MARCH 87 



brown homespun, brown -bearded, brown-cheeked, with 

 steady gray eyes my fishing gillie, Sandy Harper. 

 Sandy was a fine specimen of that excellent blend of 

 races the Highland Celt and the Norseman, uniting 

 the charming manners and ready speech of the Gael with 

 the more steadfast qualities of the Scandinavian. Need- 

 less to remind the reader that the Norseman kept his 

 grasp upon Caithness and Sutherland long after the rest 

 of the Scottish mainland had passed under the sway of 

 native kings. Not till the very close of the twelfth 

 century were the jarls brought into subjection to the 

 Scottish crown; seven centuries have done little to 

 obliterate racial character, little save the vernacular 

 has changed since the Commissioners of English Edward 

 halted a night at Halkirk in the autumn of 1290 on their 

 way to receive the ill-starred Maid of Norway as the 

 betrothed of the first Prince of Wales. But though the 

 speech of the people is Saxon, the old Norse names crop 

 up everywhere, designating permanent land features. 

 A brother angler, who had passed the previous summer 

 in Norway, once observed to me what he considered a 

 curious coincidence, that Loch Watten, a sheet of fresh 

 water between Halkirk and Wick, should bear the same 

 name as a lake near his lodge in Norway. Natural 

 enough, quoth I, seeing that vatn is the Norse word 

 for water. 



Sandy Harper was a crofter, occupying a few wind- 

 swept acres near Scots Calder; but the most important 

 part of his vocation was that of gillie to salmon-fishers 

 and grouse-shooters. The croft can have done little but 

 keep him and his family in meal and milk, bacon and 

 potatoes. He was a splendid specimen of his kind, over 



