NEXT morning (Tuesday) finds us in the Sound of Mull, one of the most beautiful and romantic of Highland seas. The lighthouse full astern stands on the point of the island of Lismore, anciently the seat of the Bishops of Argyll, and still more famous as the home of its Dean, James Macgregor, who, in the sixteenth century, made a valuable collection of poems in Gaelic and English, well known as the ‘Book of the Dean of Lismore.’ The picturesque ruin at the entrance to the Sound, on the eastmost point of Mull, is Duart Castle, the home of the Macleans. Not far off is the ‘Lady Rock,’ which disappears at high-water, and on which one of the Macleans once left his wife, intending that she should perish when the tide rose and covered the rock. She was Ellen of Lorne, a sister of the Earl of Argyll. One of her brothers rescued her, and afterwards slew Maclean. Such stories are common in these regions: they cling, like the ivy, to every ruined tower. These traditions of lawlessness and vengeance formed the greater part of the education of the people.
By and by we pass on the right Ardtornish Castle, a stronghold of the Lords of the Isles, and memorable as the site of the opening of Scott’s poem:—
‘Thy rugged halls, Ardtornish! rung,
And the dark seas, thy towers that lave,
Heaved on the beach a softer wave,
As ’mid the tuneful choir to keep
The diapason of the Deep.
Lulled were the winds on Inninmore,
And green Loch Aline’s woodland shore,
As if wild woods and waves had pleasure
In listing to the lovely measure.’
The ruins of Ardtornish are near the entrance to Loch Aline, and under the shadow of the massive and bare hills of Morven. These hills had a never-ending charm for Dr. Norman M‘Leod, whose native village of Morven lies on the east coast of the Sound, nearly opposite Tobermory. The Sound to-day is in one of its angry moods: clouds obscure the sun; mists cling to the mountains, and the sullen sky is reflected in the fretful sea.
Presently we pass on the left the ruins of Aros Castle, another of those rock-built fortresses which are so numerous on these coasts. The stupendous mountain-wall which appears to close up the Sound at the north end is the rocky peninsula of Ardnamurchan, the most westerly point on the British mainland. At its base stands yet another ruined castle, that of Mingarry, also a stronghold of the Lords of the Isles, and woven with warp of treachery and woof of heroism into their adventurous story.
Passing Tobermory Bay, to which we shall return by-and-by, we sail beyond Ardnamurchan Point, and have a distant view of the Scuir of Eigg and the graceful outline of the mountains of Rum. The mists lift somewhat, and give us a view of the north coast of Mull, and of the bold beetling headland of Ardnamurchan, with its tall lighthouse thrust out into the sea. Then we return to Tobermory, the quaint and primitive capital of Mull, and anchor in its lovely Bay.
The village, which, like a few other places in the Highlands, looks best at a distance, skirts two sides of the Bay. The western banks are steep and richly wooded. On the east, the Bay is cut off from the sea by the small island of Calve, which forms a natural breakwater, thus producing a spacious and very safe anchorage. Aros House, imbedded in woods, stands on the south side of the Bay, and near it there is a very fine waterfall on the stream which emerges from the Mishnish Lochs—a favourite resort of anglers. From the deck, a lovely view of the Sound of Mull is seen over the crest of Calve. The hills in the distance are dark, but the east shores of the Sound are lighted up with gleams of sunshine, developing marvellous combinations of colour.
The day being still young, the ‘Iolanthe’ is brought into requisition, and a delightful trip is made up Loch Sunart, a veritable fiord in its windings, and its narrowness, and its flanking mountains. As we enter the Loch, we catch one of those occasional and transient effects which delight artists, but which it is hazardous to paint, and still more difficult to reproduce without colour. A brilliant rainbow rests one of its extremities on the massive hill of Ardnamurchan, and practically cuts it in two; one half of it being melted away under the changing colours of the arch.
It was during this trip that some members of the party developed extraordinary skill in the game of deck quoits, while others indulged in athletic sports of various kinds, terminating in a ‘tug-of-war’ in which nearly every man and boy on board took part. It was alleged, however, with what truth I know not, that a majority of those on the winning side wore deck shoes with india-rubber soles. Nevertheless, they maintained stoutly that ‘it was weight that told.’ The sail up Loch Sunart was very enjoyable. A fair breeze was blowing, and the sun, which had been concealed before, burst through the clouds, and shed beauty on the landscape.
Mist Rainbow on Ardnamurchan—off Tobermory Lighthouse.
In the afternoon we embarked on the ‘Iolanthe’ again, and sailed round the north coast of Mull in fairly good weather, past Ardmore Point, past Glengorm Castle (the property of Mr. James Cowan), past Caliach Point, and Calgary Castle with its marvellous silver strand, and past Trishnish Point, in the direction of the Trishnish Islands. A farmhouse near Caliach Point has an interest for literary men. Thomas Campbell the poet spent five months there as tutor when a young man; and there he first conceived the theme of The Pleasures of Hope. Another poet has revelled in this region; for the Trishnish Islands belong to the group described by Scott:—
‘The shores of Mull on the eastward lay,
And Ulva dark, and Colonsay,
And all the group of islets gay
That guard famed Staffa round.
Then all unknown its columns rose,
Where dark and undisturbed repose
The cormorant had found,
And the shy seal had quiet home,
And weltered in that wondrous dome,
Where, as to shame the temples decked
By skill of earthly architect,
Nature herself, it seemed, would raise
A Minster to her Maker’s praise!’
The Trishnish Islands are covered with rich grass, which makes excellent pasture. The Laird of Calgary fattens his mutton there during the summer months, and sends out a yacht once a fortnight to capture two or three sheep for use. As the animals are as wild and as swift as deer, capturing them is no easy task. They are generally driven by a contracting line of men and boys into a trap made with spars and a sail between two rocks on the shore; but they often break through the cordon, and even leap sometimes over the heads of the drivers.
This, however, is a digression. The rough sea, and consideration for the weaker vessels of the party, male and female, induced Sir Donald Currie to abandon the intention of visiting Staffa, with a distant view of which the guests had to be satisfied. It is noteworthy that this yachting cruise was the only occasion, during the whole trip, on which symptoms of sea-sickness showed themselves. It may be added that the most serious case was that of Sir Donald’s young piper, who had never been on the sea before; but scarcely had the yacht been put about when a few blasts of a pibroch, recalling memories of the braes of Garth and Glenlyon, gave audible proofs of his convalescence, and indeed completed the cure. On returning to Tobermory we landed, and enjoyed a refreshing walk on the shore before dinner: some exploring the woods about Aros House, and others climbing to the heights that surround the town, whence a wider view was obtained.
The Pilot.——A Tobermory Lassie.
The evening was given up to recreation, including dancing to the music of the ship’s band, under the awning on the promenade deck, which, lighted up with electric lamps, made a spacious and brilliant ballroom. This was carried on in presence of nearly the whole population of Tobermory, which had come out, on Sir Donald’s invitation, to see the stately ship. The performances were not by any means confined to the saloon folks. Our stalwart pilot, relieved of his duties for the night, came out strong in the ‘reels’; and, having shown his paces in a ‘fling’ with our chief, he was in great request with the Tobermory lassies, with one of whom he engaged in a kind of terpsichorean duel, which reminded the spectators of
‘The dancing pair that, simply, sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down.’
Another hero of the dance was one of the quartermasters, who was a match for any of the natives, or, for that matter, for any of the crew, engineers or seamen. It was a case of ‘one down, another come on,’ and the contest might have lasted till break of day. Unfortunately, however, the festivities were marred by a heavy downpour of rain; but that did not prevent the singing of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and ‘God save the Queen,’ or hearty cheers for our host, before the party broke up. One could not but feel sorry for the poor people who had to find their way to the shore in the dark, and through the pelting, pitiless rain.
