Chapter VII: The Outer Hebrides (1)

“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.”

But 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.

There 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. The 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 dash 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 of 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. Strange 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 observed 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. St. 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 sprinkling 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 which 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, which 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 practices 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 its 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 witchcraft 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 were 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 little 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 of 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 breakfast; 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; for 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 widely-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 the 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.