He then went to Fort William to tender his Oath of Allegiance to the King's Officer there, who unfortunately had no power to receive it, but he gave him a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, who was at Inverary, asking him to administer the Oath to MacIan. The aged Chief hastened to Inverary, but the roads were bad and almost impa.s.sable owing to a heavy fall of snow, so that the first day of January, 1692, had pa.s.sed before he could get there; Campbell administered the Oath and MacIan returned to Glencoe thinking that all was now right. But a plot was made against him by the Campbells, whose flocks and herds, it was said, the MacDonalds had often raided, and it was decided to punish MacIan and to exterminate his clan; and a company of the Earl of Argyle's regiment, commanded by Captain Campbell of Glenlyon, was sent to Glen Coe to await orders. MacIan's sons heard that the soldiers were coming, and thought that they were coming to disarm them, so they removed their arms to a place of safety, and, with a body of men, they went to meet the soldiers to ask if they were coming as friends or foes. They a.s.sured them that they were coming as friends and wished to stay with them for a short time, as there was no room for them, for the garrison buildings at Fort William were already full of soldiers. Alaster MacDonald, one of MacIan's sons, had married a niece of Glenlyon's, so that the soldiers were cordially received and treated with every possible hospitality by MacIan and his Clan, with whom they remained for about a fortnight.

Then Glenlyon received a letter from Duncanson, his commanding officer, informing him that all the MacDonalds under seventy years of age must be killed, and that the Government was not to be troubled with prisoners. Glenlyon lost no time in carrying out his orders. He took his morning's draught as usual at the house of MacIan's son, who had married his niece, and he and two of his officers accepted an invitation to dinner from MacIan, whom, as well as the whole clan, he was about to slaughter. At four o'clock the next morning, February 13, 1692, the ma.s.sacre was begun by a party of soldiers, who knocked at MacIan's door and were at once admitted. Lindsay, who was one of the officers who had accepted his invitation to dinner, commanded the party, and shot MacIan dead at his own bedside while he was dressing himself and giving orders for refreshments to be provided for his visitors. His aged wife was stripped by the savage soldiers, who pulled off the gold rings from her fingers with their teeth, and she died next day from grief and the brutal treatment she had received.

The two sons had had their suspicions aroused, but these had been allayed by Glenlyon. However, an old servant woke them and told them to flee for their lives as their father had been murdered, and as they escaped they heard the shouts of the murderers, the firing of muskets, the screams of the wounded, and the groans of the dying rising from the village, and it was only their intimate knowledge of the almost inaccessible cliffs that enabled them to escape. At the house where Glenlyon lodged, he had nine men bound and shot like felons. A fine youth of twenty years of age was spared for a time, but one, Captain Drummond, ordered him to be put to death; and a boy of five or six, who had clung to Glenlyon's knees entreating for mercy and offering to become his servant for life if he would spare him, and who had moved Glenlyon to pity, was stabbed by Drummond with a dirk while he was in the agony of supplication. Barber, a sergeant, with some soldiers, fired on a group of nine MacDonalds who were round their morning fire, and killed four of them, and one of them, who escaped into a house, expressed a wish to die in the open air rather than inside the house, "For your bread, which I have eaten," said Barber, "I will grant the request." Macdonald was accordingly dragged to the door, but he was an active man and, when the soldiers presented their firelocks to shoot him, he cast his plaid over their eyes and, taking advantage of their confusion and the darkness, he escaped up the glen. Some old persons were also killed, one of them eighty years of age; and others, with women and children who had escaped from the carnage half clad, were starved and frozen to death on the snow-clad hills whither they had fled.

The winter wind that whistled shrill, The snows that night that cloaked the hill, Though wild and pitiless, had still Far more than Southern clemency.

It was thrilling to read the account of the fight between the two Clans, Mackenzie and MacDonnell, which the Mackenzies won. When the MacDonnells were retreating they had to cross a river, and those who missed the ford were either drowned or killed. A young and powerful chief of the MacDonnells in his flight made towards a spot where the burn rushed through a yawning chasm, very wide and deep, and was closely followed by one of the victorious Mackenzies; but MacDonnell, forgetting the danger of the attempt in the hurry of his flight and the agitation of the moment, and being of an athletic frame and half naked, made a desperate leap, and succeeded in clearing the rushing waters below.

Mackenzie inconsiderately followed him, but, not having the impulse of the powerful feelings that had animated MacDonnell, he did not reach the top of the opposite bank, succeeding only in grasping the branch of a birch tree, where he hung suspended over the abyss. Macdonnell, finding he was not being followed, returned to the edge of the chasm, and, seeing Mackenzie's situation, took out his dirk, and as he cut off the branch from the tree he said, "I have left much behind me with you to-day; take that also," and so Mackenzie perished.

There was another incident of Highland ferocity that attracted us powerfully, and read as follows: "Sir Ewen encountered a very powerful English officer, an over-match for him in strength, who, losing his sword, grappled with the chief, and got him under; but Lochiel's presence of mind did not forsake him, for grasping the Englishman by the collar and darting at his extended throat with his teeth, he tore away the b.l.o.o.d.y morsel, which he used to say was the sweetest morsel he had ever tasted."

We felt that the people hereabouts were still of another nation. The descendants of Prince Charlie's faithful adherents still clung to their ancient religion, and they preserved many of their old customs and traditions in spite of the changes in outlook which trade and the great ca.n.a.l had brought about.

It was therefore not to be wondered at that, after impressing our memories with these and other fearful stories and eating the heavy supper provided for us by our landlady, our dreams that night rather disturbed our slumbers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCENE OF THE Ma.s.sACRE OF GLENCOE. "Especially interesting to us was the account of the cruel ma.s.sacre of Glencoe. Here was enacted one of the blackest crimes in the annals of Scottish history."]

Personally I was in the middle of a long journey, engaged in disagreeable adventures in which I was placed at a considerable disadvantage, as I was walking without my boots, when I was relieved from an unpleasant position by the announcement that it was six o'clock and that our boots had arrived according to promise.

(_Distance walked nine miles_.)

_Friday, September 29th._

There was a delightful uncertainty about our journey, for everything we saw was new to us, and we were able to enjoy to the fullest extent the magnificent mountain and loch scenery in the Highlands of Scotland, with which we were greatly impressed. It was seven o'clock in the morning, of what, fortunately for us, proved to be a fine day, as we left Fort William, and after coming to the end of the one street which formed the town we reached a junction of roads, where it was necessary to inquire the way to Glencoe. We asked a youth who was standing at the door of a house, but he did not know, so went into the house to inquire, and came out with the information that we could get there either way. We had already walked along the full length of Loch Ness, Loch Oich, and Loch Lochy, so we decided to walk alongside Loch Linnhe, especially as that road had the best surface. So on we went at a quick pace, for the half-day's holiday yesterday had resulted in renewed energy. We could see the great mountains in front which we knew we must cross, and after walking three and a half miles we met a pedestrian, who informed us that we were on the right way, and must go on until we reached Ballachulish, where we could cross the ferry to Glencoe.

This information rather troubled us, as we had determined to walk all the way, so he advised us to go round the "Head of the Loch"--an expression we often heard used in Scotland--and to make our way there across the open country; in this case the loch was Loch Leven, so we left the highway and Loch Linnhe and walked to a small farm we could see in the distance. The mistress was the only person about, but she could only speak Gaelic, and we were all greatly amused at our efforts to make ourselves understood. Seeing some cows grazing quite near, my brother took hold of a quart jug standing on a bench and, pointing to the cows, made her understand that we wanted a quart of milk, which she handed to us with a smile. We could not ask her the price, so we handed her fourpence, the highest price we had known to have been paid for a quart of the best milk at home, and with which she seemed greatly pleased.

We were just leaving the premises when the farmer came up, and he fortunately could speak English. He told us he had seen us from a distance, and had returned home, mistaking us for two men who occasionally called upon him on business. He said we had gone "three miles wrong," and took great pains to show us the right way. Taking us through a fence, he pointed out in the distance a place where we should have to cross the mountains. He also took us to a track leading off in that direction, which we were to follow, and, leaving him, we went on our way rejoicing. But this mountain track was a very curious one, as it broke away in two or three directions and shortly disappeared. It was unfenced on the moorland, and there were not enough people travelling that way to make a well-defined path, each appearing to have travelled as he pleased. We tried the same method, but only to find we had gone out of the nearest way. We crossed several small burns filled with delightfully clear water, and presently saw another house in the distance, to which we now went, finding it to be the shepherd's house.

Here the loud and savage barking of a dog brought out the shepherd's wife, who called the dog away from us, and the shepherd, who was having his breakfast, also made his appearance. He directed us to a small river, which he named in Gaelic, and pointed to a place where it could easily be forded, warning us at the same time that the road over the hills was not only dangerous, but difficult to find and extremely lonely, and that the road to Glencoe was only a drovers' road, used for driving cattle across the hills. We made the best of our way to the place, but the stream had been swollen by the recent rains, and we experienced considerable difficulty in crossing it. At length, after sundry walkings backwards and forwards, stepping from one large stone to another in the burn, we reached the opposite bank safely. The only mishap, beyond getting over shoe-tops in the water, was the dropping of one of our bags in the burn; but this we were fortunate enough to recover before its contents were seriously damaged or the bag carried away by the current.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE Pa.s.s.]

We soon reached the road named by the shepherd, which was made of large loose stones. But was it a road? Scotland can boast of many good roads, and has material always at hand both for construction and repair; but of all the roads we ever travelled on, this was the worst! Presently we came to a lonely cottage, the last we were to see that day, and we called to inquire the way, but no English was spoken there. This was unfortunate, as we were in doubt as to which was our road, so we had to find our way as best we could. Huge rocks and great mountains reared their heads on all sides of us, including Ben Nevis, which we could recognise owing to the snowy coverlet still covering his head. The country became very desolate, with nothing to be seen but huge rocks, inaccessible to all except the pedestrian. Hour after hour we toiled up mountains--sometimes we thought we reached an elevation of two thousand feet--and then we descended into a deep ravine near a small loch. Who could forget a day's march like this, now soaring to an immense height and presently appearing to descend into the very bowels of the earth! We must have diverged somewhat from the road known as the "Devil's Staircase," by repute the worst road in Britain, for the track we were on was in one section like the bed of a mountain torrent and could not have been used even by cattle. Late in the afternoon we reached the proper track, and came up with several herds of bullocks, about three hundred in number, all told, that were being driven over the mountains to find a better home in England, which we ourselves hoped to do later.

[Ill.u.s.tration: IN GLENCOE.]

We were fortunate in meeting the owner, with whom we were delighted to enter into conversation. When we told him of our adventures, he said we must have missed our way, and congratulated us on having a fine day, as many persons had lost their lives on those hills owing to the sudden appearance of clouds. He said a heap of stones we pa.s.sed marked the spot where two young men had been found dead. They were attempting to descend the "Devil's Stair," when the mist came on, and they wandered about in the frost until, overcome by sleep, they lay down never to rise again in this world.

He had never been in England, but had done business with many of the n.o.bility and gentlemen there, of whom several he named belonged to our own county of Chester. He had heard that the bullocks he sold to them, after feeding on the rich, pastures of England for a short time, grew to a considerable size, which we thought was not to be wondered at, considering the hardships these s.h.a.ggy-looking creatures had to battle with in the North. We got some information about our farther way, not the least important being the fact that there was a good inn in the Pa.s.s of Glencoe; and he advised us to push on, as the night would soon be coming down.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE Pa.s.s IN GLENCOE.]

At the close of day we could just see the outline of a deep, dark valley which we knew was the Pa.s.s of Glencoe, with a good road, hundreds of feet below. Acting on the advice of the drover, we left the road and descended cautiously until we could go no farther in safety; then we collected an enormous number of old roots, the remains of a forest of birch trees which originally covered the mountain-side, and with some dry heather lighted an enormous tire, taking care to keep it within bounds. A small rill trickling down the mountain-side supplied us with water, and, getting our apparatus to work and some provisions from our bags, we sat down as happy as kings to partake of our frugal meal, to the accompaniment of the "cup that cheers but not inebriates," waiting for the rising of the full moon to light us on our farther way to the road below. We were reclining amongst the heather, feeling thankful to the Almighty that we had not shared the fate of the two young men whose cairn we had seen on the hills above--an end we might easily have met, given the weather of yesterday and similar conditions--when suddenly we heard voices below us. Our fire now cast a glare around it, and everything looked quite dark beyond its margin. Our feelings of surprise increased as from the gloom emerged the gigantic figures of two stalwart Highlanders. We thought of the ma.s.sacre of Glencoe, for these men were nearly double our size; and, like the Macdonalds, we wondered whether they came as friends or foes, since we should have fared badly had it been the latter. But they had been attracted by the light of our fire, and only asked us if we had seen "the droves." We gave them all the information we could, and then bidding us "good night" they quietly departed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE SISTERS," GLENCOE. "Here was wild solitude in earnest.... The scene we looked upon was wild and rugged, as if convulsed by some frightful cataclysm."]

The darkness of the night soon became modified by the reflected light from the rising moon behind the great hills on the opposite side of the glen. We extinguished the dying embers of our fire and watched the full moon gradually appearing above the rocks, flooding with her glorious light the surrounding scene, which was of the sublimest grandeur and solitude.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RIVER COE, GLENCOE.]

Many descriptions of this famous glen have been written, and no one who could see it under such favourable and extraordinary conditions as we enjoyed that night would be disposed to dispute the general opinion of its picturesque and majestic beauty. Surely Nature is here portrayed in her mightiest form! How grand, and yet how solemn! See the huge ma.s.ses of rock rising precipitously on both sides of the glen and rearing their rugged heads towards the very heavens! Here was wild solitude in earnest, and not even the cry of the eagle which once, and even now, had its abode in these vast mountain recesses broke the awful silence which that night prevailed in the Pa.s.s, disturbed only by the slumberous rippling of water. The scene we looked upon was wild and rugged, as if convulsed by some frightful cataclysm, and we saw it under conditions in which Nature conspired to enhance its awfulness--a sight which few painters could imitate, few writers could graphically describe. The infidel may deny the existence of the Creator of the universe, but there was here sufficient to fill the soul with awe and wonder, and to influence even the sceptic to render acknowledgment to the great G.o.d who framed these majestic hills. The reflection of the moon on the hills was marvellous, lighting up the white road at the upper end of the pa.s.s and the hills opposite, and casting great black shadows elsewhere which made the road appear as if to descend and vanish into Hades. We fancied as we entered the pa.s.s that we were descending into an abyss from which it would be impossible to extricate ourselves; but we were brought up sharp in our thoughts, for when we reached the road it suddenly occurred to us that we had forgotten to ask in which direction we had to turn for the "Clachaig Inn" named by the drover.

We sat down by the roadside in the hope that some one would come from whom we might obtain the information, and were just beginning to think it was a forlorn hope when we heard the sound of horse's feet approaching from the distance. Presently the rider appeared, who proved to be a cattle-dealer, he told us he had some cattle out at the foot of the glen, and said the inn was seven miles away in the direction in which he was going. We asked him if he would kindly call there and tell them that two travellers were coming who required lodgings for the night. This he promised to do, and added that we should find the inn on the left-hand side of the road. We then started on our seven-mile walk down the Pa.s.s of Glencoe in the light of the full moon shining from a clear sky, and in about an hour's time in the greatest solitude we were almost startled by the sudden appearance of a house set back from the left-hand side of the road with forms and tables spread out on the gra.s.s in front. Could this be the inn? It was on the left-hand side, but we could not yet have walked the distance named by the cattle-dealer; so we knocked at the door, which was opened by a queer-looking old man, who told us it was not the inn, but the shepherd's house, and that the forms and tables in front were for the use of pa.s.sengers by the coach, who called there for milk and light refreshments. Then the mistress, who was more weird-looking still, came forward, and down the pa.s.sage we could see other strange-looking people. The old lady insisted upon our coming in, saying she would make us some porridge; but my brother, whose nerves seemed slightly unstrung, thought that we might never come out of the house again alive! We found, however, that the company improved on closer acquaintance.

The meal was served in two deep bowls, and was so thick that when our spoons were placed in it on end they stood upright without any further support, so it was, as the Lancashire people describe it, proper "thick porridge." We were unable to make much impression on it, as we had not yet digested the repast we had enjoyed on the hills above, and the good old lady added to our difficulties by bringing a plentiful supply of milk. It was the first time we had tasted meal porridge in Scotland.

Needless to say, after paying our hostess for her hospitality, we were allowed to depart in peace, nor were we molested during the remainder of our romantic evening walk. After proceeding about two miles farther amidst some of the most lonely and impressive scenery in the Highlands, we arrived at the "Clachaig Inn." It was after closing-time, but as the gentleman on horseback had delivered our message according to promise, the people of the inn were awaiting our arrival. We received a friendly welcome, and proceeded to satisfy what remained of a formerly voracious appet.i.te by a weak attack on the good things provided for supper, after which, retiring to rest in the two beds reserved for us, we slept so soundly that in the morning when roused by a six-o'clock call we could not recall that our dreams had been disturbed even by the awful ma.s.sacre enacted at Glencoe, which place was now so near.

(_Distance walked thirty miles_.)

_Sat.u.r.day, September 30th._

By seven o'clock a.m. we were again on the road bound for Inverary, which place we were anxious to visit, as it had recently been the scene of a royal wedding, that of the Princess Louise with the Marquis of Lorne. The morning was beautifully fine, but there had been a frost during the night and the gra.s.s on the sides of the road was quite white.

The sky was clear, not a cloud being visible as we resumed our walk down the glen, and in about three miles we reached the village of Glencoe.

Here we heard blasting operations being carried on quite near our road, and presently we reached the edge of the loch, where there was a pier and a ferry. We now found that in directing us to Inverary our friends at the inn had taken it for granted that we wished to go the nearest way, which was across this ferry, and we were told there were others to cross before reaching Inverary. We therefore replenished our stock of provisions at the village shop and turned back up the glen, so that after seeing it in the light of the full moon the night before we had now the privilege of seeing it in the glorious sunshine. We walked on until we got to the shepherd's house where we had been treated to such a heavy repast of meal porridge the previous evening, and there we had a substantial meal to fortify us for our farther journey. On our way up the glen we had pa.s.sed a small lake at the side of our road, and as there was not sufficient wind to raise the least ripple on its surface it formed a magnificent mirror to the mountains on both sides. Several carts laden with wool had halted by the side of the lake and these also were reflected on its surface. We considered the view pictured in this lake to be one of the prettiest sights we had ever seen in the sunshine, and the small streams flowing down the mountain sides looked very beautiful, resembling streaks of silver. We compared the scene in imagination with the changes two months hence, when the streams would be lines of ice and the mountain roads covered with a surface of frozen snow, making them difficult to find and to walk upon, and rendering travelling far less pleasant than on this beautiful morning. We often thought that we should not have completed our walk if we had undertaken it at the same period of the year but in the reverse direction, since we were walking far too late in the season for a journey of this description. We considered ourselves very fortunate in walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End, instead of from Land's End to John o' Groat's, for by the time we finished deep snow might have covered these Northern alt.i.tudes. How those poor women and children must have suffered at the time of the ma.s.sacre of Glencoe, when, as Sir Walter Scott writes--

flying from their burning huts, and from their murderous visitors, the half-naked fugitives committed themselves to a winter morning of darkness, snow, and storm, amidst a wilderness the most savage in the Western Highlands, having a b.l.o.o.d.y death behind them, and before them tempest, famine, and desolation when some of them, bewildered by the snow-wreaths, sank in them to rise no more!

[Ill.u.s.tration: BRIDGE OF ORCHY.]

They were doubtless ignorant of the danger they were in, even as they escaped up the glen, practically the only way of escape from Glencoe, for Duncanson had arranged for four hundred soldiers to be at the top end of the pa.s.s at four o'clock that morning, the hour at which the ma.s.sacre was to begin at the other end. Owing to the heavy fall of snow, however, the soldiers did not arrive until eleven o'clock in the forenoon--long after the fugitives had reached places of safety.

Like many other travellers before us, we could not resist pa.s.sing a bitter malediction on the perpetrators of this cruel wrong, although they had long since gone to their reward. And yet we are told that it hastened that amalgamation of the two kingdoms which has been productive of so much good.

We had our breakfast or lunch served on one of the tables ranged outside the front of the shepherd's house, and in quite a romantic spot, whence we walked on to a place which had figured on mileposts for a long distance named "Kingshouse." Here we expected to find a village, but as far as we could see there was only one fairly large house there, and that an inn. What king it was named after did not appear, but there was no other house in sight. Soon after pa.s.sing it we again came in contact with the master cattle-drover we had interviewed the day before, who told us that he had brought his bullocks from the Isle of Skye, from which place they had to travel seventy-one miles. We also pa.s.sed several other droves, some of which we might have seen previously, and by nightfall came to Inveroran. Here we saw a comfortable inn which would have just suited us, but as there was no church there and the next day was Sunday, we decided to walk to the next village, about three miles farther on, where we were informed there was a church, and a drover's house quite near it where we could get lodgings. By this time it was quite dark, and we pa.s.sed Loch Tulla without either seeing it or knowing it was there, and arriving at the Bridge of Orchy we found the drover's house near the church. To our great disappointment the accommodation had all been taken up, and the only place that the lady of the house knew of in the direction we were going was a farmhouse about four miles away, where she said, with a tone of doubt in her voice, "we might get in!" We crossed the bridge and pa.s.sed over the River Orchy, which connected Loch Tulla with Loch Awe, some sixteen miles distant.

Fortunately for us the moon now rose, though obscured by great black clouds, which we could see meant mischief, probably to make us pay dearly for the lovely weather during the day. But luckily there was sufficient light to enable us to see the many burns that crossed the surface of the road, otherwise it would have been impossible for us to have found our way. The streams were very numerous, and ran into the river which flowed alongside our road, from among some great hills the outlines of which we could see dimly to the left. We were tired, and the miles seemed very long, but the excitement of crossing the rushing waters of the burns and the noise of the river close by kept us awake.

We began to think we should never reach that farmhouse, and that we had either missed our way or had been misinformed, when at length we reached the desired haven at a point where a gate guarded the entrance to the moor. All was in darkness, but we went to the house and knocked at the front door. There was no response, so we tried the shutters that barricaded the lower windows, our knocks disturbing the dogs at the back of the house, which began to bark and a.s.sisted us to waken the occupants. Presently we heard a sleepy voice behind the shutters, and my brother explained the object of our visit in a fine flow of language (for he was quite an orator), including references, as usual, to our "walking expedition," a favourite phrase of his. As the vehement words from within sounded more like Gaelic than English, I gathered that his application for lodgings had not been successful. Tired as I was, I could not help laughing at the storm we had created, in which the "walking expedition" man heartily joined. But what were we to do? Here we were on a stormy night, ten miles from the inn at Dalmally, which for aught we knew might be the next house, hungry and tired, cold and wet; and having covered thirty miles that day and thirty miles the day before, how could we walk a further ten miles? Our track was unfenced and bounded by the river on one side and the moors on the other, but presently we came to a place where the surface of the moor rose sharply and for some distance overhung the road, forming a kind of a cove. Here we gathered, some of the dry heather that extended under that which ornamented the sides of the cove, made quite a respectable fire, and ate our last morsel of food, with which unluckily we were poorly provided.

To add to our misfortune, the wind grew into a hurricane and whirled the smoke in every direction, forcing us at last to beat a hasty retreat.

We now faced the prospect of a night on the moors, and resolved to crawl along at a sufficient speed to keep up our circulation, stopping at the first house we came to. Here again the subdued light from the moon proved useful, for we had not gone very far before we saw what appeared to be a small house on the moor about a hundred yards away. We approached it very cautiously, and found it was a small hut. How glad we were to see that hut! We struck a light, and at once began an exploration of the interior, which we found contained a form, a rustic table reared against the wall, and, better than all, a fireplace with a chimney above it about a yard high; the door was lying loose outside the hovel. It may have been a retreat for keepers, though more likely a shelter for men who had once been employed on the land, for attached to it was a small patch of land fenced in which looked as though it had been cultivated. With a few sticks which we found in one corner and a handful of hay gathered from the floor we lighted a fire, for we were now becoming experts in such matters; but the smoke seemed undecided which way it should go, for at one minute it went up the chimney, at another it came down. We went outside and altered the chimney a little, for it was only formed of loose stones, and thus effected an improvement for a time. The door gave us the most trouble, since being loose we had the greatest difficulty in keeping it in its proper position, for the wind was now blowing hard--so much so that we thought at times that the hut itself would be blown over. At last a tremendous gust came, and down went the chimney altogether. The fire and smoke now made towards the doorway, so that we had frequently to step outside in order to get a breath of fresh air. We tried to build the chimney up again, but this was impossible owing to the velocity of the wind and rain and the exposed situation. Our slender supply of fuel was nearly exhausted, which was the worst feature, as it was imperative that we should keep ourselves warm; so we decided to go back towards the river, where we had seen a few small trees or bushes lining the bank between our track and the water. Luckily, however, we discovered a dead tree inside the enclosed land, and as I was somewhat of an expert at climbing, I "swarmed" up it and broke off all the dead branches I could reach with safety, it being as much as I could do to retain my hold on the slippery trunk of the tree.

With the dead wood and some heather and pieces of turf we returned laden and wet through to our dug-out, where we managed to get our fire burning again and to clear away some of the stones that had fallen upon it.

Still there was no sleep for us that night, which was the most miserable one almost that we ever experienced.

But just fancy the contrast! In the dead of night, in a desolate Highland glen, scaling a stone fence in a pitiless storm of wind and rain, and climbing up a dead tree to break off a few branches to serve as fuel for a most obstinate fire--such was the reality; and then picture, instead of this, sitting before a good fire in a comfortable inn, with a good supper, and snug apartments with every accommodation--these had been our fond antic.i.p.ations for the week-end!

We certainly had a good supply of wet fuel, and perhaps burned something else we ought not to have done: but we were really prisoners for the night. The merciless wind and rain raged throughout, and we had to stick to our novel apartment and breathe until daylight the awful smoke from the fire we were compelled to keep alight. Yet our spirits were not entirely damped, for we found ourselves in the morning, and often during the night, singing the refrain of an old song:

We'll stand the storm, it won't be long; We'll anchor by and by.

Just occasionally the gloom thickened when we ventured to think of details, among which came uppermost the great question, "Where and when shall we get our breakfast?"

(_Distance walked, including that to Dalmally, forty miles_.)