Nosey, the pleasure thence that flows?
  Knows he the titillating joy
  Which my nose knows?
  O Nose, I am as proud of thee
  As any mountain of its snows;
  I gaze on thee, and feel that pride
  A Roman knows.

Our host confided to us the reason why he was so anxious that we should
not leave in the middle of the service. The second service was
originally intended for those who had to come long distances to reach
the kirk, some of whom came from a place seven miles away, but in late
years the two services had become continuous. A few Sundays before our
visit some persons had left the kirk at the end of the first part, and
in his second sermon the minister had plainly described them as
followers of the Devil! so we supposed our host was anxious that we
should not be denounced in the same way.

We found our tea-dinner waiting our arrival at the inn. We sat down to
it at half-past four, and, as we rose from what was left of it at five
o'clock, having worked hard meanwhile, we may safely be credited with
having done our duty.

We had a walk with our host along the shore, and had not proceeded far
before we saw a dark-looking object some distance away in the sea. We
thought it looked like a man in a boat, rising and falling with the
waves, but Mr. Mackenzie told us that it was two whales following the
herrings that were travelling in shoals round the coasts. We were very
much interested in their strange movements, as they were the only
whales we ever saw alive, but we could not help feeling sorry for the
fish. Evening was coming on as we re-entered "Huna Inn," and when we
were again seated before our turf fire, joined by our host and hostess,
our conversation was chiefly on the adventures we had already had, the
great walk we were to begin on the morrow, and the pleasure it had given
us to see the manifest and steadfast determination of the people at the
kirk to observe the Commandment of the God of the Sabbath, "REMEMBER
THAT THOU KEEP HOLY THE SABBATH DAY." We wondered how much the
prosperity of the Scottish nation and its representatives in every part
of the "wide, wide world" was attributable to their strict observance of
the Sabbath. Who knows?

WE BEGIN OUR JOURNEY

_Monday, September 18th._

We rose early and walked along the beach to Duncansbay Head, or Rongisby
as the old maps have it, gathering a few of those charming little shells
called John o'Groat Buckies by the way. After walking round the site of
John o'Groat's house, we returned to our comfortable quarters at the
Huna Inn for breakfast. John o'Groat seems to have acted with more
wisdom than many entrusted with the affairs of a nation. When his sons
quarrelled for precedence at his table, he consoled them with the
promise that when the next family gathering took place the matter should
be settled to the satisfaction of all. During the interval he built a
house having eight sides, each with a door and window, with an octagonal
table in the centre so that each of his eight sons could enter at his
own door and sit at his own side or "head" of the table. By this
arrangement--which reminded us of King Arthur's use of his round
table--he dispelled the animosity which previously prevailed. After
breakfast, and in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, we made an
entry in the famous Album with name and address, object of journey, and
exact time of departure, and they promised to reserve a space beneath
the entry to record the result, which was to be posted to them
immediately we reached our journey's end.

[Illustration: JOHN O'GROAT'S HOUSE.]

It was about half-past ten o'clock when we started on our long walk
along a circuitous and unknown route from John o'Groat's to Land's End.
Our host and hostess stood watching our departure and waving adieux
until we disappeared in the distance. We were in high spirits, and soon
reached the junction of roads where we turned to the left towards Wick.
The first part of our walk was through the Parish of Canisbay, in the
ancient records of which some reference is made to the more recent
representatives of the Groat family, but as these were made two hundred
years ago, they were now almost illegible. Our road lay through a wild
moorland district with a few farms and cottages here and there, mainly
occupied by fishermen. There were no fences to the fields or roads, and
no bushes or trees, and the cattle were either herded or tied to stakes.

After passing through Canisbay, we arrived at the most northerly house
in the Parish of Wick, formerly a public-house, and recognised as the
half-way house between Wick and John o'Groat's. We found it occupied as
a farm by Mr. John Nicolson, and here we saw the skeleton of a whale
doing duty as a garden fence. The dead whale, seventy feet in length,
had been found drifting in the sea, and had been hauled ashore by the
fishermen. Mr. Nicolson had an ingenious son, who showed us a working
sun-dial in the garden in front of the house which he had constructed
out of a portion of the backbone, and in the same bone he had also
formed a curious contrivance by which he could tell the day of the
month. He told us he was the only man that studied painting in the
North, and invited us into the house, wherein several rooms he showed us
some of his paintings, which were really excellent considering they were
executed in ordinary wall paint. His mother informed us that he began to
study drawing when he was ill with a slow fever, but not bed-fast. Two
of the pictures, that of an old bachelor and a Scotch lassie, a servant,
were very good indeed. We also saw a picture of an old woman, a local
celebrity, about a hundred years old, which was considered to be an
excellent likeness, and showed the old lady's eyes so sunk in her head
as to be scarcely visible. We considered that we had here found one of
Nature's artists, who would probably have made a name for himself if
given the advantages so many have who lack the ability, for he certainly
possessed both the imaginative faculty and no small degree of dexterity
in execution. He pointed out to us the house of a farmer over the way
who slept in the Parish of Wick and took his meals in that of Canisbay,
the boundary being marked by a chimney in the centre of the roof. He
also informed us that his brother accompanied Elihu Burritt, the
American blacksmith, for some distance when he walked from London to
John o'Groat's.

We were now about eleven miles from Wick, and as Mr. Nicolson told us of
an old castle we had missed, we turned back across the moors for about a
mile and a half to view it. He warned us that we might see a man
belonging to the neighbourhood who was partly insane, and who, roaming
amongst the castle ruins, usually ran straight towards any strangers as
if to do them injury; but if we met him we must not be afraid, as he was
perfectly harmless. We had no desire to meet a madman, and luckily,
although we kept a sharp look-out, we did not see him. We found the
ruined castle resting on a rock overlooking the sea with the rolling
waves dashing on its base below; it was connected with the mainland by a
very narrow strip broken through in one place, and formerly crossed by a
drawbridge. As this was no longer available, it was somewhat difficult
to scale the embankment opposite; still we scrambled up and passed
triumphantly through the archway into the ruins, not meeting with that
resistance we fancied we should have done in the days of its daring
owner. A portion only of the tower remained, as the other part had
fallen about two years before our visit. The castle, so tradition
stated, had been built about the year 1100 by one Buchollie, a famous
pirate, who owned also another castle somewhere in the Orkneys. How men
could carry on such an unholy occupation amidst such dangerous
surroundings was a mystery to us.

[Illustration: MR. NICOLSON'S HOME, SHOWING THE ARCH OF WHALE'S JAW.]

On our return we again saw our friend Mr. Nicolson, who told us there
were quite a number of castles in Caithness, as well as Pictish forts
and Druidical circles, a large proportion of the castles lying along the
coast we were traversing. He gave us the names of some of them, and told
us that they materially enhanced the beauty of this rock-bound coast. He
also described to us a point of the coast near Ackergill, which we
should pass, where the rocks formed a remarkably perfect profile of the
Great Duke of Wellington, though others spoke of it as a black giant. It
could only be seen from the sea, but was marvellously correct and
life-like, and of gigantic proportions.

Acting on Mr. Nicolson's instructions, we proceeded along the beach to
Keiss Castle, and ascended to its second storey by means of a rustic
ladder. It was apparently of a more recent date than Buchollie, and a
greater portion of it remained standing. A little to the west of it we
saw another and more modern castle, one of the seats of the Duke of
Portland, who, we were told, had never yet visited it. Before reaching
the village of Keiss, we came to a small quay, where we stayed a short
time watching the fishermen getting their smacks ready before sailing
out to sea, and then we adjourned to the village inn, where we were
provided with a first-class tea, for which we were quite ready. The
people at the inn evidently did not think their business inconsistent
with religion, for on the walls of the apartment where we had our tea
were hanging two pictures of a religious character, and a motto "Offer
unto God thanksgiving," and between them a framed advertisement of
"Edinburgh Ales"!

After tea we continued our journey until we came to the last house in
the village of Keiss, a small cottage on the left-hand side of the road,
and here we called to inspect a model of John o'Groat's house, which had
been built by a local stonemason, and exhibited at the great Exhibition
in London in 1862. Its skilful builder became insane soon after he had
finished it, and shortly afterwards died. It was quite a palatial model
and much more handsome than its supposed original was ever likely to
have been. It had eight doors with eight flights of steps leading up to
them, and above were eight towers with watchmen on them, and inside the
house was a table with eight sides made from wood said to have been from
the original table in the house of Groat, and procured from one of his
descendants. The model was accompanied by a ground plan and a print of
the elevation taken from a photo by a local artist. There was no charge
for admission or for looking at the model, but a donation left with the
fatherless family was thankfully received.

We now walked for miles along the seashore over huge sand-hills with
fine views of the herring-boats putting out to sea. We counted fifty-six
in one fleet, and the number would have been far greater had not Noss
Head intervened to obstruct our view, as many more went out that night
from Wick, although the herring season was now nearly over. We passed
Ackergill Tower, the residence of Sir George Dunbar, and about two miles
farther on we came to two old castles quite near to each other, which
were formerly the strongholds of the Earls of Caithness. They were named
Girnigoe and Sinclair. Girnigoe was the oldest, and under the ruins of
the keep was a dismal dungeon.

It was now getting dark, and not the pleasantest time to view old
castles surrounded by black rocks with the moan of the sea as it invaded
the chasms of the rocks on which they stood. Amongst these lonely ruins
we spoke of the past, for had our visit been three centuries earlier,
the dismal sounds from the sea below would have mingled with those from
the unfortunate young man chained up in that loathsome dungeon, whose
only light came from a small hole high up in the wall. Such was John,
Master of Caithness, the eldest son of the fifth Sinclair, Earl of
Caithness, who is said to have been imprisoned here because he had wooed
and won the affections of the daughter of a neighbouring laird, marked
out by his father, at that time a widower, for himself. He was confined
in that old dungeon for more than six long years before death released
him from his inhuman parent.

During his imprisonment John had three keepers appointed over
him--Murdoch Roy and two brothers named Ingram and David Sinclair. Roy
attended him regularly, and did all the menial work, as the other two
keepers were kinsmen of the earl, his father, who had imprisoned him.
Roy was sorry for the unfortunate nobleman, and arranged a plot to set
him at liberty, which was unfortunately discovered by John's brother
William, who bore him no good will. William told his father, the earl,
who immediately ordered Roy to be executed. The poor wretch was
accordingly brought out and hanged on the common gibbet of the castle
without a moment being allowed him to prepare for his final account.

Soon afterwards, in order to avenge the death of Roy, John, who was a
man of great bodily strength and whose bad usage and long imprisonment
had affected his mind, managed to seize his brother William on the
occasion of his visit to the dungeon and strangle him. This only
deepened the earl's antipathy towards his unhappy son, and his keepers
were encouraged to put him to death. The plan adopted was such as could
only have entered the imagination of fiends, for they withheld food from
their prisoner for the space of five days, and then set before him a
piece of salt beef of which he ate voraciously. Soon after, when he
called for water, they refused to give him any, and he died of raging
thirst. Another account said they gave him brandy, of which he drank so
copiously that he died raving mad. In any case, there is no doubt
whatever that he was barbarously done to death.

[Illustration: GIRNIGOE CASTLE.]

Every castle along the seacoast had some story of cruelty connected with
it, but the story of Girnigoe was perhaps the worst of all, and we were
glad to get away from a place with such dismal associations.

About a hundred years after this sad event the Clan of the Campbells of
Glenorchy declared war on the Sinclairs of Keiss, and marched into
Caithness to meet them; but the Sinclairs instead of going out to meet
them at the Ord of Caithness, a naturally fortified position, stayed at
home, and the Campbells took up a strong position at Altimarloch, about
two miles from Wick. The Sinclairs spent the night before the battle
drinking and carousing, and then attacked the Campbells in the strong
position they had taken up, with the result that the Sinclairs were
routed and many of them perished.

  They meet, they close in deadly strife,
    But brief the bloody fray;
  Before the Campbells' furious charge
    The Caithness ranks give way.

  The shrieking mother wrung her hands,
    The maiden tore her hair,
  And all was lamentation loud,
    And terror, and despair.

It was commonly said that the well-known quicksteps, "The Campbells are
coming" and the "Braes of Glenorchy" obtained their names from this
raid.

The Sinclairs of Keiss were a powerful and warlike family, and they soon
regained their position. It was a pleasing contrast to note that in 1765
Sir William Sinclair of Keiss had laid aside his sword, embracing the
views held by the Baptists, and after being baptized in London became
the founder of that denomination in Caithness and a well-known preacher
and writer of hymns.

In his younger days he was in the army, where he earned fame as an
expert swordsman, his fame in that respect spreading throughout the
countryside. Years after he had retired from the service, while sitting
in his study one forenoon intently perusing a religious work, his valet
announced the arrival of a stranger who wished to see him. The servant
was ordered to show him into the apartment, and in stalked a strong
muscular-looking man with a formidable Andrea Ferrara sword hanging by
his side, and, making a low obeisance, he thus addressed the knight:

"Sir William, I hope you will pardon my intrusion. I am a native of
England and a professional swordsman. In the course of my travels
through Scotland, I have not yet met with a gentleman able to cope with
me in the noble science of swordsmanship. Since I came to Caithness I
have heard that you are an adept with my favourite weapon, and I have
called to see if you would do me the honour to exchange a few passes
with me just in the way of testing our respective abilities."

Sir William was both amused and astonished at this extraordinary
request, and replied that he had long ago thrown aside the sword, and,
except in case of necessity, never intended to use it any more. But the
stranger would take no denial, and earnestly insisted that he would
favour him with a proof of his skill.

"Very well," said Sir William, "to please you I shall do so," and,
rising and fetching his sword, he desired the stranger, who was an
ugly-looking fellow, to draw and defend himself. After a pass or two Sir
William, with a dexterous stroke, cut off a button from the vest of his
opponent.

"Will that satisfy you," inquired Sir William; "or shall I go a little
deeper and draw blood?"

"Oh, I am perfectly satisfied," said the other. "I find I have for once
met a gentleman who knows how to handle his sword."

In about half a mile after leaving the ruins of these old castles we saw
the Noss Head Lighthouse, with its powerful light already flashing over
the darkening seas, and we decided to visit it. We had to scale several
fences, and when we got there we found we had arrived long after the
authorised hours for the admission of visitors. We had therefore some
difficulty in gaining an entrance, as the man whose attention we had
attracted did not at first understand why we could not come again the
next day. When we explained the nature of our journey, he kindly
admitted us through the gate. The lighthouse and its surroundings were
scrupulously clean, and if we had been Her Majesty's Inspectors of
Lighthouses, if such there be, we could not have done otherwise than
report favourably of our visit. The attendants were very kind to us, one
of them accompanying us to the top, and as the lighthouse was 175 feet
high, we had a great number of steps to climb. We had never seen the
interior of a lighthouse before, and were greatly interested in the
wonderful mechanism by which the flashlight was worked. We were much
impressed by the incalculable value of these national institutions,
especially in such dangerous positions as we knew from experience
prevailed on those stormy coasts. We were highly delighted with our
novel adventure, and, after regaining the entrance, we walked briskly
away; but it was quite dark before we had covered the three miles that
separated the lighthouse from the fishery town of Wick. Here we procured
suitable lodgings, and then hurried to the post office for the letters
that waited us, which we were delighted to read, for it seemed ages
since we left home.

(_Distance walked twenty-five miles_.)

[Illustration: NOSS HEAD LIGHTHOUSE.]

_Tuesday, September 19th._

We had our first experience of a herring breakfast, and were surprised
to find how delicious they tasted when absolutely fresh. There was an
old proverb in Wick: "When the herrings come in, the doctors go out!"
which may indicate that these fish had some medicinal value; but more
likely the saying referred to the period of plenty following that of
want and starvation. We went down to the quay and had a talk with some
of the fishermen whom we met returning from their midnight labours.
They told us they had not caught many herrings that night, but that the
season generally had been a good one, and they would have money enough
to support themselves through the coming winter. There were about nine
hundred boats in the district, and sometimes over a thousand, all
employed in the fishing industry; each boat was worked by four men and
one boy, using nets 850 yards long. The herrings appeared about the
second week in August and remained until the end of September, but the
whales swallowed barrels of them at one "jow."

We called at the steamboat depot and found that our hampers of shells
had already arrived, and would be sent forward on the _St. Magnus_; next
we went to get our hair and beards trimmed by the Wick barber. He was a
curious old gentleman and quite an orator, and even at that early hour
had one customer in hand while another was waiting to be shaved, so we
had of course to wait our turn. The man who was waiting began to express
his impatience in rather strong language, but the barber was quite equal
to the occasion, and in the course of a long and eloquent oration, while
he was engaged with the customer he had in hand, he told him that when
he came into a barber's shop he should have the calmness of mind to look
quietly around and note the sublimity of the place, which ought to be
sufficient to enable him to overcome such signs of impatience as he had
exhibited. We were quite sure that the barber's customer did not
understand one-half the big words addressed to him, but they had the
desired effect, and he waited patiently until his turn came to be
shaved. He was a dark-complexioned seafaring man, and had evidently just
returned from a long sea voyage, as the beard on his chin was more like
the bristles on a blacking-brush, and the operation of removing them
more like mowing than shaving. When completed, the barber held out his
hand for payment. The usual charge must have been a penny, for that was
the coin he placed in the barber's hand. But it was now the barber's
turn. Drawing himself up to his full height, with a dignified but
scornful expression on his face, he pointed with his razor to the penny
he held in his other hand, which remained open, and exclaimed fiercely,
"This! for a month's shave!" Another penny was immediately added, and
his impatient customer quickly and quietly departed.

It was now our turn for beard and hair trimming, but we had been so much
amused at some of the words used by the barber that, had it not been for
his awe-inspiring look, the scissors he now held in his hand, and the
razors that were so near to us, we should have failed to suppress our
laughter. The fact was that the shop was the smallest barber's
establishment we had ever patronised, and the dingiest-looking little
place imaginable, the only light being from a very small window at the
back of the shop. To apply the words sublime and sublimity to a place
like this was ludicrous in the extreme. It was before this window that
we sat while our hair was being cut; but as only one side of the head
could be operated upon at once, owing to the scanty light, we had to sit
before it sideways, and then to reverse our position.

We have heard it said that every man's hair has a stronger growth on one
side of his head than the other, but whether this barber left more hair
on the strong side or not we did not know. In any case, the difference
between the two sides, both of hair and beard, after the barber's
operation was very noticeable. The only sublime thing about the shop was
the barber himself, and possibly he thought of himself when speaking of
its sublimity. He was a well-known character in Wick, and if his lot had
been cast in a more expansive neighbourhood he might have filled a much
higher position. He impressed us very much, and had we visited Wick
again we should certainly have paid him a complimentary visit. We then
purchased a few prints of the neighbourhood at Mr. Johnston's shop, and
were given some information concerning the herring industry. It appeared
that this industry was formerly in the hands of the Dutch, who exploited
the British coasts as well as their own, for the log of the _Dutillet_,
the ship which brought Prince Charles Edward to Scotland in 1745,
records that on August 25th it joined two Dutch men-of-war and a fleet
of herring craft off Rongisby.

[Illustration: OLD MAN OF WICK.]

In the early part of the fourteenth century there arose a large demand
for this kind of fish by Roman Catholics both in the British Isles and
on the Continent. The fish deserted the Baltic and new herring fields
were sought, while it became necessary to find some method of preserving
them. The art of curing herrings was discovered by a Dutchman named
Baukel. Such was the importance attached to this discovery that the
Emperor Charles V caused a costly memorial to be erected over his grave
at Biervlet. The trade remained in the hands of the Dutch for a long
time, and the cured herrings were chiefly shipped to Stettin, and thence
to Spain and other Roman Catholic countries, large profits being made.
In 1749, however, a British Fishery Society was established, and a
bounty of £50 offered on every ton of herrings caught. In 1803 an expert
Dutchman was employed to superintend the growing industry, and from 1830
Wick took the lead in the herring industry, which in a few years' time
extended all round the coasts, the piles of herring-barrels along the
quay at Wick making a sight worth seeing.

We had not gone far when we turned aside to visit the ruins of Wick
Castle, which had been named by the sailors "The Auld Man o'Wick." It
was built like most of the others we had seen, on a small promontory
protected by the sea on three sides, but there were two crevices in the
rock up which the sea was rushing with terrific force. The rock on which
its foundations rested we estimated to be about 150 feet high, and there
was only a narrow strip of land connecting it with the mainland. The
solitary tower that remained standing was about fifty feet high, and
apparently broader at the top than at the bottom, being about ten or
twelve yards in length and breadth, with the walls six or seven feet
thick. The roar of the water was like the sound of distant thunder,
lending a melancholy charm to the scene. It was from here that we
obtained our first land view of those strange-looking hills in Caithness
called by the sailors, from their resemblance to the breasts of a
maiden, the Maiden's Paps. An old man directed us the way to Lybster by
what he called the King's Highway, and looking back from this point we
had a fine view of the town of Wick and its surroundings.

Taught by past experience, we had provided ourselves with a specially
constructed apparatus for tea-making, with a flask to fit inside to
carry milk, and this we used many times during our journey through the
Highlands of Scotland. We also carried a reserve stock of provisions,
since we were often likely to be far away from any human habitation.
To-day was the first time we had occasion to make use of it, and we had
our lunch not in the room of an inn, but sitting amongst the heather
under the broad blue canopy of heaven. It was a gloriously fine day, but
not a forerunner of a fine day on the morrow, as after events showed. We
had purchased six eggs at a farmhouse, for which we were only charged
fourpence, and with a half-pound of honey and an enormous oatmeal
cake--real Scotch--we had a jovial little picnic and did not fare badly.
We had many a laugh at the self-satisfied sublimity of our friend the
barber, but the sublimity here was real, surrounded as we were by
magnificent views of the distant hills, and through the clear air we
could see the mountains on the other side of the Moray Firth probably
fifty miles distant. Our road was very hilly, and devoid of fences or
trees or other objects to obstruct our view, so much so that at one
point we could see two milestones, the second before we reached the
first.

We passed Loch Hempriggs on the right of our road, with Iresgoe and its
Needle on the seacoast to the left, also an old ruin which we were
informed was a "tulloch," but we did not know the meaning of the word.
After passing the tenth milestone from Wick, we went to look at an
ancient burial-ground which stood by the seaside about a field's breadth
from our road. The majority of the gravestones were very old, and
whatever inscriptions they ever had were now worn away by age and
weather; some were overgrown with grass and nettles, while in contrast
to these stood some modern stones of polished granite. The inscriptions
on these stones were worded differently from those places farther south.
The familiar words "Sacred to the memory of" did not appear, and the
phrasing appeared rather in the nature of a testimonial to the
benevolence of the bereft. We copied two of the inscriptions:

  ERECTED BY ROBERT WALLACE, MERCHANT, LYBSTER, TO THE MEMORY
  OF HIS SPOUSE CHARLLOT SIMPSON WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE NOV. 21
                      1845 AGED 30 YEARS.
                     _Lovely in Life_.

  PLACED BY JOHN SUTHERLAND, FISHERMAN, LYBSTER, IN MEMORY OF
  HIS WIFE WILLIAMINIA POLSON WHO DIED 28TH MAY 1867 AGED 29
                       YEARS.
              _At Death still lovely_.

In the yard we noticed a large number of loose stones and the remains of
a wall which we supposed had been part of the kirk. The name of the
village near here was Mid Clyth, and the ruins those of an old Roman
Catholic chapel last used about four hundred years ago. Several attempts
had been made to obtain power to remove the surplus stones, but our
informant stated that although they had only about a dozen Romanists in
the county, they were strong enough to prevent this being done, and it
was the only burial-ground between there and Wick. He also told us that
there were a thousand volunteers in Caithness.

[Illustration: THE NEEDLE OF IRESGOE.]

The people in the North of Caithness in directing us on our way did not
tell us to turn to right or left, but towards the points of the
compass--say to the east or the west as the case might be, and then turn
south for a given number of chains. This kind of information rather
puzzled us, as we had no compass, nor did we know the length of a chain.
It seemed to point back to a time when there were no roads at all in
that county. We afterwards read that Pennant, the celebrated tourist,
when visiting Caithness in 1769, wrote that at that time there was not
a single cart, nor mile of road properly so called in the county. He
described the whole district as little better than an "immense morass,
with here and there some fruitful spots of oats and bere (barley), and
much coarse grass, almost all wild, there being as yet very little
cultivated." And he goes on to add:

   Here are neither barns nor granaries; the corn is thrashed out and
   preserved in the chaff in bykes, which are stacks in the shape of
   beehives thatched quite round. The tender sex (I blush for the
   Caithnessians) are the only animals of burden; they turn their
   patient backs to the dunghills and receive in their cassties or straw
   baskets as much as their lords and masters think fit to fling in with
   their pitchforks, and then trudge to the fields in droves.

A more modern writer, however, thought that Pennant must have been
observant but not reflective, and wrote:

   It is not on the sea coast that woman looks on man as lord and
   master. The fishing industry more than any other leads to great
   equality between the sexes. The man is away and the woman conducts
   all the family affairs on land. Home means all the comfort man can
   enjoy! His life is one persistent calling for self-reliance and
   independence and equally of obedience to command.

The relations Pennant quoted were not of servility, but of man assisting
woman to do what she regarded as her natural work.

To inland folk like ourselves it was a strange sight to see so many
women engaged in agricultural pursuits, but we realised that the men had
been out fishing in the sea during the night and were now in bed. We saw
one woman mowing oats with a scythe and another following her, gathering
them up and binding them into sheaves, while several others were cutting
down the oats with sickles; we saw others driving horses attached to
carts. The children, or "bairns," as they were called here, wore neither
shoes nor stockings, except a few of the very young ones, and all the
arable land was devoted to the culture of oats and turnips.

We passed through Lybster, which in Lancashire would only be regarded as
a small village, but here was considered to be a town, as it could boast
of a population of about eight hundred people. We made due note of our
reaching what was acknowledged to be the second plantation of trees in
the county; there were six only in the entire county of Caithness, and
even a sight like this was cheery in these almost treeless regions.

An elderly and portly-looking gentleman who was on the road in front of
us awaited our arrival, and as an introduction politely offered us a
pinch of snuff out of his well-filled snuff-box, which we accepted. We
tried to take it, but the application of a small portion to our noses
caused us to sneeze so violently that the gentleman roared with laughter
at our expense, and was evidently both surprised and amused at our
distress. We were soon good friends, however, and he was as pleased with
our company as we were with his, but we accepted no more pinches of
snuff in Scotland. He had many inquiries to make about the method of
farming in Cheshire and regarding the rotation of crops. We informed
him that potatoes were the first crop following grass grown in our
neighbourhood, followed by wheat in the next year, and oats and clover
afterwards--the clover being cut for two years. "And how many years
before wheat again?" he asked; but this question we could not answer, as
we were not sufficiently advanced in agricultural knowledge to undergo a
very serious examination from one who was evidently inclined to dive
deeply into the subject. As we walked along, we noticed a stone on the
slope of a mountain like those we had seen at Stenness in the Orkneys,
but no halo of interest could be thrown around it by our friend, who
simply said it had been there "since the world began." Near Lybster we
had a good view of the Ord of Caithness, a black-looking ridge of
mountains terminating in the Maiden's Paps, which were later to be
associated with one of the most difficult and dangerous traverses we
ever experienced.

The night was now coming on, and we hurried onwards, passing two old
castles, one to the left and the other to the right of our road, and we
noticed a gate, the posts of which had been formed from the rib-bones of
a monster whale, forming an arch ornamented in the centre by a portion
of the backbone of the same creature. In the dark the only objects we
could distinguish were the rocks on the right and the lights of two
lighthouses, one across Dornoch Firth and the other across Moray Firth.
In another mile and a half after leaving the farmer, who had accompanied
us for some miles and who, we afterwards learned, was an old bachelor,
we were seated in the comfortable hotel at Dunbeath. The landlord was
civil and communicative, and we sat talking to him about the great
difference between Caithness and Cheshire, and the relative values of
turf and coal. He informed us that there was very little coal consumed
in the county of Caithness, as the English coal was dear and the Scotch
coal bad, while the peat was of good quality, the darkest-looking being
the richest and the best.

Our tea was now ready, and so were we, as we had walked fifteen miles
since our lunch in the heather. We were ushered into the parlour, where
we were delighted to find a Cheshire gentleman, who told us he had been
out shooting, and intended to leave by the coach at two a.m. Hearing
that two pedestrians had arrived, he had given up his bed, which he had
engaged early in the day, and offered to rest on the sofa until the
arrival of the mail-coach. We thanked him for his kind consideration,
for we were tired and footsore. Who the gentleman was we did not
discover; he knew Warrington and the neighbourhood, had visited Mr. Lyon
of Appleton Hall near that town, and knew Mr. Patten of Bank Hall, who
he said was fast getting "smoked out" of that neighbourhood. We retired
early, and left him in full possession of the coffee-room and its sofa.

At two o'clock in the morning we were wakened by the loud blowing of a
horn, which heralded the approach of the mail-coach, and in another
minute the trampling of horses' feet beneath our window announced its
arrival. We rose hurriedly and rushed to the window, but in the hurry my
brother dashed against a table, and down went something with a smash; on
getting a light we found it was nothing more valuable than a
water-bottle and glass, the broken pieces of which we carefully
collected together, sopping up the water as best we could. We were in
time to see our friend off on the coach, with three horses and an
enormous light in front, which travelled from Thurso to Helmsdale, a
distance of fifty-eight miles, at the rate of eight miles per hour.

(_Distance walked twenty-one and a half miles._)

_Wednesday, September 20th._

We rose early, and while waiting for our breakfast talked with an old
habitué of the hotel, who, after drawing our attention to the weather,
which had now changed for the worse, told us that the building of the
new pier, as he called it, at Wick had been in progress for seven or
eight years, but the sea there was the stormiest in Britain, and when
the wind came one way the waves washed the pier down again, so that it
was now no bigger than it was two years ago. He also told us he could
remember the time when there was no mail-coach in that part of the
country, the letters for that neighbourhood being sent to a man, a
tailor by trade, who being often very busy, sent his wife to deliver
them, so that Her Majesty's mails were carried by a female!

[Illustration: A STORM IN WICK HARBOUR.]

Almost the last piece of advice given us before leaving home was, "Mind
that you always get a good breakfast before starting out in a morning,"
and fortunately we did not neglect it on this occasion, for it proved
one of the worst day's walks that we ever experienced. Helmsdale was our
next stage, and a direct road led to it along the coast, a distance of
sixteen miles. But my brother was a man of original ideas, and he had
made up his mind that we should walk there by an inland route, and climb
over the Maiden's Paps mountain on our way.

The wind had increased considerably during the night, and the rain began
to fall in torrents as we left the Dunbeath Inn, our mackintoshes and
leggings again coming in useful. The question now arose whether we
should adhere to our original proposal, or proceed to Helmsdale by the
shortest route. Our host strongly advised us to keep to the main road,
but we decided, in spite of our sore feet and the raging elements, to
cross over the Maiden's Paps. We therefore left the main road and
followed a track which led towards the mountains and the wild moors. We
had not gone very far when we met a disconsolate sportsman, accompanied
by his gillies and dogs, who was retreating to the inn which he had left
early in the morning. He explained to us how the rain would spoil his
sport amongst the grouse, though he consoled himself by claiming that it
had been one of the finest sporting seasons ever known in Caithness. As
an illustration, he said that on the eighteenth day of September he had
been out with a party who had shot forty-one and a half brace of grouse
to each gun, besides other game. The average weight of grouse on the
Scotch moors was twenty-five ounces, but those on the Caithness moors
were heavier, and averaged twenty-five and a half ounces.

He was curious to know where we were going, and when we told him, he
said we were attempting an impossible feat in such awful weather, and
strongly advised us to return to the hotel, and try the journey on a
finer day. We reflected that the fine weather had now apparently broken,
and it would involve a loss of valuable time if we accepted his advice
to wait for a finer day, so we pressed forwards for quite two hours
across a dreary country, without a tree or a house or a human being to
enliven us on our way. Fortunately the wind and rain were behind us, and
we did not feel their pressure like our friend the sportsman, who was
going in the opposite direction. At last we came to what might be called
a village, where there were a few scattered houses and a burial-ground,
but no kirk that we could see. Near here we crossed a stream known as
Berriedale Water, and reached the last house, a farm, where our track
practically ended. We knocked at the door, which was opened by the
farmer himself, and his wife soon provided us with tea and oatmeal cake,
which we enjoyed after our seven or eight-mile walk. The wind howled in
the chimney and the rain rattled on the window-panes as we partook of
our frugal meal, and we were inclined to exclaim with the poet whose
name we knew not:

  The day is cold and dark and dreary,
  It rains, and the wind is never weary.

The people at the farm had come there from South Wales and did not know
much about the country. All the information they could give us was that
the place we had arrived at was named Braemore, and that on the other
side of the hills, which they had never crossed themselves, there was a
forest with no roads through it, and if we got there, we should have to
make our way as best we could across the moors to Helmsdale. They showed
us the best way to reach the foot of the mountain, but we found the
going much worse than we anticipated, since the storm had now developed
into one of great magnitude. Fortunately the wind was behind us, but the
higher we ascended the stronger it became, and it fairly took our breath
away even when we turned our heads towards it sideways, which made us
realise how impossible it was for us to turn back, however much we
might wish to do so; consequently we struggled onwards, occasionally
taking advantage of the shelter of some projecting rock to recover our
breathing--a very necessary proceeding, for as we approached the summit
the rain became more like sleet, the wind was very cold, and the rocks
were in a frozen and slippery condition. We were in great danger of
being blown over and losing our lives, and as we could no longer walk
upright in safety, we knelt down, not without a prayer to heaven as we
continued on our way. Thus we crawled along upon our hands and knees
over the smooth wind-swept summit of the Maiden's Paps, now one immense
surface of ice. The last bit was the worst of all, for here the raging
elements struck us with full and uninterrupted force. We crossed this
inches at a time, lying flat on the smooth rock with our faces
downwards. Our feelings of thankfulness to the Almighty may be imagined
when we finally reached the other side in safety.

Given a fine day we should have had a glorious view from this point,
and, as it was, in spite of the rain we could see a long distance, but
the prospect was far from encouraging. A great black rock, higher than
that we had climbed, stood before us, with its summit hidden in the
clouds, and a wide expanse of hills and moors, but not a house or tree
so far as the eye could reach. This rather surprised us, as we expected
the forest region to be covered with trees which would afford us some
shelter on our farther way. We learned afterwards that the "forest" was
but a name, the trees having disappeared ages ago from most of these
forests in the northern regions of Scotland.

We were wet through to the skin and shivering with cold as we began to
descend the other side of the Maiden's Paps--a descent we found both
difficult and dangerous. It looked an awful place below us--a wild
amphitheatre of dreary hills and moors!

We had no compass to guide us, and in the absence of light from the sun
we could not tell in what direction we were travelling, so with our
backs towards the hills we had crossed, we made our way across the bog,
now saturated with water. We could hear it gurgling under our feet at
every stride, even when we could not see it, and occasionally we slipped
into holes nearly knee-deep in water. After floundering in the bog for
some time, and not knowing which way to turn, as we appeared to be
surrounded with hills, we decided to try to walk against the wind which
was blowing from the sea, for we knew that if we could reach the coast
we should also reach the highway, which ran alongside it. But we soon
had to give in, for we came to great rocks impossible for us to scale,
so we had to abandon this direction and try another. The rain still
continued, and our hands had now been bleached quite white with the rain
beating on them, just like those of a washerwoman after a heavy day's
washing. We knew that the night would shortly be coming on, and the
terrible thought of a dark night on the moors began to haunt us. If we
could only have found a track we should not have cared, but we were now
really LOST.

We were giving way to despair and beginning to think it might be a
question of life or death when a bright thought suddenly struck us, and
we wondered why we had not thought of it before. Why not follow the
water, which would be sure to be running towards the sea? This idea
inspired us with hope, and seemed to give us new life; but it was
astonishing what a time elapsed before we found a running stream, for
the water appeared to remain where it fell. At length we came to a small
stream, the sight of which gave us renewed energy, and we followed it
joyfully on its downward course. Presently we saw a few small bushes;
then we came to a larger stream, and afterwards to a patch of grassland
which clearly at one time had been under cultivation. At last we came to
trees under which we could see some deer sheltering from the storm: by
this time the stream had become a raging torrent. We stood watching the
deer for a moment, when suddenly three fine stags rushed past us and
dashed into the surging waters of the stream, which carried them down a
considerable distance before they could land on its rocky bank on the
other side. It was an exciting adventure, as the stags were so near us,
and with their fine antlers presented an imposing appearance.

We now crossed over some heather in order to reach a small path which we
could see alongside the swollen river. How pleased we were when we knew
we were out of danger! It seemed to us like an escape from a terrible
fate. We remembered how Mungo Park, when alone in the very heart of
Africa, and in the midst of a great wilderness, derived consolation from
very much smaller sources than the few trees which now cheered us on our
way. The path became broader as we passed through the grounds of Lord
Galloway's hunting-box, and we soon reached the highway, where we
crossed the boiling torrent rushing along with frightful rapidity on its
way to the sea. The shades of night were coming on as we knocked at the
door of the keeper's cottage, and judge of our surprise when we were
informed that, after walking from ten o'clock in the morning to six
o'clock at night, we were only about six miles from Dunbeath, whence we
had started that morning, and had still about ten miles to walk before
we could reach Helmsdale.

We were almost famished with hunger, but we were lucky enough to secure
a splendid tea at the keeper's cottage. Fortunately for us the good lady
of the house had provided a sumptuous repast for some sporting gentlemen
she was expecting, but who had been prevented from coming owing to the
storm. We kept no record of our gastronomical performances on this
occasion, but we can safely state that of a whole rabbit very little
remained, and the same remark would apply to a whole series of other
delicacies which the keeper's wife had so kindly and thoughtfully
provided for her more distinguished but absent guests. We took the
opportunity of drying some of our wet clothing, and before we finished
our tea the keeper himself came in, to whom we related our adventures.
Though accustomed to the broken regions and wild solitudes we had passed
through, he was simply astounded that we had come over them safely,
especially on such a day.

It was pitch dark when we left the keeper's cottage, and he very kindly
accompanied us until we reached the highroad in safety. The noise caused
by the rushing waters of the rivers as they passed us on their way in
frantic haste to the sea, now quite near us, and the roar of the sea
itself as it dashed itself violently against the rocky coast, rendered
conversation very difficult, but our companion gave us to understand
that the road to Helmsdale was very hilly and lonely, and at one time
was considered dangerous for strangers. Fortunately the surface was very
good, and we found it much easier to walk upon than the wet heather we
had passed over for so many miles. The black rocks which lined the road,
the darkness of the night, and the noise from the sea as the great waves
dashed and thundered on the rocks hundreds of feet below, might have
terrified timid travellers, but they seemed nothing to us compared with
our experience earlier in the day. The wind had moderated, but the rain
continued to fall, and occasionally we were startled as we rounded one
of the many bends in the road by coming suddenly on a burn swollen with
the heavy rains, hurling itself like a cataract down the rocky sides of
the hill, and rushing under the road beneath our feet in its noisy
descent helter-skelter towards the sea.

We walked on as rapidly as the hilly nature of our road would permit,
without seeing a house or human being, until we approached Helmsdale,
when we were surprised by the sudden appearance of the stage-coach drawn
by three horses and displaying its enormous red lamp in front. The
driver suddenly pulled up his horses, for, as he said, he did not know
"what the de'il it was coming in front": he scarcely ever met any one on
that road, and particularly on such an "awful" stormy night. We asked
him how far we were from the town, and were delighted to hear it was
only about two miles away. It was after ten o'clock when we arrived at
Helmsdale, tired and footsore, but just in time to secure lodgings for
the night at the Commercial Inn.

(_Distance walked thirty miles_.)

_Thursday, September 21st._

Helmsdale was a pleasant little town inhabited chiefly by fishermen, but
a place of some importance, for it had recently become the northern
terminus of the railway. A book in the hotel, which we read while
waiting for breakfast, gave us some interesting information about the
road we had travelled along the night before, and from it we learned
that the distance between Berriedale and Helmsdale was nine and a half
miles, and that about half-way between these two places it passed the
Ord of Caithness at an elevation of 1,200 feet above the sea-level, an
"aclivity of granite past which no railway can be carried," and the
commencement of a long chain of mountains separating Caithness from
Sutherland.

Formerly the road was carried along the edge of a tremendous range of
precipices which overhung the sea in a fashion enough to frighten both
man and beast, and was considered the most dangerous road in Scotland,
so much so that when the Earl of Caithness or any other great landed
proprietor travelled that way a troop of their tenants from the borders
of Sutherland-shire assembled, and drew the carriage themselves across
the hill, a distance of two miles, quadrupeds not being considered safe
enough, as the least deviation would have resulted in a fall over the
rocks into the sea below. This old road, which was too near the sea for
modern traffic, was replaced by the present road in the year 1812. The
old path, looked at from the neighbourhood of Helmsdale, had more the
appearance of a sheep track than a road as it wound up the steep brow of
the hill 300 or 400 feet above the rolling surge of the sea below, and
was quite awe-inspiring even to look at, set among scenery of the most
wild and savage character.

We had now cleared the county of Caithness, which, like Orkney and
Shetland, was almost entirely devoid of trees. To our way of thinking a
sprinkling of woods and copses would have much enhanced the wild beauty
of the surroundings, but there was a difference of opinion or taste on
this point as on everything else. A gentleman who had settled in
America, and had had to clear away the trees from his holding, when he
passed through Caithness on his way to John o' Groat's was continually
ejaculating, "What a beautiful country!" "What a very beautiful
country!" Some one who heard him remarked, "You can hardly call it a
very beautiful country when there are no trees." "Trees," cried the
Yankee; "that's all stuff Caithness, I calculate, is the finest clearing
I ever saw in my life!"

We had often wondered, by the way, how the Harbour Works at Wick would
be affected by the great storms, and we were afterwards greatly
interested when we read in a Scotch provincial newspaper the following
telegrams:

   TERRIFIC GALE AT WICK THREATENED DESTRUCTION OF THE HARBOUR WORKS

   _From our Wick Correspondent_

   _Wick, Wednesday_, 12:50--A terrific storm is raging here to-day. It
   is a gale from the south-east, with an extraordinary surf which is
   making a complete break of the new Harbour Works, where a number of
   large stones have been dislodged and serious damage is threatened.

   1:30 _p.m._--The storm still continues. A large concrete block,
   weighing 300 tons, has been dislodged, and the whole building seems
   doomed unless the storm abates very soon.

These hours corresponded with the time we were crossing the Maiden's
Paps mountains, and we are not likely ever to forget the great danger we
were in on that occasion.

We were rather backward in making a start on our journey to-day, for our
feet were very sore; but we were advised to apply common soap to our
stocking feet, from which we experienced great relief. As we left the
town we saw some ruins, which we assumed were those of Helmsdale Castle,
and we had now the company of the railway, which, like our road, hugged
the seacoast for some miles. About two miles after leaving Helmsdale we
sighted the first railway train we had seen since we left Aberdeen a
fortnight before. Under ordinary conditions this might have passed
unnoticed, but as we had been travelling through such wild country we
looked upon it as a sign that we were approaching a part of the country
which had communication with civilisation, other than that afforded by
sea or mail-coach.

[Illustration: PICTISH TOWER (EXTERIOR).]

We now walked through the Parish of Loth, where in Glen Loth we were
informed the last wolf in Scotland was killed, and about half a mile
before reaching Brora we climbed over a stone fence to inspect the ruins
of a Pictish castle standing between our road and the railway. The ruins
were circular, but some of the walls had been built in a zig-zag form,
and had originally contained passages and rooms, some of which still
existed, but they looked so dark that we did not care to go inside them,
though we were informed that about two years before our visit
excavations had been made and several human skulls were discovered. The
weather continued wet, and we passed through several showers on our way
from Helmsdale to Brora, where, after a walk of twelve miles, we stayed
for lunch, and it was again raining as we left there for Golspie.

[Illustration: PICTISH TOWER (INTERIOR).]

At Brora we heard stories of wonderful fossils which were to be found in
the rocks on the shore--shells and fish-scales and remains of bigger
creatures--and of a bed of real coal. Certainly the rocks seemed to
change their character hereabouts, which may account for the softening
of the scenery and the contrast in agricultural pursuits in this region
with those farther north. Here the appearance of the country gradually
improved as we approached the woods and grounds and more cultivated
regions surrounding the residence of the Duke of Sutherland.

[Illustration: DUNROBIN CASTLE. "It was the finest building we had
seen, not at all like the gloomy-looking castles, being more like a
palace, with a fine display of oriel windows, battlements, steeples, and
turrets."]

We came in sight of another Pictish castle, which we turned aside to
visit; but by this time we had become quite familiar with the formation
of these strange old structures, which were nearly all built after the
same pattern, although some belonged to an earlier period than others,
and the chambers in them were invariably dark and dismal. If these were
used for the same purpose as similar ones we had seen in Shetland, where
maidens of property and beauty were placed for protection from the
"gallants" who roamed about the land in those days, the fair prisoners
must have had a dismal time while incarcerated in these dungeon-like
apartments. In these ruins, however, we saw some ancient utensils, or
querns, supposed to have been used for crushing corn. They had been
hollowed out in stone, and one of them had a well-worn stone inside it,
but whether or no it was the remains of an ancient pestle used in
crushing the corn we could not determine; it looked strangely like one.

The country hereabouts was of the most charming description, hilly and
undulating rather than rugged, and we left the highway to walk along the
seashore, where we passed the rifle and artillery ranges of the
volunteers. We also saw the duke's private pier extending towards the
open sea, and from this point we had a fine view of Dunrobin Castle, the
duke's residence, which was the finest building we had seen, and not at
all like the other gloomy-looking castles, being more like a palace. It
is a happy blending of the German Schloss, the French château, and
Scottish baronial architecture, with a fine display of oriel windows,
battlements, turrets, and steeples, the great tower rising to a height
of 135 feet above the garden terrace below. A vista of mountains and
forests lay before any one privileged to ascend the tower. The view from
the seashore was simply splendid, as from this point we could see,
showing to great advantage, the lovely gardens, filled with beautiful
shrubs and flowers of luxuriant growth, sloping upwards towards the
castle, and the hills behind them, with their lower slopes covered with
thousands of healthy-looking firs, pines, and some deciduous trees,
while the bare moorland above formed a fine background. On the hill
"Beinn-a-Bhragidh," at a point 1,300 feet above sea-level, standing as
if looking down on all, was a colossal monument erected to the memory of
the duke's grandfather, which could be seen many miles away. The duke
must have been one of the largest landowners in Britain, as, in addition
to other possessions, he owned the entire county of Sutherland,
measuring about sixty miles long and fifty-six miles broad, so that when
at home he could safely exclaim with Robinson Crusoe, "I am monarch of
all I survey."

The castle had an ancient foundation, for it was in 1097 the dun, or
stronghold, of the second Robert of Sutherland, and the gardens have
been famous from time immemorial. An extract from an old book written in
1630 reads, "The Erle of Sutherland made Dunrobin his speciall residence
it being a house well-seated upon a mole hard by the sea, with fair
orchards wher ther be pleasant gardens, planted with all kinds of
froots, hearbs and flours used in this kingdom, and abundance of good
saphorn, tobacco and rosemarie, the froot being excellent and cheeflie
the pears and cherries."

A most pleasing feature to our minds was the fact that the gardens were
open to all comers, but as we heard that the duke was entertaining a
distinguished company, including Lord Delamere of Vale Royal from our
own county of Cheshire, we did not apply for permission to enter the
grounds, and thus missed seeing the great Scotch thistle, the finest in
all Scotland. This thistle was of the ordinary variety, but of colossal
proportions, full seven feet high, or, as we afterwards saw it
described, "a beautiful emblem of a war-like nation with his radious
crown of rubies full seven feet high." We had always looked upon the
thistle as an inferior plant, and in Cheshire destroyed it in thousands,
regarding it as only fit for food for donkeys, of which very few were
kept in that county; but any one seeing this fine plant must have been
greatly impressed by its appearance. The thistle has been the emblem of
Scotland from very early times, and is supposed to have been adopted by
the Scots after a victorious battle with the Danes, who on a dark night
tried to attack them unawares. The Danes were creeping towards them
silently, when one of them placed his bare foot on a thistle, which
caused him to yell out with pain. This served as an alarm to the Scots,
who at once fell upon the Danes and defeated them with great slaughter,
and ever afterwards the thistle appeared as their national emblem, with
the motto, _Nemo me impune lacessit_, or, "No one hurts me with
impunity."

Golspie was only a short distance away from the castle, and we were
anxious to get there, as we expected letters from home, so we called at
the post office first and got what letters had arrived, but another mail
was expected. We asked where we could get a cup of coffee, and were
directed to a fine reading-room opposite, where we adjourned to read our
letters and reply to them with the accompaniment of coffee and light
refreshments. The building had been erected by the Sutherland family,
and was well patronised, and we wished that we might meet with similar
places in other towns where we happened to call. Such as we found
farther south did not appear to be appreciated by the class of people
for whom they were chiefly intended. This may be accounted for by the
fact that the working-class Scots were decidedly more highly educated
than the English. We were not short of company, and we heard a lot of
gossip, chiefly about what was going on at the castle.

On inquiring about our next stage, we were told that it involved a
twenty-five-mile walk through an uninhabited country, without a village
and with scarcely a house on the road. The distance we found afterwards
had been exaggerated, but as it was still raining and the shades of
evening were coming on, with our recent adventures still fresh in our
minds and the letter my brother expected not having yet arrived, we
agreed to spend the night at Golspie, resolving to make an early start
on the following morning. We therefore went into the town to select
suitable lodgings, again calling at the post office and leaving our
address in the event of any letters coming by the expected mail, which
the officials kindly consented to send to us, and after making a few
purchases we retired to rest. We were just dozing off to sleep, when we
were aroused by a knock at our chamber door, and a voice from without
informed us that our further letters and a newspaper had arrived. We
jumped out of bed, glad to receive additional news from the "old folks
at home," and our sleep was no less peaceful on that account.

(_Distance walked eighteen miles_.)

_Friday, September 22nd._

We rose at seven o'clock, and left Golspie at eight _en route_ for Bonar
Bridge. As we passed the railway station we saw a huge traction engine,
which we were informed belonged to the Duke of Sutherland, and was
employed by him to draw wood and stone to the railway. About a mile
after leaving the town we observed the first field of wheat since we had
left John o' Groat's. The morning had turned out wet, so there was no
one at work among the corn, but several machines there showed that
agriculture received much attention. We met some children carrying milk,
who in reply to our inquiry told us that the cows were milked three
times each day--at six o'clock in the morning, one o'clock at noon, and
eight o'clock at night--with the exception of the small Highland cows,
which were only milked twice. As we were looking over the fields in the
direction of the railway, we observed an engine with only one carriage
attached proceeding along the line, which we thought must be the mail
van, but we were told that it was the duke's private train, and that he
was driving the engine himself, the engine being named after his castle,
"Dunrobin." We learned that the whole railway belonged to him for many
miles, and that he was quite an expert at engine driving.

About five miles after leaving Golspie we crossed what was known as "The
Mound," a bank thrown across what looked like an arm of the sea. It was
upwards of half a mile long, and under the road were six arches to admit
the passage of the tide as it ebbed and flowed. Here we turned off to
the right along the hill road to Bonar Bridge, and visited what had been
once a mansion, but was now nearly all fallen to the ground, very little
remaining to tell of its former glory. What attracted us most was the
site of the garden behind the house, where stood four great yew trees
which must have been growing hundreds of years. They were growing in
pairs, and in a position which suggested that the road had formerly
passed between them.

Presently our way passed through a beautiful and romantic glen, with a
fine stream swollen by the recent rains running alongside it. Had the
weather been more favourable, we should have had a charming walk. The
hills did not rise to any great elevation, but were nicely wooded down
to the very edge of the stream, and the torrent, with its innumerable
rapids and little falls, that met us as we travelled on our upward way,
showed to the best advantage. In a few miles we came to a beautiful
waterfall facing our road, and we climbed up the rocks to get a near
view of it from a rustic bridge placed there for the purpose. A large
projecting rock split the fall into the shape of a two-pronged fork, so
that it appeared like a double waterfall, and looked very pretty.
Another stream entered the river near the foot of the waterfall, but the
fall of this appeared to have been artificially broken thirty or forty
times on its downward course, forming the same number of small lochs, or
ponds. We had a grand sight of these miniature lakes as they overflowed
one into another until their waters joined the stream below.

We now left the trees behind us and, emerging into the open country,
travelled many miles across the moors alongside Loch Buidhee, our only
company being the sheep and the grouse. As we approached Bonar Bridge we
observed a party of sportsmen on the moors. From the frequency of their
fire we supposed they were having good sport; a horse with panniers on
its back, which were fast being ladened with the fallen game, was
following them at a respectful distance. Then we came to a few small
houses, near which were large stacks of peat or turf, which was being
carted away in three carts. We asked the driver of the first cart we
overtook how far it was to Bonar Bridge, and he replied two miles. We
made the same inquiry from the second, who said three miles, and the
reply of the third was two and a half miles. As the distance between the
first and the third drivers was only one hundred yards, their replies
rather amused us. Still we found it quite far enough, for we passed
through shower after shower.

Our eighteen-mile walk had given us a good idea of "Caledonia stern and
wild," and at the same time had developed in us an enormous appetite
when by two o'clock we entered the hotel facing Bonar Bridge for our
dinner. The bridge was a fine substantial iron structure of about 150
feet span, having a stone arching at either end, and was of great
importance, as it connected main roads and did away with the ferry which
once existed there. As we crossed the bridge we noticed two vessels from
Sunderland discharging coals, and some fallen fir-trees lying on the
side of the water apparently waiting shipment for colliery purposes, apt
illustrations of the interchange of productions. There were many fine
plantations of fir-trees near Bonar Bridge, and as we passed the railway
station we saw a rather substantial building across the water which we
were informed was the "Puirshoose," or "Poor House."

Observing a village school to the left of our road, we looked through
the open door; but the room was empty, so we called at the residence of
the schoolmaster adjoining to get some reliable information about our
further way, We found him playing on a piano and very civil and
obliging, and he advised us to stay for the night at what was known as
the Half-way House, which we should find on the hill road to Dingwall,
and so named because it was halfway between Bonar and Alness, and nine
miles from Bonar. Our road for the first two miles was close along
Dornoch Firth, and the fine plantations of trees afforded us some
protection against the wind and rain; then we left the highway and
turned to the right, along the hill road. After a steep ascent for more
than a mile, we passed under a lofty elevation, and found ourselves once
more amongst the heather-bells so dear to the heart of every true Scot.

At this point we could not help lingering awhile to view the magnificent
scene below. What a gorgeous panorama! The wide expanse of water, the
bridge we had lately crossed and the adjoining small village, the fine
plantations of trees, the duke's monument rising above the woods at
Golspie, were all visible, but obscured in places by the drifting
showers. If the "Clerk of the Weather" had granted us sunshine instead
of rain, we should have had a glorious prospect not soon to be
forgotten. But we had still three miles to walk, or, as the people in
the north style it, to travel, before we could reach the Half-Way House,
when we met a solitary pedestrian, who as soon as he saw us coming sat
down on a stone and awaited us until we got within speaking distance,
when he began to talk to us. He was the Inspector of Roads, and had been
walking first in one direction and then in the other during the whole of
the day. He said he liked to speak to everybody he saw, as the roads
were so very lonely in his district. He informed us that the Half-Way
House was a comfortable place, and we could not do better than stay
there for the night.

We were glad when we reached the end of our nine-mile walk, as the day
had been very rough and stormy. As it was the third in succession of the
same character, we did not care how soon the weather took a turn for the
better. The Half-Way House stood in a deserted and lonely position on
the moor some little distance from the road, without another house being
visible for miles, and quite isolated from the outer world. We entered
the farmyard, where we saw the mistress busy amongst the pigs, two dogs
barking at us in a very threatening manner. We walked into the kitchen,
the sole occupant of which was a "bairn," who was quite naked, and whom
we could just see behind a maiden of clothes drying before the fire. The
mistress soon followed us into the house, and in reply to our query as
to whether we could be accommodated for the night said, "I will see,"
and invited us into the parlour, a room containing two beds and sundry
chairs and tables. The floor in the kitchen was formed of clay, the
parlour had a boarded floor, and the mantelpiece and roof were of very
old wood, but there was neither firegrate nor fire.

After we had waited there a short time, the mistress again made her
appearance, with a shovel full of red-hot peat, so, although she had not
given us a decided answer as to whether we could stay the night or not,
we considered that silence gave consent, especially when seconded by the
arrival of the welcome fire.

"You surely must have missed your train!" she said; but when we told her
that we were pedestrian tourists, or, as my brother described it, "on a
walking expedition," she looked surprised.

When she entered the room again we were sorting out our letters and
papers, and she said, "You surely must be sappers!" We had some
difficulty in making her understand the object of our journey, as she
could not see how we could be walking for pleasure in such bad weather.

We found the peat made a very hot fire and did good service in helping
to dry our wet clothing. We wanted some hot milk and bread for supper,
which she was very reluctant to supply, as milk was extremely scarce on
the moors, but as a special favour she robbed the remainder of the
family to comply with our wishes. The wind howled outside, but we heeded
it not, for we were comfortably housed before a blazing peat fire which
gave out a considerable amount of heat. We lit one of our ozokerite
candles, of which we carried a supply to be prepared for emergencies,
and read our home newspaper, _The Warrington Guardian_, which was sent
to us weekly, until supper-time arrived, and then we were surprised by
our hostess bringing in an enormous bowl, apparently an ancient punch
bowl, large enough to wash ourselves in, filled with hot milk and bread,
along with two large wooden spoons. Armed with these, we both sat down
with the punch-bowl between us, hungry enough and greedy enough to
compete with one another as to which should devour the most. Which won
would be difficult to say, but nothing remained except the bowl and the
spoons and our extended selves.

We had walked twenty-seven miles, and it must have been weather such as
we had experienced that inspired the poet to exclaim:

  The west wind blows and brings rough weather,
  The east brings cold and wet together,
  The south wind blows and brings much rain,
  The north wind blows it back again!

The beds were placed end to end, so that our feet came together, with a
wooden fixture between the two beds to act as the dividing line.
Needless to say we slept soundly, giving orders to be wakened early in
the morning.

(_Distance walked twenty-seven miles_.)

_Saturday, September 23rd._

We were awakened at six o'clock in the morning, and after a good
breakfast we left the Half-Way House (later the "Aultnamain Inn"), and
well pleased we were with the way the landlady had catered for our
hungry requirements. We could see the sea in the distance, and as we
resumed our march across the moors we were often alarmed suddenly by the
harsh and disagreeable cries of the startled grouse as they rose
hurriedly from the sides of our path, sounding almost exactly like "Go
back!--go back!" We were, however, obliged to "Go forward," and that
fairly quickly, as we were already a few miles behind our contemplated
average of twenty-five miles per day. We determined to make the loss
good, and if possible to secure a slight margin to our credit, so we set
out intending to reach Inverness that night if possible. In spite,
therefore, of the orders given in such loud and unpleasant tones by the
grouse, we advanced quickly onwards and left those birds to rejoice the
heart of any sportsman who might follow.

Cromarty Firth was clearly visible as we left the moors, and we could
distinguish what we thought was Cromarty itself, with its whitewashed
houses, celebrated as the birthplace of the great geologist, Hugh
Miller, of whom we had heard so much in the Orkneys. The original cause
of the whitewashing of the houses in Cromarty was said to have been the
result of an offer made by a former candidate for Parliamentary
honours, who offered to whitewash any of the houses. As nearly all the
free and independent electors accepted his offer, it was said that
Cromarty came out of the Election of 1826 cleaner than any other place
in Scotland, notwithstanding the fact that it happened in an age when
parliamentarian representation generally went to the highest bidder.

We crossed the Strathrory River, and leaving the hills to our right
found ourselves in quite a different kind of country, a veritable land
of woods, where immense plantations of fir-trees covered the hills as
far as the eye could reach, sufficient, apparently, to make up for the
deficiency in Caithness and Sutherland in that respect, for we were now
in the county of Ross and Cromarty.

Shortly afterwards we crossed over the River Alness. The country we now
passed through was highly cultivated and very productive, containing
some large farms, where every appearance of prosperity prevailed, and
the tall chimneys in the rear of each spoke of the common use of coal.
The breeding of cattle seemed to be carried on extensively; we saw one
large herd assembled in a field adjoining our road, and were amused at a
conversational passage of arms between the farmer and two cattle-dealers
who were trying to do business, each side endeavouring to get the better
of the other. It was not quite a war to the knife, but the fight between
those Scots was like razor trying to cut razor, and we wished we had
time to stay and hear how it ended.

Arriving at Novar, where there was a nice little railway station, we
passed on to the village inn, and called for a second breakfast, which
we thoroughly enjoyed after our twelve-mile walk. Here we heard that
snow had fallen on one of the adjacent hills during the early hours of
the morning, but it was now fine, and fortunately continued to be so
during the whole of the day.

Our next stage was Dingwall, the chief town in the county of Ross, and
at the extreme end of the Cromarty Firth, which was only six miles
distant. We had a lovely walk to that town, very different from the
lonely moors we had traversed earlier in the day, as our road now lay
along the very edge of the Cromarty Firth, while the luxuriant foliage
of the trees on the other side of our road almost formed an arch over
our way. The water of the Firth was about two miles broad all the way to
Dingwall, and the background formed by the wooded hills beyond the Firth
made up a very fine picture. We had been fully prepared to find Dingwall
a very pretty place, and in that we were not disappointed.

The great object of interest as we entered this miniature county town
was a lofty monument fifty or sixty feet high,[Footnote: This monument
has since been swept away.] which stood in a separate enclosure near a
graveyard attached to a church. It was evidently very old, and leaning
several points from the perpendicular, and was bound together almost to
the top with bands of iron crossed in all directions to keep it from
failing. A very curious legend was attached to it. It was erected to
some steward named Roderick Mackenzie, who had been connected with the
Cromarty estate many years ago, and who appeared to have resided at
Kintail, being known as the Tutor of Kintail. He acted as administrator
of the Mackenzie estates during the minority of his nephew, the
grandfather of the first Earl of Cromarty, and was said to have been a
man of much ability and considerable culture for the times in which he
lived. At the same time he was a man of strong personality though of
evil repute in the Gaelic-speaking districts, as the following couplet
still current among the common people showed:

  The three worst things in Scotland--
  Mists in the dog-days, frost in May, and the Tutor of Kintail.

The story went that the tutor had a quarrel with a woman who appeared to
have been quite as strong-minded as himself. She was a dairymaid in
Strathconon with whom he had an agreement to supply him with a stone of
cheese for every horn of milk given by each cow per day. For some reason
the weight of cheese on one occasion happened to be light, and this so
enraged the tutor that he drove her from the Strath. Unfortunately for
him the dairymaid was a poetess, and she gave vent to her sorrow in
verse, in which it may be assumed the tutor came in for much abuse. When
she obtained another situation at the foot of Ben Wyvis, the
far-reaching and powerful hand of the tutor drove her from there also;
so at length she settled in the Clan Ranald Country in Barrisdale, on
the shores of Loch Hourn on the west coast of Inverness-shire, a place
at that time famous for shell-fish, where she might have dwelt in peace
had she mastered the weakness of her sex for demanding the last word;
but she burst forth once more in song, and the tutor came in for another
scathing:

  Though from Strathconon with its cream you've driven me,
  And from Wyvis with its curds and cheese;
  While billow beats on shore you cannot drive me
  From the shell-fish of fair Barrisdale.

These stanzas came to the ear of the tutor, who wrote to Macdonald of
Barrisdale demanding that he should plough up the beach, and when this
had been done there were no longer any shell-fish to be found there.

The dairymaid vowed to be even with the tutor, and threatened to
desecrate his grave. When he heard of the threat, in order to prevent
its execution he built this strange monument, and instead of being
buried beneath it he was said to have been buried near the summit; but
the woman was not to be out-done, for after the tutor's funeral she
climbed to the top of the pinnacle and kept her vow to micturate there!

As our time was limited, we were obliged to hurry away from this
pleasantly situated town, and in about four miles, after crossing the
River Conon, we entered Conon village, where we called for refreshments,
of which we hastily disposed. Conon was quite an agricultural village,
where the smithy seemed to rival the inn in importance, as the smiths
were busy at work. We saw quite a dozen ploughs waiting to be repaired
in order to fit them to stir up the soil during the ploughing season,
which would commence as soon as the corn was cleared off the land. Here
we observed the first fingerpost we had seen since leaving John o'
Groat's, now more than a hundred miles distant, although it was only an
apology for one, and very different from those we were accustomed to see
farther south in more important but not more beautiful places. It was
simply an upright post with rough pieces of wood nailed across the top,
but we looked upon it as a sign that we were approaching more civilised
regions. The gentry had shown their appreciation of this delightful part
of the country by erecting fine residences in the neighbourhood, some of
which we passed in close proximity. Just before crossing over the
railway bridge we came to a frightful figure of a human head carved on a
stone and built in the battlement in a position where it could be seen
by all. It was coloured white, and we heard it was the work of some
local sculptor. It was an awful-looking thing, and no doubt did duty for
the "boggard" of the neighbourhood. The view of the hills to the right
of our road as we passed along was very fine, lit up as they were by the
rays of the evening sun, and the snow on Ben Wyvis in the distance
contrasted strangely with the luxuriant foliage of the trees near us, as
they scarcely yet showed the first shade of the autumn tints.

About four miles farther on we arrived at a place called the Muir of
Ord, a rather strange name of which we did not know the meaning,
reaching the railway station there just after the arrival of a train
which we were told had come from the "sooth." The passengers consisted
of a gentleman and his family, who were placing themselves in a large
four-wheeled travelling-coach to which were attached four rather
impatient horses. A man-servant in livery was on the top of the coach
arranging a large number of parcels and boxes, those intolerable
appendages of travel. We waited, and watched their departure, as we had
no desire to try conclusions with the restless feet of the horses, our
adventures with the Shetland pony in the north having acted as a warning
to us. Shortly afterwards we crossed a large open space of land studded
with wooden buildings and many cattle-pens which a man told us was now
the great cattlemarket for the North, where sales for cattle were held
each month--the next would be due in about a week's time, when from
30,000 to 35,000 sheep would be sold. It seemed strange to us that a
place of such importance should have been erected where there were
scarcely any houses, but perhaps there were more in the neighbourhood
than we had seen, and in any case it lay conveniently as a meeting-place
for the various passes in the mountain country.

We soon arrived at Beauly, which, as its name implied, was rather a
pretty place, with its houses almost confined to the one street, the
Grammar School giving it an air of distinction. Our attention was
attracted by some venerable ruins at the left of our road, which we
determined to visit, but the gate was locked. Seeing a small girl
standing near, we asked her about the key, and she volunteered to go and
tell the man who kept it to come at once. We were pressed for time, and
the minutes seemed very long as we stood awaiting the arrival of the
key, until at last we decided to move on; but just as we were walking
away we saw an old man coming up a side street with the aid of a crutch
and a stick.

[Illustration: ON THE BEAULY RIVER.]

He pointed with his stick towards the cathedral, so we retraced our
steps and awaited his arrival with the key. A key it certainly was, and
a large one too, for it weighed 2 lbs. 4 ozs. and the bore that fitted
the lock was three-quarters of an inch in diameter. It was the biggest
key we saw in all our long journey. We listened to all the old man had
to tell us about the cathedral, the building of which begun in the year
1230. It measured 152 feet in length and about 24 feet in breadth, but
was ruined in the time of Cromwell. He showed us what he described as
the Holy Water Pot, which was quite near the door and had some water in
it, but why the water happened to be there the old man could not
explain. The front gable of the nave was nearly all standing, but that
at the back, which at one time had contained a large window, was nearly
all down. The old font was in the wall about half-way down the
cathedral; the vestry and chapter house were roofless. The grave-stones
dated from the year 1602, but that which covered the remains of the
founder was of course very much older. Beauly was formerly a
burial-place of the ancient Scottish chieftains, and was still used as
the burial-ground of the Mackenzies, the name reminding us of our
friends at the "Huna Inn." Rewarding our guide and the bairn who had
returned with him for their services, we walked quickly away, as we had
still twelve miles to walk before reaching Inverness.

[Illustration: BEAULY PRIORY.]

After crossing the bridge over the River Beauly we had the company for
about a mile of a huge servant-girl, a fine-looking Scotch lassie, with
whom we ventured to enter into conversation although we felt like dwarfs
in her presence. She told us she had never been in England, but her
sister had been there in service, and had formed a bad opinion of the
way the English spent their Sundays. Some of them never went to church
at all, while one young man her sister knew there actually whistled as
he was going to church! It was very different in Scotland, where, she
said, all went to church and kept holy the Sabbath day. She evidently
thought it a dreadful offence to whistle on Sundays, and we were careful
not to offend the susceptibilities of the Scots, and, we may safely say,
our own, by whistling on the Lord's day. Whistling was, however, an
accomplishment of which we were rather proud, as we considered ourselves
experts, and beguiled many a weary mile's march with
quicksteps--English, Scotch, Welsh, and Irish--which we flattered
ourselves sounded better amongst the hills of the Highlands of Scotland
even than the sacred bagpipes of the most famous Scotch regiments.

We thanked our formidable-looking friend for her company and, presenting
her with a John o' Groat's buckie, bade her farewell. When she must have
been a distance away we accelerated our pace by whistling "Cheer, Boys,
Cheer!" one of Charles Russell's songs. We could not keep it up for
long, as we were not only footsore, but sore in every joint, through
friction, and we were both beginning to limp a little when we came to a
junction in the roads. Here it was necessary to inquire about our way,
and seeing a farm quite near we went to it and asked a gentleman who was
standing in the yard which way we should turn for Inverness and how far
it was. He kindly directed us, and told us that town was nine miles
distant, but added, "I am just going there in my 'machine,' which will
be ready directly, and will be glad to give you a lift." This kind offer
formed one of the greatest temptations we had during our long journey,
as we had already walked thirty miles that day, and were in a pitiable
condition, and it was hard to say "No." We thanked the gentleman
heartily, and explained why we could not accept it, as we had determined
to walk all the way to Land's End, and with an effort both painful and
slow we mournfully took our way. We had only travelled a short distance
when he overtook us with a spirited horse and a well-appointed
conveyance, bidding us "Good night" as he passed.

We had a painful walk for the next three miles, and it was just at the
edge of dark when we called for tea at the "Bogroy Inn." We were shown
into the parlour by the mistress herself, a pleasant elderly lady, very
straight, but very stout, and when my brother complimented her on her
personal appearance, she told him that when she first came into that
neighbourhood thirty-five years ago she only weighed eleven stone, but
six years since she weighed twenty-two stone; now, she rather
sorrowfully added, "I only weigh seventeen stone!" She evidently thought
she had come down in the world, but she was an ideal landlady of the
good old sort, for she sent us some venison in for our tea, the first we
had ever tasted, and with eggs and other good things we had a grand
feast. Moreover, she sent her daughter, a prepossessing young lady, to
wait upon us, so we felt ourselves highly honoured.

As we were devouring the good things provided we heard some mysterious
tappings, which we were unable to locate. My brother suggested the house
might be haunted, but when the young lady entered the room again we
discovered that the tappings were outside the house, on the shutters
which covered the windows, for every one in the Highlands in those days
protected their lower windows with wooden shutters. The tappings were
accompanied by a low whistle, by which we could see the young lady was
visibly affected, until finally she left the room rather hurriedly,
never to appear again; nor did we hear the tappings any more, and the
requiem we sung was:

  If she be not fair for me,
  What care I how fair she be?

We were sorry to leave the "Bogroy Inn," as the mistress said she would
have been glad of our further patronage, but we had determined to reach
Inverness as a better place to stay over the week end. With great
difficulty we walked the remaining six miles under the trees, through
which the moon was shining, and we could see the stars twinkling above
our heads as we marched, or rather crawled, along the Great North Road.
On arriving at Inverness we crossed the bridge, to reach a house that
had been recommended to us, but as it was not up to our requirements we
turned back and found one more suitable across the water. Our week's
walk totalled 160 miles, of which thirty-nine had been covered that day.

(_Distance walked thirty-nine miles._)

_Sunday, September 24th._

After a good night's rest and the application of common soap to the
soles of our feet, and fuller's earth to other parts of our
anatomy--remedies we continued to employ, whenever necessary, on our
long journey--we were served with a good breakfast, and then went out to
see what Inverness looked like in the daylight. We were agreeably
surprised to find it much nicer than it appeared as we entered it, tired
out, the night before, and we had a pleasant walk before going to the
eleven-o'clock service at the kirk.

Inverness, the "Capital of the Highlands," has a long and eventful
history. St. Columba is said to have visited it as early as the year
565, and on a site fortified certainly in the eighth century stands the
castle, which was, in 1039, according to Shakespeare, the scene of the
murder of King Duncan by Macbeth. The town was made a Royal Burgh by
David I, King of Scotland. The Lords of the Isles also appear to have
been crowned here, for their coronation stone is still in existence, and
has been given a name which in Gaelic signifies the "Stone of the Tubs."
In former times the water supply of the town had to be obtained from the
loch or the river, and the young men and maidens carrying it in tubs
passed this stone on their way--or rather did not pass, for they
lingered a while to rest, the stone no doubt being a convenient
trysting-place. We wandered as far as the castle, from which the view of
the River Ness and the Moray Firth was particularly fine.

We attended service in one of the Free Churches, and were much
interested in the proceedings, which were so different from those we had
been accustomed to in England, the people standing while they prayed and
sitting down while they sang. The service began with the one hundredth
Psalm to the good old tune known as the "Old Hundredth" and associated
in our minds with that Psalm from our earliest days:

  All people that on earth do dwell,
    Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
  Him serve with fear, His praise forth tell,
    Come ye before Him, and rejoice.

[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, INVERNESS.]

During the singing of this, all the people remained seated except the
precentor, who stood near the pulpit. Then followed a prayer, the people
all standing; and then the minister read a portion of Scripture from the
thirty-fourth chapter of the prophet Ezekiel beginning at the eleventh
verse: "For thus saith the Lord God; Behold I, even I, will both search
My sheep, and seek them out."

Another hymn was followed by the Lord's Prayer; after which came the
sermon, preached by the Rev. Donald Fraser, M.A., of Marylebone, London,
a former minister of the church. He read the last three verses of the
ninth chapter of St. John's gospel, continued reading down to the
sixteenth verse of the tenth chapter, and then selected for his text the
fourth, ninth, and tenth verses of that chapter, the first verse of
these reading: "And when he putteth forth his own sheep, he goeth before
them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice."

The sermon had evidently been well thought out and was ably delivered,
the subject being very appropriate to a district where sheep abound and
where their habits are so well known. Everybody listened with the
greatest attention. At the close there was a public baptism of a child,
whose father and mother stood up before the pulpit with their backs to
the congregation. The minister recited the Apostles' Creed, which was
slightly different in phraseology from that used in the Church of
England, and then, descending from the pulpit, proceeded to baptize the
child in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The closing hymn
followed, and the people stood while the minister pronounced the
benediction, after which the congregation slowly separated.

[Illustration: INVERNESS CASTLE.]

During the afternoon we visited an isolated hill about a mile from the
town named Tomnahurich, or the "Hill of the Fairies." Nicely wooded, it
rose to an elevation of about 200 feet above the sea, and, the summit
being comparatively level and clear from trees, we had a good view of
Inverness and its surroundings. This hill was used as the Cemetery, and
many people had been buried, both on the top and along the sides of the
serpentine walk leading up to it, their remains resting there peacefully
until the resurrection, "when the trumpet shall sound and the dead shall
be raised incorruptible." We considered it an ideal place for the burial
of the dead, and quite a number of people were walking up and down the
paths leading under the trees, many of them stopping on their way to
view the graves where their friends had been buried.

In the evening we attended service in the cathedral, a large modern
structure, with two towers, each of which required a spire forty feet
high to complete the original design. Massive columns of Aberdeen
granite had been erected in the interior to support the roof of polished
oak, adorned with carved devices, some of which had not yet been
completed. The Communion-table, or altar, made in Italy and presented to
the cathedral by a wealthy layman, stood beneath a suspended crucifix,
and was further adorned with a cross, two candlesticks, and two vases
containing flowers. The service, of a High-Church character, was fully
choral, assisted by a robed choir and a good organ. The sermon was
preached by the Rev. Provost Powell, who took for his text Romans xiv.
7: "For none liveth to himself and no man dieth to himself." He gave us
a clever oration, but whether extempore or otherwise we could not tell,
as from where we sat we could not see the preacher. There was not a
large congregation, probably owing to the fact that the people in the
North are opposed to innovations, and look upon crosses and candlesticks
on the Communion-table as imitations of the Roman Catholic ritual, to
which the Presbyterians could never be reconciled. The people generally
seemed much prejudiced against this form of service, for in the town
early in the morning, before we knew this building was the cathedral, we
asked a man what kind of a place of worship it was, and he replied, in a
tone that implied it was a place to be avoided, that he did not know,
but it was "next to th' Catholics." Our landlady spoke of it in exactly
the same way.

SECOND WEEK'S JOURNEY

_Monday, September 25th._

[Illustration: CAIRN ON THE BATTLEFIELD OF CULLODEN MUIR.]

We rose early, but were not in very good trim for walking, for a mild
attack of diarrhoea yesterday had become intensified during the night,
and still continued. After breakfast we went to the post office for our
"poste restante" letters, and after replying to them resumed our march.
Culloden Muir, the site of the great battle in 1746, in which the
Scottish Clans under Prince Charlie suffered so severely at the hands of
the Duke of Cumberland, is only six miles away from Inverness, and we
had originally planned to visit it, but as that journey would have taken
us farther from the Caledonian Canal, the line of which we were now
anxious to follow, we gave up the idea of going to Culloden. We were,
moreover, in no humour for digressions since we had not yet recovered
from the effects of our long walk on Saturday, and our bodily ailments
were still heavy upon us. As we crossed the suspension-bridge, in close
proximity to the castle, we purchased a few prints of the town and the
neighbourhood through which we were about to pass.

Inverness is built in a delightful situation, skirting the Ness, which
here takes the form of a beautiful, shallow river moving peacefully
forward to its great receptacle, Loch Ness, a few miles away; but,
although the country near the town is comparatively level, it is
surrounded by mountain scenery of the most charming description. Our
route lay along the north-western side of the Caledonian Canal in the
direction of Fort Augustus, and we again passed the Tomnahurich Hill.
Near this we saw a large building which we were surprised to learn was a
lunatic asylum--an institution we did not expect to find here, for we
had only heard of one madman in the three counties of Scotland through
which we had passed. We concluded it must have been built for persons
from farther south.

[Illustration: CULLODEN MUIR.]

The diarrhoea still continued to trouble us, so we asked the advice of a
gentleman we met on the road, and he recommended us to call at the next
farmhouse, which, fortunately, happened to be only a short distance
away, and to "take a quart of milk each, as hot as you can drink it." So
away we walked to the farm, which we found standing a short distance
from our road, and, after explaining our troubles and wishes to the
farmer, were invited into the house, where the mistress quickly provided
us with the hot milk, which luckily proved to be a safe and simple
remedy. The farmer and his wife were as pleased with our company as we
were with theirs, and were just the sort of people that tourists like to
meet. We had a long talk with them about the crops, the markets, our
long walk, and, last but not least, the weather. Speaking of diarrhoea,
the farmer informed us that the water of Inverness often affected
strangers in that way, and that it had even been known to produce
dysentery.

After regaining our road, we had a lovely walk that day; the scenery
and the weather were both very fine, and, about a mile farther on, we
had a glorious view over Loch Ness, beside which our walk led us,
through a delightful country studded with mansions amidst some of
nature's most beautiful scenery. Presently we met a party of men,
consisting of two soldiers and three civilians, engaged in cutting
branches from the trees that were likely to interfere with the working
of the telegraph, which passed along the side of the road. It consisted
of a single wire, and had only just been erected, for we noticed each
post bore the Government mark and the date 1871. We asked the men if
they knew of a good remedy for our complaint, and one of the soldiers,
who had seen service abroad, recommended "a spoonful of sweet oil and
cinnamon mixed with it." Our former remedy had proved to be efficacious,
so we had no need to try this, but we give the information here for the
benefit of all whom it may concern.

[Illustration: THE BURYING-PLACE OF THE CLANS.]

We were certainly in for the best day's march we had yet experienced, if
not for distance, certainly for beauty of route; and if we had had the
gift of poetry--which only affected us occasionally--we should have had
here food for poems sufficient to fill the side of a newspaper. Mountain
rills, gushing rivulets, and murmuring waters! Here they were in
abundance, rolling down the rocky mountains from unknown heights, and
lending an additional charm to the landscape! Is it necessary to dilate
on such beauties?--for if words were conjured in the most delicate and
exquisite language imaginable, the glories of Loch Ness and its
surroundings are, after all, things to be seen before they can be fully
appreciated. The loch is over twenty miles long, and averages about a
mile broad; while a strange fact is that its water never freezes.
Scientific men, we were told, attributed this to the action of
earthquakes in distant parts of the world, their vibrations affecting
the surface of the water here; while others, apparently of the more
commonsense type, attribute it to the extreme depth of the water in the
loch itself, for in the centre it is said to exceed 260 yards.

As we loitered along--for we were very lazy--we decided to have a picnic
amongst the large stones on the shore of the loch, so we selected a
suitable position, and broke into the provisions we carried in our bags
as a reserve for emergencies. We were filling our water-boiling
apparatus from the loch, when we saw a steamboat approaching from the
direction of Glasgow. It presented quite a picture as it passed us, in
the sunshine, with its flags flying and its passengers crowded on the
deck, enjoying the fine scenery, and looking for Inverness, where their
trip on the boat, like the Caledonian Canal itself, would doubtless end.
There was music on board, of which we got the full benefit, as the sound
was wafted towards us across the water, to echo and re-echo amongst the
hills and adjoining woods; and we could hear the strains of the music
long after the boat was cut off from our vision by the branches of the
trees which partially surrounded us.

[Illustration: THE WELL OF THE DEAD, CULLODEN MUIR. The stone marks the
spot where MacGillivray of Dunmaglass died while stretching out his hand
toward the little spring of water.]

We were, in reality, having a holiday compared with our exertions on
Saturday, and, as we were practically on the sick-list, considered
ourselves fully entitled to it. We thought we had travelled quite far
enough for invalids when, at fourteen miles from Inverness, and in the
light of a lovely sunset, we reached Drumnadrochit, a village on the
side of the loch.

Is it to be wondered at that we succumbed to the seductions of the
famous inn there, as distinguished men had done before us, as the
records of the inn both in prose and poetry plainly showed? One poetical
Irishman had written a rhyme of four verses each ending with the word
Drumnadrochit, one of which we thought formed a sufficient invitation
and excuse for our calling there; it read:

  Stop, traveller! with well-pack'd bag,
    And hasten to unlock it;
  You'll ne'er regret it, though you lag
    A day at Drumnadrochit.

One of the best advertisements of this hotel and Drumnadrochit generally
appeared in a letter written by Shirley Brooks to _Punch_ in 1860, in
which he wrote:

   The inn whence these lines are dated faces a scene which, happily, is
   not too often to be observed in this planet. I say happily, sir,
   because we are all properly well aware that this world is a vale of
   tears, in which it is our duty to mortify ourselves and make
   everybody else as uncomfortable as possible. If there were many
   places like Drumnadrochit, persons would be in fearful danger of
   forgetting that they ought to be miserable.

But who would have thought that a quiet and sedate-looking Quaker like
John Bright, the famous M.P. for Birmingham, could have been moved by
the spirit to write a verse of poetry--such an unusual thing for a
member of the Society of Friends! Here it is:

  In the Highland glens 'tis far too oft observed,
  That man is chased away and game preserved;
  Glen Urquhart is to me a lovelier glen--
  Here deer and grouse have not supplanted men.

But was the position reversed when Mr. Bright visited it? and did the
men supplant the deer and grouse then?

[Illustration: DRUMNADROCHIT.]

Glen Urquhart was one of the places we had to pass on the following day,
but as we had no designs on the deer and grouse, since our sporting
proclivities did not lie in that direction, we thought that we might be
safely trusted to leave the game undisturbed.

(_Distance walked fourteen miles_.)

_Tuesday, September 26th._

We set out from Drumnadrochit early in the morning, and, leaving Glen
Urquhart to the right, after walking about two miles turned aside to
view Urquhart Castle, a ruin occupying a commanding position on the side
of Loch Ness and immediately opposite the entrance to the glen. The
castle was besieged by Edward I when he was trying to subdue Scotland,
and a melancholy story was told of that period. The Scots, who were
defending the castle, were "in extremis," as their provisions were
exhausted and they knew that when they surrendered they would all be
slain. The Governor, however, was anxious to save his wife, who was
shortly to become a mother, so he bade her clothe herself in rags and
drove her from the gate as though she were a beggar who had been shut up
in the castle and whom they had driven away because their provisions
were running short. The ruse succeeded, for the English, believing her
story, let her go; after the garrison saw that she was safe they sallied
forth to meet their fate, and were all killed.

[Illustration: URQUHART CASTLE.]

The approach to the ruins from the road is by upwards of a hundred rough
hardwood steps, and the castle must have been a well-nigh impregnable
stronghold in former times, protected as it was on three sides by the
water of the loch and by a moat on the fourth, the position of the
drawbridge being still clearly denned.

Beneath the solitary tower is a dismal dungeon, and we wondered what
horrors had been enacted within its time-worn and gloomy walls! Once a
grim fortress, its ruins had now been mellowed by the hand of time, and
looked quite inviting amidst their picturesque surroundings. To them
might fitly be applied the words: "Time has made beautiful that which at
first was only terrible."

Whilst we were amongst the ruins, a steamboat which had called at
Drumnadrochit passed close alongside the castle, and we waved our
handkerchiefs to those on board, our silent salutations being returned
by some of the passengers. We afterwards learned we had been recognised
by a gentleman who had met us on the previous day.

About ten miles from Drumnadrochit we reached Invermoriston, and visited
a church which was almost filled with monuments to the memory of the
Grant family, the lairds of Glenmoriston. Among them was the tombstone
of the son of a former innkeeper, with the following inscription, which
reminded us of our own mortality:

  Remember, Friend, when this you see,
  As I am now so you must be;
  As you are now so once was I.
  Remember, Friend, that you must die.

There was also another tombstone, apparently that of his mother,
inscribed:

  SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JEAN SCOTT, THE AMIABLE WIFE OF WILLIAM
  FALL, INVERMORISTON, INNKEEPER, WHO DIED ON THE 13TH DAY OF
  APRIL 1837 AGED 68 YEARS.

and on this appeared the following epitaph:

  Weep not for me, O friends,
  But weep and mourn
  For your own sins.

[Illustration: LOCH NESS FROM FORT AUGUSTUS.]

We then went to visit the remarkable waterfall of Glenmoriston, where
the water after rushing down the rocks for some distance entered a
crevice in a projecting rock below, evidently worn in the course of ages
by the falls themselves. Here the water suddenly disappeared, to
reappear as suddenly some distance below, where, as if furious at its
short imprisonment, it came out splashing, dashing, and boiling in
fantastic beauty amongst the rocks over which it pursued its downward
course. We descended a few paces along a footpath leading to a small
but ancient building, probably at one time a summer house, in the centre
of which a very old millstone had done duty as a table. Here we were
fairly in the whirl of waters, and had a splendid view of the falls and
of the spray which rose to a considerable height. There was no doubt
that we saw this lovely waterfall under the best possible conditions,
and it was some recompense to us when we thought that the heavy rainfall
through which we had passed had contributed to this result. The thistle
may overshadow many more beautiful falls than the falls of Glenmoriston,
but we claim a share of praise for this lively little waterfall as
viewed by us in full force from this shady retreat.

[Illustration: GENERAL WADE'S ROAD NEAR FORT AUGUSTUS, WITH LOCH NESS IN
THE DISTANCE.]

[Illustration: A LIGHTHOUSE ON LOCH NESS.]

[Illustration: FALLS OF FOYERS AND LOCH NESS. "Here in the whirl of
waters ... the spray rose to a considerable height."]

After refreshing ourselves at the inn, we started on our next stage of
ten miles to Fort Augustus, the loneliness of our journey through its
beauties of scenery being enlivened by occasionally watching the pranks
of the squirrels and gazing at the many burns that flowed down the
mountain slopes. Before reaching Fort Augustus we had a splendid view as
we looked backward over Loch Ness, dotted here and there with several
ships tacking and retacking, their white sails gleaming in the sunshine.
It had been a calm and lovely day; the sun was sinking in the west as
we entered Fort Augustus, but we had only time enough for a superficial
survey, for we had to proceed farther, and, however important the Fort
might have been in 1729 when General Wade constructed his famous
military road, or when the Duke of Cumberland made it his headquarters
while he dealt severely with the adherents of Prince Charlie, shooting
ruthlessly, laying waste on every side, and driving women and children
into the moors only to die, it looked very insignificant that night. The
Highland Clans never looked favourably on the construction of these
military roads, and would doubtless have preferred the mountain tracks
to remain as they were, for by using the Fort as a base these roads
became a weapon to be used against them; their only eulogy was said to
have been written by an Irish officer:

  Had you but seen these roads before they were made,
  You would lift up your eyes, and bless General Wade.

My brother said he must have been a real Irishman, with the eye of
faith, to see roads _before they were made_!

[Illustration: PRINCE CHARLIE'S CAVE, INVERMORISTON.]

Fort Augustus stands at the extremity of Loch Ness, at the point where
its surplus waters are lowered by means of locks to swell those of Loch
Oich, so as to make both lochs navigable for the purposes of the
Caledonian Canal. We noticed some corn-stacks here that were thatched
with broom, and some small houses that were roofed with what looked like
clods of earth, so we concluded that the district must be a very poor
one.

[Illustration: IN GLENMORISTON.]

As darkness was now coming on, we were anxious to find lodgings for the
night, and, hearing that there was an inn at a place called Invergarry,
seven and a half miles from Fort Augustus, we were obliged to go there.
The moon was just beginning to relieve the darkness when we reached
Invergarry, and, seeing a servant removing some linen from a
clothes-line in a small garden, we asked the way to the inn; she pointed
to a building opposite, and said we had "better go in at that door." We
entered as directed at the side door, and found ourselves in a rather
large inn with a passage through it from end to end. We saw what we
supposed to be the master and the mistress snugly ensconced in a room,
and asked the master if we could obtain lodgings for the night. He said
"yes," but we heard the mistress, who had not seen us, mutter something
we could not hear distinctly. My brother said he was sure he heard the
words "Shepherd's room." The landlord then conducted us into a room at
the end of the long dark passage, in which, we found several shepherds
drinking and conversing with each other in Gaelic. One of them said to
us "Good night," and as we returned his salutation they all retired from
the room. We were now able to look about us, and found the room
contained two tables, four forms, and at least two beds ranged
lengthways along one side. Presently a servant came in and began to make
one of the beds, and then another servant came who, we thought, eyed us
rather closely, as we were holding our faces down to conceal the
laughter which we could scarcely restrain. When she had made the other
bed my brother asked if both the beds were for us. The servant said she
couldn't tell, but "Missis says they are both to be made." We had
evidently been taken for shepherds, and at first we were inclined to
feel angry, for no one came to ask us if we required anything to eat or
drink. We could have done with a good supper, but fortunately we had
replenished our bags at Fort Augustus, so we were in no danger of being
starved. We scribbled in our diaries by the feeble light of the candle
which the servants had left on one of the tables, and as no one turned
up to claim the second bed we occupied both. There was no lock or
fastening on the door, but we barricaded it securely with two of the
forms--and it was perhaps as well that we did so, for some one tried to
open it after we were in bed--and we slept that night not on feathers,
but on chaff with which the beds or mattresses were stuffed.

(_Distance walked twenty-seven miles_.)

_Wednesday, September 27th._

"The sleep of a labouring man is sweet," and so was ours on the
primitive beds of the shepherds. But the sounds in the rear of the hotel
awoke us very early in the morning, and, as there was every appearance
of the weather continuing fine, we decided to walk some distance before
breakfast. We asked one of the servants how much we had to pay, and she
returned with an account amounting to the astounding sum of sixpence!
Just fancy, ye Highland tourists! ye who have felt the keen grip of many
an hotel-keeper there--just fancy, if ye can, two of us staying a night
at a large hotel in the Highlands of Scotland for sixpence!

We followed the servant to a small room at the front of the hotel, where
a lady was seated, to whom the money had to be paid; the surprised and
disappointed look on her face as we handed her a sovereign in payment of
our account was rich in the extreme, amply repaying us for any annoyance
we might have experienced the night before. What made the matter more
aggravating to the lady was that she had not sufficient change, and had
to go upstairs and waken some unwilling money-changer there! Then the
change had to be counted as she reluctantly handed it to us and made a
forlorn effort to recover some of the coins. "Won't you stay for
breakfast?" she asked; but we were not to be persuaded, for although we
were hungry enough, we were of an unforgiving spirit that morning, and,
relying upon getting breakfast elsewhere, we thanked her and went on our
way rejoicing!

About a mile farther on we reached the ruins of Glengarry Castle, which
stand in the private grounds of the owner, but locks and bolts prevented
us from seeing the interior. This castle remains more complete than many
others and still retains its quadrangular appearance, much as it was
when Prince Charlie slept there during his flight after Culloden, and,
although not built on any great elevation, it looks well in its wooded
environs and well-kept grounds. A story was told of the last Lord
Glengarry who, in 1820, travelled 600 miles to be present at the
Coronation of King George IV. He was dressed on that magnificent and
solemn occasion in the full costume of a Highland chief, including, as a
matter of course, a brace of pistols. A lady who was at the reception
happened to see one of the pistols in his clothing, and, being greatly
alarmed, set up a loud shriek, crying, "Oh Lord! Oh Lord! there's a man
with a pistol," and alarming the whole assembly. As she insisted on
Glengarry being arrested, he was immediately surrounded, and the Garter
King of Arms came forward and begged him to give up the much-dreaded
pistols; but he refused, as they were not loaded, and pleaded that they
formed an essential part of his national garb. At length, however, after
much persuasion, he gave them up.

Glengarry wrote a letter to the editor of _The Times_, in which he said:
"I have worn my dress continually at Court, and was never so insulted
before. Pistols, sir, are as essential to the Highland courtier's dress
as a sword is to English, French, or German; and those used by me on
such occasions as unstained with powder as any courtier's sword, with
blood. It is only grossest ignorance of Highland character and costume
which imagined that the assassin lurked under their bold and manly
form."

Glengarry, who, it was said, never properly recovered from the effects
of this insult, died in 1828.

After about another mile we came to a monument near the side of the
road, on the top of which were sculptured the figures of seven human
heads held up by a hand clasping a dagger. On each of the four sides of
the base there was an inscription in one of four different
languages--English, French, Latin, and Gaelic--as follows:

   As a memorial to the ample and summary vengeance which in the swift
   course of Feudal justice inflicted by the orders of the Lord
   MacDonnell and Aross overtook the perpetrators of the foul murder of
   the Keppoch family, a branch of the powerful and illustrious Clan of
   which his Lordship was the Chief, this Monument is erected by Colonel
   MacDonnell of Glengarry XVII Mac-Minc-Alaister his successor and
   Representative in the year of our Lord 1812. The heads of the seven
   murderers were presented at the feet of the noble chief in Glengarry
   Castle after having been washed in this spring and ever since that
   event which took place early in the sixteenth century it has been
   known by the name "Tobar-nan-Ceann" or the Well of the Heads.

The monument was practically built over the well, an arched passage
leading down to the water, where we found a drinking-utensil placed for
any one who desired a drink. We were glad to have one ourselves, but
perhaps some visitors might be of such refined and delicate taste that
they would not care to drink the water after reading the horrible
history recorded above.

It appeared that Macdonald of Keppoch, the owner of the estate, had two
sons whom he sent to France to be educated, and while they were there he
died, leaving the management of his estate to seven kinsmen until the
return of his sons from France; when they came back, they were murdered
by the seven executors of their father's will. The Bard of Keppoch urged
Glengarry to take vengeance on the murderers, and this monument was
erected to commemorate the ample and summary vengeance inflicted about
1661.

[Illustration: INVERGARRY CASTLE.]

Leaving this memorial of "ample and summary vengeance," we crossed the
Loggan Bridge and gained the opposite bank of the Caledonian Canal. The
country we now passed through was very lonely and mountainous, and in
one place we came to a large plantation of hazel loaded with nuts. We
reflected that there were scarcely any inhabitants to eat them, as the
persons we met did not average more than a dozen in twenty miles, and on
one occasion only six all told; so we turned into nut-gatherers
ourselves, spurred on by the fact that we had had no breakfast and our
appetites were becoming sharpened, with small prospect of being appeased
in that lonely neighbourhood.

A little farther on, however, we met a man with two dogs, who told us he
was the shepherd, and, in reply to our anxious inquiry, informed us that
we could get plenty to eat at his house, which we should find a little
farther on the road. This was good news, for we had walked eight miles
since leaving Invergarry. When we reached the shepherd's house, which
had formerly been an inn, we found the mistress both civil and
obliging, and she did her best to provide for our hungry requirements.
The house was evidently a very old one, and we wondered what queer
people had sat in that ingle-nook and what strange stories they had told
there. The fireplace was of huge dimensions; hanging above it was a
single-and a double-barrelled gun, while some old crockery and ancient
glass bottles adorned various parts of the kitchen--evidently family
heirlooms, which no doubt had been handed down from one generation to
another--and a very old bed reposed in the chimney corner.

The mistress provided us with a splendid breakfast, upon which we
inflicted "ample and summary vengeance," for those words were still
ringing in our minds and ears and had already become by-words as we
travelled along. The "best tea-pot," which looked as if it had not been
used for ages, was brought from its hiding-place; and, amongst other
good things, we were treated by way of dessert to some ripe
blackberries, which the mistress called brambleberries and which she
told us she had gathered herself. It was half-past ten o'clock when we
left the shepherd's house, and shortly afterwards we had a view of the
snow-covered summit of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Great Britain.
We had a lonely walk alongside Loch Lochy, which is ten miles in length;
but in about six miles General Wade's road, which we followed, branched
off to the left. About four miles from the junction we reached Spean
Bridge, over which we crossed the river of that name, which brings along
the waters of sundry lochs as well as others from the valley of Glen
Roy. This Glen forms an almost hidden paradise beloved of geologists, as
along the sides of the valley are the famous "Parallel Roads" belonging
to the Glacial Period. We replenished our stock of provisions, which we
had rather neglected, at Spean Bridge, and treated ourselves to another
little picnic in the lonely country beyond. It was dark before we
reached Fort William, where we found comfortable lodgings at the house
of Mrs. MacPherson opposite the Ben Nevis Hotel, and retired with the
intention of ascending Ben Nevis the following day.

(_Distance walked twenty-five and a half miles_.)

_Thursday, September 28th._

After breakfast we commissioned Mrs. MacPherson to engage the services
of the guide to conduct us to the top of Ben Nevis, which is 4,406 feet
high, offering to pay him the sum of one sovereign for his services. We
had passed the old castle of Inverlochy in the dark of the previous
night, and, as we wished to visit it in the daylight that morning, we
arranged that the guide should meet us on a bridge outside the town,
which we must cross on our way to and from what we were told was once a
royal castle, where King Achius signed a treaty with Charlemagne. The
castle was some distance from the town, and quite near the famous
distillery where the whisky known as "Long John" or the "Dew of Ben
Nevis" was produced. We found ready access to the ruins, as the key had
been left in the gate of the walled fence which surrounded them. "Prince
Charlie," we learned, had "knocked" the castle to its present shape from
an adjoining hill, and what he had left of it now looked very solitary.
It was a square structure, with four towers one at each corner, that at
the north-west angle being the most formidable. The space enclosed was
covered with grass. What interested us most were four very old guns, or
cannons, which stood in front of the castle, mounted on wheels supported
on wood planks, and as they were of a very old pattern, these relics of
the past added materially to the effect of the ancient and warlike
surroundings.

We did not stay long in the ruins, as we were anxious to begin our big
climb, so we returned to the bridge to await the arrival of the guide
engaged for us by our hostess, and whom we had not yet seen. We waited
there for more than half an hour, and were just on the point of
returning to the town when we noticed the approach of a military-looking
man carrying a long staff spiked at one end, who turned out to be the
gentleman we were waiting for, and under whose guidance we soon began
the ascent of the big mountain. After climbing for some time, we came to
a huge stone on which the Government engineers had marked the altitude
as 1,000 feet above sea-level, and as we climbed higher still we had a
grand view of the hills and waters in the distance. We went bravely
onward and upward until we arrived at a lake, where on a rock we saw the
Government mark known as the "broad arrow," an emblem which we also saw
in many other places as we walked through the country, often wondering
what the sign could mean. We surmised that it stood for England,
Scotland, and Ireland united in one kingdom, but we afterwards learned
that it was introduced at the end of the seventeenth century to mark
Government stores, and that at one time it had a religious significance
connected with the Holy Trinity. The altitude was also marked on the
rock as 2,200 feet, so that we had now ascended half-way to the top of
Ben Nevis.

[Illustration:]

On our way up the mountain we had to stop several times, for our guide
complained of diarrhoea, but here he came to a dead stop and said he
could not proceed any farther. We were suspicious at first that he was
only feigning illness to escape the bad weather which we could see
approaching. We did our best to persuade him to proceed, but without
effect, and then we threatened to reduce his fee by one-half if he did
not conduct us to the summit of Ben Nevis as agreed. Finally we asked
him to remain where he was until we returned after completing the ascent
alone; but he pleaded so earnestly with us not to make the attempt to
reach the summit, and described the difficulties and dangers so vividly,
that we reluctantly decided to forgo our long-cherished ambition to
ascend the highest mountain in Great Britain. We were very much