[Illustration: THE NEEDLE OF IRESGOE.]
The people in the North of Caithness in directing us on our way did not
tell us to turn to right or left, but towards the points of the
compass--say to the east or the west as the case might be, and then turn
south for a given number of chains. This kind of information rather
puzzled us, as we had no compass, nor did we know the length of a chain.
It seemed to point back to a time when there were no roads at all in
that county. We afterwards read that Pennant, the celebrated tourist,
when visiting Caithness in 1769, wrote that at that time there was not
a single cart, nor mile of road properly so called in the county. He
described the whole district as little better than an "immense morass,
with here and there some fruitful spots of oats and bere (barley), and
much coarse grass, almost all wild, there being as yet very little
cultivated." And he goes on to add:
Here are neither barns nor granaries; the corn is thrashed out and
preserved in the chaff in bykes, which are stacks in the shape of
beehives thatched quite round. The tender sex (I blush for the
Caithnessians) are the only animals of burden; they turn their
patient backs to the dunghills and receive in their cassties or straw
baskets as much as their lords and masters think fit to fling in with
their pitchforks, and then trudge to the fields in droves.
Pages:
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135