After walking up
and down amid this pitiful desolation, and hearing many a heart-rending
incident connected with the eviction, a sudden squall of hail came on,
and we were obliged to take shelter on the lee side of a ruined wall
till it blew over. To while away the time one of the guides told me of a
local song made on the eviction, the refrain being, "Five hundred
thousand curses on cruel John Adair."
Across the Gartan Lake we could see from our partial shelter the point
to which Mr. Stewart wasted the people off his estate. Mr. Stewart's is
a handsome lonely place, but when one hears all these tales of
spoliation it prevents one from admiring a fine prospect. "He is dealing
kindly with the people now," said my guides, "whatever changed his heart
God knows."
The shower being over we returned to the house of the dummy. In our
absence dinner had been prepared for us. She had no plates, but the
table on which she laid oat cakes was as white as snow. She gave us a
little butter, which, by the signs and tokens, I knew to be all she had,
boiled eggs, made tea of fearful strength, and told us to eat. My guides
enjoyed the mountain fare with mountain appetites.
