ORNITHOLOGICAL RAMBLES. 37 



direction I am tending, the ever-dreaded Black Craig 

 lifts its rocky summit to the sky. Many are the 

 terrible stories associated with this frightful cliff, and 

 the following I myself heard from several eye-wit- 

 nesses : A few years ago, an ill-fated vessel, the Star, 

 of Dundee, after being tossed uncontrollably by the 

 raging sea, was hopelessly driven upon a dreadful- 

 looking block of dark rock at the foot of the craig. Of 

 course she quickly went to pieces, and the unfortunate 

 crew perished, One young man, however, named 

 Henry Johnstone, after struggling ineffectually with 

 the waves, was washed into a hole in the craig, which 

 in the lapse of centuries has evidently been hollowed 

 out by the action of the sea. The bottom part, or floor 

 as it were, of this hollow slopes upwards into the 

 interior of the rock, though its mouth or aperture is 

 completely closed at high tide by every succeeding 

 wave. In this situation he actually existed four days 

 and nights ; his sensations for four hours out of the 

 six, when he expected every moment to suffocate, being 

 simply indescribable. As a curious and providential 

 circumstance, there floated to him from the wreck 

 a barrel of herrings, a feather mattress, and a small tin 

 mug. By means of the first he obtained his sustenance. 

 The mattress he cut open and stuffed the feathers into 

 his boots for warmth ; and with the mug he caught the 

 water as it dripped from the roof of his cell. Driven 

 to desperation, he at last attempted and actually scaled 



