A Companion and Useful Guide to the Beauties of Scotland/Chapter 1
A DESCRIPTION
OF
PART OF SCOTLAND;
PARTICULARLY
THE HIGHLANDS.
A
DESCRIPTION, &c.
CHAPTER I.
Carlisle has been so often described, and is so well known, that it is needless to say a word of that ancient town. I will therefore begin my peregrination from the division of the road; the one leading to Annan and Moffat; the other to Langholm, which I took. From Longtown to Langholm is a drive that must give pleasure and satisfaction to any one who has a taste for natural beauty in its natural state; not but the eye, during that delightful stage, is regaled by the soft scenes of dressed nature, at Netherby, in the possession of Sir James Graham, whose house and park ornament the south side of the river Esk. Almost the whole of the road from Longtown to Langholm runs by the side of this fine water, which is rolling beneath; sometimes seen through the stems of trees, deep, and close below the carriage; at others, at some distance, with verdant meadows sweeping to its edge on one side, and on the other, high rocks clothed with wood; the river loudly tumbling through the arches of picturesque bridges of soft grey stone, over black rocks, partly whitened by the dashing of the rapid stream.
Langholm is in Dumfriesshire, situated, as it were, in a triangular vale, in Eskdale. Not a great way from the inn, the Duke of Buccleugh has a castle, which, I believe, he only makes use of as a house of passage; the river Esk rolls sweetly by it. Unfortunately I arrived at Langholm in a pouring rain, consequently saw that place very imperfectly. Another unfortunate circumstance attended me, that of following the steps of a great man, and upon his own territory too. The Duke of Buccleugh had, about an hour or two before my arrival at Langholm, left that place in his way to Dalkeith, and had taken from the inn all the horses, except one wretched pair. The landlady said, she did not like the fashion of the servant's going behind the carriage;—would I not have a saddle-horse for him?—No. For I had determined a negative to that point on every occasion. Had the good woman been in possession of another pair of horses at home, she, I plainly perceived would not have taken me to Hawick, without four; luckily for me she had them not, and the two poor miserable beasts were brought out to be put to the chaise. As the inn had nothing inviting to me to stay there, I hastened into the carriage, it still raining prodigiously hard. As soon as I was seated, I perceived a fine honest-faced old Scot, twisting a cord from one fore-spring to the other.—"Friend, what are you doing?"—"Making a seat, my Lady; the one horse being hardly able to stand, for rheumatism and broken knees; and the other will not suffer me to ride him, being woefully galled on the back."—"Well, but surely such poor creatures will never carry us to Hawick?"—"Never you heed, my Lady, have patience, and they will carry you cannily: I will be bound for it, they'll gang the last mile better than the first."
Necessity has no law, I was therefore obliged to be silent. Presently I observed the good old man at the head of the horses, twirling his fingers at their snaffles, with pieces of slender packthread. "What is all that for, friend? what are you doing now?"—"Only making reins, my Lady."—"We cannot, surely, go with safety, with reins of that twine, up such hills as are before us?"—"Never you heed, my Lady, I'll answer for your safety; after a wee bit, we shall gang weel and cantily." When this very slender tackle was completed, the honest man mounted his seat, and we soon crossed the bridge over the Ewes, which at Langholm joins the Esk, and came to a prodigiously steep hill; here my heart failed me, not being able to walk, by reason of the hard rain and almost a hurricane of wind. The old Scot, however, quitted his perch, and took hold of the head of the should-be riding beast; I ordered my man to lead the off horse; and, what with whipping, hooting, and coaxing, the poor lame creatures at length got the chaise up that first hill, where they stopped to recover a little the dreadful pull. The talkative conductor again took his station, and we went on safely, but slowly. As soon as I was convinced the horses were likely to proceed, I began to look about me in Ewesdale, in which we were. Ewesdale is a very contracted valley, and part of it, only the bed of the river; and the road between stupendous mountains reaching to the clouds, and covered with verdure to the summits. The road is cut out of the sides of the hills, sometimes a vast height above the charming rolling water, at others, close to its edge; every step affording a variety of scenery.
The road follows this delightful river nearly to its source at Mosspole, from whose lofty hills it issues, at various springs. The ground at Mosspole must be high, as two fine rivers there rise, and take their course different ways. At Mosspole there is only one house, which would make a very convenient stage for changing horses, as it is nearly halfway between Langholm and Hawick. I observed to the man who kept the house, that as I understood the Duke of Buccleugh wished to promote the use of that road, his Grace should encourage an inn at Mosspole, for changing horses. I received in answer to my observation, that they could not keep horses in that wild place, having no food for them. To be sure, it is situated amongst such a chain of mountains, that it does appear that no number of animals, except sheep, could be fed from the produce of that district. A little meal and water was the only refreshment my poor, lame, and galled beasts found at Mosspole; which when they had swallowed, we proceeded. Having just entered Roxburghshire, we met with a branch of the Tiviot, which we crossed; and about four miles further, we joined the main Tiviot water, and entered Tiviotdale, contracted like that of Ewesdale, and in some degree, in its beauties, similar; but more diversified, by every charming scene that water, hills, rocks, and wood, can produce. All I could see through torrents of rain, was delightful, particularly below the junction of the branches of the Tiviot (we met at Mosspole) with the main stream; which came rolling down amongst rocks and wood, in a very charming style. Any one, less delighted than I am with wild nature, would, perhaps, be somewhat alarmed at such a road, and such scenery, in a violent rainy day. The road, too, rough and steep, and not wider than a carriage; with huge clifted rocks on the right, sometimes covered with wood, at others, bare, and frowning through the shade of other overhanging precipices; and water gushing, in spouts from innumerable apertures. On the left, the river deep below, foaming, and rolling down its close bed of rocks and precipices; varied by, now and then, a mile of a beautiful winding flat of verdure; but still rocks and wood confining the view, on every side. No fields, no corn, no produce except feed for sheep and goats. Such was the scene till I reached Hawick, where the Slettrick water joins the Tiviot.
The town of Hawick is, in itself, a very middling place, but its situation, and its surrounding beauties, are enchanting. Its bridges, and its views, from almost every part of it, are picturesque, and highly gratifying to those who love nature in its true simplicity. Lord Napier's house and woods, seen through the arch of the bridge over the Tiviot, are well worth a wet walk, which I had, to get a view of them.
My old Scot's prediction of his horses, was truly verified; for, notwithstanding both they and their master were like drowned rats, we really performed the last two miles better than any of the foregoing twenty; which, however, upon the whole, took eight hours to accomplish; consequently gave me less time at Hawick, than I intended; as I much wished to have seen more of that part of Tiviotdale, than I could do, by arriving so late as eight o'clock in the evening.—When I got out of the chaise, the inn looked large, but the inside of it was very dirty and uncomfortable, and rendered doubly so by the extremely wet day. There was a long demur, whether I could get either a sitting room, or a good bed-chamber; because company from the South had sent on to secure rooms, which their servant had done. Fortunately for me, I soon learnt this company was expected from Langholm; from which place, we convinced the landlord, they could not stir for want of horses. I was therefore let into the apartment occupied (as I was informed) by the Duke and Duchess of Buccleugh, whenever they came that way. His Grace (another piece of good luck for me) had stopped short of Hawick that day, at his factor's, Mr. Ogilvie's. Glad should I have been, and quiet too, had his Grace's servants been with him. They and their friends made a jolly evening of it at Hawick, and got completely intoxicated. Their noise, in the next room to mine, was very uncomfortable; and would have been alarming too, had I not taken good care of the fastenings between the two rooms. The town of Hawick is old and shabby, at least that part of it which a short half hour of cessation of rain gave me an opportunity of seeing. I walked over the bridges, and below them to the water's edge, and into the churchyard. Curiosity soon collected a small group about me, and I was somewhat mortified to find their language unintelligible to me; I learnt, however, there was a manufactory in the town, of carpets, &c. but could not acquire a knowledge of particulars. Here I was confirmed in what I had often before observed, that those who find they cannot be understood, immediately conclude the person spoken to must be deaf. Some young lads passing through the churchyard at Hawick, whilst I was in it, with dogs, and some strange looking things on their backs; I inquired what they were, and what they were going to do with them; but their language, to me, was as Arabic. On my shaking my head, as a token of not understanding them, they began screaming in the highest note of their voices; taking me, I suppose, for a deaf woman: and at last we separated, laughing at our inability of understanding each other.
The morning after my arrival at Hawick was fine, and I left the uncomfortable inn with pleasure very early. My eyes followed the Tiviot, in its course towards Kelso, and the Tweed; in its sweet dale, as far as the road to Selkirk would permit me; but it was not long before it carried me to a very hilly dreary country; for nothing can be more so, than the greatest part of the way from Hawick to Selkirk. As for Selkirk town, nothing can be more deplorable than its appearance. The houses are mostly old, falling to pieces, and deserted: nothing but dirt and misery to be seen. I had not breakfasted, therefore entered the inn; and being, at that time, an inexperienced traveller, I was totally unprovided with necessaries for that meal. Every being, and thing in the house, disgusted me at first sight; the extreme dirt, and the smell of the whole, was nauseating in the highest degree. I in consequence made but a very slender breakfast; and was happy to re-enter the chaise. Since my visit to Selkirk, some friends of mine were travelling that road, and being unacquainted with the fare they would meet with, at Selkirk inn, contrived to pass a night there. Like me, they were struck with its comfortless, wretched state; but what was their surprise, when they inquired for their beds, to be startled with the noise of two, falling out of their dirty boxes in the wall of the room where they were sitting; and were told, those were the nests in which they were to sleep! The company were, a gentleman, and two ladies.
I got from Selkirk a very good pair of horses, and just such another honest-hearted, good-humoured Scot, as he who drove me from Langholm to Hawick. Before I left the inn door, I told the driver I had nearly been overturned into a ditch, from the Hawick boy's carelessness, in coming down one of the hills; I therefore hoped his horses were steady. "Ay; and as gude horses as ere gang, my Lady: they wad trot down a ridge of a house, and nae fa'." Indeed I never was better carried; although the stage between Selkirk and Bank House be extremely hilly and fatiguing for horses. The descent from the town of Selkirk, is something similar to the ridge of a house, very narrow, and paved; notwithstanding, the horses actually did trot briskly down it, without the wheel of my heavy carriage being dragged. The bridge over the Ettrick and Yarrow River united, is at the foot of the descent; and the road winds sweetly round its banks, for a mile or two; then leaves it rolling on, to the Tweed; into which it empties itself a few miles below.
I had been wonderfully pleased with Eskdale, Ewesdale, and Tiviotdale; but I cannot describe my sensations of delight, when I came in sight of that part of Tweedale, around Yair, and Fairnalie. The road, after it quits the banks of Ettrick, takes a quick turn, and winds round the bases of hills; when on a sudden, it comes close on the Tweed; and within sight of a simple bridge, and scenery more enchanting than can be described. As soon as I crossed the bridge, Yair was to my left, on the other side of the river; and Fairnalie, on my right; I knew not which to admire most; the river; its banks; the hills; the rocks; or the wood, (which is here in abundance.) All are beautiful. The fancy, in Arcadia, cannot paint a more soft, more sweet, or more lovely scene, than that part of Tweedale. It is pastoral beauty completely perfect. Not an object that can hurt the eye, or ruffle the mind. The soul, for four miles, must be lost to every other sensation but that of soft delight, heightened by an elevation of sentiment, which nothing but such enchanting scenes as those on the Tweed can produce.
When the chaise turned from the sweet flowing Tweed to mount the steep hill, by a rapidly tumbling water's side, I felt as if I were leaving Paradise. Had not my whole senses been engrossed by the scene below, I might have been somewhat alarmed at the road I was ascending; which is cut in the mountain's side; high, and hanging over the rough Caddon water, rolling to the left, down a rocky narrow bed, which it has formed, between two mountains. The road itself, however, is very good, though it be narrow; and the ascent from Tweedale very sharp, and frightful, for a timorous traveller to pass:—but as for lovers of nature, in the sublime and beautiful, they can have neither eyes to see their danger, nor any sensation, but that of regret at quitting a scene so enchanting.
Two miles after I had turned my back upon this pastoral Paradise, the road came down upon the banks of the Galla water, joining the road to Galla Shiels: and I then entered Edinburghshire. The scenery on the banks of the Galla, as far as Bank House, is very pretty, but not to be compared with the lovely Tweed. The Galla water falls into the Tweed somewhat below the town of Galla Shiels.
The first sight of Edinburgh, from the Middleton road, is, for an extensive view, very grand. Arthur's Seat, and Salisbury Crags, rise high on the side of the town: the Castle in front; Calton Hill; the Forth; and the Bass in the back ground: all together forming a very grand and extensive prospect. After I left Middleton, I came to the President Dundas's, and near it crossed the South Esk. Again I crossed that river by Dalhousie Castle. At Leswade, I crossed the North Esk River. From Leswade Bridge is a view of Melville Castle, in a thick wood; it is white, and conspicuous; but some buildings, with furious red tiles (stables and washing-houses, I suppose) break, and spoil the view of it.—I would blow up all such vile erections.—It is a sin against nature, thus to disfigure its works, by fiery tiles and bricks, sufficient to set fire to the Glen. I was not at the castle; but these buildings must inevitably spoil the view from it to Leswade bridge and town, which must be extremely pretty, were it not broken by such eye sores.