Lough Ness is the eleventh chapter of Samuel Johnson's book Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland, about a trip he took in 1773. The previous chapter was Inverness and the next is Fall of Fiers.
We took two
Highlanders to
run beside us, partly to show us the
way, and partly to take back from the sea-side the
horses, of which
they were the owners. One of them was a man of great
liveliness
and
activity, of whom his companion said, that he would tire any
horse in
Inverness. Both of them were
civil and ready-handed.
Civility seems part of the
national character of
Highlanders.
Every
chieftain is a
monarch, and
politeness, the natural product
of
royal government, is diffused from the
laird through the whole
clan. But they are not commonly
dexterous: their
narrowness of
life confines them to a few operations, and they are accustomed to
endure little wants more than to
remove them.
We mounted our steeds on the thirtieth of August, and directed our
guides to conduct us to Fort Augustus. It is built at the head of
Lough Ness, of which Inverness stands at the outlet. The way
between them has been cut by the soldiers, and the greater part of
it runs along a rock, levelled with great labour and exactness,
near the water-side.
Most of this day's journey was very pleasant. The day, though
bright, was not hot; and the appearance of the country, if I had
not seen the Peak, would have been wholly new. We went upon a
surface so hard and level, that we had little care to hold the
bridle, and were therefore at full leisure for contemplation. On
the left were high and steep rocks shaded with birch, the hardy
native of the North, and covered with fern or heath. On the right
the limpid waters of Lough Ness were beating their bank, and waving
their surface by a gentle agitation. Beyond them were rocks
sometimes covered with verdure, and sometimes towering in horrid
nakedness. Now and then we espied a little cornfield, which served
to impress more strongly the general barrenness.
Lough Ness is about twenty-four miles long, and from one mile to
two miles broad. It is remarkable that Boethius, in his
description of Scotland, gives it twelve miles of breadth. When
historians or geographers exhibit false accounts of places far
distant, they may be forgiven, because they can tell but what they
are told; and that their accounts exceed the truth may be justly
supposed, because most men exaggerate to others, if not to
themselves: but Boethius lived at no great distance; if he never
saw the lake, he must have been very incurious, and if he had seen
it, his veracity yielded to very slight temptations.
Lough Ness, though not twelve miles broad, is a very remarkable
diffusion of water without islands. It fills a large hollow
between two ridges of high rocks, being supplied partly by the
torrents which fall into it on either side, and partly, as is
supposed, by springs at the bottom. Its water is remarkably clear
and pleasant, and is imagined by the natives to be medicinal. We
were told, that it is in some places a hundred and forty fathoms
deep, a profundity scarcely credible, and which probably those that
relate it have never sounded. Its fish are salmon, trout, and
pike.
It was said at Fort Augustus, that Lough Ness is open in the
hardest winters, though a lake not far from it is covered with ice.
In discussing these exceptions from the course of nature, the first
question is, whether the fact be justly stated. That which is
strange is delightful, and a pleasing error is not willingly
detected. Accuracy of narration is not very common, and there are
few so rigidly philosophical, as not to represent as perpetual,
what is only frequent, or as constant, what is really casual. If
it be true that Lough Ness never freezes, it is either sheltered by
its high banks from the cold blasts, and exposed only to those
winds which have more power to agitate than congeal; or it is kept
in perpetual motion by the rush of streams from the rocks that
inclose it. Its profundity though it should be such as is
represented can have little part in this exemption; for though deep
wells are not frozen, because their water is secluded from the
external air, yet where a wide surface is exposed to the full
influence of a freezing atmosphere, I know not why the depth should
keep it open. Natural philosophy is now one of the favourite
studies of the Scottish nation, and Lough Ness well deserves to be
diligently examined.
The road on which we travelled, and which was itself a source of
entertainment, is made along the rock, in the direction of the
lough, sometimes by breaking off protuberances, and sometimes by
cutting the great mass of stone to a considerable depth. The
fragments are piled in a loose wall on either side, with apertures
left at very short spaces, to give a passage to the wintry
currents. Part of it is bordered with low trees, from which our
guides gathered nuts, and would have had the appearance of an
English lane, except that an English lane is almost always dirty.
It has been made with great labour, but has this advantage, that it
cannot, without equal labour, be broken up.
Within our sight there were goats feeding or playing. The
mountains have red deer, but they came not within view; and if what
is said of their vigilance and subtlety be true, they have some
claim to that palm of wisdom, which the eastern philosopher, whom
Alexander interrogated, gave to those beasts which live furthest
from men.
Near the way, by the water side, we espied a cottage. This was the
first Highland Hut that I had seen; and as our business was with
life and manners, we were willing to visit it. To enter a
habitation without leave, seems to be not considered here as
rudeness or intrusion. The old laws of hospitality still give this
licence to a stranger.
A hut is constructed with loose stones, ranged for the most part
with some tendency to circularity. It must be placed where the
wind cannot act upon it with violence, because it has no cement;
and where the water will run easily away, because it has no floor
but the naked ground. The wall, which is commonly about six feet
high, declines from the perpendicular a little inward. Such
rafters as can be procured are then raised for a roof, and covered
with heath, which makes a strong and warm thatch, kept from flying
off by ropes of twisted heath, of which the ends, reaching from the
center of the thatch to the top of the wall, are held firm by the
weight of a large stone. No light is admitted but at the entrance,
and through a hole in the thatch, which gives vent to the smoke.
This hole is not directly over the fire, lest the rain should
extinguish it; and the smoke therefore naturally fills the place
before it escapes. Such is the general structure of the houses in
which one of the nations of this opulent and powerful island has
been hitherto content to live. Huts however are not more uniform
than palaces; and this which we were inspecting was very far from
one of the meanest, for it was divided into several apartments; and
its inhabitants possessed such property as a pastoral poet might
exalt into riches.
When we entered, we found an old woman boiling goats-flesh in a
kettle. She spoke little English, but we had interpreters at hand;
and she was willing enough to display her whole system of economy.
She has five children, of which none are yet gone from her. The
eldest, a boy of thirteen, and her husband, who is eighty years
old, were at work in the wood. Her two next sons were gone to
Inverness to buy meal, by which oatmeal is always meant. Meal she
considered as expensive food, and told us, that in Spring, when the
goats gave milk, the children could live without it. She is
mistress of sixty goats, and I saw many kids in an enclosure at the
end of her house. She had also some poultry. By the lake we saw a
potatoe-garden, and a small spot of ground on which stood four
shucks, containing each twelve sheaves of barley. She has all this
from the labour of their own hands, and for what is necessary to be
bought, her kids and her chickens are sent to market.
With the true pastoral hospitality, she asked us to sit down and
drink whisky. She is religious, and though the kirk is four miles
off, probably eight English miles, she goes thither every Sunday.
We gave her a shilling, and she begged snuff; for snuff is the
luxury of a Highland cottage.
Soon afterwards we came to the General's Hut, so called because it
was the temporary abode of Wade, while he superintended the works
upon the road. It is now a house of entertainment for passengers,
and we found it not ill stocked with provisions.