it was so delightful to see iona again. we left in the morning and called at so many places. there seemed quite a crowd, and such beautiful scenery. we arrived in the afternoon at lamlash. there was someone to take the luggage, and we walked by the sea. the name of the house was oakbank, and it was right on the top of a hill, with steps leading down to the boating-house, and there we could see the house-boat. the boat was called oakbank, too. the house seemed small after glasgow, with its little green gate, but the people only wanted somewhere to sleep. we lived outside, either on the water or on the mountains, there being plenty of caves as well. it was the month of june. the people who belonged to the house lived on the place in some way for the time. we could get milk and butter and eggs and poultry from them, but all the rest of the provisions came from the city, and the lovely fish they could get themselves in plenty. what a different life for the people who lived there when compared to that i had seen in the city. whether they took me with them or not i had very little to do, there being a lot of people on the island known to each other. they would go off in the morning and take provisions with them, and i would not see them again till dark. very often they took me as well. i could climb on my hands and feet, and did not trouble if i rolled down, so long as the sea was not immediately underneath me. how the people lived has often puzzled me more since than it did at the time.
it seemed that the whole, or nearly all, the island belonged to the duke of hamilton, and he was said to be eccentric. he would not let people make any alteration, but wished every place to remain in its wild state. it was known that coal could be got there in any quantity, but they dare not dig to get it. some of the old people, with whom i liked to talk, told me that they were born on the island, and had never been out of it, even to cross the clyde, and they hoped to die there. only in summertime, when visitors were there, they spoke in english. to each other they spoke in gaelic. the language was very strange to listen to, and more so when they made blunders, for one must laugh. the church was at brodic, and it was quite two miles and a half to walk there.[pg 36] the minister preached in the morning in gaelic, and it was good to see the old men and women coming over the hills to hear this gaelic. i went one sunday with the people of the house to hear the preaching. the minister was mr. davis, and he did look so cross, and railed at the dear creatures, who had come six and seven miles to hear him. i used to like to hear some of the old stories about the place.
it interested me when they told me that the deep valleys we were then passing would be filled up with snow in the winter months, and they showed me places here and there where some poor shepherd had perished in the snow, while he was looking for his sheep. they also said that for many months in the year they could not go to see anyone, and no one could come and see them because of the snow. there were no roads, but only footpaths on top of the hill or at the bottom. on seeing the place one could understand what it would be like after a heavy fall of snow. then it would roll down from the mountains. the habits of those people were plain and without art. they let their houses in the summer, and that brought them a little money. they had little patches of land on which they grew flax and all sorts of things. it was rare to see a ploughed field between lamlash and brodic. the duke of hamilton's palace was at brodic. it looked a grand place. he need not stop shut in it all the winter, however, for he had other places. then the people had to make provision for the winter. they killed a sheep, and had it dried in some way. i saw some of it. they called it braxxie. then there was the fish, also dried, in plenty. they made cheese and they had bacon. those who were too far back from the sea had to have stores inside their homes. from oakbank one could clear away the snow from the steps and get to the ships in a small boat, but none of the steamers could come near, although they would come as close as they dare in the rough weather. we counted as many as fourteen one morning, after a stormy night. there were all sorts, some being good-sized sailing vessels and yachts.
one more thing i found, and that was that the people made the linen from the flax that grew on the place. the bed-linen that they had in use for the visitors they said was a hundred years old. i saw some that was newly made. it would be something to remember to sleep between sheets newly made. i ought to explain that these ships i saw came in for the shelter of the hills from the fearful gales. i think now that was the most enjoyable time i ever spent. one way and another i got to see a good deal, and was learning to know that there was both dignity and independence in the labors of a house-servant. the charm is to feel assured that your services are approved. i am quite sure that mr. mouncey could get plenty of inspiration for his magazine; he was always taking notes, and was not above calling my attention to things interesting or instructive if i were with them.
[pg 37]
miss heslip came from near falkirk, and knew all about denny. both she and miss mouncey often took me with them. i rejoiced in a scamper, so one morning we took the two children and tracked off to climb a hill called goat-fell. we had some lunch with us. mr. and mrs. mouncey had gone somewhere else; at any rate, we began to climb, and kept on climbing and resting for i do not know how long. well on in the afternoon we had lunch, and started to come down. we did not go to the top. it was awful, perfectly awful to see the sheep browsing about on those hills. they looked like mere specks. my wonder was that they did not roll into the sea, which foamed at the foot in some places. we were to be there from june 1 till the last day in august. the beach was a picture, with the cliffs above and underfoot the scotch pebbles and shells and the rocks and seaweed. i had only to sit and think.
many people came to the island on a saturday afternoon and brought tents with them, and stopped till monday. the caves were used as well. some minister would come from the city and preach in the open air. we all went on the hilltop to hear him. it was like a fairyland. from there you could see the ailsa crag, which looked as if it were in the clouds. there were no public buildings, no fine arts, and yet few places have so much natural attraction for the holiday season as the island of arran.
while bathing i made the acquaintance of a young girl, who, like myself was with some visitors from the city. she could swim and float on the water for ever so far. she told me that her father and brothers were fishermen, and that she had been often away with them for weeks at a time, and they had taught her to swim. i used to watch her in terror when she would go under water and come up in another place. her name was annie smith, and she took me in hand to teach me to swim. i tried to do as she told me, but one morning i went too far. i could not see her, and i felt myself being carried out to sea. i was helpless, and the seawater was in my mouth and ears, and i was trying to catch hold of some seaweed. all at once annie got sight of me. she gave a scream, and, coming out, pulled me to the shore. i did not know how i got there, but i found myself in bed with all the young people and the master and mistress in my room. i soon got alright, but never again went beyond my depth in the sea. it was a strange feeling, and for days i could hear the roaring of the water. i felt that i should always remember that girl who saved me from drowning. annie could manage a boat and use the oars. the young ladies often went for a sail and took me with them. they had gentlemen friends, and sometimes we had the scotch bagpipes on board. i thought what a pity it was that such glorious days should pass so quickly.
mrs. pringle, from whom we rented the house, would let me come with her to the dairy, and i helped her sometimes with[pg 38] the churning. the butter was made differently then. she had fowls and plants and a vegetable garden. everything was speckless and clean. all this gave me an insight into the ways of the world not to be regretted. she had three children, and her husband and her brother, who was an elderly man, worked about the place. they had some hay growing some distance from the house. mrs. pringle let the young couple and me go to see the haymaking. we would go off in the cart and come back on top of a load of hay, which was put in the loft for the winter. the fresh sea wind and the smell of the hay were beautiful. how one can enjoy life in the open air! i looked forward to coming again the next year.
it looked such a short distance from where we bathed to cross over to the holy isle, which was once the burying-place. the dead were taken there in boats, and there was an old monastery where the monks lived, and where many of them were buried. it was much patronised by visitors. there was but one house there with people living in it, and that was a public-house. all our people with some friends went one afternoon. it was not convenient to take me, although it had been promised that i should go to the holy isle before we left.
that memorable summer was nearly ended. mr. mouncey had gone to glasgow. mrs. pringle's brother and his nephew got the boat. i made arrangements with annie smith to come with me to see the isle. the days were still long, so we got there in time to see the ruins of the abbey, and to try and read the indiscernible names on the tombs. there were no headstones, but all were lying flat, and were covered over with moss. such were the graves of the monks. we rushed about to see all we could. the moss was more than a finger in length, and there were feathery-like ferns. the higher up the old building the more dainty they appeared. i asked the young man if he thought he could get some for me from the top, for i wanted some pulled up by the root to plant. at some risk he went, and, to my grief, he just pulled the ferns off. i brought different curios to keep in remembrance. we went into the house. i only saw one woman, and she did not look very bright. no wonder, either, surrounded by the sea and its deadliness. mr. cook, who was with us, spoke to her in gaelic, and she brought in some scones and whisky. neither annie smith nor i drank whisky, nor were we asked to, but the scones i shall never forget. they were made of flour, ground from green peas. i tested them, and i asked mr. cook afterwards what they were made of. he said they had a field of green peas, which, on being, gathered, they dried and ground after the bible custom between two stones. they were as green as grass, but not bad to taste.
mr. cook was well acquainted with the isle, and he showed all the places of antiquity. the people who lived there had boats, and some more than one, and ran to and fro from lamlash and[pg 39] brodic. they made a good living in that way in summertime. we went back to our boat, and the tide had gone and left it high and dry on the side, such a long way from the water. mr. cook stood and looked in despair. he forgot that the tide was receding, as we were in such haste to get ashore, and he told us afterwards that he had never been on the isle after dark. the men who lived there had gone either to brodic or lamlash. the young man who was with mr. cook was named cooke also. the strength of the four of us could move the boat, but it could not be dragged down the side of the rocks for fear of damage. so three we had to wait till the tide came in. it was moonlight, and the mental visions that passed through my mind are there yet. the people were anxious about us. mr. cook had only one eye, and they thought that some mishap had occurred. we got home alright, and i was glad i had seen the holy isle.
while it is fresh in my mind, i may add here that many years after i was telling a friend about my trip to the holy isle. a friend of hers came in and sat down. she begged me to finish the incident, and i went all through about the ferns, and so on. someone called to the man that sat by me. i looked to see if he were going. he called out to the questioner that he would not move till i had told my experience of that night on the isle. he then said he was the young man that climbed up the ruins to get me the ferns. his name was cook, and he was employed in a confectioner's shop in adelaide. he had a wife and children. i hoped to see him again, but i was away from adelaide for some time. when i returned i made enquiries, and was told that he bought a place near blackwood. it was laughable that, not knowing the man, i should be telling a story in which he had a part. if he is alive and sees his name in print i hope he will pardon me.
i still love the beautiful and the true. nothing lasts, pleasure least of all. i knew the joy of living and of my freedom, with no one to make me afraid. my name was then anna macdonald. the name gave me an entrance amongst the people of arran, as i was one of them. i understood that my by-gone relations had all drifted from scotland through some religious matter, but that did not trouble me.
but i must not linger over by-gones. i felt a sort of responsibility to myself and those i loved. i had only myself to depend on for my food and clothing and to help others. it seemed very well for the preachers to tell you of the lilies of the field that toiled not, neither did they spin, and so on. scotland is not the place for that style of life. this is not meant ironically.
the time for going back to town was drawing nearer, and we had only two more sundays. i used often to go with some of the people to church in the morning, although i did not understand the gaelic. they had gaelic bibles as well. the same[pg 40] minister would preach in english in the afternoon, and then we often saw people from glasgow. i saw a young gentleman one sunday from mr. somervill's church. his name was malcolm white, and he was studying to be a minister, but was not yet ordained. i told the young ladies on the way home. i was so pleased to see him, although i was not near enough to speak to him, as i would like to have done, as he was my teacher at a bible-class.
miss heslip said she wished that she had seen him, as he had been one time tutor to her brothers. he had just published a book, of which he was the author. they asked me many things about him when they saw that i knew him. we all knew at the class that he was a young man from amongst the working people. it was he who helped me to gather the money to pay the fine for the little boy who broke the lamp-glass one sunday. i had to tell him of the sad sequel at the time, and he told me to try and forget it. i had been thinking of all the questions i would ask him when i got back about arran. one very old man told me that when the apostles were sent "far hence," that some of them landed at arran.
soon the time of our stay concluded. we were getting some pebbles and shells and seaweed, and i dearly wanted some ferns with the root attached. there were a lot of large ferns growing near the bathing-place, so i got master robert and miss annie mouncey to come and help me. miss annie and i held them back and master robert, in the hope of finding some tiny fronds, pushed right through till he entered a large cave. he ran and called his father, and then mr. cook came and made a clear way into a place that went ever so far in the rock. there was a strange-looking thing, like a lamp, hanging from the roof. mr. mouncey could stand upright in the place. neither mr. pringle nor any of the others knew anything about it. how we wished we had found it in the early part of our stay, but we hoped to examine it the next year, and begged the people to let it remain hidden till we came back. no doubt something could be discovered about it to tell a tale. it seemed natural that we should think of all the countless cruel deeds of olden times wrought by a blind and brutal humanity.
the thought of "home, sweet home," brought happiness to the young people. annie smith promised to come with me to slamannan when i went, and to tell my relatives how she saved me from the deep sea. after many kind good-byes, we were once more on board the iona, and the isle of arran was far away. as it was well towards the end of the season there was a scene of excitement coming and going between the shore and the boat. we had to go in small boats. how it has all clung to my memory. there was one laughable incident. some economist had been saving or buying eggs till he had a hamperful. because they were not[pg 41] packed well, or owing to the heedless way they were carried, they tumbled on the deck. the eggs began to roll about. like that of some sudden explosion was the effect, and both ladies and gentlemen got up on the seats. anyone who saw those sailors mopping up the decks and cleaning away the eggs would never forget the look on their faces. every now and then, when they thought all was cleared, the lurching of the ship would send some more eggs rolling out from under the seats. the comic episode caused laughter to everyone but the sailors and the person to whom the eggs belonged.
