ourselves afterwards espied another of those ruins,
much more extensive--the remains, as the man told us, of several
dwellings. We were astonished at the sagacity with which our Highlander
discovered the track, where often no track was visible to us, and
scarcely even when he pointed it out. It reminded us of what we read of
the Hottentots and other savages. He went on as confidently as if it had
been a turnpike road--the more surprising, as when he was there before it
must have been a plain track, for he told us that fishermen from Arrochar
carried herrings regularly over the mountains by that way to Loch
Ketterine when the glens were much more populous than now.
Descended into Glengyle, above Loch Ketterine, and passed through Mr.
Macfarlane's grounds, that is, through the whole of the glen, where there
was now no house left but his. We stopped at his door to inquire after
the family, though with little hope of finding them at home, having seen
a large company at work in a hay field, whom we conjectured to be his
whole household--as it proved, except a servant-maid, who answered our
inquiries. We had sent the ferryman forward from the head of the glen to
bring the boat round from the place where he left it to the other side of
the lake. Passed the same farm-house we had such good reason to
remember, and went up to the burying-ground that stood so sweetly near
the water-side. The ferryman had told us that Rob Roy's grave was there,
{229} so we could not pass on without going up to the spot. There were
several tomb-stones, but the inscriptions were either worn-out or
unintelligible to us, and the place choked up with nettles and brambles.
You will remember the description I have given of the spot. I have
nothing here to add, except the following poem which it suggested to
William:--
A famous Man is Robin Hood,
The English Ballad-singer's joy,
And Scotland boasts of one as good,
She has her own Rob Roy!
Then clear the weeds from off his grave,
And let us chaunt a passing stave
In honour of that Outlaw brave.
Heaven gave Rob Roy a daring heart
And wondrous length and strength of arm,
Nor craved he more to quell his foes,
Or keep his friends from harm.
Yet Robin was as wise as brave,
As wise in thought as bold in deed,
For in the principles of things
He sought his moral creed.
Said generous Rob, 'What need of books?
Burn all the statutes and their shelves:
They stir us up against our kind,
And worse, against ourselves.
'We have a passion; make a law,
Too false to guide us or control:
And for the law itself we fight
In bitterness of soul.
'And puzzled, blinded thus, we lose
Distinctions that are plain and few:
These find I graven on my heart:
That tells me what to do.
'The Creatures see of flood and field,
And those that travel on the wind!
With them no strife can last; they live
In peace, and peace of mind.
'For why? Because the good old rule
Suffices them, the simple plan
That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.
'A lesson which is quickly learn'd,
A signal this which all can see!
Thus nothing here provokes the strong
To tyrannous cruelty.
'And freakishness of mind is check'd;
He tamed who foolishly aspires,
While to the measure of their might
All fashion their desires.
'All kinds and creatures stand and fall
By strength of prowess or of wit,
'Tis God's appointment who must sway,
And who is to submit.
'Since then,' said Robin, 'right is plain,
And longest life is but a day;
To have my ends, maintain my rights,
I'll take the shortest way.'
And thus among these rocks he lived
Through summer's heat and winter's snow;
The Eagle, he was lord above,
And Rob was lord below.
So was it--would at least have been
But through untowardness of fate;
For polity was then too strong:
He came an age too late.
Or shall we say an age too soon?
For were the bold man living now,
How might he flourish in his pride
With buds on every bough?
Then Rents and Land-marks, Rights of chase,
Sheriffs and Factors, Lairds and Thanes,
Would all have seem'd but paltry things
Not worth a moment's pains.
Rob Roy had never linger'd here,
To these few meagre vales confined,
But thought how wide the world, the times
How fairly to his mind.
And to his Sword he would have said,
'Do thou my sovereign will enact
From land to land through half the earth;
Judge thou of law and fact.
''Tis fit that we should do our part;
Becoming that mankind should learn
That we are not to be surpass'd
In fatherly concern.
'Of old things all are over old,
Of good things none are good enough;
I'll shew that I can help to frame
A world of other stuff.
'I, too, will have my Kings that take
From me the sign of life and death,
Kingdoms shall shift about like clouds
Obedient to my breath.'
And if the word had been fulfill'd
As might have been, then, thought of joy!
France would have had her present Boast,
And we our brave Rob Roy.
Oh! say not so, compare them not;
I would not wrong thee, Champion brave!
Would wrong thee nowhere; least of all
Here, standing by thy Grave.
For thou, although with some wild thoughts,
Wild Chieftain of a savage Clan,
Hadst this to boast of--thou didst love
The Liberty of Man.
And had it been thy lot to live
With us who now behold the light,
Thou wouldst have nobly stirr'd thyself,
And battled for the right.
For Robin was the poor man's stay;
The poor man's heart, the poor man's hand,
And all the oppress'd who wanted strength
Had Robin's to command.
Bear witness many a pensive sigh
Of thoughtful Herdsman when he strays
Alone upon Loch Veol's heights,
And by Loch Lomond's Braes.
And far and near, through vale and hill,
Are faces that attest the same;
Kindling with instantaneous joy
At sound of Rob Roy's name.
Soon after we saw our boat coming over the calm water. It was late in
the evening, and I was stiff and weary, as well I might, after such a
long and toilsome walk, so it was no poor gratification to sit down and
be conscious of advancing in our journey without further labour. The
stars were beginning to appear, but the brightness of the west was not
yet gone;--the lake perfectly still, and when we first went into the boat
we rowed almost close to the shore under steep crags hung with birches:
it was like a new-discovered country of which we had not dreamed, for in
walking down the lake, owing to the road in that part being carried at a
considerable height on the hill-side, the rocks and the indentings of the
shore had been hidden from us. At this time, those rocks and their
images in the calm water composed one mass, the surfaces of both equally
distinct, except where the water trembled with the motion of our boat.
Having rowed a while under the bold steeps, we launched out further when
the shores were no longer abrupt. We hardly spoke to each other as we
moved along receding from the west, which diffused a solemn animation
over the lake. The sky was cloudless; and everything seemed at rest
except our solitary boat, and the mountain-streams,--seldom heard, and
but faintly. I think I have rarely experienced a more elevated pleasure
than during our short voyage of this night. The good woman had long been
looking out for us, and had prepared everything for our refreshment; and
as soon as we had finished supper, or rather tea, we went to bed.
William, I doubt not, rested well, and, for my part, I slept as soundly
on my chaff bed as ever I have done in childhood after the long day's
playing of a summer's holiday.
* * * * *
_Tuesday_, 13_th_ _September_.--Again a fine morning. I strolled into
the green field in which the house stands while the woman was preparing
breakfast, and at my return found one of her neighbours sitting by the
fire, a feeble paralytic old woman. After having inquired concerning our
journey the day before, she said, 'I have travelled far in my time,' and
told me she had married an English soldier who had been stationed at the
Garrison; they had had many children, who were all dead or in foreign
countries; and she had returned to her native place, where now she had
lived several years, and was more comfortable than she could ever have
expected to be, being very kindly dealt with by all her neighbours.
Pointing to the ferryman and his wife, she said they were accustomed to
give her a day of their labour in digging peats, in common with others,
and in that manner she was provided with fuel, and, by like voluntary
contributions, with other necessaries. While this infirm old woman was
relating her story in a tremulous voice, I could not but think of the
changes of things, and the days of her youth, when the shrill fife,
sounding from the walls of the Garrison, made a merry noise through the
echoing hills. I asked myself, if she were to be carried again to the
deserted spot after her course of life, no doubt a troublesome one, would
the silence appear to her the silence of desolation or of peace?
After breakfast we took a final leave of our hostess, and, attended by
her husband, again set forward on foot. My limbs were a little stiff,
but the morning being uncommonly fine I did not fear to aim at the
accomplishment of a plan we had laid of returning to Callander by a
considerable circuit. We were to go over the mountains from Loch
Ketterine, a little below the ferry-house on the same side of the water,
descending to Loch Voil, a lake from which issues the stream that flows
through Strath Eyer into Loch Lubnaig. Our road, as is generally the
case in passing from one vale into another, was through a settling
between the hills, not far from a small stream. We had to climb
considerably, the mountain being much higher than it appears to be, owing
to its retreating in what looks like a gradual slope from the lake,
though we found it steep enough in the climbing. Our guide had been born
near Loch Voil, and he told us that at the head of the lake, if we would
look about for it, we should see the burying-place of a part of his
family, the MacGregors, a clan who had long possessed that district, a
circumstance which he related with no unworthy pride of ancestry. We
shook hands with him at parting, not without a hope of again entering his
hut in company with others whom we loved.
Continued to walk for some time along the top of the hill, having the
high mountains of Loch Voil before us, and Ben Lomond and the steeps of
Loch Ketterine behind. Came to several deserted mountain huts or shiels,
and rested for some time beside one of them, upon a hillock of its green
plot of monumental herbage. William here conceived the notion of writing
an ode upon the affecting subject of those relics of human society found
in that grand and solitary region. The spot of ground where we sate was
even beautiful, the grass being uncommonly verdant, and of a remarkably
soft and silky texture.
After this we rested no more till we came to the foot of the mountain,
where there was a cottage, at the door of which a woman invited me to
drink some whey: this I did, while William went to inquire respecting the
road at a new stone house a few steps further. He was told to cross the
brook, and proceed to the other side of the vale, and that no further
directions were necessary, for we should find ourselves at the head of
the lake, and on a plain road which would lead us downward. We waded the
river and crossed the vale, perhaps half a mile or more. The mountains
all round are very high; the vale pastoral and unenclosed, not many
dwellings, and but few trees; the mountains in general smooth near the
bottom. They are in large unbroken masses, combining with the vale to
give an impression of bold simplicity.
Near the head of the lake, at some distance from us, we discovered the
burial-place of the MacGregors, and did not view it without some
interest, with its ornamental balls on the four corners of the wall,
which, I daresay, have been often looked at with elevation of heart by
our honest friend of Loch Ketterine. The lake is divided right across by
a narrow slip of flat land, making a small lake at the head of the large
one. The whole may be about five miles long.
As we descended, the scene became more fertile, our way being pleasantly
varied--through coppices or open fields, and passing farm-houses, though
always with an intermixture of uncultivated ground. It was harvest-time,
and the fields were quietly--might I be allowed to say
pensively?--enlivened by small companies of reapers. It is not uncommon
in the more lonely parts of the Highlands to see a single person so
employed. The following poem was suggested to William by a beautiful
sentence in Thomas Wilkinson's 'Tour in Scotland:' {237}--
Behold her single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass,
Reaping and singing by herself--
Stop here, or gently pass.
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain.
Oh! listen, for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chaunt
So sweetly to reposing bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt
Among Arabian Sands;
No sweeter voice was ever heard
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old unhappy far-off things,
And battles long ago;--
Or is it some more humble lay--
Familiar matter of to-day--
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain
That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sung
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;
I listen'd till I had my fill,
And as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.
Towards the foot of the lake, on the opposite side, which was more barren
than that on which we travelled, was a bare road up a steep hill, which
leads to Glen Finlas, formerly a royal forest. It is a wild and rocky
glen, as we had been told by a person who directed our notice to its
outlet at Loch Achray. The stream which passes through it falls into
that lake near the head. At the end of Loch Voil the vale is wide and
populous--large pastures with many cattle, large tracts of corn. We
walked downwards a little way, and then crossed over to the same road
along which we had travelled from Loch Erne to Callander, being once
again at the entrance of Strath Eyer. It might be about four or five
o'clock in the afternoon; we were ten miles from Callander, exceedingly
tired, and wished heartily for the poor horse and car. Walked up Strath
Eyer, and saw in clear air and sunshine what had been concealed from us
when we travelled before in the mist and rain. We found it less woody
and rich than it had appeared to be, but, with all deductions, a very
sweet valley.
Not far from Loch Lubnaig, though not in view of it, is a long village,
with two or three public-houses, and being in despair of reaching
Callander that night without over-fatigue we resolved to stop at the most
respectable-looking house, and, should it not prove wretched indeed, to
lodge there if there were beds for us: at any rate it was necessary to
take some refreshment. The woman of the house spoke with gentleness and
civility, and had a good countenance, which reconciled me to stay, though
I had been averse to the scheme, dreading the dirt usual in Scotch
public-houses by the way-side. She said she had beds for us, and clean
sheets, and we desired her to prepare them immediately. It was a
two-storied house, light built, though in other respects no better than
the huts, and--as all the slated cottages are--much more uncomfortable in
appearance, except that there was a chimney in the kitchen. At such
places it is fit that travellers should make up their minds to wait at
least an hour longer than the time necessary to prepare whatever meal
they may have ordered, which we, I may truly say, did with most temperate
philosophy. I went to talk with the mistress, who was making barley
cakes, which she wrought out with her hands as thin as the oaten bread we
make in Cumberland. I asked her why she did not use a rolling-pin, and
if it would not be much more convenient, to which she returned me no
distinct answer, and seemed to give little attention to the question: she
did not know, or that was what they were used to, or something of the
sort. It was a tedious process, and I thought could scarcely have been
managed if the cakes had been as large as ours; but they are considerably
smaller, which is a great loss of time in the baking.
This woman, whose common language was the Gaelic, talked with me a very
good English, asking many questions, yet without the least appearance of
an obtrusive or impertinent curiosity; and indeed I must say that I
never, in those women with whom I conversed, observed anything on which I
could put such a construction. They seemed to have a faith ready for
all; and as a child when you are telling him stories, asks for 'more,
more,' so they appeared to delight in being amused without effort of
their own minds. Among other questions she asked me the old one over
again, if I was married; and when I told her that I was not, she appeared
surprised, and, as if recollecting herself, said to me, with a pious
seriousness and perfect simplicity, 'To be sure, there is a great promise
for virgins in Heaven;' and then she began to tell how long she had been
married, that she had had a large family and much sickness and sorrow,
having lost several of her children. We had clean sheets and decent
beds.
* * * * *