On his arrival at Portlossie, he put up at a small public house
in the Seaton, from which he started the next morning to find the
cave--a somewhat hopeless as well as perilous proceeding; but his
father's description of its situation and character had generated
such a vivid imagination of it in the mind of the old man, that he
believed himself able to walk straight into the mouth of it; nor
was the peril so great as must at first appear, to one who had been
blind all his life. But he searched the whole of the east side of
the promontory of Scaurnose, where it must lie, without finding
such a cave as his father had depicted. Again and again he fancied
he had come upon it, but was speedily convinced of his mistake.
Even in one who had his eyesight, however, such a failure would
not surprise those who understand how rapidly as well as constantly
the whole faces of some cliffs are changing by the fall of portions
--destroying the very existence of some caves, and utterly changing
the mouths of others.
From a desire of secrecy, occasioned by the haunting dread of its
approaching necessity, day and night being otherwise much alike to
him, Duncan generally chose the night for his wanderings amongst
the rocks, and probings of their hollows. One night, or rather
morning, for he believed it was considerably past twelve o'clock,
he sat weary in a large open cave, listening to the sound of the
rising tide, and fell fast asleep, his bagpipes, without which
he never went abroad, across his knees.
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