country in less than seven hours, and that is not bad travelling
for a scramble. The piece of country traversed was already a
familiar track, being that between Loch Eriboll and Cape Wrath; and
I think I can scarce do better than reproduce from the diary some
traits of his first visit. The tender lay in Loch Eriboll; by five
in the morning they sat down to breakfast on board; by six they
were ashore--my grandfather, Mr. Slight an assistant, and Soutar of
the jolly nose, and had been taken in charge by two young gentlemen
of the neighbourhood and a pair of gillies. About noon they
reached the Kyle of Durness and passed the ferry. By half-past
three they were at Cape Wrath--not yet known by the emphatic
abbreviation of 'The Cape'--and beheld upon all sides of them
unfrequented shores, an expanse of desert moor, and the high-piled
Western Ocean. The site of the tower was chosen. Perhaps it is by
inheritance of blood, but I know few things more inspiriting than
this location of a lighthouse in a designated space of heather and
air, through which the sea-birds are still flying. By 9 p.m. the
return journey had brought them again to the shores of the Kyle.
The night was dirty, and as the sea was high and the ferry-boat
small, Soutar and Mr. Stevenson were left on the far side, while
the rest of the party embarked and were received into the darkness.
They made, in fact, a safe though an alarming passage; but the
ferryman refused to repeat the adventure; and my grand-father and
the captain long paced the beach, impatient for their turn to pass,
and tormented with rising anxiety as to the fate of their
companions. At length they sought the shelter of a shepherd's
house. 'We had miserable up-putting,' the diary continues, 'and on
both sides of the ferry much anxiety of mind. Our beds were clean
straw, and but for the circumstance of the boat, I should have
slept as soundly as ever I did after a walk through moss and mire