CORRACH-BAH; OR, A PLEA FOR THE WASTES. 227 



shortly before in the loch or the hill of Duniquoich or the 

 Duke's Castle or I don't recollect what. Upon landing at 

 Inverary my trolling-rods were missing, and no " satisfaction" 

 to be had, as my officious friend was safe on the opposite 

 shore, and my poor rods lying within tide- water mark ! The 

 landlord of the Argyll Arms, however, obligingly offered to 

 send the ferry-boat and forward them next morning by the 

 post 1 to Cladich, where I hoped to bivouac for a few clays 

 after my eagle campaign. 



Having dined with my two agreeable companions, we hired 

 an open carriage and drove to Cladich, where we parted 

 they going on to Oban by Port Sonachan, and I to the Black 

 Mount. After a long, rugged, but enjoyable drive, partly 

 along the banks of Loch Awe, where the cuckoo was heard in 

 every dell, or was seen poising himself upon some still leaf- 

 less patriarchal thorn, and partly through the environs of the 

 forest, I arrived at the solitary little inn of Inveroran. The 

 forester's house was within a short distance ; so I arranged 

 with him that we should start by daylight next morning for 

 the eagle's eyrie, partook of Highland cheer in a snug little 

 Cyclops of a parlour, ornamented with the horns of the red 

 deer, and then retired to my dormitory. 



Day was just breaking when I crossed the river Tulla, on 

 my way to Peter Eobertson's 2 cottage. He was standing 

 before his door, consoling himself for his early start by a pipe 



1 Generally a stout hale carle, of middle age, who walks from ten to fifteen 

 miles and back again in a day, with the mail-bag slung at his back. The first 

 time one of these primitive posts was dignified with a little gig equipage, he came 

 in late, and made excuse that "he was taigled wi' a gig !" Of course he was 

 turned off. Poor Sandy Bell had walked twenty-seven miles a-day for thirty 

 years of his life, and at his dismissal was fresh as May. He bitterly complained 

 that he lost, first his bread, " by thae new-fangled nonsense," and then his health, 

 for want of exercise. He is only an instance among many who have been ruined 

 by cutting a dash. 



2 This model Highland deer-stalker died in the spring of 1877. He had long 

 been a martyr to rheumatism, and the rough work of his life had told sorely on 

 him for years before his end. Many a happy day I have passed with him, wan- 

 dering over the rough hills and wild corries, or by the lonely lochans of the Black 

 Mount forest. 



