A LEGEND OF MONTROSE
Dalgetty--Dugald Dalgetty; Ritt-master Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket;
learned graduate of the Mareschal College, Aberdeen; stalwart soldier;
cavalier of fortune; lieutenant under that invincible monarch, the
bulwark of the Protestant faith, the Lion of the North, the terror of
Austria, Gustavus Adolphus; Captain Dalgetty; and finally Sir Dugald
Dalgetty--stalks with egregious effrontery through the pages of this
novel, from start to finish, dragging his good horse Gustavus along
with him. He is a bore,--undeniably so. Yet we can laugh at his
eccentricities in spite of their tediousness, especially when reading
the novel a second time after the desire to know the outcome of the
story has been satisfied. As an original character he stands by the
side of Bailie Nicol Jarvie, although he does not arouse the same
subtle feeling of delightful satisfaction. The Bailie is always
welcome, but Dalgetty is everlastingly in the way. And yet we could
not possibly get along without him. We can forgive his pedantry and
overlook his interminable lectures on military strategy in view of the
loyalty and courage with which he faces Argyle in the dungeon, compels
that nobleman to furnish a means of escape and rescues Ranald of the
Mist. Nor can we help admiring the very effrontery of the man, when he
uses it to such excellent advantage in cajoling the Presbyterian
chaplain, thereby causing {225} that worthy man to furnish the one
thing needed to facilitate his safe retreat. The story might well have
been called, as it is in the Italian and Portuguese versions, 'A
Soldier of Fortune,' for Dalgetty, rather than Montrose, is the real
hero. In this connection it is curious to note that, in so far as its
chief incidents concern Montrose, the tale is not a legend, but
history. The two important words of the title are both, therefore,
slightly misleading.
The journey into the Highlands of the Marquis of Montrose, in disguise
and attended by only two gentlemen, is a matter of history. It was in
1644, during the Civil War, when the forces of Charles I were being
menaced by an army of twenty thousand men under the Scotch Covenanter,
General Leslie. Montrose urged Charles to make a counter-demonstration
in the North and to draw Leslie back to the defence of Scotland by
uniting the Highlanders with a strong force of ten thousand Irish
Catholics. At length, armed with extraordinary powers, as the
representative of the King, he was permitted to set out with a small
army of about one thousand men. These became dissatisfied, however,
and most of them deserted. In despair Montrose now resolved upon the
bold stroke which proved to be the beginning of his brilliant military
record. Disguised as a groom and attended only by Sir William Rollo
and Colonel Sibbald, he made his way to the Perthshire Highlands, where
he was joined by Lord Kilpont, son of the Earl of Airth and Menteith,
with about five hundred men. The Irish troops, after being in danger
of complete extermination by the Marquis of Argyle, finally arrived,
but mustered only twelve hundred men instead of ten thousand. They
were ordered to march {226} to Blair Atholl, where Montrose met the
Highland chiefs and sent out the call to arms. The 'fiery cross,' no
doubt very much as described in 'The Lady of the Lake,' went out from
house to house and from clan to clan, and Montrose soon had an army of
three thousand men. He marched toward Perth, and at Tippermuir, four
miles west of that city, defeated the Covenanters on the 1st day of
September, 1644. Marching rapidly towards Aberdeen, he won another
victory at the Bridge of Dee on the 12th of the same month.
With the swift movements which characterized his generalship, Montrose
won many a battle. Meanwhile the Marquis of Argyle, whom most of the
clans hated for his unscrupulous aggressions, was gathering a strong
force on the shores of Loch Linnhe. In midwinter, with snow upon the
ground, Montrose crossed the mountains with his army, a feat hitherto
regarded as impossible, but quite within the compass of that leader's
remarkable genius. He met Argyle at Inverlochy and defeated him with a
loss of fifteen hundred men, his own losses being only one officer and
three privates. Argyle's forces scattered in every direction and were
pursued for many miles. The Marquis himself, regarding discretion as
the better part of valour, turned over the command of his forces to his
cousin and watched the battle from his ship--an act that was severely
condemned as cowardice, even by his own friends. In extenuation it can
only be said that Argyle, while an able politician and statesman, was
never a soldier.
While Scott based his story upon these historical events, he departed
from the facts in some of the less important details, to serve the
purposes of his romance. {227} The most conspicuous of these
variations is in the part played by Lord Kilpont, as the Earl of
Menteith. According to the novel, the Earl is a young man who falls in
love with Annot Lyle, a pretty little maiden living in the household of
the McAulays and supposed to be a rescued waif of the hated and greatly
feared tribe, known as the 'Children of the Mist.' Annot is also
beloved by the half-crazy Highlander, Allan McAulay. Lord Menteith, so
long as the girl's antecedents are supposed to be so lowly, can
entertain no thought of marriage and so informs Allan. When it is
discovered, however, that she is really the daughter of Sir Duncan
Campbell, and the heiress of Ardenvohr, a family as honourable as his
own, Menteith no longer hesitates, and as Annot has long reciprocated
his affection, the marriage is easily arranged. Allan does not consent
so readily, but hastily encounters the Earl and fiercely challenges
him. Convinced that the man is insane, the Earl hesitates a moment,
when Allan suddenly draws his dirk and with terrific force plunges it
into the Earl's bosom. A steel corslet saves the latter's life, though
a severe wound is inflicted, and in a few weeks he is well enough to be
married and the ceremony takes place in Sir Duncan's castle. Allan
meanwhile appears suddenly before the Marquis of Argyle at Inverary,
throws a bloody dirk upon the table, makes a brief explanation, and
disappears forever. The novel closes in the conventional way. The
Earl of Menteith, adding his bride's large estate to his own, 'lived
long, happy alike in public regard and in domestic affection, and died
at a good old age.'
The Earl, Lord Kilpont, was not so fortunate. He was {228} suddenly
stabbed by James Stewart of Ardvoirlich, a supposed friend with whom he
was on terms of the closest intimacy. This event, which was
immediately fatal, took place a few days after the battle of Tippermuir
and not after Inverlochy. There was no question of jealous rivalry in
love. Kilpont had been married about twelve years and left a family of
several children. The most probable explanation is that Stewart, who
had a streak of insanity owing to the frightful circumstances of his
birth,[1] quarrelled with his friend at a time when he was heated with
drink and killed him under some sudden mad impulse. He immediately
deserted Montrose and was subsequently made a major in one of the
regiments of Argyle, a fact which gave colour to the suspicion that he
had sought Lord Kilpont's assistance in a conspiracy to assassinate
Montrose, for which Argyle would have paid a rich reward, but upon
meeting with an indignant refusal, struck his friend with a dirk as the
readiest means of avoiding the betrayal of his plans.
Stewart, like McAulay, is described as 'uncommonly tall, strong, and
active, with such power in the grasp of his hand as could force the
blood from beneath the nails of the persons who contended with him in
this feat of strength. His temper was moody, fierce, and irascible.'
There was good reason for this savage disposition and for his
implacable hostility toward the 'Children of the Mist,' his father and
mother having been the victims of one of the most fiendish outrages
which ever disgraced the history of the Highlanders.
The scenery of 'A Legend of Montrose' brings us back {229} to the
people and the country which Scott described with so much enthusiasm in
'The Lady of the Lake' and again in 'Waverley' and 'Rob Roy.' To catch
something of the spirit of it we drove westward from Callander and
paused for a short time at the beautiful Falls of Leny, where the river
of that name forms the outlet of Loch Lubnaig and the head waters of
the river Teith. Here we may suppose Lord Menteith and 'Anderson,' the
disguised earl, to be passing on their way to the north when they fell
in with the garrulous Captain Dalgetty. Darnlinvarich, where the clans
gathered, is wholly fictitious, the real meeting having taken place
near Blair Atholl. One of the incidents which happened there is,
however, based upon fact.
An Englishman, Sir Miles Musgrave, it will be remembered, had made a
wager with Angus McAulay which threatened to embarrass that gentleman.
When on a visit to the house of the former, Angus had seen six solid
silver candlesticks put on the table. The Englishman rallied Angus a
little, knowing that the sight was a novelty to the Scotchman, and the
latter promptly swore that he had more and better candlesticks in his
own castle. A wager was immediately offered and accepted that the
Scotch laird could not produce them, the amount being so large that its
payment would have embarrassed either party, but more particularly the
Scotchman. The Englishman appeared with a friend at Darnlinvarich,
just at the time of the arrival of the Earl of Menteith and his party,
and there was great anxiety over the apparently certain loss of the
wager. But Allan, the brother of Angus, was equal to the emergency.
Dinner was announced and the company marched in. A large {230} oaken
table, spread with substantial joints of meat, was set for eight
guests, and behind each chair stood a gigantic Highlander, in full
native costume, holding in his right hand a drawn broadsword, the point
turned downward, and in his left a blazing pine torch. Then Allan
stepped forth, and pointing to the torch-bearers, said in a deep and
stern voice: 'Behold, gentlemen cavaliers, the chandeliers of my
brother's house, the ancient fashion of our ancient name; not one of
these men knows any law but their Chief's command. Would you dare to
compare to _them_ in value the richest ore that ever was dug out of the
mine? How say you, cavaliers?--is your wager won or lost?' 'Lost,
lost,' said Musgrave, gaily; 'my own silver candlesticks are all melted
and riding on horseback by this time, and I wish the fellows that
enlisted were half as trusty as these.'
The meeting of the clans was interrupted by an unwelcome guest, Sir
Duncan Campbell, who came with a message from Argyle. Captain Dalgetty
was appointed to return with him, under a flag of truce, and together
they journeyed to the Castle of Ardenvohr, the residence of Sir Duncan.
[Illustration: LOCH LUBNAIG]
The ancient Celtic fortress here described is the ruined castle of
Dunstaffnage, reached by a short drive north from Oban. Its origin is
unknown. According to one tradition, it was founded by a Pictish
monarch, contemporary with Julius Cæsar. In its present shape the
building probably dates from about 1250. It fell into the hands of
Robert Bruce in 1308. The castle is a heavy structure of stone,
standing on a solid rock, and protected by the waters of Loch Linnhe on
three sides. It was originally accessible only by a drawbridge. It is
{231} about one hundred and forty feet long and one hundred feet wide.
The walls are ten feet thick and sixty feet high.
This ancient castle is the place where the Scottish princes were once
crowned. They sat on the same stone that was used at the recent
coronation of King George V, and of a long line of his
predecessors,--the famous Stone of Scone. This ancient relic was
carried from Ireland to the Island of Iona, and thence to Dunstaffnage,
where it remained many years. Kenneth MacAlpine, in the ninth century,
removed it to the palace of Scone, near Perth, where it remained five
centuries. It was finally seized by Edward I and carried to London,
where it has remained for the last six centuries.
A knoll on the south of the castle curiously suggests the Drumsnab of
the novel, which Dalgetty insisted should be fortified according to his
own military ideas. The castle of Inverary, on the shore of Loch Fyne,
has been replaced by a magnificent modern mansion, the seat of the
present Duke of Argyle. The secret passage to the dungeon, under the
old castle, through which the novelist supposes the Marquis to have
visited his prisoners, was suggested by a similar arrangement in the
castle of Naworth, to which I have previously referred.[2] A private
stairway leads from the apartment of Lord William Howard to the
dungeon, by which the experiment of Argyle might have been and
doubtless was practised.
A sail of less than four hours, from Oban, north through the
picturesque channels of Loch Linnhe, brought us to Fort William. From
this point we walked about two miles to the battle-field of Inverlochy
and the {232} ruins of the old castle of that name, which we found to
be in a sadly neglected state, far different from its neighbour,
Dunstaffnage. The four walls of the enclosure may still be seen, but
everything is in a ruinous condition. An antiquated horse with large
protruding hip-bones was grazing in what was once the moat, and before
taking a picture I was about to ask a boy to chase him away. But on
second thought I let him stay, because he harmonized so perfectly with
the surroundings.
The courtyard is about one hundred feet square. The walls are nine
feet thick and of varying height. Like Dunstaffnage the castle is so
old that its early history is shrouded in mystery. Tradition ascribes
its origin to the Comyns, near the end of the thirteenth century. The
view in every direction is charming. Across the river Lochy, a small
stream which joins the Caledonian Canal to the waters of Loch Linnhe,
may be seen the town of Banavie, and in the distance the highlands of
Inverness-shire. In the opposite direction we could barely see the
peaks of Ben Nevis, peeping through the mists that hung over the
mountains. To the north are the heights of Lochaber over which the
Marquis of Montrose made his famous march of thirty miles by an
unfrequented route, during a heavy fall of snow, and suddenly
confronted his enemy in the night, when they supposed him to be far
away in another part of the country.
I think this novel must have been inspired by Scott's admiration of the
'Great Marquis,' whose brief but brilliant campaign in the Highlands
appealed to his imagination just as the longer career of Rob Roy had
done. It took him back among the picturesque people whom he loved to
describe, and amidst scenery where {233} he had roamed with
never-failing delight. The one possession in the remarkable
antiquarian collection at Abbotsford which Scott cherished more than
any other--more even than Rob Roy's gun--was the sword of Montrose,
presented to the Marquis by Charles I and formerly the property of the
monarch's father, King James. Sir Walter thought a dialogue between
this sword and Rob Roy's gun might be composed with good effect. It
seems a pity he did not undertake it. The sword bears on both sides
the royal arms of Great Britain. The blade is handsomely ornamented,
the hilt is finished in open scrollwork of silver gilt, and the grip is
bound with chains of silver, alternating with bands of gold.
Scott did not follow the fortunes of his hero beyond the battle of
Inverlochy, where he left him in triumph. Montrose continued his
success until, on the 15th of August, 1645, he reached his climax in
the decisive victory of Kilsyth. He was now the master of Scotland,
but, unfortunately, fate deprived him of the fruits of his genius.
Summoned to England to meet the exigencies which threatened the King,
and unable to hold his Highlanders for an invasion of the South, he was
attacked at Philiphaugh by Leslie, who easily overcame the small
opposing force. Montrose escaped to the Highlands, but was never again
able to organize an army. After spending the next few years abroad, he
returned to Scotland in 1650, where, after failing again to summon the
clans, he was betrayed and carried a prisoner to the Tolbooth in
Edinburgh. On the 21st of May, when only thirty-eight years old, he
was hanged in the Grassmarket and bravely met his death.
[1] The story is related at length in the Introduction to _A Legend of
Montrose_.
[2] Pages 20 and 43.
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