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 Pass 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 grass 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 passengers 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 passage 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 appetite 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 massacre enacted at Glencoe, which place was now so near.
(Distance walked thirty miles.)
Saturday, 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 grass 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 passed 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 altitudes. How those poor women and children must have suffered at the time of the massacre 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 bloody 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!
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 pass at four o'clock that morning, the hour at which the massacre 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 passing 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.