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LEGENDARY
TALES OF THE HIGHLANDS.
A SEQUEL TO
HIGHLAND RAMBLES.
BY
Sir THOMAS DICK LAUDER, Bart.
AUTHOR OF "LOCHANDHU," "THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH,"
"THE MORAY FLOODS," ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOLUME I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
M.DCCC.XLI.
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
DEDICATION, vii
INTRODUCTION, xi
STRATHDAWN, 1
THE WATER-KELPIE'S BRIDLE AND THE MERMAID'S STONE, 13
THE DOMINIE DEPARTS, 25
HISTORY OF SERJEANT ARCHY STEWART, 32
GALLANTRY OF THE SEVENTY-FIRST HIGHLAND LIGHT INFANTRY, 62
LEGEND OF THE CLAN-ALLAN STEWARTS, 77
FATE OF THE OULD AUNCIENT MONUMENTS, 261
ILLUSTRATIONS.
SUMMARY JUSTICE OF A HIGHLAND CHIEF, 113
THE TABLES TURNED, 223
TO
HIS GRACE
JOHN DUKE OF ARGYLL.
My Dear Duke,
The permission which you have so kindly given me to dedicate these
Volumes to you, affords me a double source of gratification.
In the first place, it recalls and strengthens the recollection of
the first formation of that, which may now be called an old friendship
between us; from the continuance of which I have, from time to time,
derived so much valuable scientific and general information, as well
as so much rational recreation of mind, and which has, moreover,
produced some of the happiest hours of my life.
Secondly, I am thus allowed to attach to my Highland Legends the name
of Mac Chailein Mhòir, which is certainly, of all others, that most
fitted to be associated with Highland story.
With my best thanks, therefore, and with every wish for your Grace's
health and happiness, as well as for those of all you hold dear, I
beg that you will always believe me to be, with the highest respect
and regard,
My dear Duke,
Most sincerely and affectionately yours,
THOS. DICK LAUDER.
The Grange House,
19th March 1840.
NOTE EXPLANATORY OF THE ARGYLL PATRONIMIC OF MAC CHAILEAN MHOIR.
This patronimic of the noble family of Argyll has been strangely
changed by Sir Walter Scott, and others, into MacCallum More. The
true orthography and reading of it is Mac Chailein, that is, the
son or descendant of Colin. Mòr signifies great; and when used in
the genitive case as above, it is written Mhoir--pronounced Vòr,
or rather Vore--having much the same sound as More in English.
Mac Chailein Mhoir, the son of the Great Colin, or Mac Chailean, is
synonymous in Gaelic with Argyll; and Mòr, great, makes it, in fact,
the Great Argyll.
Calain Mòr--so called from his stature or his actions--was the eighth
knight of Lochow of the name of Campbell. He commanded the right wing
of the Scottish army at the battle of Largs, in the year 1263. His
father Archibald was in life at the time, though Colin led on the
men of Argyll. Colin Mor was knighted by Alexander III. in the year
1280. He was killed in a fight with John Bachach (that is, Lame John)
MacDougald of Lorn about the year 1293, in forcing a pass called the
Ath-dearg, or the Bloody Ford, in Lorn. His remains were carried to
Kilchrennan, on Lochow side, and interred in the parish churchyard,
where his tombstone is still a conspicuous object. From him the family
of Argyll have the patronimic of Mac Chailean Mhoir, or, as generally
pronounced, Mac Calain Mòr.
The Author has to thank the Rev. Dr. Norman MacLeod of Glasgow
for having afforded him the information which has enabled him to
give this explanation, and he is the more grateful for it from the
interest he personally takes in the memory of the heroic Sir Colin,
from whose great grand-daughter, Alicia, he has himself the honour
of being descended.
TO THE READER.
These three volumes of Highland Legends are published in continuation
of those which appeared in 1837, and in pursuance of a plan--long
cherished by the Author--of collecting, and preserving in print,
all the more interesting of the traditional and local histories of
the Highlanders that yet remain, but which, to the regret of all
antiquaries, are fast melting away. Not a year passes over us, that
does not see some ancient Seanachaidh, whom perhaps we may have known
as the venerable historian of the district where he lived,--to whose
tales of love, strife, or peril, we may have often listened with eager
attention,--borne to his silent grave in the simple churchyard of some
lonely Highland parish, where his snow-white head is consigned to
its parent earth, and there left to moulder into dust and oblivion,
together with all the legendary lore which it contained. The Author
has always had great pleasure in availing himself of every opportunity
that occurred to him, of conversing with those living records of the
glens, and he has never failed to write down whatsoever curious matter
it may have been his good fortune to gather from them. By such means,
as well as by the assistance of many kind friends, he has been enabled
to make a very considerable collection of these traditions, from all
parts of the Highlands of Scotland; and, like all other collectors,
he has become only just so much the more insatiably avaricious to
increase his store, the larger that he sees the heap becoming.
Such legends are not only curious and interesting in themselves,
but they will often prove to be helps to history, from the little
incidents which they furnish, that may throw light upon it. But,
however they are to be estimated in this respect, they must always be
considered as having some value, from the pictures which they afford
of the manners of the times to which they belong.
It is quite possible that many of these Traditions, in the course of
their long descent through successive ages, during which they have
been distilled and redistilled through the poetical imaginations
of so many narrators, may have undergone considerable alteration,
and even, perhaps, in some instances, exaggeration. To many fervid
minds such an effect produced by their antiquity, may not render them
one whit less palatable; whilst people of a less romantic and more
common-sense cast, will always be able to winnow out for themselves
the more solid grains from the glittering but empty chaff. But any
one, who, from the apparent improbability of some of their attendant
circumstances, should assert that such legends have no foundation in
fact, would fall, it is apprehended, into a very grievous error. The
Author thinks that no legend, however improbable, can have been
created, without having had some foundation in reality,--some germ,
in short, from which it had its origin,--and perhaps he cannot better
illustrate this observation, or prove its truth, than by narrating
a circumstance with the particulars of which he was favoured by his
friend the Venerable Archdeacon Williams, which shows this connexion
in the strongest light. What he has to tell, it is true, belongs more
particularly to the Principality of Wales, but it only furnishes a
more than ordinarily curious and striking example of a class, of which
many similar samples might be easily produced from the Highlands of
Scotland, as well as from many other parts of the world.
Some of the Welsh legendary historians tell us, that in the year
500, there flourished a renowned chief called Benlli Gawr. His
usual residence was where the present town of Mold now stands, and
his hill-fort, or place of strength was erected on the highest of
the Clwydian range, nearly due west from Mold, and about half way
between that place and Ruthin. The hill on which the remains of this
fortalice still exist, is called Moel Benlli, or the conical hill
of Benlli, and it presents a conspicuous object from Mold, Ruthin,
and Denbigh. An immense carnedd or cairn of stones, which was still
to be seen some years ago in an entire state in a field about half
a mile from the town of Mold, was supposed to have been the place
of this hero's interment; and if we may believe what we read in the
Welsh verses on the graves of the warriors of the Isle of Britain,
his son's place of sepulture was in a spot about eight miles distant,
and is thus noticed in the following rhymes:--
"Pian y bedhd yn y Maes Mawr,
Balen a law ar ei larn awr:
Bedhd Beli ab Benlli Gawr."
That is,--
"He who owns the grave in the large field,
Proud his hand on his blade:
The grave of Beli, son of Benlli Gawr."
But to return to the great Carnedd of Benlli himself in the field
near Mold. It was always called Tomen y r Ellyllon, or the Tumulus
of the Goblins, and for this reason, that from time immemorial it
was believed that the grim ghost of Benlli, in the form of a knight
clad in splendid gear, and especially wearing a Celain Aur, or golden
corselet, appeared after sunset, standing on the cairn, or walking
round it, and that there he continued to maintain his cold post,
till the scent of the morning air, or the crowing of the cock, drove
him to the necessity of retiring from it to some more comfortable
quarters. This legend had for generations so terrified the people,
that no bribe could have tempted any one to have passed by that way
after nightfall. Yet, though nobody went thither, and that every
possibility of having anything like direct evidence as to what the
spectre knight's personal appearance and dress really were, had been
thus precluded by the circumstance that every one shunned his dreaded
presence, the most wonderful and incredible accounts of his stern
countenance and terrific bearing, together with the most fearful
stories of their effects upon people who had beheld them, continued
to be propagated, although no one could specify the individuals who
had seen them, or been so affected by them.
Towards the end of the year 1833, it happened that the occupier of
the field where the carnedd stood, took it into his head, that the
stones of which it was composed might be of use for the construction
of a road, or for filling drains, or for some such rural purpose. It
was with some difficulty that he could procure workmen bold enough to
make such an assault on the very castle of the goblin, even although
it was to be carried on during the hours that the blessed sun was
abroad. But having at last succeeded in obtaining these, he proceeded
to work, and soon drove away some four or five hundred cart-loads of
stones from the cairn, when, at last, the workmen came upon something
of a strange shape, which was manifestly constructed of some sort of
metal. It was with no little dread that they ventured to touch it,
but their observation having led them to believe that it was some
old brass pot-lid or frying-pan, it ceased to be an object either
of dread or of interest in their unlearned eyes, and they threw it
carelessly into a hedge, where it lay all night neglected.
Some person of education having come to the spot next morning, who
had heard of such a thing having been found, was led by curiosity
to examine it, when, to the astonishment of all who heard of it, the
brazen frying-pan was discovered to be a lorica, or corselet of gold.
The metal was found to be of about the same degree of purity as our
present coin. It was so thin, that it weighed altogether no more than
sixty sovereigns, and therefore it appears evident that it could
not have been used as armour of defence in combat. It is more than
probable that it must have been worn merely as an ornamental piece of
armour on occasions of state or parade, in which case it was, very
likely, originally lined with leather. It was embossed all over it,
of a simple pattern, but it was not perforated.
The obliging correspondent through whose kindness, and that of his
friends, I have become possessed of these very remarkable facts,
amuses himself by calculating the immense value which such a piece
of dress must have had in the time of Benlli-Gawr, its wearer, that
is, in the year 500. "This," says he, "may be done by referring
to the ancient laws of Wales, now publishing under the Government
Commission. In these laws, the average price of a cow was five
shillings, and allowing for the difference in the value of money,
a cow would now cost about ten pounds. Then one pound at that time
would buy four cows, and the ten pounds would buy forty cows, and the
sixty sovereigns would be the value of two hundred and forty cows,
or two thousand four hundred pounds sterling."
This curious and highly valuable morceau of antiquity was immediately
claimed by the Honourable Edward Mostyn Lloyd Mostyn as lord of the
manor, and by Colonel Salusbury of Gallbfarnan as the possessor of
the field where it was found, and the law having determined that it
should belong to the former gentleman, it is now in his possession. It
is gratifying to the Author to think, that it should have fallen into
the hands of Mr. Mostyn, with whom he has since had the honour of
becoming acquainted, during the Welsh Eisteddvod, held at Liverpool,
where, as President of that body, his high attainments--his courteous
manners--and his ardent devotion to the cause of the preservation of
Welsh literature and antiquities, gave universal satisfaction to all
present, and afforded a sufficient assurance for the safety of the
interesting relic, of which an account has been given.
This is certainly a very powerful instance of the soundness of the
proposition, that legendary tales, however incredible many of their
circumstances may be, have always some foundation in truth. It appears
to be by no means difficult to speculate reasonably enough on the
probabilities of the matter in this case; and it would seem that they
have in all likelihood been these:--In the year 500 or thereabouts,
the renowned hero, Benlli, died, and in obedience to his own last
instructions, or of those of his son, Beli, or of some other relative
or friend, he was buried in the tumulus with his golden corselet on,
and then the carnedd was heaped up over his remains. To prevent the
risk of any avaricious follower or serf, or any other promiscuous
pilferer, uncovering his body during the night, in order to possess
himself of the glittering prize, his surviving friends circulate the
story that his ghost, frowning fearfully, as such ghosts are wont, is
seen nightly to guard the tumulus, girt in the golden armour. Terror
fills the superstitious minds of the inhabitants of the district,
and no man for his life will venture to approach the Carnedd after
sunset. This lie protective is thus very naturally and innocently
handed down from one generation of the superstitious people of the
neighbourhood to that which succeeds it, and implicitly believed; and
so the story is traditionally preserved for about fourteen hundred
years, until it is now at last unravelled, in our own time, by the
removal of the Carnedd of stones, and the discovery of the golden
corselet itself.
Let not any one refuse then to give credence to the main circumstances
of these our Highland Legends, because they may perhaps be somewhat
overlaid with circumstances of a romantic or doubtful nature, but let
the judgment rather be exercised to discover, and to discriminate,
between the thread of the true and original history, and those
adventitious filaments of later manufacture which have from time to
time been introduced and interwoven with it. This will generally
be found to be no very difficult task, and there are many by whom
it will be considered rather as an agreeable amusement, than as an
irksome occupation.
HIGHLAND RAMBLES.
STRATHDAWN.
We left the Highland village of Tomantoul after an early breakfast,
and proceeded to wend our way slowly up the pastoral valley of
Aven. The scenery as yet had nothing peculiarly striking about it,
but our faces were turned towards the Cairngorm group of mountains,
and the closing in of the hills forming the termination of our present
view, already excited interesting expectation regarding those higher
regions which arose beyond them. This was especially the case with
my fellow-travellers, who had not previously visited this elevated
district. A certain air of tranquil repose that hung over every thing
around us, and gave an indescribable charm to the simple features of
nature, rather disposed our minds to quiet and passive enjoyment,
so that we walked leisurely along for some time, less inclined to
talk than to ruminate each within himself. Our young friend Clifford
was the first to break silence.
Clifford.--What a beautiful little plain!--How animating the clear
river that waters it, with its stream sparkling under the bright
morning sun!--And see how appropriate the few figures that give life
to it. Those cattle there, so agreeably disposed, cropping the fresh
herbage, with that boy so intent upon plaiting a cap of rushes for the
innocent little girl who sits beside him. It would make a subject for
a Cuyp or a Paul Potter. What a scene of simple happiness, contentment,
and peace!
Dominie Macpherson.--It is indeed a quiet enough scene at this moment,
sir. But peaceful as it is at this present time, it hath not been
always so, for it hath more than once had its green turf trodden
into black and dusty earth by the thundering hoof of the neighing
battle-steed. The day has been, Mr. Clifford, when, as Maro has it:--
-----------------------------------"Agmine facto
Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum."
Here it was, sir, that Montrose encampit with his army in 1645, alter
having defeated the godly sons of the covenant in the bloody field of
Auldern, and before marching to glut his cruel spirit by massacring
more of them at Alford on the Don. And, as if the soil of this fair
spot had not been thus sufficiently polluted, it so chanced that,
in June 1689, the bloody Clavers also cumbered it with himself and
his followers on his way to the Pass of Killiecrankie, where, on the
16th of July thereafter, praise be to the Lord, his wicked existence
was at last put an end to.
Grant.--Ha! These historical recollections do indeed give a new
interest to the scene.
Clifford.--Only fancy the motley troops, in the varied military
costume of the time, drawn up here in their lines, the tents and huts
stretching along yonder in regular order,--the mingled sounds arising
from the busy camp followers,--the trumpets clanging,--and the bold
Dundee scampering across the plain on his gallant black charger! What
a contrast to the figures which are now before us!
Dominie.--Aye; and if all tales be true, he was but an uncanny beast
that black hone of his. But, my certy! the beast and the man were
well matched.
Clifford.--You seem to have a great distaste at the Viscount Dundee,
Mr. Macpherson, and yet he was followed by the great mass of your
Highland clans.
Dominie.--That may be, Mr. Clifford; but that makes no odds to me,
sir. I am in no ways answerable for the deeds of my forebears. If
they turned out to support popery and yepiscopacy, that is not what I
would have done. I reverence the manes of those sainted heroes who drew
their good broadswords for God and the Covenant, and who suffered all
manner of tortures and all kinds of cruel deaths rather than abandon
so glorious a cause,--a cause, let me tell you, with all due respeck
to you, Mr. Clifford,--a cause in which I should be proud to die at
this moment.
Clifford.--Your enthusiasm is not only excusable, but honourable
to you, Mr. Macpherson. But will you tell me the name of this spot,
that I may endeavour to remember it?
Dominie.--It is called Dell-a-Vorar, or the Lord's-haugh, a name which
it got from one, or may be from both of these two lords I have named,
though it is more probable that it was from Clavers, seeing that the
place in Braemar to which he marched from here has ever since borne
the same name.
Grant.--I know there is a place in Braemar so called.
Author.--By the bye, Mr. Macpherson, does not the dwelling of Willox
the wizard lie somewhere in this neighbourhood?
Dominie.--Yes, sir, it does. Gaulrig, as the place is called, lies
up beyond yon hollow in the hill on the right side of the glen which
you see before us yonder, dipping into the valley of the Aven from
the north.
Clifford.--Let us visit the old fellow by all means, Mr. Macpherson.
Dominie.--We may easily do that, sir, for the house is not much out
of your way, and we are pretty sure of finding him, for he is too
old now to be often or far from home.
A walk of some couple of miles brought us to the place where we found
the residence of this extraordinary man, standing on the sloping side
of the northern hill, immediately below a small tributary ravine, which
ancient popular superstition has very appropriately consigned to the
dominion of the fairies, and other beings belonging to the world of
spirits, and in which there is one of those green artificial-looking
knolls called shians, from their being supposed to be places of
especial fairy resort. His cottage hangs on the edge of the bank
facing the Aven, is of the most primitive architecture, composed of
drystones and sods, and forms, with its humble out-houses, two sides
of a small square. Near one angle of the house there is a rude stone,
on which the old warlock is in the habit of sitting to enjoy the sun.
Understanding that Willox was at all times rather flattered by a
visit from strangers, we made no scruple in requesting an interview
with him; and, accordingly, he soon appeared from the door of his
dwelling. Notwithstanding all that Mr. Macpherson had said to the
contrary, I had found it a difficult matter to persuade myself that I
was not to see a vulgar countenance, strongly marked with that species
of sordid cunning, which one might suppose sufficient to enable a
knave, of the lowest description, to impose on the most ignorant class
of rustics. The figure of the man, indeed, who now showed himself,
had nothing about it to do away with this preconceived notion of
mine. He was rather under the middle size, and was dressed in the
ordinary hodden grey clothes, which have now so generally usurped the
place of the gayer tartans, and more picturesque highland dress. But
I at once perceived that his low stature was to be attributed to the
decrepitude of old age, for he was probably above ninety. The moment
he put forth his head from the threshold, and perceived those who
sought for an interview with him, an inconceivable expression flashed
from his eyes, which, I might almost say, threw over him a certain
light of dignity. We were all of us at once convinced that this was
no common man, and our regard was riveted upon him. It seemed as if
the native lightnings of an uneducated, but naturally very powerful
mind, were bursting through the obscurity of those grey orbs, which
had been dimmed by the gathering mists of many a long year. The half
dormant spirit appeared to have been suddenly summoned to the portal
of the eye, by this anticipated interview with people whom he had
never seen before, just as, in the olden time, the jealous captain
of a fortress might have been brought to its barbican by the bugle
call of some knight of doubtful mien who wished to hold parley.
As he advanced to meet us, I was struck with the corselike paleness
of his face, to which the glaze of his eyeballs, and the grizzly
and tangled locks that strayed from beneath his bonnet, gave an
inexpressibly ghastly effect. A transient gleam of electric fire shot
from within his eyeballs into each of our countenances individually, as
he was introduced to us in succession. We felt as if it had penetrated
into the inmost recesses of our very souls. It appeared to us as if he
had thereby been enabled, from long practice in the study of mankind,
at once to read our several characters and thoughts, like so many
lines of the great book of nature hastily skimmed over. To each of
us in turn he bowed with a polished air, and a manner like that of a
faded courtier of the age of Louis Quatorze, than the inhabitant of
so humble a dwelling, in the simple and pastoral valley of Strathdawn;
and strangely indeed did it contrast with the coarseness and poverty of
his dress, and the squalid impropreté of his whole personal appearance.
After the usual preliminary salutations were over, I expressed a wish
to see the far-famed magical kelpie's bridle and mermaid's stone, for
the possession of which he is so celebrated in all the neighbouring
districts.
"You shall see them both, sir," said he, after eyeing me for a moment
with a searching look. "To such gentlemen as you, I cannot refuse a
sight of them, though they are hardly to be seen by vulgar eyes, and
never to be handled by vulgar hands;" and, with a marked politeness
of manner, he returned into the cottage to bring them out.
"Now," said I to my companions, "you must keep him in talk, whilst
I endeavour to steal a sketch of him."
"Here are the wonderful implements of my art," said he, as he returned,
holding them up to our observation.
"They are very curious," said I; "perhaps you will have the goodness
to allow me to make a hasty drawing of them. I hope it will have no
effect in taking away their virtues.
"Their virtues cannot be taken away by human hands," replied Willox,
gravely. "You are welcome to draw them if you please, sir, and I
shall hold them for you so that you may best see them."
I thanked him, and proceeded instantly to my work. My friends
followed my injunctions so well as fully to occupy his attention in
replying to their cross fire of queries, whilst I was myself obliged
to interject a question now and then, in order to get him to turn
his countenance towards me. The wonderful expression I have already
alluded to appeared even yet more striking, on these occasions, by
his ghost-like features being brought so closely and directly opposite
to my eyes. I then looked in as it were upon his spirit,--and it was
manifestly a spirit which, in ancient days, when superstition brooded
as much over the proud castle of the bold baron, as it did over the
humble cot of the timid peasant, might well enough have domineered
over the minds of nobles and princes, nay subjected even crowned
heads to its powerful control.
I did make sketches of the mermaid's stone and the water-kelpie's
bridle, the two grand instruments of his art. As already described
to us by Mr. Macpherson, we found the stone to be a circular and
flattish lens, three inches diameter, of semi-opaque crystal, somewhat
resembling, in shape and appearance, what is called a bull's eye, used
for transmitting light through the deck of a vessel into its smaller
apartments below. The water-kelpie's bridle consists of a flat piece
of brass, annular in the middle, and having two lobe-like branches
springing from it in two curves outwards, the wider part of each lobe
being slightly recurved inwards, so that they present the appearance
of two leaves when they are held flat. Attached to the ring part,
but loose upon it, are two long doubled pieces of flat brass, and,
between these, a short leathern thong is attached by a fastening so
intricate that it might have rivalled the Gordian knot. It has not
the most distant resemblance to any part of a bridle, and none of us
could guess to what purpose, either useful or ornamental, it could
have ever been applied. Willox's own account of the acquirement of
these two wonderful engines of his supernatural power, elicited by
our repeated questions, was nearly as follows:--
THE WATER-KELPIE'S BRIDLE AND THE MERMAID'S STONE.
My grand-uncle Macgregor, was so much devoted to the study of that
mysterious and unpronounceable art which gives man control over
the world of spirits, that he ultimately became a powerful adept in
it. He lived on the banks of the river Dulnan, in Strathspey, and his
fame went so much abroad, that his name was never mentioned without
reverential awe. Whilst involved in the pursuit of these studies, he
was much used to take solitary walks, during which it was believed
that he held high converse with beings rarely brought within the
reach of human communing.
He was walking one evening on the lonely shore of Loch-an-dorbe. The
sky was calm, but the air was hot and sulphurous, and the sun went
down in a blood-red haze, that the gifted eye of Macgregor knew
to be portentous. Wrapped in his plaid, he leaned against a huge
stone, and stood earnestly gazing at the sinking orb till it had
altogether disappeared. He read therein that some mighty deed was to
be achieved, and he wound himself up to encounter whatever adventure
might befall him.
Suddenly the black waters of the lake began to heave from their centre
without any seeming cause. Not a breath of wind stirred them, yet they
came boiling outwards, so as at once to dash their waves on every part
of the surrounding shores. A dark object was seen to bound forth upon
the beach at no great distance from the spot where Macgregor stood. A
less strongly fortified heart would have quailed with fear, but his
was armed with potent spells. He stretched his eyeballs towards the
object, when, less to his astonishment than delight, he beheld a black
horse, of immense size, and of beautiful proportions, approaching him
through the lurid twilight. On he came, prancing proudly along the
strand, pawing the ground from time to time, and neighing aloud with
a voice of thunder, while blue lightnings were ever and anon darting
from his expanded nostrils, and his eyes were shining like stars. It
required not Macgregor's skill to know that this was no ordinary horse,
but his superhuman knowledge made him at once aware that it was the
water-kelpie himself, and he watched his coming with a heart beating
high with hope. Well instructed as to the measures which it now became
necessary for him to adopt, he stood aside behind the large stone, and
employed certain charms which he knew would aid in his concealment;
and as this terrific incarnation of the spirit of the waters was
curvetting grandly past him, he sprang suddenly out upon him, and,
seizing his bridle with his left hand, he raised aloft his gleaming
claymore with his right, and cut it out of the water-kelpie's head
at one blow. In an instant the terrible spirit was metamorphosed into
the shape of a man of huge and very formidable appearance.
"Give me back my bridle, thou son of earth!" cried he, in a voice
like the roaring of a cataract.
"No!" said Macgregor, boldly; "I have won it, and I shall keep it."
"Then," roared the enraged spirit, "you and it shall never enter your
house together!"
Macgregor staid not to hear more, but ran off in the direction
of his home, from which he was then distant a good many miles. The
enraged spirit came roaring and howling after him. Ten thousand floods
pouring down over the rocky ridge of Ben Nevis could not have created
so appalling a combination of terrific sounds. The hot breath of the
fiend came about Macgregor as he flew, as if it would have threatened
suffocation. Lucky was it for my granduncle that the kelpie, in losing
his bridle, had also lost with it, for the time at least, the power of
becoming a horse, else had his chance of escape been small indeed. As
it was, however, it seemed as if Macgregor had suddenly acquired a
large proportion of those racing qualities which were derived from
that magical virtue so strongly inherent in the bridle which he bore;
for he appeared, even to himself, rather to skim than to run over the
vast extent of moors, hills, and bogs that lay between him and his
own home, scarcely bending the heather tops in his way, so lightly
and rapidly did his feet fly over the ground. But great as was the
supernatural speed he had acquired, that of the water-kelpie was so
little short of it, that the wicked spirit was close at his heels when
he reached his own house. With a presence of mind, and an adroitness,
which no one but an experienced and expert adept in the management
of a contest with powers naturally so superior to man, could have
commanded or exercised, he avoided entering by the door, although it
stood yawning temptingly wide to receive him. Luckily a window was
open. "Hulloo!" cried he hastily to his wife, whom he happily observed
within, "catch this in your apron!" And, throwing the bridle to her
through the window, he cunningly avoided the denunciation which the
kelpie had uttered against him.
No sooner did the kelpie perceive that he was thus outwitted, than
he shrieked so loud that all the hills of Strathspey re-echoed
again.--Yes, you need not stare, gentlemen; I tell you that the
mountains echoed again, as if the lofty Craig Ellachie had rent itself
from its foundations, and rolled itself into the river Spey. The
water-kelpie disappeared, and, what is strange, he has never since
been seen by mortal man. But my grand-uncle Macgregor had his bridle,
which, as you see, afterwards descended from him to me.
The story of the acquirement of the Mermaid's Stone is no whit less
extraordinary than that of the bridle. The stone came to me from my
maternal grandfather, who gained it by the superhuman powers which
he possessed; for in my veins two most potent streams of necromantic
blood have united themselves, though it would ill become me to say
that I have ever equalled my ancestors. After having made frequent
visits to the sea coast, my grandfather at last found out the spot
where a beautiful mermaid was wont to sport amid the shallows,
and sit on a rock, to comb her long hair, and to sing the most
exquisite melodies. Long and anxiously did he watch her motions,
till he perceived her one day combing her lovely tresses over her
face and bosom, altogether unconscious that she was observed. Arming
himself with certain spells which he possessed, which gave him
superhuman powers, he crept into the sea from the rocky point where
he lay concealed, and wading silently towards the stone where she
sat, he came behind her, and clasping her eagerly in his arms, he
held her fast, and, in spite of all her wailings, her lamentations,
and her struggles, he succeeded in carrying her on shore. When fairly
on land, she became exceedingly helpless, so that he had no farther
trouble with her, and, delighted with his fair prize, he brought her
home in triumph. There he made a soft bed for her upon the rafters
of the house; and although he was unwillingly compelled by prudence
to make sure of her by subjecting her to the restraint of tying her
to the couples of the roof, he in all other respects lavished the
utmost kindness upon her.
So very much, indeed, was my grandfather taken up with his
new acquisition, that my grandmother began to grow jealous of
his attentions to the fair sea nymph; and, more out of spite,
perhaps, than from any real wickedness, she began to encourage the
visits of a young man who had been formerly attached to her. Now,
strange as it may seem, it is no less true, that, great as were my
grandfather's powers in the art magic, he was yet unable thereby to
discover the fact, that his wife received the visits of this lover,
on certain occasions, when his trifling affairs required his absence
from home. Now, it happened one day that my grandfather returned so
suddenly, and so unexpectedly, that his wife was compelled to conceal
the youth hastily behind a bed. The lady was in a terrible taking,
you may believe; but she so far subdued her agitation as to receive
her husband with every possible appearance of kindness and affection.
"I dreamed a strange dream last night," said she, after fully
recovering her presence of mind, and smiling gaily. "I dreamed that I
put both my hands over your eyes, and yet you saw as well as if they
had not been there."
"Come try, then!" replied her husband sportively, taking what she
said as the mere prelude to some little innocent matrimonial frolic;
"come try then, my dear. I believe I can see as far into a millstone
as most people."
"No doubt you can," said his spouse, laughing outright, and approaching
him with a merry air, she clapped her hands so firmly over his eyes
that he was completely blindfolded, "now can you see?" exclaimed she.
"No!" replied the husband, "not one whit."
"Stay a little," cried his wife, laughing heartily again, "depend
upon it this miraculous light will come to you at last!"
"Aye, aye!" cried he, struggling till he escaped from her hands, and
then kissing her heartily, "I see now well enough." But, alas! my
grandfather's vision had come too late, for the lover had availed
himself of this brief opportunity, so cunningly afforded him, to make
his escape.
The mermaid, who was seated on the rafters above, laughed aloud with an
unearthly laughter, as she witnessed the trick that had been played to
my grandfather. To divert her husband's attention from a mirth that at
first appalled her, the lady, with great presence of mind, threw down
the girdle-stone, a flat stone, which in those primitive times was used
for firing the oaten cakes, instead of the iron plate of that name,
which now forms so important an article of furniture in the kitchen
of every Scottish cottage. The stone was broken to pieces, and the
lady's loud lamentation for this apparently accidental misfortune,
quickly diverted her husband's attention from the mysterious merriment
of the mermaid, and having thus effected her purpose, she threw the
fragments of the stone out on the dunghill.
The poor mermaid pined and sighed for her native element, until she
wrung the heart of her captor to pity.
"Take me but down to the sea," said she with her sweet voice, "take
me but down to the sea, and put me but into the waves--but three
yards from the shore--and it shall be better for thee than all the
good thou can'st gain by keeping me here."
Softened to compliance at last, my grandfather did take her down from
the rafters, and carrying her to the coast, he waded into the sea
with her, the three yards she had specified, and put her gently down
amid the waves, near the very stone where he had originally caught
her. The joy of this beautiful marine spirit in finding herself thus
again bathing in the invigorating waters of her own native ocean,
after having been so long hung up, as it were, on the rafters of a
Highland cottage, to be smoked like an Aberdeen haddock, or a kipper
salmon, may be easily imagined. But, although wicked people might
perhaps impute her parting speech more to that natural love of scandal
which is said to belong to her sex, than to any strong feeling for my
grandfather, yet we must say, that her words and her counsel shewed
that her gratitude was no less abundant than her joy. Turning to him
who had treated her so compassionately, she passed her taper fingers
gracefully through her long silken tresses, and thus addressed him
with her siren tongue:--
"Travel not so oft nor so far from home again! Ill luck attends
that home whence the master often wanders. Dost thou remember my
loud laugh on that day when thy wife broke the girdle stone? It
was because she made a fool of thee by blinding thine eyes that her
lover might escape unseen. Be wiser in future, and never leave home;
and when you go back now, look among the straw where the broken bits
of the girdle stone were thrown, and you will find that which will
be a treasure to you and to your children for ever."
With these words she dived among the breakers and was seen by him no
more. My grandfather returned home rather chopfallen; but on searching
where the mermaid had indicated to him, he found that very stone,
which has now, for three generations, been the agent in performing
so many wonders.
THE DOMINIE DEPARTS.
Soon after quitting the dwelling of the Warlock, we were doomed to lose
the company of one, with whom we were all much more unwilling to part.
Dominie Macpherson.--I can hardly bring myself to tell you, gentlemen,
that I must now--sore against my will--take my humble leave of you. My
road to my brother's house lies north over the hill there. But ere
I go, I am truly glad to have it in my power to put you under the
guidance of my good friend, Serjeant Archy Stewart. I sent him a
message last night to come and meet us here; and there is the very
man coming over the knoll, with his Sabbath-day's jacket and bonnet
on.--How is all with you, Serjeant? My certy, I need not ask, for
you look stout and hearty.
Serjeant Archy Stewart.--Thank ye, Mr. Macpherson, I cannot complain. I
am a little the worse for the wear--but my old legs, such as they be,
are fit enough for the hill yet. I am glad to see you well back in
the country again.
Dominie.--Thank ye, Serjeant. Now, my good man, these are the three
gentlemen you are to guide. Three better gentlemen you never fell
in with in all your travels. You must do all you can for them; and,
above all things, be sure to give them plenty of your cracks. They
like to hear all manner of auld-warld stories; so, as you must put on
a budget of their provisions on your back--which, by the bye, will
be like Æsop's burden, always growing less,--you may e'en lighten
yourself as you go of as many of the auncient legends which you carry
in your head as may help to ease your travel.
Serjeant.--Uh! I'll not be slack at that, Mr. Macpherson, I promise
ye, if it be the pleasure of the gentlemen.
I shall not attempt to describe the scene of our parting with the
worthy schoolmaster. It threw a gloom over us all. As for the good
man himself, his voice trembled--his lip quivered--and his eyes
filled with moisture, when he pronounced that most unpleasant of
all words--farewell--and gave us the last cordial shake of the hand,
pouring out his best wishes and blessings upon us. He then put his
stick firmly to the ground, as if to help his failing resolution,
and, as he took his way over the hill, he turned and waved--and turned
and waved, twenty times at least, e'er he disappeared from our sight.
Our attention was now directed towards Serjeant Archy Stewart,
who was cheerfully occupying himself in shouldering a portion of
our necessaries. He was a veteran of about sixty years of age, of
middle size, and of a hardy, wiry, though not very robust frame. His
fresh coloured countenance was lighted up by a pair of small, grey,
and very intelligent eyes; and its bold forehead, aquiline nose, high
cheek-bones, and prominent chin and lips, exhibited traits of a very
undaunted and indomitable resolution, which his whole appearance showed
had been well tried by hardships. All this, however, was tempered and
sweetened with so perfect an expression of courtesy and good humour,
pervading every line of his weather-beaten features, that he instantly
gained the golden opinions of our party. After adjusting the wallet
to his back, he pointed his hazel stick to the grass, and led the
way before us with an activity much beyond his years.
Clifford.--Capital fishing hereabouts, no doubt, Mr. Stewart?
Serjeant.--Just grand, sir--no better in this, or any other country
side.
Clifford.--You know the river well, I suppose?
Serjeant.--Few should know it better, sir--for I've known it ever
since I could look out over the nest.
Clifford.--You are a native of these mountains, then?--Come! we have
been told that you are full of their legendary lore, and we look to
have much of it out of you ere we part.
Serjeant.--I am sure your honor is welcome to as much as you can take
and I can give you.
Clifford.--Come away then--you shall begin, if you please, by giving
us your own history.
Serjeant.--Oh troth, sir, my history is little worth; but, such as
it is, you shall have it. I was born in this very glen here--for I am
come of the Clan-Allan Stewarts, who were the offspring of Sir Allan
Stewart, who was said to have been a natural son of the Yearl of Moray.
Author.--What Earl of Moray was that, Archy?
Serjeant.--Really and truly I cannot tell you, sir. But this I know
well enough, that them Clan-Allan Stewarts were a proud, powerful,
domineering race, and always reported to have been very troublesome
customers to those who happened to have any feud with them. I've heard
say, indeed, that while they boore sway here away, fint a man of any
other name dared to blow his nose throughout the whole of Strathdawn
without their leave being first asked and granted. Wild chields they
were, I'll warrant ye.
Author.--That may be, Serjeant; but I shrewdly suspect that you are
not altogether right in your genealogy. My belief is, that it does
in reality go somewhat farther back than you suppose.
Serjeant.--Do you think so, sir? Well it may be so.
Author.--I am inclined to think that you must be come of the old
Stewarts, Earls of Atholl.
Serjeant.--Aye, aye!--Yearls of Athol!--that would be strange. But
what makes you think that, sir?
Author.--Why, we know that it was through the marriage of Alexander,
third Earl of Huntly, with the Lady Johanna Stewart, daughter of one
of these Earls, in 1474, that Strathdawn first came into the family
of the Gordons, with whom it still remains. It is therefore clear that
Sir Allan, your ancestor, must have come here considerably before that
period; and if your forefathers, the Clan-Allan Stewarts, were such
hard-headed, knock-me-down, domineering fellows as you would seem to
say they were, it is by no means improbable that they may have managed,
by the use of their swords, to bear sway here for many a long day,
after the lands were chartered to the Gordons.
Serjeant.--I have little doubt that your honor is perfectly
right; and now I think on't, I remember an auncient legend of the
Stewarts of Clan-Allan, in which a speech of the old Lord of Cargarf
strongly supports the very view of the matter which you have so well
explained. I never could very well understand it before--but now, when
I put that and that together, I see the truth as clear as day light.
Clifford (taking out his tablets and writing.)--I shall put you down
for that same legend, Mister Serjeant; but in the meanwhile proceed
with your own history, if you please.
HISTORY OF SERJEANT ARCHY STEWART.
Well, Gentlemen--as I was telling you, I was born in Strathdawn
here--as pretty a glen as there is in all Scotland. Oh, what a bonny
glen it was in my young days! You see plain enough, without my telling
you, that there are no trees now in it to speak of--none, indeed,
but a parcel of straggling patches and bushes of aller and birch
and hazel about the bit water-runs and burnies, or hanging here and
there on the brae sides. But when I was a boy, the hills were all one
thick wood of tall trees, that gave shelter to great herds of deer in
the winter. Now, alas! the trees have fallen, and the deer, annoyed
and persecuted by sheep, shepherds, and sheep-dogs, have longsyne
retreated to the upper mountains and vallies of the Cairngorms, save
may be, at an anterin [1] time, when severe weather on the heights,
may drive an odd few of them down upon us for a short season.
Well, gentlemen--not to detain you with my school-boy days--(for I was
at school, gentlemen--and not so bad a scholar neither)--when I grew
up to be a stout lad, I left the glen, with six others of my own age,
to go and seek for work in the south country. I shall never forget
that day that we left it. We went off full of life and joy--for we
thought but little of leaving our friends or the scenes of our youth,
since we trusted that the same firm legs that were carrying us away
could at any time bring us back to them the moment we had the will
to return. We panted to see the world, and it was now opening before
us. All the fanciful dreams of our boyhood were, as we thought, now
about to be realized. Light, I trow, were our hearts, and full were we
of hopes, as we made our way across the Grampians, and in a few days
these hopes were realized, by our finding ourselves busily employed,
and working hard, though at good wages, in a quarry near Cupar in Fife.
There we continued for some time perfectly contented with our labour,
as well as with the price of it, till John Grant of Lurg, grandson of
the famous Robert of Lurg, well known by the nick-name of Old Stachcan,
or the stubborn----
Clifford (breaking in on the Serjeant's narrative.)--What! the fierce
looking fellow whose picture we saw at Castle Grant with a pistol in
his hand?