MOUNT MISERY.
Guide-booksare but too often blind guides, as they present certain objects for our admiration, which are accordingly visited and admired, but leave out all mention even of others of as great, if not greater, interest. For example, there rises up from the margin of the Queen of Scottish Lakes, Lomond, at its south end, about 3 miles from Balloch, a little mount, easy of access even to those who can only afford a Saturday afternoon to visit it, from which undoubtedly the best view of the loch is to be obtained. Here, if anywhere on earth, are congregated the choicest elements of pictorial wealth.
Take a return ticket to Balloch Station (not Balloch Pier); on arriving cross the Leven by the graceful suspension bridge, keep on the Kilmaronock road till you come to Haldane’s Mill, so-called from a former proprietor; then turn to the left, pass Balloch Castle, the seat of A. D. Brown, Esq., and when arrived at Boturich Castle, R. Finlay’s, Esq., you will find a pathon the right which will lead you, without any difficulty of a physical kind, to the top, a quarter of a mile up. It would be as well to ask permission, however, at some of the officials close by to make the ascent, as, on account of a stupid vandalism on the part of excursionists, the proprietor has had lately to become somewhat conservative in his policies.
It is not known how this beautiful spot came to get such an unhappy name, but unless he had been atrabilious on the day he visited it, or had been a Southerner, who could not appreciate the beauties of a Scotch mist, its inventor could neither have had heart nor eye for the wilder beauties of nature, nor been a lover of the romantic. The steamer can take you up and down the loch to see its beauties of one kind and another, and there is not a finer sail in any part of the three kingdoms; but yet it is only a very faint and limited idea of its splendid scenery that one can get from the deck of a steamer. To get anything like an adequate conception of its many beauties you must ascend one or more of its hilltops. And for such a purpose we would strongly recommend Mount Misery.
Here, looking towards the head of the loch, it is seen in its greatest breadth, stretched out like a scroll beneath your feet. Here, also, it is seen in itsgreatest length, the eye reaching almost as far up as to Tarbet. You have a full view of its islands, which in a general way may be said to be as numerous as its miles in length, from the entrance of the Falloch to the exit of the Leven, and also of the different mountain ranges on its east and west banks, which seem to meet at the top, shutting up the prospect and mingling their bold and broken outline with the sky. Here, also, you get a view of its many curves and windings, now seeing it swelling out into a breadth of 7 or 8 miles, and then compressing itself into the narrow compass of something less than a mile. You can also understand, as you look at those high hills at its northern end, how it should sometimes have a depth of 600 feet, and how, partly from this fact, and from those others, that there are many shelving rocks at the bottom, and that the latter always run in one direction (there being no tide), it is rarely that the bodies of the “drowned” in it are recovered. Here, also, you can see some of its principal feeders, such as the Fruin, the Finlas, the Luss, and Douglas on the left, with the Endrick on the right, which, with its other tributaries, are said to pour in a larger supply of water than the Leven takes away.
Immediately in front of you is Inchmurrin, the longest of the islands, fully half-a-mile long, which theDuke of Montrose uses as a deer park. It is beautifully wooded. Brown seems the most becoming colour for this season of the year. The summer dies gloriously in leafy places with such a splendour of beauty that it is difficult to recognise it as decay. The golden and brown leaves, mingling with the greens that still retain their colour, are pleasant accompaniments of the season. But we need not look so far away for autumnal tints. They are all round us. The golden brown hues of the pheasant hang in every leaf; the bird itself, wonderfully protected by nature, stands among herbage, wearing his colours and eyeing the wayfarer as he passes. And what can look warmer and more comfortable than those brown brackens which are everywhere? And are they really brown? They look so in the distance, but near they are yellow as well as brown; and some are a beautiful bronze, and in sheltered spots the lady ferns are just as green and fresh as they were in July and early August.
But once more for the loch and its islands. Inchmurrin has at its west end the ruins of an old castle which was inhabited in former times by the family of Lennox. The Duchess of Albany resided here after the execution at Stirling, in 1425, and within sight of their own castle at Doune, of her husband, father, andtwo sons, on the restoration of James First. She herself was for some time confined in Tantallon Castle, but on her release she resided here. Passing over the two smaller islands of Creinge and Torinch, you have to the right Inchcailliach, the largest and probably the most lovely of all, notable as being the burial-place of the Macgregors. “Upon the halidom of him that sleeps beneath the grey stone at Inchcailliach!” was a favourite oath among the members of this warlike clan. Rob Roy used it when promising the Bailie payment of his money. It is sometimes called the Nun’s Island, or “the Island of Old Women,” from a nunnery which once stood there; and when seen from the direction of the Endrick its outline resembles that of a dead human body, from which it is called sometimes the corpse of Loch Lomond. To the east of it is the small island of Clairinch, from which the Clan Buchanan took their slogan or battle cry, “Clair Inch.” To the west of it is Inchfad, or the Long Island, close to which, and in a dry season, within wadeable distance of it, is Darroch Eilan, the general lunching rendezvous. Here, also, there is a mighty oak, which has sheltered generations of anglers, and of poachers too, for even to this day the “otter” is here used in spite of honour or law. To the west of Inchfad is Inchcruin,or the Round Island, an island which for many years formed an asylum for insane boarders; it is also the unwilling resort of those who “cannot take a little without taking too much,” and therefore it has the sadly significant cognomen of “the Drunken Island.”
To the west of this is Inchmoan, or the Peat Island, which is covered with moss. It is sometimes called “the Gull Island,” and in the spring one has to be very careful how he walks, as nests with one, two, or more eggs are scattered everywhere. To the south-west of this there is a small island, Inchgalbraith, with a ruin which at one time must have been a place of considerable strength, but to visit which is sometimes resented by the jackdaws who have taken possession of it, and, like the crofters, refuse to quit. North of Inchmoan is the large island of Inchconachan, or Dog’s Isle, a Colquhoun’s island, covered with oak and fir, but quite uninhabited. To the west of those two is Inch Tavannach, or Monks’ Island, so called from its having been the site of a monastery. This island has also frequently been converted into a kind of sanatorium for dipsomaniacs, and is celebrated for having many of our finest British ferns. There is a narrow strait between these last two, near the northern entrance of which a stone is visible at low water, from which tradition says that the Gospel used to bepreached to audiences on both islands, and this stone is still called “The Minister’s Stone.” A little to the north of those is Inch Lonaig, “the Yew Island,” remarkable for its old yew trees, some of which are said to have been planted by the Bruces.
Turning now from the loch to its surroundings, from the waterscape to the many landscapes that as a frame enclose the picture, you have close at hand the beautifully-wooded conical hill of Duncruin, with Ross Priory projecting into the loch, a favourite place with Sir Walter Scott, who wrote “Rob Roy” while living here as the guest of Mr. Hector Macdonald, an Edinburgh advocate of that time. It is not difficult, apart from his friendship with the master of the place, to understand Scott’s attraction to the house. He was keenly alive to the beauty of woodland and loch; and the district around was teeming with memories—every glen the home of a romance. We find the influence of these upon him in some of the most famous episodes in “Rob Roy” and “The Lady of the Lake.” The Priory has, however, a much sadder story to tell—that of the betrayal of the Marquis of Tullibardine, eldest son of the Duke of Athole, who after Culloden took refuge with his former friend, Buchanan of the Ross. Buchanan, however, betrayed him, the Marquis hurling out the imprecationas he was taken prisoner, “There’ll be Murrays on the Braes of Athole when there’s ne’er a Buchanan at the Ross,” and the prophecy has been fulfilled. Beyond this we have the fertile valley and the mouth of the Endrick, with Buchanan House, the seat of the Duke of Montrose. The valley of the Endrick is celebrated in the old song of “The Gallant Graham” as “Sweet Enerdale,” stretching far up to the hills at Killearn, which, with its monument to George Buchanan, “the father of modern Liberalism,” we easily recognise.
Though in his time Lord Privy Seal of Scotland, Moderator of the Kirk, and tutor to James VI. of Scotland and I. of England, Buchanan openly advocated tyrannicide, maintaining that “tyrants should be ranked amongst the most ferocious beasts.” Professor Morley, in his eighth volume of “English Writers,” has devoted a large space to this great yet simple-minded man. The picture of the great scholar—the greatest, perhaps, in the Europe of his day—teaching his serving-man in his death-chamber “a-b, ab—e-b, eb,” &c., and defying the “British Solomon” and “all his kin” in the same breath, is surely worthy of the brush of some one of the numerous artists to whom Scotland has given birth. We charge nothing for the suggestion.
And there is the steamer on her upward trip going into Balmaha, where there is the famous pass along which the Highland clans were accustomed when on the “war path” to direct their march into the Lowlands. Rob Roy often took this route, and, in the words of Scott—
Kept our stoutest kernes in awe,Even at the Pass of Beal’maha.
Kept our stoutest kernes in awe,Even at the Pass of Beal’maha.
Kept our stoutest kernes in awe,Even at the Pass of Beal’maha.
Kept our stoutest kernes in awe,
Even at the Pass of Beal’maha.
Above this you see Conie Hill, 1175 feet high, with the huge Ben Lomond in the distance. You can see, standing between Drymen Station and Kilmaronock Church, Catter House, near which the Lennox family had a castle, that stood on the Moot Hill, a large artificial mound, where justice was administered in former times, and on which stood the earl’s gallows, a necessary appendage to a feudal court, especially on the borders of the Highlands.
Turning now from the east side of the loch to its west, from what might be called its Montrose side to its Colquhoun side, we have in close succession not far off the splendid mansion houses of Cameron, Auchendennan, Auchenheglish, and Arden. Immediately above Arden is Glen Fruin (the Glen of Sorrow), coming down from near Garelochhead. It has the ruins of an ancient castle of the Colquhouns, and it was here that a fierce conflict took place between theMacgregors and the Colquhouns in 1602, when the latter were routed with a loss of 200 men, the Macgregors only losing two, one of them, however, being John, the brother of the chief. It is this battle which is popularly called “The Field of Lennox.” It is said that the Macgregors also put to death in cold blood some 80 youths, popularly called “the Students of Dumbarton,” who had gone out to see the fight. A short time before this Sir A. Colquhoun had appeared before James the Sixth at Stirling, and complained of the cruel murders committed by the Macgregors, and to give emphasis to his complaint he was attended by a considerable number of women who carried the bloody shirts of their husbands and sons. The king gave him a commission to repress the crimes and apprehend their perpetrators, and the battle of Glen Fruin was the result. And this in its turn led to the king issuing letters of fire and sword against the Clan Gregor, to the confiscation of their lands. Their clan name was proscribed by Act of the Privy Council. But the Acts passed against them were repealed in 1775. Till then, however, the members of the clan usually took the name of various landed proprietors. Thus, the famous Rob Roy, who died in 1736, was Campbell, after the family name of his patron, the Duke of Argyll.
Not far up the glen from Arden there is the hill of Dunfion, which is said to have been at one time the residence of Fingal, and traces of a fortress said to have been built by him are still pointed out. Two and a-half miles farther up you can see Ross Dhu (the black promontory), on which is the tower of the ancient castle of the Luss family, and their mausoleum near it; the mansion-house standing on a promontory almost surrounded by water.
Taking one more soul-filling look up to the mighty Ben, on the side of the loch, and to the hills at its head, chief among which, and closing the distant vista, is Ben Voirlich, it is perhaps time to think of the train, for yonder is the “Queen” coming down the loch. As you begin to retrace your steps do not forget that standing on this hill you can see Renton, where Smollett the historian was born; Killearn, where George Buchanan first saw the light of day; and Garlios, the birthplace of Napier, the inventor of logarithms—all of whom added a new lustre to the literature and science of Scotland. Also take a peep at Tillichewan in its sylvan beauty, and the gentle slopes of the hillside forming such a picturesque background to it. And in recrossing the bridge it will help you to pay your second halfpenny with more complacency if you remember that possibly before thecreation of man this valley was covered with the dashing waves of the Atlantic and German Oceans. For at that far back period all Scotland was under water except its highest peaks, which would then be like so many islands in one great sea. Down the stream a little way is Alexandria, suggestive of the lost Cleopatra’s Needle in the past and British influence in the present. And it may surprise you to learn that this grand mouth-filling name is one of recent date comparatively, and that its former title was of a more homely kind—namely, “The Grocery,” from a store which formerly kept the indispensable articles shadowed forth in that word of unclassical derivation. As you pass it directly in the train you see it to be now a large and prosperous place, which requires more than one “Grocery”—a place
Where cloth’s printed, dyed, and steamed,Bleached, tentered, in the water streamed,Starched, mangled, calender’d, and beamed,And folded very carefully.
Where cloth’s printed, dyed, and steamed,Bleached, tentered, in the water streamed,Starched, mangled, calender’d, and beamed,And folded very carefully.
Where cloth’s printed, dyed, and steamed,Bleached, tentered, in the water streamed,Starched, mangled, calender’d, and beamed,And folded very carefully.
Where cloth’s printed, dyed, and steamed,
Bleached, tentered, in the water streamed,
Starched, mangled, calender’d, and beamed,
And folded very carefully.
You reach Glasgow five hours after leaving the hill, with many pleasant recollections of your trip to Mount Misery.