Chapter VII · THE OUTER HEBRIDES.

“The beautiful Isles of Greece

Full many a bard has sung:

The Isles I love best lie far in the West,

Where men speak the Gaelic tongue.

“Let them sing of the sunny South,

Where the blue Ægean smiles,

But give to me the Scottish sea,

That breaks round the Western Isles!

“Lovest thou mountains great,

Peaks to the clouds that soar,

Corrie and fell where eagles dwell,

And cataracts dash evermore?

“Lovest thou green grassy glades,

By the sunshine sweetly kist,

Murmuring waves, and echoing caves?

Then go to the Isle of Mist!”

Having as yet had but a distant view of the Outer Hebrides, we determined that the next cruise of the Gannet should be in their direction. The principal islands included under this head are the two, which, together, constitute the Long Island; namely Lewis and Harris, while North and South Uist, and Benbecula, are all three so connected by fords, as to be in fact one. The Long Island claims the dignity of being the third in size of the British Isles, and has a population of somewhere about 20,000 souls. Sixty miles beyond Harris, and 140 from the mainland, lies St. Kilda. Fain would we have explored those remote shores—the rocky island round which a never-ceasing snow-shower seems to fall—a shower whose quivering snow-flakes are each beautiful living creatures; birds of dazzling whiteness that float in tremulous clouds around their chosen home—the isle of which Scott said that—

“Here the lone sea-bird makes its wildest cry.”

289But the extreme danger of the coast, which has not one safe harbour, makes it terribly difficult of access, and it is not pleasant to land, with the knowledge that your yacht may have to run at any moment.

The little island is about three miles long and two broad; and, except at two points, where there is a landing place, whence you can scramble up the rocks by a steep path, its sea-face is a series of precipitous cliffs, rising perpendicularly to a very great height, in some places nearly 1,400 feet, being the highest in Britain. These in the distance seem positively white by reason of the myriads of gulls, gannets, guillemots, and every species of sea-bird, whose nests are closely packed on every ledge of rock.

The solan goose, the great northern diver, the fulmar or northern petrel, which the sailors declare is named alter St. Peter, in memory of his walking on the sea, great solemn black cormorants standing sentinel, thousands of puffins; in short, every sea-bird you ever heard of, are here, living busy domestic lives; talking hard about the prospects of the year, and of the millions of blue and green eggs which they have laid among grass or rushes, on bare rock, or among the large stones. Each tribe has its own encampment, though wayward individuals will sometimes sit apart in some solitary niche.

The puffins especially, live in colonies; burrowing in the earth with their strong beak or “neb” as the country folk say. Hence their name of coulterneb; from the coulter of a plough. The idler puffins, profit by the labour of others, and make their nests in old rabbit-holes.

Then there are the foolish guillemots, which earn their name by sitting still on the rocks, and allowing themselves to be caught by the hand. They are said to carry their young on their backs, from their high nests on the rocks, down to the water, when it is time to give them swimming lessons. Each bird lays one large egg, which is considered excellent food. That of the solan goose is also a delicacy, being translucent and oval, much resembling that of the plover. She also only lays one egg, and sits with her foot on it—the male bird very properly taking his turn. The great auk altogether declines to sit on her eggs, but nestles close beside them, and the warmth of her body or of her maternal love, hatches them in due time.

290There are eider ducks too, whose precious down the islanders carefully collect, going the round of the nests several times in a season, and thence stealing all the soft fine lining which the mother duck has plucked from her own-breast, and with which moreover she covers her four eggs, that her tender nestlings may find a warmer welcome when they come out of their shell. So patient and longsuffering is this good mother, that when ruthless hands have despoiled her nest and taken one or two of her eggs, she will lay more eggs and pull more down, repeating the process till she has no down left, and has to appeal to the drake, who then gives all he can spare. It is said, that one duck will thus yield about half a pound in a season, an immense quantity considering its amazing lightness. Besides these eggs, vast numbers are taken of other sorts, and of the young birds, which the people use as food. It is reckoned that upwards of 20,000 gannets are annually destroyed in the Hebrides, yet their number shows no perceptible decrease.

The life of a rock fowler is perilous indeed; sometimes he must make his difficult way along scarcely perceptible ledges, where one false step would involve certain death. But the most inaccessible cliffs are always the most thickly crowded with nests, so these are the goals to be won; the lower cliffs to which his companions can let him down by strong ropes, are comparatively safe quarters, though dangerous enough. As to the ropes, they are precious property; a good rope is a maiden’s dowry, and is the most precious legacy which friend can bequeath to friend. The rope must be about thirty fathoms long, and the best are those made of strong raw cowhide, in threefold twist; this is wrapped round with sheepskin to prevent the sharp rocks from cutting it. Such a rope is a treasure indeed, and with fair usage it ought to last at least two generations. The man who possesses such a one may reap his never-failing harvest on the most awful crags, while his poorer neighbour must be content with smaller gains on less dizzy ledges.

There is one very simple method of catching old birds, known as the gull fishery. An old woman will set long strings with nooses, and then sits watching them, ready to draw them in at the right moment. She carries a small pouch, ready to catch the oil which the bird throws up in the anguish of being captured. 291The oil of the fulmar is coarse and yellow, having a strong rancid smell; the people say it cures rheumatism, and they burn it in their lamps in the long winter nights. The bird is so full of oil that some slovenly householders do not even extract it, but passing a wick through the body of the dead bird and drawing it out by the beak, actually light the wick thus oiled, and it goes on burning for a considerable time. Thus they have a ready-made bird-lamp.

This oil and the feathers are very important articles of export. Not the only ones, however, as the island and the islets round it give pasturage to 2,000 sheep and a fair proportion of black cattle, so that the inhabitants not only clothe themselves in good homespun, but export both cloth and wool; also much salt fish. Nevertheless, it is said that their own chief diet consists almost entirely of the flesh of sea-birds, which is as unwholesome as to our taste it is repulsive, and its constant use produces divers diseases. A small portion of the island is arable, and the people grow oats, and (thanks to the warm Gulf Stream) raise very fair crops in their ocean-cradled farms. The said kindly current befriends them in many ways, sometimes bringing them fine logs of mahogany and other timber, which, on an island where even a bush is a thing unknown, are precious indeed. Sometimes an opportune wreck brings good store of driftwood within reach, and though the precipitous coast offers no tempting shore where old ocean may cast its treasures of flotsam and jetsam, still many floating trophies are brought home by the fishers, which find good welcome in the little cottages, which are now for the most part neat and comfortable homes, having been rebuilt by the late proprietor, who found there a miserable village like a Hottentot kraal—flat-roofed-huts, half buried in an accumulation of filth, both outside and in. Here about eighty inhabitants lived, and it was said that not one in ten of their children survived the ninth day of their unhappy little lives, owing to the foul air they breathed. Now the village is as tidy as can be expected of a fisher-town, and the children being no longer poisoned in infancy, grow up strong lads and lassies, who do credit to the grand sea-breezes which come sweeping right across the broad Atlantic, as it rolls in one unbroken sweep from Newfoundland or Labrador.

Just imagine the force with which the great waves must 292dash against these desolate cliffs in the wild wintry storms, chafing and frothing over all the low breastwork of sunken rocks, till the island is encircled for miles by range beyond range of raging breakers, the whole ocean boiling and seething like yeast, while blinding spray drifts right over the little island, and even the wild sea-birds dare not face the storm, but take refuge in the caves and hollows of the rock, where they sit half stupefied and in danger of starvation. Terrible thunder-storms add awe to these wild winter months, and darken the brief hours of day. Those long summer months, which know no real night, are succeeded by wintry nights of sixteen hours’ duration, when the poor folk must huddle together in their filthy cabins, and pass the time cleaning and preparing their feathers for the market.

Dr. Macculloch’s account of the island reads like that of a feather-bed gone mad. He says: “The air is full of feathered animals, the sea is covered with them, the houses are ornamented by them, and the inhabitants look as if they had been all tarred and feathered, for their hair is full of feathers and their clothes are covered with feathers. The women look like feathered Mercuries, for their shoes are made of gannet’s skin. Everything smells of feathers.” When the feathers are ready for exportation they are stowed away in low stone cells and covered with turf, to await the coming of the next boat, laden with such simple goods as may suit the needs of these children of the waves and of the mist. For in their own primitive fashion they are self-supporting, and care little for the changes and chances of the outer world, with which they have no regular connection. Once or twice a year a boat goes over from Harris laden with useful merchandise to exchange for the produce of the isle; but there is no post, no doctor, and, as I before said, no harbour where any boat can find refuge in a storm.

It is said that after the death of King William the good old minister continued to pray for him for three years, at the end of which he accidentally heard of the occurrence!

The inhabitants of Portree take great delight in telling how some old men once came there from St. Kilda, and were so much alarmed by the size and height of the houses that they could hardly venture to walk along the street; and of all eccentricities 293of civilization that which amused them most was an umbrella, which they borrowed and hoisted in the sunshine. They were especially amazed at the sight of a few small trees, their only notion of vegetation being stunted grass or oats; but when they beheld a coach and pair their amazement at the house on wheels knew no bounds, more especially when they observed that the horseshoes were fastened to the horses’ hoofs with iron nails—a most marvellous novelty.

What would they say, could they now return to Portree, to see the marvellous telegraphic needle, bringing ceaseless messages from all parts of the earth, more especially in the tourist season, when Skye now attracts such multitudes of busy men for a brief holiday? Surely they would accuse the clerks of dabbling in the black art. Still more would they marvel if, passing on to the opposite shore, they could see the swift iron horses, with fiery breath, rushing to and fro with interminable strings of wheeled houses crowded with Sassenachs!

The pottery of St. Kilda is curious, being the simplest clay, rudely shaped by hand and baked in the sun, having previously been glazed with milk. Jars, bowls, and all manner of culinary dishes are thus made and answer all purposes, a metal cooking-pot being still a rare treasure. Even in some parts of the Isle of Lewis it is said that metal pots were almost unknown a dozen years ago, and I have seen various specimens of the home-made crockery of Barvas that you would certainly attribute to the ancient Britons! Indeed the manufacturers have clung very closely to the customs of their ancestors; as I before remarked, until the present generation were supplied with better homes by a careful landlord, they and their cattle and their poultry all lived together in huts with neither chimney nor window, and without furniture of any sort, merely turf mounds thatched and filled with a perpetual cloud of thick peat smoke. The houses rarely exceeded four feet in apparent height, being sunk in the earth so as to be less exposed to the wild raging winds which sweep the island.

It would be difficult to find poorer people in all Scotland. They “have no English,” and perhaps are ignorant enough; yet as regards statistics of morality it is said that few districts stand so high, and that these poor islanders may well shame some of our highly-educated country villages and towns. 294Strange as it may sound to such as know anything of the state of many of these, it is said that here illegitimacy is actually considered disreputable, in fact is a thing almost unknown! Certainly the parishes of the mainland must admit that these are a remarkable people.^[48] Moreover, so careful are they in the upbringing of their little ones, that I am told by one well acquainted with these kindly islanders, that there is scarcely a child of six years old among them who cannot read at least some part of the Bible in the native Gaelic. The same friend gave me a most touching description of the kindness shown him by the people when a terrible storm threatened his ship with destruction, and it seemed as if nothing could save her from drifting right on to the cruel rocks, where no assistance could be rendered and all hands must perish. In the bitter storm the islanders, one and all, left their fire-sides and repaired to the lowly little church, where they remained for hours in a ceaseless agony of prayer, till at last, just when all hope seemed past, the wind changed as if by a miracle, and the ship was saved. Thus their prayer was turned to thanksgiving; and before many hours were passed the storm abated and they were able once more to welcome the crew and her captain to their little rocky isle.

In Martin’s Visit to St. Kilda (A.D. 1690) he says that the ancient measures of omer and cubits still continued to be used in this isle. MacLeod’s steward was entitled to receive one omer of barley from every family. He was much struck by the simplicity of a young woman’s marriage dower, which often consisted only of one pound of horsehair, wherewith to make snares for her husband’s fowling. There was at that time only one boat belonging to the isle, and it so happened that on one occasion this boat, containing six or eight men, was wrecked on a neighbouring islet. These men contrived to swim ashore, and collecting heaps of dry sea-weed they made one fire to represent each man. So the wives, understanding the sign, were comforted, and set to work diligently to carry on the men’s work till such time (after some months had elapsed) as the steward should visit the isle, and could sail across and rescue the men, who had kept themselves alive with fish and dulse. He 295observed that the people divided the fishing and fowling rocks as exactly as they did their corn and grass land, and no poaching would have been tolerated. The produce of these was something enormous. He says that in one day he saw the people bring home 2,000 sea-fowl and twenty-nine large basketsfull of eggs; some containing 400 large eggs, others about 800 of lesser sorts. The only miracle is how the vast amount of bird-life is kept up without diminution, but year by year fresh myriads are there; countless millions floating about in feathery crowds and darkening the air with most substantial cloud-shadows, or else packed together in serried rows along every niche and ledge of the cliffs, each bird knowing its own nest and egg by some marvellous instinct, and rearing its curious brood of soft, downy nestlings in that strangely public family life. And so the race of beautiful snowy, white-winged spirits, with the wild eyes and the eerie cry, still holds its ground, rejoicing in the calm sunshine, or battling with wind and wave, and showing no decrease in its numbers in spite of all its human foes.

It is said that these outer isles retain many traces of the old Norse, though in a much less degree than Orkney and Shetland, which were entirely colonised by Norwegians, and where Gaelic is unknown. The language there spoken is ordinary Scotch, with a Quaker-like use of “thou” instead of “you.”

I suppose you know that in olden days the isles were quite independent of the mainland, and ruled by such piratical chiefs, that at length Harold Haarfager determined to annex them all, as far south as the Isle of Man, and they continued nominally subject to Norway till 1266, when they were transferred to Scotland (not, however, as a very peaceful possession, as it is somewhere about this time that we hear of the King of Man making over the Sudereys to Somerled). About eighty years later, the whole were seized by one chief, whose private property they continued for 200 years, when James V. finally reconquered them.

In very early days, these islanders were thought worthy of more spiritual care than falls to their lot nowadays. There is hardly one island on which some devoted Christian did not make his cell and build his chapel. The more remote the island, the better it was cared for. St. Kilda owns several such sites. 296St. Ronan’s oratory still remains on Isle Rona; but for the most part the ruins have disappeared, and only the name of some saint, perhaps with the prefix of Kil, to mark his cell, tells that here once was holy ground, the place where prayer was wont to be made. Here and there we find some little islet bearing only the name of Pabba, which is a corruption of Papar, or Father, the title whereby these anchorite fathers were addressed in the Norse tongue. One such isle lies off Skye, another off Harris, a third off Barra. We find Pappadil in Rum, and divers isles off Orkney and Shetland are known as Papa, the Father’s Isle, telling their own history of those early servants of the Cross. Some, indeed, say that these Culdees were merely hermits (Cuildich, men of seclusion), who sought these desolate “clippings of the earth” as the loneliest spots in which they could hide from their species. Be that as it may, there can be no doubt that they did devote themselves to teaching the people, and in some measure succeeded in instilling a very grey, clouded sort of light.

For the result of their labours was much like what has been recorded of that of the priest of Samaria, who was brought to Bethel to teach the nations how they should fear the Lord.^[49] Their pupils took so kindly to both faiths that we are told “they feared the Lord and served their own gods, their graven images, their children, and their children’s children.”

The extent to which these Pagan rites were tolerated, even in later days, seems strange indeed. But the conciliatory policy of the mediæval Christians made room for every species of heathen observance, provided the people would submit to baptism. It was the same policy which in Rome itself suggested christening the idol-image of Jupiter, and so converting it into that adorable statue of St. Peter, which the people might thenceforward worship to their hearts’ content, and whose sacred toes have ever since continued to receive such enthusiastic kisses from the Christians of all successive generations. Thus it is that we find such edicts as that of Pope Gregory in A.D. 601, declaring that “as it is impossible to efface old customs from the obdurate mind of the Britons, they may, on great festivals, continue to build themselves booths and huts with boughs of trees round about such old Pagan temples as have been sanctified by the 297sprinkling of holy water, and may there continue to sacrifice and feast on the flesh of cattle.” The local affections of the people were thus enlisted on behalf of the new faith, and the old rites being retained, in course of ages true Christian churches were built on the identical spots where the heathen idolatries had so long prevailed. Such was the origin of our glorious cathedrals of Canterbury and Westminster; of St. Paul’s, St. Martin’s, St. Pancras’s, and many another time-honoured places of worship. The tradition concerning Westminster is that it was built on the site of the Temple of Apollo.

It has been suggested that in all probability our church spires (those “fingers pointing Heavenwards”) were but the development of the tall monoliths reverenced by earlier generations. And perhaps the minarets, or minars, of the Mohammedans may have sprung from the same origin. Fergusson believes the word minar to be the same as our menhir,^[50] or tall stone. It is a word which cannot be traced to any root in any Eastern language. So possibly for once the east may have borrowed from the west!

Sometimes when Christian sanctuaries were built on Pagan sites, the very stones dear to the heathen were retained within the new church. A curious instance of this may be seen to this day in Spain, where at the hermitage of St. Michael at Arrichinaga, in the province of Biscay, a church has been built, actually enclosing the huge stones of a great dolmen, between which is placed the shrine of the saint. Thus the original veneration for the sacred stones was sanctified by the saintly combination. This Christian church is so modern as to prove that the reverence for the great stones must have continued till a very recent period.

I cannot but think that a similar policy accounts for a peculiarity of several ancient Christian stone altars (one of which you may see in a side chapel of Norwich Cathedral), where a square grey stone, measuring, perhaps, eighteen inches across, is inserted into a large stone slab of quite different formation and colour. It serves to cover the hidden relic which gave sanctity to the altar, and was itself Christianized by being marked with five small crosses (symbolizing the five wounds of Christ). Nevertheless, it seems probable that these blue-grey stones 298which were exalted to such honour were themselves originally objects of heathen veneration.

Thus, too, it was that in the early glimmering of that grey dawn there existed such strange anomalies as that Christian Rewald, King of the East Saxons, who erected in his churches two altars, at one of which he offered sacrifices to Christ, and at the other to devils; a species of hedging not peculiar to the dark ages, for a recent writer on India tells us of a Hindu convert who, while firmly believing the Christian creed, and worshipping the Saviour, would nevertheless never pass an image of any of the Hindu gods, or even a sacred stone daubed with red paint, without kneeling down to worship it; for she used to say, “Maybe there’s something in it!”

In like manner the Roman Catholic priests of Southern India find it no easy matter to prevent their converts from secretly sacrificing cocks to the demons, whenever any special danger arises, so as to make sure of some favour on the winning side. A similarly obstinate adherence to old custom, in defiance of all prohibitions, civil or ecclesiastical, has recently been pointed out, as still retained in Southern Sweden, where, at any spot where a man has been killed, each passer by must either lay a stone or a dry bough (juniper being preferred), as an offering to the spirit of the dead. The cairn thus raised is called bal, (i.e., pile for burning) and is set on fire from time to time, as a protection for the living against the unquiet ghost, which is supposed to haunt the spot. Obviously this custom may be traced back to the days when their Pagan forefathers were wont to burn their dead and offer sacrifices at their places of burial.

In glancing eastward and westward, nothing is more striking than the strong grip which this tendency to ancestor and devil-worship seems ever to have had over the human mind. Whatever waves of faith may have passed over a land—whether Christian, Mohammedan, Buddhist, or Brahmin—and however each may have striven, by gentle means, or by the sword, to put it down, the crushed faith has still been treasured in secret, and though its own votaries are generally ashamed to confess it, still nothing will induce them to give it up. Thus it still exists all over the earth, independent of the reigning faith, whatever that may be, and actually in opposition to its teaching. Hence even in India, where Brahminism has so largely borrowed from that, 299which in olden days it strove to subdue, we still find the demon-worshippers assembling near the Brahmin temples to celebrate unauthorised rites. And in Ceylon the devil-dancers build their own halls close to the Buddhist temples, not satisfied with the fact that multitudes of their demon rites have already been incorporated with Buddhism.

Perhaps one of the most curious instances of an amalgamated creed at the present day is that of the Circassians, who, while retaining marked traces of the successive waves of Mohammedanism and Christianity, have nevertheless well-nigh relapsed to the Paganism of their forefathers. We are told that they still reverence the Blessed Virgin, and keep holy the first day of the week. Also that they adore One Supreme God. Nevertheless they erect altars in the open air in the shade of ancient groves, and there offer sacrifice to the gods of the air, of fire and thunder, of wind and water. On ordinary occasions the patriarch of the family assumes the priestly office, kindling the sacred torch; but six times a year great public sacrifices are offered in the sacred groves, in some of which still stand ancient Christian crosses, some of stone, and some of iron. One is mentioned as standing on the summit of a hill, another as being suspended by an iron chain from the branches of a great oak tree. To these old crosses all the people pay devout homage, though apparently without any tradition of their meaning, nor will even those who call themselves Mohammedans pass them by without bowing down and making the sign of the cross. They especially venerate the moon, and hold their principal meetings by her light. At one of their festivals, called the “Feast of Presentation,” they solemnly present to God all lads of a given age, and, having erected an altar at the foot of one the old crosses, they adore the Most High God, and sacrifice to Him a goat or calf for each of the lads; at the same time presenting bowls of mead and cakes of unleavened bread before the cross, and imploring a blessing thereon. Then they spend the day in athletic sports, leaping and racing, and afterwards feast on the meat of the sacrifices, washed down by flowing bowls of mead.

There was just as strange a blending of faith (as well as of race), when these old Norsemen and Celts first began to amalgamate. The new Christian faith, retained so many of the 300practices of old Paganism, that at times it was hard to tell which claimed the upper hand; and the people are described as having generally been “Christians, in time of peace, but always certain to invoke the aid of Thor, when sailing on any dangerous expedition.” At a later date they used to induce the priests to sprinkle the sea with holy water, as an infallible means of procuring plenty of herring! and until the year 1660 the custom prevailed on Hallow-e’en of wading into the sea, with a cup of ale, which was poured out as a libation to Shony, a sea-god, who was implored to send abundant sea-ware for the good of the land. After this the people adjourned to the church, and from the church to the fields—to spend the night in feasting and dancing.

Of course the sea-going folk were sure to retain their old superstitions to the last, and it reads curiously in an account of the launch of Clan Ronald’s galley, as sung by an old Celtic bard to find, first a most beautiful prayer to the Holy Trinity for the safety of the ship; and that “He Who knows every harbour under the sun may render the breath of the sky propitious, and urge the vessel over the waters, uninjured, to a safe haven;” and then to find, that to make assurance doubly sure a he-goat had been suspended from the mast, to secure a favourable wind! This double precaution seems to have failed in its object, for soon after leaving South Uist, a terrible storm arose, and the bard tells how “the awful world of waters drew on its rough mantle of thick darkness, swelling into mountains, and sinking into glens,” and how the tall masts of good red pine, were shivered by the tempest. Not till they reached the Strait of Isla did Ocean make peace with these mariners, “and dismissed this host of winds to the upper regions of the air, leaving the waters smooth as a polished mirror.”

The unhappy goat which thus adorned Clan Ronald’s mast, reminds us how, when the first crusade set forth from France and Britain, the Christian hosts carried with them a goose and a goat, to which they rendered homage, believing the Holy Spirit to be present within them!^[51]

Speaking of the quaint way in which those early Christians adopted the symbols revered by the people, and gave them new meanings; we find allusion to one, which is quite as puzzling in 301its Pagan as in its Christian diameter, namely the common comb, which we know was used in divination, which is referred to in so many old legends, and sculptured on divers pagan stones;^[52] but which in Christian days acquired some such strange sanctity that we find it mentioned among the appliances once needed at solemn high mass, more especially when sung by a bishop, in which case a comb was always essential. Sometimes it was made of ivory; sometimes quite plain; others were adorned with elaborate carving, and even gemmed with precious stones. Both in English and foreign cathedrals they were reckoned as ecclesiastical furniture, and numbered among the costly possessions of the Church. A list of many such ritual combs is given by Dr. Rock, as having belonged to St. Cuthbert, St. Neot, St. Dunstan, Malachias, and other saints. Various other combs were long preserved at Durham, Canterbury, Glastonbury, and other holy minsters. At Thetford, in the church of St. Sepulchre, you may still see the comb of St. Thomas, the martyr of Canterbury. Certainly if history speaks truly concerning these holy men, their combs were in no danger of wearing out from overmuch use! We find, however, that combing the hair of the priest or bishop was one of the offices performed by the inferior clergy not once only, in the vestry—but several times during Divine Service!

The only other instance I know of in which a comb figures in connection with worship, is that of the Moslems, who constantly carry one, for the purpose of dressing their beards, which is commonly done immediately after prayers, the devotee remaining on his knees during the operation. He carefully collects any hairs that may fall, and preserves them that they may eventually be buried with him; frequently he deposits them beforehand in his destined tomb! But surely the custom of hairdressing at the Christian altar could never have been of indigenous growth, but must rather have sprung from some old pagan rite of unknown import.

But to return to customs, more especially belonging to these remote shores. A number of quaint old superstitions were noted by Mr. Martin, when he visited these isles in 1690. He observed that most of the people wore a sea-bean or sea-nut hanging round the neck, as an amulet against the evil eye, and 302witchcraft of which they stood horribly in dread. After noticing the usual procession sunwise, round the chapel on the Isle of Oronsay, he was much astonished at a request for the loan of his Bible, as he knew the borrower could not read. This was repeated every morning and evening, and he found its leaves were used to fan the face of one sick with fever, who declared himself greatly benefited in consequence. Mr. Martin found chapels (some indeed half ruined), on almost every isle, and he tells us in the same breath, how the people passed from their actual worship in these, to their old religious processions round the Druidical stones.

On Borera, a small island in North Uist, he noticed a burial-ground called Monk’s Field, where all the monks who died in the Isles north of Eigg were buried. He also tells how in the island of Benbecula he came on a ruined chapel called Bael-nin-Killach, or the Nun’s town. Here he was greatly scandalized at finding a vault, full of very small bones, which he believed to be those of infants. He was also struck by the frequent recurrence of the name Mac-Varnich, “son of a monk.” He might also have included the names of Mac-Vicar, Mac-Vriar, “son of a friar;” Mac-Taggart, “son of the Priest;” and Mac-Nab (Mac-na-Ab), “son of the Abbot,” as all being equally suggestive of dubious antecedents in the days of priestly celibacy, unless indeed it be true, as stated by Mac-Lanchlan, that in those remote ages, the Church in the Highlands did allow her priests to marry. It is said, however, that the early Celtic Church (as distinct from that of Rome), never did hold celibacy to be imperative, and that hence the clannish feelings of the Celts very soon showed themselves, in the matter of ecclesiastical patronage and family livings—such a hint we may gather from the name of Dunchad Mac Mic Maonach, “the son of the monk’s son,” who in A.D. 1099 was Abbot of Iona. In any case, the Mac-Phersons, “sons of the parson,” claim sanction of the Church for their existence, the parson of Kinguissie having received a special dispensation, allowing him to marry, when by the death of his elder brother he succeeded to broad lands. Buchanan is also said to be of ecclesiastical origin, the Gaelic name from which it is derived being Mac-a-Chanonaich, “the son of the canon.”

After the Reformation, multitudes of these small churches 303were allowed to fall into ruin, and a very irregular system of church services was substituted. Thus in the more distant isles, the minister on his occasional visits, would celebrate the marriages and baptisms of perhaps two or three years. On these occasions it was very important to have the lads baptized before the lassies, for should this order be accidentally inverted, the lassie, who was christened out of her turn, was certain to grow a beard! A superstition, which till very recent years, was firmly believed in, so far south as Stirlingshire, where within my own memory it was alleged by the church officer, as a reason why the laird’s infant daughter must on no account be baptized till after several collier laddies. So strongly was this separation of the sexes insisted on, that we know of one old font belonging to the church at Birnie near Elgin which was actually divided in two by a plate of iron let into the stone, that the water for the baptism of males, might not be mixed with that for females. This old font having been discarded in favour of the modern bason, was for many years left lying neglected in the kirkyard.

The minister’s greetings from these heathen infants were sometimes striking. One child on being sprinkled with cold water exclaimed passionately, “De’il be in your fingers!” which, you will allow, was a stronger form of remonstrance, than the stick of barley sugar, which we occasionally see employed in infantile resistance to the means of grace! Well in keeping, however, with the character given to a West Highland village by its new pastor. “Eh! it’s a pitiful thing to see children that can neither waalk nor taalk, running about the streets, cursing and swearing!” It sounds as if he must have had a dash of the Emerald Isle, but he was described as being “just as Highland as a peat.”

In these remote corners of the earth, Church ceremonies are sometimes considerably affected by wind and weather. There are many cases when one minister has charge of several small flocks, and has to divide his care of them as best he can; sometimes he has to row across a dangerous ferry or a sea-loch, against wind and tide, to reach the congregation awaiting him on the other side. Sometimes all the efforts of the strong arms that row him are unavailing, and after battling for hours without being able to effect a landing, they have to make the best of their way back to the island whence they started, leaving the 304little flock to disperse at their leisure. Even where no arm of the sea intervenes between the minister and his parochial work, a swollen river will prove quite as effectual a barrier, and we have heard stories that reminded us forcibly of the form of baptism practised by St. Francis Xavier, when, sailing up the Indian river, he sprinkled holy water with a long pole on the astonished people, who assembled on either bank to see him pass. Dr. Chalmers told a story of a Highland minister having been summoned to baptise an infant, whose parents lived on the other side of a small stream. When he reached the burn, he found it was in spate, and there were no means of getting across. He therefore shouted to the father to come down to the burn-side, and hold the infant (as the custom is, in Scotland). He, himself, procured a wooden scoop, which he dipped in the burn, and flung the water across, aiming at the bairn’s face. But the stream was so wide that he repeatedly fell short of the mark; and the shout of “Weel! has it gotten any yet?” was reiterated again and again before a satisfactory answer enabled him to conclude the service! This I believe to be a fact of the present century. To return from ecclesiastical eccentricities, to the modern life nautical, we had a glorious sail to Rodel in Harris, where we at once made for the old church, St. Clement’s Cathedral, which has a few bits of quaint carving. The tower is the oldest building in Scotland, except part of St. Mungo’s Cathedral at Glasgow, and those who doubt the antiquity of the kilt as now worn, may here see a most unmistakable sculpture of the garb of old Gaul. I suppose the use of tartan in remote ages was well proven, even before the appearance of that quaint old metrical version of the Scriptures, still preserved at Glasgow, which told how

“Jacob made for his son Josey,

A tartan coat to keep him cosy!”

We had heard much of the beautiful stones in the old churchyard, but sought for them in vain amid such a crop of nettles as I never saw elsewhere. It is a picturesque spot notwithstanding; and when, among the golden brackens and brambly tangles, we found a rich harvest of ripe, delicious, blackberries, we were content to feast like children, and were comforted for the disappearance of the old gravestones beneath so pleasant a wilderness. This was the burial-place of certain old MacLeods 305of Dunvegan, whose monuments are inside the church. One, a knight in armour with two-handed broadsword. Another sleeps in his shirt of mail and high-peaked helmet, his feet resting on his dogs. We could not get the key of the church, so failed to see the tombs of the isle and ocean lords. The tombs of the Vikings are distinguished from those of the mighty hunters, by their having a galley engraven near the hilt of the sword, whereas the latter almost invariably have deer and hounds in full cry, careering round them. One old gravestone here, tells of a Sir Donald MacLeod of Berneray, who married his fourth wife, when he was past eighty, and left a numerous family by her!

We had also wished to see certain old Picts’ forts, or duns, which we knew existed on various hill-tops in the neighbourhood. They are simply circles of large stones piled up without cement, and always placed within sight of one another, to act as alarm-posts. The people say that a curious building of this form lies under deep water, within a few yards of the shore—and on a clear day they can see it distinctly near the village of Rodel. However as the wind was favourable, we went on to Tarbert, a name which applies to a strip of land between two waters.^[53] It was nearly dark when we anchored; but at daybreak we went ashore. Five minutes’ walk took us across the narrow neck of land to the other side of the coast, and we were duly edified by the primitive modes of agriculture.

Here and there, in the middle of morass or peat-moss some little scraps of arable land are carefully cultivated; the funniest little fields you ever saw, something in the style of the “lazy beds” of Ireland, and the “plantic cruive” of the Orkneys.

We talk of the cruelty of a Hindu’s reverence, which forbids him to put a wounded bullock to death—but here we saw a poor beast left to suffer the same torture from a very different motive. During the night it had fallen over a low wall and dislocated its shoulder, and was moaning in agony. Its owner refused to kill it till a fair bid was made for its flesh, and the wretched beast was left to linger in torture till either late at night or next morning. By that time the would-be purchasers declined having anything to do with the meat, which was accordingly sent over to Skye!

Our original intention was to have sailed immediately after 306breakfast; but with the easy fashion of yacht life, we decided at the last moment to go ashore again, and took “the dog-cart” from the inn. Such a wonderful trap, you never even dreamt of!

We drove twelve miles through the wildest and most beautiful scenery; past Bonaveneta Loch, and the lower end of Glen Mevig, where one grand dark hill stands up almost precipitously from the valley—a fine subject for an artist. The road lay between wild moorland and mountain on the one hand, and the sea on the other; while at no great distance lay the yellow sands of Laskantyra, extending for several miles along the coast. In the wildest spot of all stands Fincastle,^[54] a grand new building, placed in such a valley of rocks that a level spot had to be blasted before the foundations could be laid. A rocky mountain rises immediately behind the house—a rocky salmon river on one side, and a rocky burn on the other, always rushing and tumbling with ceaseless noise; while the terrace in front of the windows is a great sea-wall, against which the waves dash; and the “snorting sea-horses” and the river-kelpies together make such a turmoil as would become wearisome to any ear but that of a keen fisher.

We thought it a graceful compliment to Morayshire that the yellow freestone with which the house is faced had all been brought from our dear old Covesea quarries. Not that there is any lack of good building material in Harris. The grey whinstone is what masons describe as “a good binding rock;” and there is fine granite, and every variety of mineral substances.

This is the only place in the isles where I have ever been unable to procure one drop of milk. Not for lack of rich and abundant pasturage, but because the grass was so wholly devoted to deer, that there was none to spare for cows. Even at Tarbert we found a most insufficient allowance; a very sore privation to a people whose chief diet consists of porridge and oat-cake. Both Harris and Skye seem to depend almost entirely on the Glasgow steamer for their supply of what sailors call “soft bread;” and as it costs one shilling a loaf, the consumption thereof is not very great.

We were fortunate in having seen the country in sunshine; 307for our homeward drive was through such torrents of rain as left the beautiful scenery round us entirely to the imagination. A genuine Highlander will tell you that a thoroughly wet plaid is the warmest thing in the world, as the swollen wool can keep out the cold, and keep in the heat twice as well as when dry; and if he has the luck of an extra wrap to throw on outside of all, he asks no warmer bedding. The good folk of Harris had on this occasion a fair chance of proving the comfort of this arrangement, for it poured even on till midnight, and the poor little Gannet had her plumage sorely draggled.

The accounts we heard of the Druidical remains at Callernish, near Loch Bernera, in Lewis, sorely tempted us to extend our wanderings in their direction. Two concentric circles of huge monoliths, and one semi-circular group, still remain, as also various solitary stones.

But the most remarkable thing is a circle, sixty-three feet in diameter, formed by twelve great stones, with a large central obelisk. The circle was supposed to represent the sun, and the twelve stones were the twelve signs of the Zodiac. From this circle four lines of great upright stones extend towards the four points of the compass. One of these lines is double, and, moreover, twice the length of the other three; thus producing the form of the Christian cross. Within the circle are two small chambers built of stone. There are also various tumuli and menhirs in all that district; one of the latter being twenty feet high, and broad in proportion. Certainly of all the wide-spread links which bind together the shadowy past of the Eastern and Western worlds, none are more striking than the stubborn facts of these mysterious stone circles and other rude stone monuments. On the remotest of the Orcadian Isles, as in the Hebrides, here on the green shores of the Isle of Lewis, and beneath the mountain peaks of Arran, and on many another isle, we find the same uncouth temples and tombs that meet us again in the heart of the Indian jungle. Perhaps the most noteworthy monument of the sort in Scotland is the serpentine double avenue at Kames, on the Kyles of Bute, discovered so recently as January 1875, by Mr. Phené, to whom we are also indebted for first calling attention to the dragon mound near Oban,^[55] of which I have already told you. To what race these 308widely-scattered monuments must be ascribed, and for what purpose they were erected, are questions that will probably continue to puzzle wise heads in all ages. All the speculations concerning them leave us pretty much where we began, and we come back to the old unsolved mystery, namely, that here

“In the glimmer of the dawn

They stand;—the solemn silent witnesses

Of ancient days,—altars or graves.”

Whatever truth or falsehood there may be in the theories which connect these cyclopean remains with the worship of olden days, certain it is that, as we travel eastward, we again and again find the same forms repeated so exactly, that it seems hardly possible to doubt their having been the work of kindred races. Thus, on certain stones near Carthage, the circle and crescent are found carved, as emblems of sun and moon, just as on the British monuments. As to Algeria, it has recently been discovered to abound in every known form of rude stone monument; even including that mysterious combination of a square with two circles, which has so puzzled antiquaries in the American States. At one spot, Roknia, three thousand monoliths are grouped together as if in a vast city of the dead; and a second cluster, nearly as large, has since been discovered near Constantine. In the district around Setif, the number of menhirs has been calculated at ten thousand, including some stones so gigantic, that one is described as fifty-two feet high and twenty-six in diameter at the base; while we hear of a dolmen near Tiaret, the cap-stone of which is sixty-five feet long by twenty-six feet broad, and upwards of nine feet thick—a rock-mass, which is poised on boulders of thirty to forty feet high.^[56]

Tripoli likewise possesses many of these mysterious remains; more especially certain groups of three great stones, so placed as to form high, narrow doorways; so narrow, however, is the space between the upright stones, that a man of average size can hardly squeeze his way through between them;—“strait and narrow gateways,” full of symbolic meaning. The discovery of these African monuments is the more curious, as suggesting some foundation of truth for old Geoffrey of Monmouth’s assertion, that “giants in old days brought from Africa the stones which 309the magic art of Merlin afterwards removed from Kildare, and set up at Stonehenge.” The latter, you will remember, is the only place in Britain where these trilithons exist. We next hear of their being discovered by Palgrave in Central Arabia, where he finds them placed, as at Stonehenge, facing the north-east, and in connection with circles of great monoliths.

To pass onward to Hindustan. We find dolmens in Malabar, consisting of one huge stone poised on three upright ones like a giant fungus, precisely the same as those found in Britain. There is not one form of cyclopean monument known in the British Isles, or in France, which does not also exist in the Dekkan, either for worship or for sepulture; oblongs, circles, parallel lines, and many little circles within one large circle.

In various parts of Southern India there have been found a great multitude of circular sepulchral tumuli, precisely like those which our antiquaries take such pleasure in exploring. They contain the same class of relics, coarse pottery, arms, arrow-heads, &c., buried sometimes with bodies, sometimes with urns containing human ashes, collected from funeral pyres after cremation. They exist in thousands to the south of a line drawn from Nagpore to Belgaum. In parts of Mysore, and the Neilgherries, in Arcot, and other places, they are met with in large numbers, occasionally accompanied by kistvaens; sometimes by dolmens and cromlechs; in fact, just what we call Druidical stones. In some of these kistvaens are found bodies carefully laid; while above them are heaped human bones, male and female, in indiscriminate confusion, as though they had been offered in sacrifice to the dead. The same tumuli are found by thousands near the Krishna and Moosy rivers. It is rather a singular and hideously-suggestive fact that in some of the corresponding barrows of ancient Britain these bodies that seem to have been sacrificed to the dead, are found in such a condition, with bones split and skulls cracked, and all tossed about in wildest confusion, that it is generally supposed the flesh had been eaten at some cannibal feast after the sacrifice! a custom which some of the Indian hill tribes are suspected of having kept up till a very recent date.

The funereal ashes contained in so many of these monuments, both ancient and modern, may perhaps afford another hint of the brotherhood of east and west, as there seems no doubt that the 310earliest Celts, like the mass of Hindus, constantly burned their dead. We are told that the Irish preserved “that cleanly custom” long after the introduction of Christianity. Colonel Forbes-Leslie tells us that it was till recently customary in Ceylon for the lower ranks to bury, while the higher classes burnt their dead. Possibly this may also have been the rule in Britain, and would account for our finding human remains sometimes buried, sometimes preserved as ashes collected from the pyre. Among the most noteworthy cromlechs of Northern India may be mentioned that of Byjnath in Bengal, where three huge monoliths of gneiss rock, each weighing upwards of seven tons, stand alone. Two of them are vertical, and the third lies horizontally across the uprights; just the usual form of the British cromlech. This has from time immemorial been the favourite place of worship of the Santhals, the noblest of the primitive races of India. But these monuments are not all the work of bygone ages.

Even at the present day we find at least one of the wild aboriginal tribes, who still retain their separate existence on the confines of Upper India, continuing year by year to erect somewhat similar cromlechs; one large stone being supported by four lesser ones, something like our own old fashioned tombs. Behind these, however, are erected gigantic monoliths; sometimes singly, sometimes in rows. These are mentioned by Dr. Hooker in his Himalayan Journal. The tribe he alludes to dwell in the Kassia hills near Assam. These stones are sometimes erected as tombs, covering the ashes of the dead. More frequently, however, these precious ashes are collected from the funeral pyres, and preserved in small urns, which are duly deposited in circular wooden boxes. These act as seats for the village politicians, who thus receive inspiration from their forefathers, and the aid of their ancestral wisdom. The spirits of these dead are invoked in all cases of sickness or trouble; and should the prayers be granted, these huge monoliths are erected to their honour. Other sufferers invoking the same spirit will vow more stones, and so after awhile a favourite intercessor will be honoured by quite a cluster of these strange thank-offerings.

Sometimes, however, they commemorate divers other events. In no case are they considered sacred, or treated with veneration. Dr. Hooker says the country for many square miles is 311dotted with them. Some of those he saw were only half finished and the people were working at them; they had no manner of tools except levers, and the whole work was done by sheer brute force. He omits to mention how, in the absence of all mechanical appliances, these huge monoliths were raised to the perpendicular—a difficulty which invariably suggests itself in presence of similar works of olden days.

It is the close analogy between these modern dolmens and circles of the east, with the ancient remains elsewhere, that has led to the (surely somewhat rash) conclusion that all our so-called Druidic temples were, like the tumuli, either places of sepulture, or commemorative of the dead, or of some great event. Why a similar analogy in favour of the temple theory may not be drawn from the circles of Bombay, which are undoubtedly places of worship, it is hard to say. Moreover, considering the well-known tendency to ancestor-worship, which from all ages has pervaded all nations, no inference can be more natural than that the places of sepulture should become places of worship. Of this tendency in its utmost refinement, no more singular proof can be adduced than the fact that even in the Christian Church no Roman Catholic altar can be consecrated which does not contain some relic of a departed saint. So it is probable that in many instances both theories are tenable.

One singular fact to be noted with regard to these tribes who build new cromlechs, and venerate old ones, is that they are all descendants from the primitive inhabitants of India, who held the land long before the Aryan conquerors had found their way either to Britain or to Hindustan. Hence we must infer that in this our own land they were also the work of some aboriginal race, whose descendants may have lingered on for centuries in the wilds after the Aryans had become rulers of the country. So perhaps our cousinship to the east may yet be traced back to some still more remote connection than any yet proven.

At the villages round Poona, near Bombay, the people continue to erect great stone circles near the Brahmin temples, and in defiance of the Hindu priests, who vainly strive to put down a form of superstition in which each man sacrifices for himself without priestly intervention. Here goats and red cocks are offered to the demon Vetal, or Betal, whose worship has for centuries been condemned by the Brahmins, but which has still 312been kept up sub rosa, and now that religious toleration has been secured, the people are returning to their first love, and demon-worship is regaining the ascendency. The worship of Betal is wide-spread, extending to Guzerat and Cutch. His name is suggestive of that temple of Botallick in Cornwall, where a stone circle still exists precisely like these at Poona, having three principal stones placed facing the east and one placed quite outside the circle. Those at Poona are painted white, having a great daub of red paint, with a darker spot in the middle, dashed on the upper end of each stone, to represent the blood of the sacrifices. This red spot invariably faces the rising sun.

The number of stones differs in each circle, and is supposed to represent the number of families who sacrifice at each temple, just as the twelve stones which Moses and Joshua set up on Mount Sinai and at Gilgal represented the twelve tribes.^[57]

Whether the identical stones set up by the old Israelites remain to this day is probably unproven, but we know that various kindred forms of monument are found in Judea. We hear of cromlechs and dolmens near the banks of the Jordan and the Dead Sea, and Porter speaks of a circular temple of Baal on Mount Hermon. Both in Media and in Persia similar circles of great stones are found, having in some cases been brought from afar. Tall monoliths are also reverenced by the people, as the stones of the ancient fire temples. Near to these circles there are often artificial hillocks, where the old Persians resorted to hold their solemn councils, just as our forefathers held their mods, or moats—that is, their courts of justice—on hillocks near the Druid circles, as at Silbury Hill, in Wiltshire. We are told that the old Greeks likewise repaired to circles of stones to hold grave council.

It has been remarked that wherever these old temples are found there are invariably remains of gnarled old trees in the immediate neighbourhood, telling of the groves that once overshadowed them—such groves as those wherein our fathers worshipped, obedient to their Druid teachers. In truth, if other 313proof of eastern origin were lacking, the mere existence on these cold, grey shores of a white-robed priesthood, crowned with oak-leaves and adorned with neck-ornaments and armlets of brass, who ministered barefooted in unroofed temples open to every storm of heaven, would speak of a race who surely had wandered here from warmer climes.

A singular coincidence concerning the groups of great monoliths common to so many lands, is that they are invariably ascribed by the people to some magical power, which has thus transformed human beings to pillars of stone. Whether in Brittany, Cornwall, Somerset, Northern Africa, or Central India, some variety of the same story is told of these groups of menhirs. Sometimes they were maidens, sometimes young men, sometimes serpents, sometimes soldiers, who for divers misdeeds have thus been petrified.

Many most interesting coincidences of this sort have been pointed out by Colonel Forbes-Leslie; none more striking than the existence in India of various rock-crevices through which the people resolutely squeeze themselves, just as our forefathers did in all parts of this country, from Cornwall to Orkney, hoping thereby to scrape off all their sins, in the same manner as the wise serpent by twisting and writhing over stony ground contrives to cast off its old skin, a skin, by the way, which was esteemed so great a treasure that in some parts of England it was long believed that if worn by a woman in child-birth it would insure her safety.

These sacred rocks are found in the Isles of Scilly, Cornwall, Waterford, and many other places. At St. Declan’s Stone, in Waterford, we are told that “on the 24th of July, 1826, upwards of eleven hundred people, men and women, having removed the greater part of their clothes and laid themselves flat on their faces, struggled through the opening beneath St. Declan’s Rock.” At Craig-Madden also, in Stirlingshire, there is, beneath the Druidic stones, a triangular hole, through which persons may crawl, and so avert the danger of dying childless.

This double notion—namely, the cleansing from sin and the insuring of progeny—is precisely that which brings Hindu pilgrims from all parts of the empire to the temple of Walkeswar, or Malabar Point, at Bombay, where the priests assure them that by squeezing through a narrow opening between two 314great rocks they will leave their sins behind them, and will also insure having descendants to perform their funeral rites. So the people have sometimes come even at the risk of their lives to this rock of regeneration; kings and princes have travelled here from distant districts, and the founder of the Mahratta empire disguised himself in mean apparel, and came here to the very midst of his enemies, to perform this rite. The Peishwa of Poona, not content with this, strove to attain more sure forgiveness of his sins, and a higher grade in the next life, by making a golden cow, through which the priests drew him! Many of the native Rajahs, such as Tanjore and Travancore, adopt precisely the same curious method of purification from their sins, firmly believing that just as the poor vile worm emerges from the narrow mouth of its dark chrysalis as a radiant butterfly, in stainless freshness and purity, and endowed with new and wonderful energies, so they, however sin-defiled and vile they may be before entering this dark and narrow passage, will surely come forth thence in newness of life, having scraped off all their sins in their transit through that strange grave.

The same idea caused our forefathers to make little underground tunnels at places where four roads met, and through these they drew their children—a practice denounced by Holy Church as an outward and visible sign that a mother had given herself and her child to the devil. The crying cheese, which we have so often been made to taste in Scotch and English cottages on the birth of an infant, was formerly cut from the centre till only the rind remained, forming a ring through which the baby was passed on its christening day. Even in the last generation it was a common custom in the north of Scotland to gather long withes of woodbine which had overspread the oak-trees, and twisting these into the form of a hoop, to cause sick people to pass through them—a remedy which was chiefly used on May Day and at Midsummer’s Eve. We hear of the same strange custom in the Canary Isles, where, on Midsummer’s Eve, parents gather long rushes, and having split them pass their sick children through the loop thus formed. What may be the mysterious virtue of the rush I cannot say, but Campbell of Islay has noticed its frequent mention in the old Celtic fairy lore.

To the same cause was due the value of all manner of 315perforated stones, some so large that people could pass through them, some so small that they were worn as amulets, or tied to the key of the stable-doors to prevent the witches riding the horses at night. Of the former sort is one on the domains of Malruba the saint, or Mourie the demon, at Applecross, in Ross-shire, where it occupies the centre of a circle of stones. There is a similarly perforated stone in the Druidic circle at Mauchrie Moor, in Arran. Perhaps Mauchrie and Mourie may have been identical. As to the celebrated perforated stone of Odin at Stennis,^[58] in Orkney, it is known to have existed there long before the Northmen came and called it after Odin, and the people continued to hold it in reverence till the beginning of this century, when it was destroyed.

As it was not possible for us to explore Loch Bernera’s lone temple, we solaced ourselves by conjuring up most uninviting visions of those desolate flat shores, which in truth have little beauty to recommend them. We also regretted being so near Stornoway without seeing how art has triumphed over bleak nature in producing such wonderful gardens round the modern castle—gardens where every bit of rock is turned to picturesque account; where roses are made to blossom in long glass passages, and where figs and bananas and grapes ripen in profusion in stoves and hot-houses. But when we thought of having to land and walk through the fishy abominations of the town—women gutting herrings, and all the horrors of that odorous dissection—we felt almost glad to be obliged to return to Uig for letters.

Stornoway is one of the chief stations in the Outer Hebrides where boats congregate for the early herring fishery. They come over from the mainland, or the Inner Isles, to where they know the fish will first appear, and all along the Lews, Loch Boisdale, and Barra are regular stations, where the treasures of the deep are landed to be cured and packed for market.

Perhaps as many as 1,500 boats will assemble at these ports, each boat averaging a crew of six men and perhaps a boy, making 10,000 souls; the fish-curers, gutters, and labourers amount to fully 20,000 more. A vast multitude are these “toilers of the sea,” and in a good season they are well remunerated. For instance, in the spring of 1870, the May and June fisheries realized 120,000l. After this the shoals move onward 316to the east coast—and the boats must follow wherever they lead—as far probably as Aberdeen, where, in general, they are at once hired by the fish-curers, for whom they work. But, as a sample of the changes and chances which affect the trade, I may mention that during the late French and Prussian war they found, on reaching their destination, the usual immense export of herrings to the Baltic was an impossibility, so the majority of the boats could get no engagement at all; some of those already working found no market for their silvery ware, and had to throw them back into the sea. And so, in the height of the fishing season, the boats returned home poorer than they started, many of those passing through the Caledonian Canal on their return to the Isles being unable even to pay the lock dues.

Having returned from Tarbert to Uig, we next sailed over to Loch Maddy in North Uist, a curious bay, with innumerable long narrow creeks, which intersect the land for miles in every direction. It takes its name from two Maddies, or watch-dogs; in other words, two great masses of basalt which jut up from the sea as though guarding the entrance to the loch, and are remarkable as being the only basalt within many hours’ sail.

As a general rule, a more utterly lonely spot could scarcely be found than this flat dull shore. On the present occasion, however, it was a most picturesque scene, for it was the eve of a big cattle market, and there were yachts and boats from all the neighbouring islands, boats with rich brown sails, and living cargoes of Highland cattle, brown and red, pale sandcolour, or rich sienna, silvery grey and black. Beasties of every shade of warm rich colour, which found themselves unceremoniously thrown overboard, to find their own way ashore.

So strangely do the creeks twist and turn in every direction, that if you attempt to walk half a mile, you are certain to be stopped when you least expect it, and it was on strangely broken ground that this market was held. The cattle were well pleased at finding such cool bathing places on every hand, and stood in the water in groups that would have given Rosa Bonheur a thrill of pleasure. Such beautiful little beasts, rough and shaggy, with wide spreading horns, and large soft eyes, looking in calm surprise at the unwonted stir around them. The heat was intense, and no shelter from the burning sun except a few white booths where the lads and lassies might buy their fairings, or get 317their dram. A vast number of the islanders had assembled, and sat about the ground in groups that were pleasant to look upon.

One group in particular delighted me. Two nice old wives in dark blue homespun, with scarlet plaids and white mutches, sat on the grass under large, bright blue umbrellas; beside them grazed two or three sand-coloured ponies. In the background were the white booths, and all along the yellow shore faint wreaths of white smoke from the kelp fires, seemed to blend the blues of sea and sky.

The people in North Uist still continue the kelp making, which their neighbours in Skye have altogether given up; but these diligent folk seem to leave no work untried, and are said to be by far the most prosperous of the outer islesmen. However small their profits may be, they contrive to gather that small surplus which a Scotchman describes as “making such a great plenty i’ the hoose.” Certainly the majority of the folk who had assembled for this market were a tidy comfortable-looking race, and a more striking scene could hardly be imagined.

Loch Maddy itself is as curious a place as any I know, with the endless ramifications of its dreary salt-water lochs winding in and out in every direction in countless little fiords, some of which run inland for nine miles, so that although the loch only covers about ten square miles, its coast line actually exceeds three hundred miles. It has been compared to the pattern of fairy frost on a window pane, or to an outspread branch of sea-weed, whose countless leaves and stems represent the number of creeks and fiords that spread in every direction. On this occasion it looked its very best, bathed in a flood of hot sunshine; but, on a dull misty day, or after prolonged rains, it must be dreary beyond description, when the sad-coloured land, and “the desolate rainy sea,” seemed so blended as to have no clear boundaries, but are simply a sort of amphibious creation, or, as it has been described, a labyrinth of islands and channels; a hybrid sea and shore; the sea all islands, and the land all lakes. It is a strangely wild eerie place, the haunt of all manner of man-hating creatures. Even the shy seal ventures up these silent creeks, and lies basking on the rocks which the tide has left bare; and as to the sea-birds, they know every turn of the winding waters, and the quiet nooks where they may rear 318their downy broods in perfect safety. In addition to all these intricate arms of the sea, these islands are intersected by innumerable shallow fresh-water lochs, with sedgy shores; most of these are covered with white and yellow water-lilies, amid whose fairy blossoms skim radiant dragon-flies of every hue. The lilies are very precious to the islanders, who use their roots for dyeing wool. Another rich brown dye is obtained from some of the dark mosses and lichens that make such kindly coverings for the cold rocks. Heather yields a yellow colour, and a warm red is extracted from the common bramble.

But the most beautiful dye of all is procured from a kind of rue which grows on the sandy shores, but which is so valuable for binding the said sand that it is illegal to uproot it. The people, however, tell of one vain woman who, in her longing to procure this rich red dye, went out by night to gather it, in defiance of her husband’s prohibition. She was never seen again, but soon afterwards the northern sky was red with such flashing lights as had never been heard of, and all the islanders believe assuredly that the spirit of the woman had good cause to rue that red dye. They are by no means the only race who watch the fluttering of those eerie spirit-fires with something of awe. The Greenlanders believe the northern lights to be the spirits of their forefathers going forth to battle. And to all dwellers on the west coast the aurora brings a certain warning of much rain and storm approaching. So surely as “the sable skirts of night” are fringed with that celestial light, and the dark midnight wears her luminous crown of flashing rays, so surely is foul weather in store, and the wise among the people make provision accordingly.

On these fresh-water lochs are many small islets, on which are the remains of Pictish duns. It is said there are about twenty of these in North Uist alone. They are circular, and of the rudest construction, being connected with the land by stone causeways, which are still visible above the water level.

All the east coast of North Uist is the same sort of dreary, boggy, mossy, peaty soil, with weary, uninteresting, low creeks and inlets. The west coast, however, is far more smiling, and here all the inhabitants are to be found. All along the shore are wide white sands, beautiful on a calm day, but liable to drift over the cultivated lands. The aim of the people is, 319therefore, to cultivate the wiry, bent grass, which spreads its long clinging roots, and makes such a mat as binds the sand and keeps it in its place. After awhile a thin crust of soil forms over these roots, and eventually finer grasses find a livelihood on these machars, as this sandy soil is called. The tussac grass is one which is said to take kindly to the double task of feeding the flocks and binding the sands. Nevertheless the machars are dangerous neighbours, and it needs but a little rent in the surface, to let the winds recommence their old games, and one stormy night may produce such wild drifts as will leave promising fields sown with more sand than the poor farmer need ever hope to get rid of.

This is said to have been the cause of that overwhelming sand-drift which converted the fertile lands of Culbyn, in Morayshire, into that vast chain of sand-hills which now extends along the coast. Seven disastrous years of famine had reduced the people to the extreme of poverty, and they were driven to collect fuel where and how they could. Thus the broom and bent grass which had hitherto bound the shore were all torn up, and the wind catching the sand, blew it in thick clouds upwards of twenty-five miles along the coast, burying thousands of acres beneath this deep ever-shifting sand desert.

Happily for the islanders, a considerable portion of these white sands consists of shells, ground to the finest powder by the pitiless action of the waves. These, of course, are pure lime, and act as a very useful manure, enriching all manner of crops. You can generally tell the little islands where the shell-sand is most abundant by the richness of the grass, and the sweet white clover which scents the air. On some islands protected from the fury of the Atlantic, the shells lie unbroken in countless myriads. On one such we landed, near the coast of Ross-shire (the Saint’s Island, protected by the Isles of Raasay and Skye), where, to the depth of many feet, the little shells lie heaped up, each quite perfect, a quarry of shell-gravel. There are no pebbles, no sand, nothing but shells closely packed together in inexhaustible store; little shells which were once silvery, or bright yellow and brown, but are now for the most part utterly bleached. Above them is a light crust of earth, in which the greenest of green pasture shows how well the shell-lime acts.

It has been suggested as just possible (though certainly not 320probable) that in the case of such shell-heaps as these, where not one grain of sand or gravel is found mixed with the shells, we may have stumbled on something akin to the “shell middens” of Denmark, or “kitchen middens,” as the same mountains of refuse are called along our Moray coast, where, as at Burghead, Spynie, Lossiemouth, and among the Culbyn sand-hills, similar heaps of shells are found; vast quantities of oyster-shells, periwinkles, whelks, mussels, cockles, razor-fish, and many other sorts, which have evidently been the food of whole tribes in bygone days. Sometimes we come upon bones which have been split to extract their marrow. Occasionally, too, old flint arrow-heads are found among the shells, plainly suggesting their own tale. These middens are sometimes of great extent and great depth. They are invariably covered with light soil, and with the greenest of grass. As to these shell islands, though they do not consist of what we generally consider edible molluscs, it is within the bounds of possibility that they may have been the homes of divers ascetics, whose frugal fare has left its mark even to this day—a good deal of shell, and very little fish!

The cultivation of the machars is not the sole means taken to prevent the encroachments of the sea. In some places, more especially in the Lews, tracts of land have actually been reclaimed, and the tide shut out by flood gates, in Dutch fashion.

On the other hand, it is quite certain that the sea now covers various shores where villages and even forests have stood. For instance, on the green island of Vallay, lying north of Uist, there are traces of very fine timber and mossy ground lying below high-water mark. Now there is neither moor nor moss on the island, only rich green pasture lands, and shallow fresh-water lochs, on whose gleaming surface float myriad white and golden water-lilies; creamy blossoms, resting on their own glossy leaves, with young buds nestling around; buds that even in the depths of the “dim water world” have been all unconsciously seeking the glorious light above them; mysteriously drawn upward to do it homage, and never swerving to the right hand or the left till they have found it, and their pure hearts silently expand toward the great calm heaven, which broods on every side, and lies reflected in the clear surface of the waters. Truly an image of peace unutterable.

On one of these quiet lochs there is a tiny green island which 321is the favourite haunt of the deer; they swim across in the moonlight, to this, their chosen sanctuary, where they are rarely molested.

One hospitable farmhouse represents human life on this isolated shore, which is connected with North Uist by one of those strange fords, that link together so many of these islands, affording a secure road on terra firma at certain hours of the day, while a little sooner or later, a strong tide rushes along in foaming currents, covering the ford to the depth of eight or ten feet with salt waves—and bringing with it a vast store of all manner of shell-fish, which forms a very important item in the harvest of the islanders. As soon as the tide recedes, a great number of people betake themselves to the shore, with their creels, and their rough little ponies—knowing that a good tide will bring them far more than they can carry, of cockles and mussels, periwinkles and limpets, razor-fish and clams, and all manner of odds and ends besides.

The abundance of cockles and periwinkles is almost inconceivable Of the latter from twenty to thirty tons are despatched to London every week, by the steamers, viâ Glasgow; and go to replenish the stalls of the old wives at the street corners. Oysters from Scalpa and Loch Snizort also find their way there—and vast numbers of lobsters, dragged from their rocky homes on the wild coasts of Harris, are likewise carried off alive. Poor prisoners, their claws are tied up to prevent their fighting by the way—and they are packed together in one great black and blue mass of twisting, struggling, wriggling life, and thus they are transported to the boiling-houses near Billingsgate, where they meet with a vast army of their Norwegian brethren, and all share the same sad fate. Perhaps twenty thousand arrive from Norway in one night, while the Western Isles furnish an average of fifteen thousand per week, and in some instances, more than double that number.

Shades of lobster salads! what food for nightmares rises before us, at the thought of so terrible an array of vengeful, cold-blooded monsters, clad in panoply of blue-grey armour, standing over us with those awful claws uplifted, ready at the bidding of Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid, to plunge us into those horrible boilers, and avenge their luckless parents and kinsfolk.

The lobster fisheries are more profitable now than in the last 322century, when about seventy thousand were annually sent from the coast of Montrose, to London, and there sold at prices varying from three halfpence to twopence halfpenny! Almost as cheap diet as salmon, which varied from three halfpence to twopence a pound! Those were the days when Scotch servants stipulated that they should not be obliged to dine on salmon more than three days in the week!

Another large item in the contributions of the isles to the mainland, is a vast supply of eggs—not for human food, but to be used in the Glasgow callandering works, to produce the glaze on chintz. It seems that freshness is no object, so every old wife lets her eggs accumulate till she has enough to be worth carrying to the “merchant.” Do you remember our old Skye henwife who said she always gave the nest-eggs to her own bairns? When we suggested that they must be slightly objectionable she replied, “Weel, maybe they’re just some snuffy!” I suppose that nest-eggs, like some other dainties, require an educated taste. So we also thought, when tasting the razor-fish or “spout-fish” which the fisher folk consider so nutritious. Not all the art of a French cook could make those leathery lumps palatable!

The fords on all sides give a very curious character to this coast. It seems so strange to be for ever calculating tides—high tide and low tide—spring-tide and neap; with the knowledge that sometimes the safe ford shifts, and that you may find yourself in trouble before you dream of it. Hence the state of the fords becomes the marked topic of conversation; and every person you meet, instead of making the usual comment on the weather, gives you the last news of the tide—or wishes you a dry ford—and a good ford—or hopes you may get a ford at all—a very serious matter, as to miss the ford, and have to stay all night on the wrong side of it, would involve an amount of “roughing it” scarcely desirable. The fords differ much one from another. That which connects Vallay with South Uist is an unbroken beach of hard, white sand, extending the whole two miles from isle to isle, a lonely level shore on which generally no sign of life is visible, save a few white-winged sea-birds, that float on the breeze like flecks of spray from the white surges beyond. Sometimes, however, a strangely incongruous symptom of civilization appears, in the form of a brougham, 323lately imported by a wealthy inhabitant, an innovation which must greatly astonish the wild sea-bulls and sea-horses, whom the islanders still believe to dwell in the realms of the sea.

The next ford lies between North Uist and Benbecula, and is known as the Big Ford, being about four miles across. Half of this lies over sand, by no means sound—and the rest of the way is so intricate, that a stranger must take a fisher-laddie for his guide, along a track twisting and turning in and out between low reefs of black rocks, skirting quicksands, and dangerous holes—splashing through water ankle-deep or sometimes deeper still, through beds of sea-weed and tangle; altogether a very labyrinth. The track is marked by black beacons, but many of these have been washed away, and altogether a more dismal road to have to travel on a stormy day, with a dubious ford perhaps, and dreary grey rain, could hardly be imagined; you cannot help picturing the horrors of sudden illness, or overpowering weariness, detaining some lonely woman or child in that melancholy channel, till the waters return in their might, whirling along in the strong swift current which here pours from the Atlantic to the Minch.

Having passed this dismal ford, you find yourself in bleak Benbecula—a dreary level of dark peat-moss and sodden morass—only broken by the same shallow lakes—a very picture of desolation, and haunted by croaking “hoodie-craws,” foul birds of ill omen. Only one great ruin relieves its dreary monotony; the ruins of Borve Castle, a fine massive keep, commanding the whole island, which after all is only five miles across. There is small temptation to linger here, so you hurry on to try and save the next ford, and so reach South Uist. This ford is only one mile across; it may, however, happen that you reach it only in time to see the waves pouring in, rapidly changing the ford to a sound, which no boat will cross, so there is nothing for it but to wait in Benbecula till the next day; and a very dreary wait it is, as two of my friends proved to their cost. They were thankful to get a night’s rest in a house at that time the only apology for an inn, leaving their carriage on the moor; and found matter of interest in observing the woodwork of their room, which was all built of worm-eaten driftwood, with here and there rusty nails still marking its descent from 324some good ship which had gone to pieces on the rocks. All the furniture in the room was of the same sort.

It is curious to think of these treeless islands, where every atom of wood for every household purpose must be imported from afar, where a good wreck must necessarily be looked upon as a god-send, and where day by day the tide line is eagerly scanned, to see what treasures may have drifted in from far countries. For the wrecks are not the sole timber supply. Good logs of mahogany and other felled trees, as well as chance branches and spars, are washed ashore from West Indian and Mexican forests, drifting along with the warm Gulf Stream. Bales of cotton, and bags of coffee, Molucca beans, or fairy eggs as the people call them, and all manner of quaint treasures are among the spoil which rewards the patient seekers. Sometimes they find foreign shells; sometimes such bamboos and fragments of carved wood as encouraged Columbus to seek for an unknown world, far away to the west; and sometimes—most precious prize—some drowned lady’s raiment, which will set the fashion, no matter of what country, for many a long day. Live tortoises occasionally drift ashore, not much the worse for their long voyage; and once there came floating in, the mast of a man-o’-war, the Tilbury, which had been burnt off Jamaica. Sometimes the wrecks yield stores, the use of which sorely puzzles the simple islanders, as when a vessel laden with tea met her doom off Dalebeg in Lewis, and the people could devise no better use for the precious cargo than to use it as manure, and to this day a field is there known as the tea field. The large seeds of western forest trees, which are thus found, are esteemed great treasures, and are worn as charms, especially by women whose progeny is not so numerous as they might wish. One of these was recently presented to a friend of mine, with the assurance, given quite in earnest, that a similar one having been worn by another member of the family, had been the undoubted cause of the safe arrival of a son and heir! The commoner seeds are of two sorts, a large purple one, and a round grey one, both of which I have found in great abundance on the shores of Ceylon, washed down by the great rivers which flow through the forests, collecting contributions on their seaward way. But precious to the islanders, as are these charms, no gift of the sea can compare in value with the timber, whether it comes in form of logs or of 325wrecks. It is only a little while since the factor of one of the largest proprietors, wrote to acquaint his employer with the joyful fact that, thanks to Providence, there had been three wrecks in the early part of the winter, so that the island was well supplied with wood!

It does sound curious to the unaccustomed ear to hear the quaint phrases of piety with which these spoils of the deep are sometimes welcomed, and the ill-concealed regret of some of the old folk at the building of light-houses, which have tended to warn vessels from these shores. They certainly have a practical belief in the proverb, “It’s an ill-wind that blows no one good”—a creed which my great-grandfather must assuredly have held when, in the middle of the last century, he wrote to an uncle in Morayshire giving an account of his wife’s estate of Penrose, near Helstone, in Cornwall. He says: “In my last, I sent you enclosed a rent-roll of this estate, but I forgot to mention one thing, which is a very considerable appurtenance belonging to it, viz., a royalty on the sea-coast, which generally keeps my cellars well stock’t with wine, brandy, and many other valuable comoditys. These things are called God’s blessings in this country! I had one of them last year that brought me in eight hundred gallons of French brandy; another brought me ten hogsheads of good claret and frontiniack, which your friend Bruce seems to like very well; and this very winter I have had two of these blessings, one of which brought me a noble stock of flour, wine, and bale goods; the other brought me only a parcel of hides, log-wood, and some other trifles that may be converted into cash. These things are very convenient in a large family in these hard times, for corn of all kinds is very dear in this country at present, and I suppose not much cheaper in Moray. I would therefore advise you to come and partake of our Cornish blessings!” The writer might have added that he himself was among the “blessings” thus drifted to the Cornish shores. For having sailed for India, his ship was compelled by stress of weather to run into Falmouth, where he arrived in time for a grand ball, at which the young heiress of Penrose was present. She expressed her willingness to dance with any of the officers “except that ugly Scotchman!” who, nevertheless, wooed and won her with amazing velocity; and we have good reason to believe that she was well content with her share of “Cornish blessings!”

326Still more recently, the inhabitants of St. Agnes, one of the Scilly Isles, were in the habit of praying to St. Waurna that she would be pleased to send them a richly-freighted merchantman, or any good ship that pleased her; and should such a vessel happily be wrecked, they were not content with appropriating her spoils, but also murdered any unhappy sailors who reached the shores alive!

The tradition concerning St. Waurna is that she crossed over from Ireland in an open corragh, possibly with a view to instructing the Scillonians in Christian principles! More probably, however, her worship is a relic of early Celtic Paganism, which was “adapted” by the Christian teachers who found it impossible to suppress her. Saint or goddess, nothing certain is known concerning her, save her power over the elements, which her worshippers sought to enlist in the cause of wrecking. Her name bears a singular resemblance to Waruna or Varuna, the title whereby the Supreme God is addressed in the early Hindu hymns; as Varuna, Lord of the Ocean, Creator of the World and the Planets, Ruler of the Winds. St. Waurna had a holy well into which her votaries used to cast pins, and similar small offerings, but it has now fallen into disuse.

Old ocean pays tribute of all sorts. Sometimes, together with rich merchandise from the ships she has swallowed up, she brings the bodies of drowned sailors, and lays them gently down on the white sands; and the sea-faring folk give them such decent burial as they themselves hope to receive, should they meet the like fate.

One of their oldest burial-grounds is in South Uist, on the grassy top of a sand-hill overlooking the sea. The centre is marked by a cross of worm-eaten driftwood, round which are clustered the dead of many centuries. The people of the island are for the most part Roman Catholics, and for them the central ground is reserved. Protestants are buried in an outer circle; while in a third circle are laid all strangers, and all the unknown dead who are cast up by the sea. Some of these tombs are marked by memorial stones—one or two richly carved; but for the most part only a grassy mound, with a few wild flowers, marks where the sleepers lie waiting so quietly. And when the wind whispers and rustles among the bent, or rushes with swift swirl over sea and land, the islesmen listen reverently, for 327they have still a lingering belief that that swift rushing sound is caused by the great army of the dead passing hither and thither on their ghostly missions. So eerie and awesome are the effects of mist, storm, and tempest, and of wild meteoric lights, flashing blood-red, as they often do on these northern skies, that it is small wonder if these people cling to their faith in the legends of olden days, and still think that sometimes the strange spirit-world which lies so near to them may mix itself with their daily life, and the wan grey ghosts of their fathers become visible to their mortal eyes.