There is a narrow pass between the mountains in the neighbourhood of
Bendearg, in the Highlands of Scotland, which, at a little distance, has
the appearance of an immense artificial bridge thrown over a tremendous
chasm: but on nearer approach it is seen to be a wall of nature’s own
masonry, formed of vast and rugged bodies of solid rock, piled on each
other as if in giant sport of architecture. Its sides are in some places
covered with trees of a considerable size; and the passenger who has a
head steady enough to look down, may see the eyrie of birds of prey
beneath his feet. The path across is so narrow, that it cannot admit of
persons passing, and indeed none but natives attempt the dangerous
route, though it saves a circuit of three miles; yet it sometimes
happens that two travellers meet, owing to the curve formed by the pass
preventing a view over it from either side, and, in that case, one
person lies down while the other creeps over his body. One day, a
highlander walking along the pass, when he had gained the highest part
of the arch, observed another coming leisurely up, and being himself one
of the patrician order, called to him to lie down; the person addressed
disregarded the command, and the highlanders met on the summit. They
were Cairn and Bendearg, of two families in enmity to each other. “I was
first at the top,” said Bendearg, “and called out first; lie down, that
I may pass over in peace.” “When the Grant prostrates himself before the
M‘Pherson,” answered the other, “it must be with a sword through his
body.” “Turn back then,” said Bendearg, “and repass as you came.” “Go
back yourself, if you like it,” replied Grant; “I will not be the first
of my name to turn before the M‘Phersons.” They then threw their bonnets
over the precipice, and advanced with a slow and cautious pace closer to
each other--both were unarmed. Preparing for a desperate struggle, they
planted their feet firmly on the ground, compressed their lips, knit
their brows, and fixing fierce and watchful eyes on each other, stood
prepared for an onset. They both grappled at the same moment; but, being
of equal strength, were unable to shift each other’s position, and stood
fixed on the rock with suppressed breath, and muscles strained to the
“top of their bent,” like statues carved out of the solid stone. At
length M‘Pherson, suddenly removing his right foot so as to give him
greater purchase, stooped his body, and bent his enemy down with him by
main strength, till they both leaned over the precipice, looking into
the terrible abyss. The contest was doubtful, for Grant had placed his
foot firmly on an elevation at the brink, and had equal command of his
enemy, but at this moment M‘Pherson sunk slowly and firmly on his knee,
and, while Grant suddenly started back, stooping to take the supposed
advantage, whirled him over his head into the gulf. M‘Pherson himself
fell backwards, his body partly hanging over the rock, a fragment gave
way beneath him, and he sunk further, till, catching with a desperate
effort at the solid stone above, he regained his footing. There was a
pause of death-like stillness, and the bold heart of M‘Pherson felt sick
and faint. At length, as if compelled by some mysterious feeling, he
looked down over the precipice. Grant had caught with a death-like gripe
by the rugged point of a rock--his enemy was almost within his reach.
His face was turned upward, and there was in it horror and despair--but
he uttered no word or cry. The next moment he loosed his hold, his
brains were dashed out before the eyes of his hereditary foe: the
mangled body disappeared among the trees, and his last heavy and hollow
sound arose from the bottom. M‘Pherson returned home an altered man. He
purchased a commission in the army, and fell fighting in the wars of the
Peninsula. The Gaelic name of the place where this tragedy was acted
signifies “Hell Bridge.”
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~Clubs~