CORRESPONDENCE.
THE COAST SCENERY OF LEWIS.
EFROEI ACORIIESPONDENT.)
Sri,—One of the most beautiful parts of the island of Lewis is Loch Roag ; and to mast Londoners, also, it is perhaps the best known, as the scene of Mr. Black's charming novel, "A Princess of Thule." It lies on the west coast, some sixteen miles from Stornoway. A long drive over the brown moors brings you to the pretty little inn of Garrynahine, which stands at the extreme end of the southern arm of Loch Roag. Here, one bright sunny morning, we hired a boat to carry us to Bernera,—the 4 4 Borva " of the "Princess of Thule." There was next to no wind, but our crew, obeying their High-
land instincts, were determined to save themselves the trouble of rowing if possible, and had therefore put a goodly brown sail on board. As, however, what wind there was blew right in our faces, they were obliged to seat themselves at their oars, and soon their strong strokes sent the boat spinning through thegreen waters. Presently on our right, on the top of a small green hill, and standing out sharp against the blue sky, like the jagged teeth, of some wicked monster, rose the Druids' stones of Callernish. They are in the form of a cross. In the centre is a double circle. of stones, and in the centre of this, again, are the remains of an altar. At its head rises a mighty pillar, more than twenty feet high. At one time more than half the depth of these stones was. buried beneath the moss. But some years since, Sir James Matheson had the peat cleared away, and then the altar was discovered. The upper part of the stones is covered with yellow and gray lichens, which give them a most weird appearance. On the finest day, while the sunshine covers the purple hills, and makes the waters of Loch Roag dimple and shine, these big gray stones have an awful and threatening look. We asked one of our boatmen what the people said about them. Ho told us that in Gaelic they called them "stones of lamentation." The bill on which they stand is still called the "Hill of Lamentation." Another hill is styled the "Bishop's Hill," because, said our boatmen, St. Columba had preached there. After having delivered this short historical lecture, Donald bent to his oar again. Presently he stopped to tell us that the land right ahead of us was the island of Bernera. Here the waters divide into two arms, both flowing westward into the Atlantic. The channel between the island and the mainland was here very narrow. We shot through it, and in a minute found ourselves in a wide loch. On the right were the uplands of Bernera, on the left the moorland of Lewis stretched away in endless lines, whilst right ahead rose the grand purple mass of Suainabhal. After rowing about half-way down the loch, we pulled into the shore of Bernera, and landed on some big rocks, encrusted with whelks. Our boatmen told us we bad only to walk up the little path through the grass, and we should find Mr. Macdonald's house straight before us. This Mr. Macdonald farms a great part of the island. For many years he has been. called the "King of Bernera," and when the "Princess of Thule" appeared, his neighbours insisted that he figured in that well-known novel as the "King of Borva." There is, how- ever, a rival claimant of the Throne, a Mr. Mackenzie, who rents, a large farm opposite Garrynabine. Many of the islanders say that he is the real "king." In this alarming state of disputed, sovereignty Mr. Black himself must, I fear, go down to Loeb, Roag and give judgment. Mr. Macdonald has at least one- title to the dignity in the fact that he is much respected in the Lewis. We were everywhere told that we must not fail to call upon him. After a few minutes' climb, we reached a small white house perched upon the top of a ridge, commanding a beautiful view of Loch Roag. We had no letter of introduction to its owner, but we had been assured that we needed none,-- that Mr. Macdonald would be sure to give us a welcome. In- spite of this, however, we knocked at the door in some trepida- tion, but in five minutes all our fears bad vanished, and we found ourselves sitting in a pleasant little parlour, busily talking with our- kind host and his polite daughter. Then a jug of cream was put on the table, and oatcake, butter, and jam, and we feasted like kings. We learnt much about the life of this lonely island. The spinning- wheel was brought out of the kitchen by a yellow-haired, bare- footed girl, and placed in the garden for my inspection. The sun- shine glittered on her golden locks and rosy cheeks, and the brisk wind fluttered the ends of the small red shawl that covered her shoulders, as the lassie sat on a three-legged stool, and made the- old brown wheel whirl with the sound of an enormous bumble-bee. Then a big roll of rough, home-spun cloth, which had just come back from the weavers, was shown me. This was made of home- grown wool, and would be used by the household.
After our pleasant visit, we proceeded to our boat, accompanied, by Mr. Macdonald himself, and as the wind was with us now, our big brown sail was set, and we sped smoothly along between the green uplands of Bernera and the purple hills of Lewis. Sweeping round to the most western point, we were soon breasting the huge rollers of the Atlantic, which sucked our little boat into big troughs. of water and then swung it up as if it had been a cork. Far out we could see the waves beaten into white foam, as they dashed against the rocks. It is a fearful coast in stormy weather, and years ago, before any lighthouses were built, shipwrecks were a constant occurrence, and formed a source of regular income to unscrupulous islanders. The inhabitants of a small island further sonth than Lewis,—I need not give its name,—were so demoralised
by this mode of living, that one of them complained to a friend of mine against the Government for its activity in building light- houses. "Ay, years ago," he said, "it wass a fine island for a young man ; it wass. Every week a chest of tea, or a barrel of whisky, or a box of clothes whatever was washed ashore. But now they never come. No! not at all since they have put up those tamned lighthouses !"
As we were rowing back, and as we passed close by some big rocks covered with sea-weed, our boatmen interchanged a few
words in Gaelic ; then stopping, Donald asked leave to pull the boat in. We gave consent, wondering what they were going to do. In a few seconds the men were scrambling over the rocks, busy tearing off huge masses of thick, flabby- leaved sea-weed, and throwing it into the boat. Then they got in, set the sail, put away their oars, and began to eat the 4, duke." I could not suppress a sound of amazement when I saw them stowing the green-brown, flabby, dripping stuff into their mouths, and crunching it up with as much relish as if it had been a Ribstone pippin. "It is very good for the stomaek and for the eyes, whatever," said Donald, and handed me a choice morsel, about three feet long. I tried a tiny bit, but did not like it. It tasted like damp, salt leather. After our crew had thus regaled themselves, they entrusted the sail to one of their number, whilst the rest stretched themselves out and went fast asleep. 'There was so little wind that our small craft often stood quite motionless, whilst the waves lapped softly against her sides. We -did not care, we were in no hurry, and it was very pleasant to lie there in the afternoon sunshine, and idly watch the shadows of the purple hills gently moving on the clear water. When, how- -ever, an hour had passed, and we mildly suggested our desire to reach Garrynahine in time for dinner, Donald, and Angus, and Niel at once waked up, seized their oars, and soon sent us flying through the water, and landed us safe and sound on the rocky shore.
Another day we explored the east coast of Lewis. This is scarcely known to tourists, or, indeed, to most of the in- habitants of Stornoway, as it can only be visited by boat, or by a long, tedious tramp over the moors. The aid of Sir James Matheson's steam-launch, however, enabled us to see it to per- fection one bright sunny day. Mr. Mackay, the courteous and zealous Chamberlain of the island, who has the interests of the tenants, as well as of the proprietors, at heart, accompanied us. Away we went down the long bay, past the lighthouse, and out into the tossing waves of the Minch. To the south stretched the coast, headland after headland riding out into the green waters. After running along the shore for a couple of miles, we turned in- land through a narrow opening amid the rocks, and we found our- selves at the head of a narrow loch. It wound in and out, and was, besides, full of islands, so that when you were once in you -could not see which was the right way out again. The colours of the scene would have delighted a landscape painter. The tide was low, and just above the blue water stretched a bright yellow line of sea-weed, which a little higher up the shore turned to a shade of rich brown ; above that were the gray rocks, the brown and green heather, broken by tufts of purple blossom and forests of light green bracken. Our little steamer seemed to make a huge com- motion in this quiet place. Countless sea-birds flew screaming into the air, and wild-looking children, with bare legs, brown faces, and scanty clothes, suddenly appeared on the rocks, and gazed down on us in silence and wonder. Here and there we could see clusters of little huts,—the homes of these wild urchins. A few hundred yards further we came upon the school-house, church, and manse. The people nearly all belong to the Free Church. They are very devoted to their Ministers, Mr. Mackay told us. They cut, and carry home, and stack his peats for him ; each claehan or tiny village sends up a clay's milk to the Manse for the Minister's cheese- making. Besides this, gifts are often made of fowls, butter, and eggs, and whatever the fishing may be, every boat. puts aside a portion for the Manse. In return, the Minister is often the good angel of the district. He gives advice and help, makes up quarrels, gets situations for the lads and lasses in Glasgow, and often acts even as doctor and lawyer. The Ministers are very powerful, and make their will the law to their people. They have almost banished the bagpipes and fiddles out of Lewis, the only instrument they allow the musical portion of their flocks being the jews'-harp. We were assured by a resident in Stornoway that a Free-Church Minister has refused to marry a young couple, unless they would promise that there should be no bagpipes and no dancing at the wedding.
After half-an-hour's sail, we turned our little vessel round, and steamed back into the open sea. On running southwards for a short time, we came to another opening on our right, into which we turned. Here, again, was another long loch more wonderful than the last. It also was filled with many islands, and we had to find our way carefully through narrow passages. Suddenly, however, in rounding a corner we found ourselves in a wide lake. The bright sunshine sparkled on the waves, and the great, quiet hills rose up on all sides. Great white-winged gulls flew over our heads. On some rocks amongst the seaweed stood a row of herons, solemnly gazing into the water. As we came near they swung themselves up into the air on their big wings, and sailed away into some unapproachable cleft in the mountain side. This deep loch is a favourite home of the herring, great quantities being caught in June and July. The herring is the very good friend of the poor crofter. Ile it is who pays the rent, and brings in the money for the tea, sugar, and tobacco that must be fetched from Stornoway. Mr. Mackay told us that the dependence on the fishing of the fickle herring made the people fatalists.
special They believe in al providences or strokes of good- luck. One day a crofter, who was in arrears with his rent, said, "Never mind, sir, it will be all right ; Providence will send me the money." 'Providence won't help you, unless you help yourself, my man," was the philosophic reply of the factor. However, two or three days after this, the delinquent came to him and said, "And it is I who spoke the truth ; there is the pound I owe you. It was when I was at Styornoway a boat did come in and wanted a pilot, and it was I that went with her, and the captain he gave me the pound. Providence did help me, whatever !"
As we listened to this story, our little steamer reached the end of the lake, and we then found that the land on our left was not the mainland, but an island. St. Columba's Isle was its name. We turned through the passage and came upon a strange sight. On the western slope of the island, in the full blaze of the after- noon sun, stood the ruins of a little church and a deserted grave- yard. It lay close to the water's edge, a band of yellow seaweed and a few grey rocks dividing the old lichen-covered headstones from the blue waves. The Lewis folk say that the good saint wandered all over the islands, preaching to the people. He had, they believe, hundreds of churches built. It is quite possible that the ruins of the small gray stone chapel stood on the site of one of these ancient places of worship. It is a peculiarity of the Lewis people that they always chose a small island for the bury- ing-place of their dead. I did not wonder at their choosing this lovely St. Columba's isle for a God's-acre. It was a scene of perfect peace. There was no sound to break the stillness but the wild, sad call of the sea-birds, the occasional bleating of the sheep, and the lapping of the blue waters upon the rocks. The small island seemed cut off from all the trouble of life, as it lay amid the waters of the quiet lake, and encircled by the silent hills. We turned our small vessel away from its peaceful shore with regret, and were soon back in the deep narrow loch, the steep rocks rising on either side of us. We wound round first one island and then another, till at last we came upon the long level line of the open sea. We were soon tossing upon the waters of the ever- restless Minch. The small prow was now turned northwards, and in a couple of hours we were once more in Stornoway Harbour.—
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