.

EN ROUTE.

The little steamer that plies between Aberdeen and Lerwick is timed to
leave the former port at 11.30 a.m., _or as soon afterwards as the tide
will permit_. Often the boat does not leave for some hours after 11.30
a.m., the tide not being always to blame. What a capacity the boat has
for empty barrels! I counted six heaped lorry-loads of them that were
rolled on board, destined, later on, to be filled with herring up north
among the islands.

It is extremely interesting (see Virgil III., 690) to stand in calm
weather on the deck of a moving vessel and talk about the notable places
on the coast with one who knows them well. Much information of a varied
and piquant kind may thus be acquired. The Aberdeenshire coast is rather
unpicturesque, but many historical legends linger airily on the stern
old ruins that are passed from time to time. I omit mention of these,
preferring to tell an anecdote of recent years that is associated with
the immense rocky sea-caverns, of world-wide fame, not far from Cruden
Bay. During the Boer War, some Scotch journalists, strong in the science
of genealogy, undertook to prove that all the generals at the front had
Scotch blood in their veins. It seems that these patriotic penmen
succeeded quite easily in making their contention good with respect to
all the generals _save one_. No Scotch lineage could be found for
General Buller. The difficulty was at last surmounted by the felicitous
conjecture that he was one of the famous _Bullers of Buchan_!

About eight miles past Cruden Bay is Peterhead, the most easterly town
in Britain. Great efforts are being made at present to boom this place
as a health resort. I have heard it said that "printers who die at 30 of
consumption elsewhere, weigh 21 stone at over threescore in Peterhead,"
also that "centenarians there have been known to get up at 5.30 a.m., to
chop wood, no chill or bacillus daring to make them afraid." The Home
Office has long thought highly of Peterhead as a place of permanent
retreat for those afflicted with ethical infirmities.

After Peterhead is left behind, the steamer soon gets entirely away from
land. All night long she battles through the surges, passes about 2 a.m.
the lonely Fair Isle, encompassed by the rushing roost, and two hours
later Sumburgh Head is visible. The approach to Bressay, especially if
the rocks and precipices are half seen through driving haze, is
suggestive, to a student, of the landsca