Chapter III: Epilogue: , 95 (2)

The Cathedral forms, of course, its chief attraction. This building, which is the most conspicuous object in the town, as seen either from the sea or from the land, dates from the twelfth century, having been founded by Jarl Rognvald in 1137, in memory of his uncle, St. Magnus. Its style is chiefly Norman, but it contains many features of the Pointed Gothic or Early English style, which makes it extremely interesting to the antiquary and the architect, resembling in that respect the famous Cathedral of Trondhjem, which belongs to the same period. Outwardly, it is wonderfully well preserved. Though really a very small building of its kind—a cathedral in miniature,—its parts are so well proportioned that it has almost an imposing appearance. Worthy of special notice are the great east window, which Sir Henry Dryden believed to be unique; the circular window in the south transept; and the carving of the west door, which Dryden refers to as probably the finest example in the British Islands of the effective combination of particoloured stones. But the delicate floral work in the arch of the doorway is now much weather-worn, and the fine pillars are wasted to skeletons. The tower, to which we mounted, commands a splendid view of the town and bay and the surrounding islands.

From the Cathedral we passed to the Bishop’s Palace, part of which is probably as old as the Cathedral itself, though the greater part is known to have been built in the sixteenth century by Bishop Reid, who made additions to the Cathedral also. In the older part of this palace King Haco died on his return from Largs, and his remains lay for a time within the Cathedral.

Still more interesting are the remains of the Earl’s Palace, which stands to the east of the last-named building. It was erected by the notorious Earl Patrick Stewart—“Black Pate”—about 1590. He was the son of Lord Robert Stewart (a natural son of James V.), Earl of Orkney. Black Pate also built Scalloway Castle in Shetland; and in the erection of both he levied contributions from his vassals and retainers without stint, requiring them not only to furnish the materials in stone, lime and eggs, with which the mortar was mixed, but also to work like slaves under his command: hence his by-name, “The Scourge of the Islands.” By-and-by his notorious deeds became known in Edinburgh, and he was captured, and ended his career on the gallows.

_The Earl’s Palace—Kirkwall._]

He must, however, have been a man of fine taste and grand notions, if we are to judge by the architectural features of his palace. It is really a fine specimen of the Scottish baronial style, many of the details of ornament—in round turrets, quaint gables, and projecting windows—being beautiful, especially as seen through the grove of sycamore-trees which surrounds the building. A remarkable feature is a level arch over one of the great fireplaces in the banqueting hall, on either side of which the initials “P.E.O.” (Patrick, Earl of Orkney) may still be seen. This is one of the best examples of the straight arch in Scotland.

The day being exceedingly fine, a large contingent enjoyed a drive along the Stromness road to Maeshowe and the Stones of Brogar and Stenness.

Maeshowe is an unique chambered mound, and is one of the most interesting of the many interesting antiquities of Orkney. The mound is 36 feet high and 300 feet in circumference. The central chamber (15 feet square) is built of solid blocks of stone. The roof is of bee-hive shape, and in the walls there are on three sides deep cells or shelves 5 or 6 feet long. It is reached by a long and narrow passage, and as the whole is underground, it has to be explored by candle-light. The position and the dimensions of the cells suggest a place of burial, such as the early Britons used; but the numerous inscriptions on the walls are Runic and Norse. There has therefore been a great deal of discussion as to the purpose of the building; but the general belief now is that it was originally a Pictish sepulchre, and that it was broken into by the Norsemen after the ninth century, and was used by them as a place of refuge, and for the concealment of treasure.

A mile and a half farther on are the two celebrated stone circles, called respectively the Ring of Brogar and the Ring of Stenness. The latter is the smaller, though it has given its name to the whole. According to our own Antiquary, who accompanied the party, that circle was 104 feet in diameter, and consisted originally of twelve stones, of which only two are standing. The Ring of Brogar, according to the same authority, was 340 feet in diameter, and comprised sixty stones, of which thirteen are standing, while ten others, though they have fallen, are still entire. We were assured that these are the finest stone circles in Scotland, far surpassing in extent the Stones of Callernish in Lewis, and comparing favourably with the more famous remains of Stonehenge. As to the purpose of these circles, we were left to solve the mystery for ourselves, being warned, however, that their connection with Druidical worship is now discredited.

One of the most famous of these monoliths was the Stone of Odin in the Stenness circle, now no longer erect. It was perforated by a hole, about five feet from the ground, and was regarded with the utmost veneration, being used (as the readers of Scott’s _Pirate_ will remember) as the place where lovers plighted their troth by clasping hands through the aperture. The stones in the case of both circles are of the Old Red Sandstone formation.

WEST DOORWAY
KIRKWALL
CATHEDRAL]

IX

OUR SHIP’S NAME-MOTHER

The whole party returned to the ‘Dunottar Castle’ about five o’clock, and soon afterwards the anchor was weighed and we started on our homeward voyage. The wind, which had been blowing fresh from the north-west all day, fell away toward sunset, and during the night—the only night spent in sailing—we had a wonderfully quiet passage.

About five o’clock in the morning, those who were fortunate enough to occupy berths on the port side of the ship saw a magnificent sunrise. The sky was clear overhead, but there was a dense bank of clouds on the eastern horizon. Presently, in the midst of the dark mass, a ruddy longitudinal streak appeared. Then the streak was doubled and multiplied. The upper air glowed with opalescent tints. The clouds melted away, and the ruddy orb of the sun appeared on the verge of the ocean. The sea around us, and for miles away, was calm as a mirror, and reflected the gradations of light and the fiery hues of the eastern sky. It was an enchanting scene, such as could be witnessed only once or twice in a lifetime.

We passed Aberdeen about six o’clock, but at too great a distance to obtain a definite view. About breakfast-time we were off Stonehaven, which threw back from its windows the rays of the morning sun. It was a glorious day. Not a cloud darkened the sky, not a ripple broke the surface of the sea except in the track of the ship. Presently we were abreast of the ruins of Dunottar Castle, perched on its rocky pedestal—the veritable name-mother of our ship. The breakfast-bell was ringing (a welcome sound in ordinary circumstances), but every one was loath to leave the deck. The order was therefore given to lie-to until that necessary rite had been performed. Then we returned to the deck with satisfied spirits, and gazed for half an hour or more on the beautiful scene. Artists, photographers, and scribes were soon busily at work, all eager to catch the fleeting beauty.

The detached, or semi-detached, rock on which the ruins of the Castle stand is about two miles south of Stonehaven. It is 160 feet high, and a deep chasm separates it, all but completely, from the mainland, which at this point is wild and precipitous. The neighbourhood, indeed, is a continuous series of cliffs, which are frequented by numerous sea-birds: hence the popular name given to the coast, of the ‘Fowlesheugh.’

Here again the resources of our own Antiquary were called into requisition, and he assured us, with the unblushing confidence of an expert, that the name of the Castle meant in Gaelic ‘the fort of the low promontory.’ It is easy to believe that the rock was the site of a castle from very early times, a siege of ‘Dunfoither’ (as it was then called) by a king of the Picts in the seventh century being on record (681 A.D.).[1] The Castle the ruins of which remain is of course of much later date, though its buildings belong to different ages. It appears, from evident signs, to have covered the greater part of the surface of the rock, which is 4½ acres in extent.

[1] See Sir Donald Currie’s _Book of Garth and Fortingall_, page 83.

Its position resembles very closely that of Tantallon Castle in the Firth of Forth, and before the days of artillery it must have been almost impregnable. Nevertheless, Blind Harry describes a capture of Dunottar by William Wallace, when four thousand Englishmen were burned in the Castle. It was re-fortified by Edward III. in 1336; but these incidents relate to an older castle than that of which the remains survive.

The present Castle, as far as can be ascertained, was begun by Sir William Keith, the ‘Great Marischal of Scotland,’ towards the close of the fourteenth century, and the lands and castle remained in the hands of the Keith family till the Rebellion of 1715, when the owner threw in his lot with the Pretender, and forfeited his estates. One of the mottoes of the family was couched in the quaint and defiant words,

‘They haif said:
Quhat say they:
Lat thame say!’

When the ship received the name of the Castle, these words also were adopted as its motto.

Dunottar was besieged by the gallant Marquis of Montrose during the great Rebellion, the Earl Marischal of that time having been a Covenanter (1645). Montrose offered him fair terms if he would capitulate, but the Covenanting clergymen who had taken refuge within the Castle overruled him, as their kind overruled David Leslie at Dunbar; and he was not allowed to surrender. Thereupon the Marquis subjected the surrounding property to military execution, to the great dismay of the Earl, when he saw flames and smoke rising from his houses, and notwithstanding the assurance of Andrew Cant (ominous name) ‘that the reek would be a sweet-smelling incense in the nostrils of the Lord.’ Evacuation followed as a matter of course.

When Charles II. visited Scotland in 1650, he was entertained in Dunottar Castle by the seventh Earl Marischal. In the following year, when the English Parliamentary army overran Scotland, the Scottish Estates deposited the Regalia in Dunottar Castle, then deemed the strongest place in the kingdom, and George Ogilvy of Barras was appointed Lieutenant-Governor. It was besieged by Cromwell’s army, and Ogilvy held out until famine rendered his troops mutinous, whereupon he surrendered. Before he did so, however, the Regalia had been cleverly removed by Mrs. Granger, the wife of the minister of Kinneff—a village on the coast, four miles farther south. Having obtained the permission of the English commandant to visit her friend Mrs. Ogilvy, the Lieutenant-Governor’s wife, Mrs. Granger, carried with her, on leaving the Castle, a bundle of clothes, in which the Crown was imbedded, and also a huge distaff covered with lint, which was in fact formed of the Sceptre and the Sword of State.

The same night, the precious treasures were buried by the minister himself under the flags of his church at Kinneff; and there they remained till after the Restoration of 1660, when they were unearthed, and were presented to Charles II. by the same George Ogilvy who had formerly been Commander of the Castle. Ogilvy’s only reward was the title of Baronet, and a new coat of arms. The minister and his wife received no reward—not even thanks. Sir John Keith, the brother of the Earl Marischal, was made Earl of Kintore in 1677, and was the ancestor of the present Earl, who is the tenth to hold the dignity.

After its surrender to Cromwell, the Castle was partially dismantled and reduced to ruins. What remained of it was, like the Bass Rock, used as a State prison for the Covenanters during the persecutions under Charles II. and the Duke of York. One hundred and sixty-seven men and women were imprisoned at one time in its ‘Whig’s Vault,’ or Black Hole, and nine of them speedily died of suffocation. Driven to despair, some twenty-five of them one night crept out of a window and along the face of the cliff, in the hope of effecting their escape. Two of these daring men fell over the rock and were killed. The others were captured, and were subjected to terrible cruelties.

A few years after the forfeiture already referred to, the Castle was sold, and was completely dismantled. It was subsequently repurchased by the Keith family; and it passed finally into the hands of Sir Alexander Keith, Writer, Edinburgh, whose grandson, Sir Patrick Keith Murray of Ochtertyre, sold it in 1875 to Mr. Innes of Cowie, near Stonehaven.

Having studied the Castle and its surroundings long enough to deepen our impressions of it, we got up steam again, and went on our way past Bervie, with its outstanding Craig-David; past Montrose, stretched over a level site; past Arbroath, with its tall chimneys, its spires, and its ancient Abbey,—all seen in the dim distance, and reposing peacefully in the Sabbath calm.

X

A DAY OF REST

At the morning service, which was held as usual in the saloon, Dr. Cameron of Cape Town preached an eloquent and suggestive sermon from Luke xiii. 29, ‘They shall come from the east, and from the west, and from the north, and from the south, and shall sit down in the kingdom of God.’ The words, he thought, were not inappropriate to the occasion; for the company was gathered from many parts of this country, and some of its members from distant lands. It might be said, indeed, that we had come from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south. After pointing out that the words were Christ’s real answer to the question, ‘Are there few that be saved?’ and showing that His restrictions applied to those who sought to enter the kingdom of God in other ways than by the strait gate, the preacher continued:—

‘My text gives us the vision of a great commonwealth or society, into which all worthy elements of human character are gathered up—a kingdom of God which is at the same time a kingdom of man. And they form a great multitude which no man can number, because fresh crowds are ever gathering into it. “The nations of them that are saved shall walk in the light of it.”

‘“They shall come from the East”—the land of immemorial traditions and gorgeous imaginations, of Oriental splendour and barbaric gold: the cradle of civilisation, and philosophy, and religion: where, a thousand years before Christ, mystics dreamed of a blessedness which could be reached only by those who mortified the flesh, and contemplated the unseen glories of the spiritual world;—the East, with its patient millions who have borne without complaint the yoke of a cruel bondage: with its frankincense and myrrh, once laid in homage at the cradle of a little child: with its jewelled temples raised in honour of gods many and lords many, and its holy plains,

“Over whose acres walked those blessed feet
Which, eighteen hundred years ago, were nailed,
For our advantage, to the bitter cross.”

‘None of that splendour shall be lost: it shall receive a new consecration. That devotion shall find its true object: those dusky brows shall be decked by the hand of Him who hath made us kings and priests unto God. “They shall come from the east,” and sit down with prophets and patriarchs in the kingdom of God.

‘“They shall come from the West.” The kingdom of God is no palace of luxury, no paradise of passive repose, where kings sit in solemn state, and mystics dream away their days in fruitless visions. It is the commonwealth of those banded together to do the work of the Lord, and there must be place in it for the practical vigour and the restless energy of the Western mind. The subtle Greek, who sent the arrows of his thought quivering into the heart of Europe: the practical Roman, fulfilling his great part in the commission to replenish and subdue the earth: the nations of modern Europe, with their culture, and power, and ambitions: the great Republic of the West, where the banner of religious freedom was unfurled, and great problems in politics and religion are being worked out—not one of these can be spared from the final association of men in the kingdom of God. Each has its contribution to bring. We are debtors to the Greek and the barbarian, to the wise and the unwise: and they in their turn are debtors to the great world of which they form a part, and are to bring their glory and honour, their worth and their wisdom, into the Community of the Saved.

‘“They shall come from the North.” They came from the north in mighty hordes—those fierce barbarians who swept down upon the tottering Roman Empire, and crushed out what remained to it of life. Province after province was invaded by these terrible men, the fairest tracts of Southern Europe were occupied by them, and are still held by their descendants. They shall come again, Christ says, from the north: not for destruction, but for help and blessing: not to ravage the provinces of a decaying earthly empire, but to swell the population and to add to the wealth of the city of God: from the far north, the land of the midnight sun, and the noonday darkness, into the city of which the Lord is the everlasting light, and whose sun shall no more go down for ever.

‘“They shall come from the South”: where palm-trees cast their grateful shadows on the earth, and temples lift their stately heads to heaven. We read and speak of the luxury and ease of the South, where life is free from care, and its burdens rest very lightly on men whose hearts are bright and gay. But there is a place even for something of this kind in the final home. There must be rest and peace, as well as toil and energy: enjoyment, as well as action. So the men of the South come trooping in at the call of Christ, even as the Queen of the South once came to hear the wisdom of Solomon. From the banks of the river of Egypt, with its mighty pyramids and mystic learning: from the central plains and southern shores of the dark continent of Africa, which shall one day be light in the Lord: from the new world of the Southern Seas with their multitude of islands, and from that greater Britain which is throbbing with the vigorous life of what they love to call the Mother Country—from each and all of these they shall come, a goodly host, each under its own standard, but high over all the blood-red banner of the Captain of our Salvation. They shall come, a great multitude which no man can number, “from the east, and from the west, from the north, and from the south”: and this is the processional hymn to the music of which they march through the gates into the city—

“Unto Him that loved us, and washed
us from our sins in His own blood,
And hath made us kings and
priests unto God and His Father;
To Him be glory and dominion
for ever and ever. Amen.”’

XI

HOMEWARD BOUND

When we returned to the deck we found ourselves within sight of the Bell Rock, off the Firth of Tay, and the old stories were retold of the fate of Ralph the Rover, and of the trials and hair-breadth ’scapes of Robert Stevenson and the heroes who helped him to build the famous lighthouse, and to carry out in an enduring form the humane intentions of

“The pious Abbot of Aberbrothock.”

A heavy haze now began to gather on the shore. No trace of St. Andrews could be seen. The East Neuk of Fife, with King’s Barns on the one side and Crail on the other, was only dimly visible. Steaming close to the Isle of May, we saw very plainly its lighthouses, its store-houses, and its ruined chapel of St. Adrian. We were reminded, in view of recent events, that this island is nearly of the same size as Heligoland; and one wonders that it has not been turned to as good account as the latter. Late in the evening we entered the Firth of Forth by the passage between Tantallon Castle and the Bass Rock, in order to obtain a view of these famous fortresses.

Tantallon Castle, like Dunottar, stands on a detached rock, and is accessible from the mainland only at one point. It is famous in the history of Scottish wars, and especially in that of the house of Douglas. Every one is familiar with Scott’s graphic description of it, and of the parting scene of Marmion and Douglas at its gate:—

‘On the Earl’s cheek the flush of rage
O’ercame the ashen hue of age:
Fierce he broke forth,—“And darest thou then
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?—
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!—
Up drawbridge, grooms!—what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.”—

Lord Marmion turned—well was his need—
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.’

The buildings and the surrounding walls cover the entire surface of the rock. Its strength in olden times was proverbial, and led to the saying—

‘Ding doon Tantallon,
Mak’ a brig to the Bass,’

the one achievement being deemed about as easy as the other. The ruins as seen from the sea do not present any picturesque features, but they give the impression of a place of great size, and practically impregnable.

The Bass Rock (313 feet high) is the counterpart in the Firth of Forth of Ailsa Craig in the Firth of Clyde; and it is remarkable that these two rocks are the only ones in Scotland that are frequented by the gannet, or solan goose. The Bass presents a very bold outline, from whatever point it may be seen. Its summit slopes from north to south, and it is surrounded on all sides by steep cliffs, rising sheer out of the sea. The only possible landing-place is on a shelf of rock on the south side, above which are the ruins of a fortress, which stretched across the island from east to west.

This fortress, as has been mentioned, was used as a State prison in the times of Charles II. and his brother James VII. Many Covenanters were immured there, including stout old John Blackadder, who died on the island after a long imprisonment. The Bass was the last stronghold in Britain that held out for James VII., and after its surrender its castle was demolished.

As we passed close to the rock the steam-whistle was sounded, and at once great numbers of solan geese rushed forth like a living whirlwind, darting and wheeling in the air, and filling it with their hoarse cries. The noise had scarce died away when we passed North Berwick—sentinelled by its Law, and guarded by its outposts, Craigleith and Fidra. The haze grew denser and denser as we sailed up the Firth of Forth, so much so that it was thought advisable to go at half-speed. Inchkeith was not visible until we were within less than a mile of it. One consequence of the changed atmospheric conditions was that a projected visit to the Forth Bridge had to be postponed; another was, that we failed to obtain the view of Edinburgh from the sea, which is considered one of the finest.

Above Inchkeith, we were met by a tug from the shore, which brought out some of the representatives of the Leith house (James Currie and Co.) and other friends. The tug marshalled us the way to our anchorage; and about six o’clock we dropped anchor in Leith Roads, not without regret that the act signalised the practical termination of our delightful cruise.

After dinner that evening, Sir Arthur Blackwood and Lord Provost Muir expressed to Sir Donald Currie, in the name of the guests, their hearty thanks for his splendid hospitality, and for the pleasure which the trip had afforded them in many ways. Captain Webster, his officers and men, were not forgotten in this thanksgiving service; and well they deserved this recognition, for what was a pleasure-trip to the guests involved no little hard work for them. Indeed the Captain declared that his anxieties had turned his hair white, but he added that the many kind things said of him had restored its natural colour—a kind of capillary blush after the blanching of care.

XII

IN THE FIRTH OF FORTH

Next morning the mist had risen sufficiently to show dimly, but yet with a certain poetic mystery, the beauties of the unrivalled position of ‘the grey Metropolis of the North’ within her cincture of hills—Salisbury Crags and Arthur’s Seat, Blackford Hill and the Braids, Corstorphine Hill and the wooded heights of Dalmeny and Hopetoun. In the midst, there was a dreamy indication of the city, with its masses of buildings following the contours of the undulating site, and relieved by outstanding spires, monuments, and tall chimneys—the whole culminating in the Castle Rock, which stood out like an aerial island from a sea of haze.

In the forenoon, a delightful trip was made in the ‘Iolanthe’ up to and under the Forth Bridge; and those who made it were rewarded with a splendid view of that wonderful structure. As every one knows, the view of the Bridge from the sea is the finest that can be obtained. You see it as a whole. You take in at a glance all its details. You see each of the cantilevers separately, as well as the connecting girders. You see the width of the great spans and the height of the ‘fair-way’; and you understand why such vast superstructures were necessary in order to secure the stability of the intermediate railway line. All this is missed by one who crosses the Bridge in a railway carriage, unless, as occurred once in the experience of the writer, the western sun casts a perfect shadow of the Bridge on the placid bosom of the Firth below.

In the course of the day, several thousands of the inhabitants of Edinburgh and Leith visited the ‘Dunottar Castle,’ on the general invitation of the Castle Company, and in steamers provided for their accommodation. The extent to which the privilege was taken advantage of showed how highly it was appreciated.

In response to special invitations, the Corporations of Edinburgh and Leith, the Merchant Company, the Chambers of Commerce, and other public bodies, paid a visit to the ship about noon, and were entertained to luncheon, to the number of 150, Sir Donald Currie presiding. The manner in which the extempore function was carried through showed that the resources of the ship, without extraneous aid, were quite equal to such an emergency. It is needless to do more than refer to the eloquent speeches in which the beauty of the ship and the enterprise of its owners were acknowledged.

Then, at length, the harmonious party, which for ten days had been at home in the great ship, was scattered promiscuously to the East and the West, the North and the South, to resume old ties of love and friendship, but not to forget the new ties that had been formed.

In the evening of the same day, the great ship left her moorings and sailed for London, there to take her appointed place in the Cape and Natal Mail Service; and no vessel ever entered on her career with more cordial good wishes from troops of friends than

‘THE DUNOTTAR CASTLE.’

_EPILOGUE_

_History, in these days, is made more rapidly than it is written. Before these sheets have left the Press, there comes the news that ‘The Dunottar Castle’ has ‘beaten the record’ on her first Cape voyage in both directions._

_She made the outward passage in 16 days, 11 hours, 54 minutes, and completed the homeward run to Plymouth in 16 days, 6 hours, net steaming time. The fastest passages previously recorded were made by ‘The Roslin Castle’: outward in 17 days, 10 hours, 15 minutes, and homeward in 16 days, 16 hours, 35 minutes. ‘The Dunottar Castle’ has thus shortened the passage between England and the Cape by nearly a whole day._

W. S. D.

EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY PRESS

T. AND A. CONSTABLE
_Printers to Her Majesty_

MDCCCXC