The Next Morning We Were Rowed, By Two Of Jim Sinclair's Boys, To The
Island Of Bressay, And One Of Them Acted As Our Guide To The Remarkable
Precipice Called The Noup Of The Noss.
We ascended its smooth slopes and
pastures, and passed through one or two hamlets, where we observed the
construction of the dwellings of the Zetland peasantry.
They are built of
unhewn stone, with roofs of turf held down by ropes of straw neatly
twisted; the floors are of earth; the cow, pony, and pig live under the
same roof with the family, and the manure pond, a receptacle for refuse
and filth, is close to the door. A little higher up we came upon the
uncultivated grounds, abandoned to heath, and only used to supply fuel by
the cutting of peat. Here and there women were busy piling the square
pieces of peat in stacks, that they might dry in the wind. "We carry home
these pits in a basket on our showlders, when they are dry," said one of
them to me; but those who can afford to keep a pony, make him do this work
for them. In the hollows of this part of the island we saw several
fresh-water ponds, which were enlarged with dykes and made to turn grist
mills. We peeped into one or two of these mills, little stone buildings,
in which we could hardly stand upright, inclosing two small stones turned
by a perpendicular shaft, in which are half a dozen cogs; the paddles are
fixed below, and there struck by the water, turn the upper stone.
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