This was the furthest limit of their journey, and the travellers retraced their steps southward, halting at Clashmore Inn: "At breakfast," says Southey, "was a handsome set of Worcester china. Upon noticing it to Mr. Telford, he told me that before these roads were made, he fell in with some people from Worcestershire near the Ord of Caithness, on their way northward with a cart load of crockery, which they got over the mountains as best they could; and, when they had sold all their ware, they laid out the money in black cattle, which they then drove to the south."
The rest of Southey's journal is mainly occupied with a description of the scenery of the Caledonian Canal, and the principal difficulties encountered in the execution of the works, which were still in active progress. He was greatly struck with the flight of locks at the south end of the Canal, where it enters Loch Eil near Corpach:—
"There being no pier yet formed," he says, "we were carried to and from the boats on men's shoulders. We landed close to the sea shore. A sloop was lying in the fine basin above, and the canal was full as far as the Staircase, a name given to the eight successive locks. Six of these were full and overflowing; and then we drew near enough to see persons walking over the lock-gates. It had more the effect of a scene in a pantomime than of anything in real life. The rise from lock to lock is eight feet,—sixty-four, therefore, in all. The length of the locks, including the gates and abutments at both ends, is 500 yards;— the greatest piece of such masonry in the world, and the greatest work of the kind beyond all comparison.
"A panorama painted from this place would include the highest mountain in Great Britain, and its greatest work of art. That work is one of which the magnitude and importance become apparent, when considered in relation to natural objects. The Pyramids would appear insignificant in such a situation, for in them we should perceive only a vain attempt to vie with greater things. But here we see the powers of nature brought to act upon a great scale, in subservience to the purposes of men; one river created, another (and that a huge mountain-stream) shouldered out of its place, and art and order assuming a character of sublimity. Sometimes a beck is conducted under the canal, and passages called culverts serve as a roadway for men and beasts. We walked through one of these, just lofty enough for a man of my stature to pass through with his hat on. It had a very singular effect to see persons emerging from this dark, long, narrow vault. Sometimes a brook is taken in; a cesspool is then made to receive what gravel it may bring down after it has passed this pool, the water flowing through three or four little arches, and then over a paved bed and wall of masonry into the canal. These are called in-takes, and opposite them an outlet is sometimes made for the waters of; the canal, if they should be above their proper level; or when the cross-stream may bring down a rush. These outlets consist of two inclined planes of masonry, one rising from the canal with a pavement or waste weir between them; and when the cross-stream comes down like a torrent, instead of mingling with the canal, it passes straight across. But these channels would be insufficient for carrying off the whole surplus waters in time of floods. At one place, therefore, there are three sluices by which the whole canal from the Staircase to the Regulating Lock (about six miles) can be lowered a foot in an hour. The sluices were opened that we might see their effect. We went down the Bank, and made our way round some wet ground till we got in front of the strong arch into which they open. The arch is about 25 feet high, of great strength, and built upon the rock. What would the Bourbons have given for such a cascade at Versailles? The rush and the spray, and the force of the water, reminded me more of the Reichenbach than of any other fall. That three small sluices, each only 4 feet by 3 feet, should produce an effect which brought the mightiest of the swiss waterfalls to my recollection, may appear incredible, or at least like an enormous exaggeration. But the prodigious velocity with which the water is forced out, by the pressure above, explains the apparent wonder. And yet I beheld it only in half its strength; the depth above being at this time ten feet, which will be twenty when the canal is completed. In a few minutes a river was formed of no inconsiderable breadth, which ran like a torrent into the Lochy.
"On this part of the canal everything is completed, except that the iron bridges for it, which are now on their way, are supplied by temporary ones. When the middle part shall be finished, the Lochy, which at present flows in its own channel above the Regulating Lock, will be dammed there, and made to join the Speyne by a new cut from the lake. The cut is made, and a fine bridge built over it. We went into the cut and under the bridge, which is very near the intended point of junction. The string-courses were encrusted with stalactites in a manner singularly beautiful. Under the arches a strong mound of solid masonry is built to keep the water in dry seasons at a certain height; But in that mound a gap is left for the salmon, and a way made through the rocks from the Speyne to this gap, which they will soon find out."
Arrived at Dumbarton, Southey took leave of John Mitchell, who had accompanied him throughout the tour, and for whom he seems to have entertained the highest admiration:—
"He is indeed," says Southey, "a remarkable man, and well deserving to be remembered. Mr. Telford found him a working mason, who could scarcely read or write. But his good sense, his excellent conduct, his steadiness and perseverance have been such, that he has been gradually raised to be Inspector of all these Highland roads which we have visited, and all of which are under the Commissioners' care —an office requiring a rare union of qualities, among others inflexible integrity, a fearless temper, and an indefatigable frame. Perhaps no man ever possessed these requisites in greater perfection than John Mitchell. Were but his figure less Tartarish and more gaunt, he would be the very 'Talus' of Spenser. Neither frown nor favour, in the course of fifteen years, have ever made him swerve from the fair performance of his duty, though the lairds with whom he has to deal have omitted no means of making him enter into their views, and to do things or leave them undone, as might suit their humour or interest. They have attempted to cajole and to intimidate him alike in vain. They have repeatedly preferred complaints against him in the hope of getting him removed from his office, and a more flexible person appointed in his stead; and they have not unfrequently threatened him with personal violence. Even his life has been menaced. But Mitchell holds right on. In the midst of his most laborious life, he has laboured to improve himself with such success, that he has become a good accountant, makes his estimates with facility, and carries on his official correspondence in an able and highly intelligent manner. In the execution of his office he travelled last year not less than 8800 miles, and every year he travels nearly as much. Nor has this life, and the exposure to all winds and weathers, and the temptations either of company or of solicitude at the houses at which he puts up, led him into any irregularities. Neither has his elevation in the slightest degree inflated him. He is still the same temperate, industrious, modest, unassuming man, as when his good qualities first attracted Mr. Telford's notice."
Southey concludes his journal at Longtown, a little town just across the Scotch Border, in the following words:—
"Here we left Mr. Telford, who takes the mail for Edinburgh.
This parting company, after the thorough intimacy which a long journey produces between fellow-travellers who like each other, is a melancholy thing. A man more heartily to be liked, more worthy to be esteemed and admired, I have never fallen in with; and therefore it is painful to think how little likely it is that I shall ever see much of him again,—how certain that I shall never see so much. Yet I trust that he will not forget his promise of one day making Keswick in his way to and from Scotland."