Some years ago, while upon a professional visit at the mansion of a
well-known Highland gentleman, I was invited one morning by my host to
inspect his famous kennel of staghounds. On that occasion, I remember
well, my interest was curiously divided between the princely animals
themselves and the magnificent specimen of humanity who acted as
their custodian. Standing at least six feet, his finely proportioned,
athletic figure was displayed to advantage by a well-made knickerbocker
deer-stalking suit. His face was fair, full-bearded, and strikingly
regular in its features. In the quick blue eyes gleamed the rapidly
succeeding emotions of an intelligent, proud, sensitive nature. I
observed that he usually addressed the chief by the name of the estate
(a practice by no means uncommon in some parts of Scotland), and that
the word ‘sir’ was somewhat infrequent in his speech. There was nothing
decidedly disrespectful or assumptive in his manner, yet it was quite
unlike that of modern inferiors towards superiors generally. I had been
so struck during our inspection of the kennels with his appearance and
bearing, that on our return to Inchgarry Hall, I put several questions
to my worthy host respecting him. The result of these was, that after
informing me that the young fellow’s name was Donald Stewart, and that
he was a native of Badenoch, he entered upon the following curious and
instructive narrative of his first settlement at Inchgarry, and of
the tragedy in which it eventuated; pointing out as he did so, with
great frankness, the evils a landlord may create among his people by
delegating too largely to an inferior the personal supervision of his
interests.
James Forbes, the son of one of the chief’s humblest dependants, had
been reared upon the estate. Industry, a certain versatility of talent,
and above all, an uncompromising yet judicious sycophancy, had together
stood him in such good stead that, beginning his career as stable-boy,
he had passed rapidly to assistant-gardener, head-gardener, and manager
of the home-farm; until, at the time the events we are about to record
took place, he was his master’s factotum, holding the position and
title of sub-factor to the property. Residing for three parts of the
year in London or abroad, Inchgarry necessarily gave him large powers
in matters affecting his tenantry and servants; so that—the factorship
proper being then in the hands of an estimable but old and infirm
lawyer, with whom the wily Forbes had ingratiated himself—the authority
of the latter was almost boundless. Like all sycophants, he was also
a tyrant. The tenantry, who held their farms on long leases, and were
practically part and parcel of the soil, escaped the oppression to
which, under other circumstances, they might have been subjected.
Nevertheless, Forbes contrived in many ways to harass and annoy all who
in any way offended him. As for the immediate servants of the Hall and
home-farm, the foresters and keepers, the labourers and handicraftsmen
on the estate, his was to them strictly a reign of terror. None but
those who chose to do so by abject flattery and toadyism dared hope to
escape molestation.
Among those trucklers to whom Forbes extended his patronage, was one
John Sutherland—or Ian Dhu, as he was invariably styled—the idlest
and most worthless character in the district. It would be difficult
to conceive what bond could exist between this semi-pariah, poacher,
and vagabond, and the chief’s confidential agent, did we not remember
that men of the sub-factor’s stamp invariably make a henchman of some
unscrupulous master of their own weapon—sycophancy. Ian Dhu had not
only the skill to step into the good-will of Forbes by his fawning,
but to establish himself therein by acting as spy and reporter upon
all that was said and done upon the estate. Following no recognised
employment, though ostensibly odd-man about his patron’s private
grounds, he perverted his leisure by haunting the garden, workshops,
bothies, the keepers’ houses, and the kitchen of the Hall itself,
picking up scraps of information for the jealous ear of the sub-factor.
He was, in fact, a necessity of the pernicious system of control which
reigned; and he was, at the time our story commences, in the full light
of favouritism.
Inchgarry, my host, was a just, large-hearted, and clear-headed man;
of rather an indolent disposition no doubt, but, when roused to
interest, both prompt and strong-willed, brooking neither argument nor
persuasion. His brief occasional visits to the Hall were always marked
by some change in, or reversal of, his agent’s arrangements, as well
as by some considerate extension of privileges to his ‘people.’ In
one instance his wrath had been awakened by the neglected condition
of his garden and kennels; the latter perhaps his dearest subject
of pride. He spoke sharply and conclusively about these matters to
Forbes, whose minions both the head-gardener and chief-keeper were.
Ten days thereafter he announced that he had engaged a man from the
Lothians to superintend his garden-grounds, and a gamekeeper from
Badenoch to supplant the inefficient favourite; adding, however, with
characteristic kindness, that the superseded men might remain, if they
chose, as second-hands until they could better themselves. Forbes
received the news of these innovations with outward deference and
submission, but inward chagrin and rage. It was the beginning of the
end, as it proved.
Archie Guthrie, the new gardener, arrived first on the scene to form a
nine days’ subject of comment to the simple population of Inchgarry;
and a few weeks later Donald Stewart took possession of the roomy and
comfortable keeper’s cottage so picturesquely situated by the loch
side. He was accompanied by his sister, a few years his junior, who
undertook to act as his housekeeper, and by a powerful-looking young
serving-lass. Effie was as unlike her brother as well could be. She
was _petite_, of slight frame, with small delicate features. Lithe,
active, elfish, her dark hair and pale face, together with the general
grace and rapidity of her movements, soon acquired for her the pretty
sobriquet of _sheach_ or fairy. Cheerful, even volatile, this singular
creature had yet a depth of tenderness and sympathy so easily stirred,
so sensitive and all-pervading, that nothing animate appeared to
escape its influence. In character, then, as well as in appearance,
she presented a marked contrast to her handsome, really good-hearted,
but choleric and somewhat imperious brother. Yet never perhaps, the
chief informed me, was brotherly and sisterly affection more complete
and perfect than between these two. In a short time they had finished
their new domestic arrangements, and passed through the usual ordeal of
rustic criticism. Effie glided at once into the respect and confidence
of every woman on the estate—a feat which the student of womankind will
consider an all but impossible one. Her kind-heartedness and tact,
doubtless, were the means towards such a result, aided as they were by
the incessant and impartial distribution of favours, which her deft
fingers and clever little head enabled her to do with an expenditure
of nothing more than her redundant good-will and energy. The other sex
became her slaves to a man. Every one within a radius of ten miles in
that sparsely peopled district came under the spell of the _sheach_,
and loved or admired her secretly or openly, platonically or otherwise,
according to temperament or position. Inchgarry gave some most amusing
instances of her sway: of stalwart Highlanders seized by the ear and
marched off to perform some menial duty, or commanded to execute some
commission for herself or neighbours. It was said that even Forbes
himself, surly as he was, and imbittered from the first against her
brother, could never disguise the pleasure which Effie’s presence gave
him: probably the most harmless and respectable sentiment he ever
entertained. He refused nothing _she_ asked for herself or others, and
did not hesitate to proclaim his high opinion of her disposition and
character. I record this with pleasure as the one bright spot redeeming
a dark and contemptible nature.
Forbes and Stewart instinctively regarded each other as enemies from
the first. Frank and open to a fault, the new keeper chafed under the
reticence and duplicity of the sub-factor; and to every unreasonable
command he returned a hot and indignant refusal; to every malicious
word an angry, contemptuous retort. Thoroughly acquainted with his
own duties, he would brook no interference; and to Forbes’s utter
confusion, on one occasion, when that worthy had attempted to meddle
in some matter affecting the dogs, he boldly threatened, in presence
of several underlings, to report him to Inchgarry for obstructing his
work. Before two months had passed, it was war to the knife between
them. As was natural, the majority of the natives secretly rejoiced
to find that the young stranger meant to beard the tyrant; while the
great man’s favourites and the constitutionally envious nursed a bitter
enmity against him as an interloper. The despotism was now broken up
into two struggling factions; and the contest was a protracted and
unhappy one.
But more fierce and implacable even than Forbes’s hatred of the keeper
was that conceived by his henchman, Ian Dhu. To the keenness of
partisanship he added a violent personal animosity, which only ended
with the tragic event hereafter detailed. Ian had long been suspected
of deer-poaching; but hitherto the friendship of the sub-factor had
screened him from conviction if not from detection. At last Stewart
caught him red-handed in the act of ‘gralloching’ a stag in one of
the favourite ‘passes’ of the forest. He reported the fact at once to
Inchgarry, who, if not exactly claiming his ancestral power of ‘pit
and gallows,’ reserved to himself the right of deciding whether or not
any of his ‘people’ should be handed over to the civil authorities.
His decision was a most merciful one—merely requiring Sutherland to
surrender his gun to the keeper. The sentence nevertheless rankled with
deadly purpose in his heart; and but for one singular circumstance,
would doubtless have earlier taken the form of the terrible revenge he
ultimately sought.
That circumstance was his love for Effie Stewart. He too had been
smitten by the _sheach’s_ bewitching face and smile—smitten as only
such dark, troublous natures can be smitten. His love was to him a
terrible torture. The better thoughts which this new and powerful
passion awakened, only goaded and stabbed, being too intermittent to
subdue the darker passions which they illumined. From the moment he
first saw Effie, a marked change came over him, or, more properly
speaking, his idiosyncrasies became intensified. Always taciturn,
he was now morose and brooding; his surliness became vehement
irascibility, and his roving stealthy movements were now erratic and
purposeless. He would hang for hours around the kennels, pass and
repass the keeper’s cottage a dozen times a day, inventing trifling
excuses for calling there, that he might look upon the girl whose
unconscious influence had so strongly affected him. In her presence
his misery was complete. He would crouch on a settle by the fireside,
silent and burning with the unquenchable fire within him, his furtive
impassioned glances following her every movement, as Effie flitted
about the house. Whenever the little woman paused from her work, and
with piquant, gracious vivacity addressed some pleasant remark to
him, the heavy brows would unbend, and the dark eyes lift themselves
to her face with a transient gleam of supreme pleasure, only to be
averted again in increased gloom and depression. On those occasions
when the young neighbours extemporised a merry-making at one or other
of their houses, or, as was oftener the case, in the roomy cottage of
the keeper, Ian Dhu’s torture was beyond description. There he was
compelled to witness the object of his infatuation surrounded by a
number of youths, many of whom he instinctively knew were fascinated
by her. He listened entranced when she sung—but, then, other ears also
drank in the sweet sounds; he watched the slight elfish figure move in
the merry dance, but was she not observed with admiration by every one?
First one and then another of the strapping young Highlanders became
her partner, would hold her hands, clasp her waist, and whirl with her
in the freedom of the old-fashioned reels; every incident adding a
fresh torment to the jealous heart of Ian Dhu.
Time went on, and Ian Dhu was thus fain to curb the rebellious desire
for revenge upon Donald Stewart. The gratification of looking upon
Effie was only possible under conditions which his revenge would
entirely destroy. Like a hungry spaniel, he crouched and fawned when
he would otherwise have snapped. He submitted to obey many overbearing
behests of the haughty young keeper, to assist him about the croft or
go on messages; and acted generally so as to gain Stewart’s tolerance,
if not his confidence. These tactics were not unobserved by Forbes,
who, however, satisfied of the genuineness of the hatred with which his
henchman viewed Donald, for a time attributed them to crafty zeal in
his own service.
As for the sub-factor himself, time only increased his detestation of
the keeper. Inchgarry was in London attending to his parliamentary
duties; and Forbes did not neglect the opportunity of wreaking his
malice in every possible way upon his proud-spirited subordinate. In
his letters to the chief, the sub-factor conveyed many hints derogatory
to Stewart, and succeeded to some extent in his unworthy purpose.
The young man, who was not only conscious of his abilities, but
enthusiastic in his desire to acquit himself creditably in all that
concerned his craft, one morning received a cold sharp letter from
Inchgarry, recounting a charge of permitting poaching in the forest,
and commenting severely upon his negligence. The chief circumstantially
stated that the interior portions of a deer had been found in a
‘pass’ through a certain hill, where it had been ‘gralloched.’ The
astonishment of Stewart was for the moment fully equal to his chagrin.
He had had that very pass carefully watched by the under-keepers, and
especially by his favourite and friend, a young sandy-haired blue-eyed
lad from Lochaber, whose surname of Grant had been familiarised, in
Highland fashion, into ‘Grantoch’ on account of his popularity. After
the first burst of angry surprise, Stewart sought Grantoch, who in
his laconic way repudiated the possibility of the thing, and after a
deliberate study of the subject, as he leant upon his gun, quietly
delivered himself of his opinion. About ten days previous, he said,
while cutting open a hind, which in accordance with orders he had shot
for the dogs, Ian Dhu had been present. Chancing to return to the same
place about half an hour later in search of the knife which he had
dropped, he was not a little surprised to find the refuse portions
removed; and was completely puzzled when he observed, by the traces of
blood amongst the heather, that they had evidently been carried up the
forest. He was certain now that Sutherland had, with the connivance
of Forbes, taken this method of throwing suspicion of negligence upon
Stewart. The head-keeper’s quick intelligence grasped the whole affair
before Grantoch had finished. He directed his assistant to state the
facts as they were, in a letter to the chief; and wrote himself a
respectful but firm repudiation of the charge. The effect was this:
Forbes received a freezing order from Inchgarry to turn Ian Dhu out of
his service. Nothing further was said; no reflection made as to his
possible complicity in a design to injure the keeper’s character.
But the incident had rendered the sub-factor’s desire for revenge
incontrollable. He goaded on his discharged henchman to be the
instrument of wreaking their common hatred on the keeper. To his
surprise, Ian Dhu was sullenly intractable. Forbes was at first
furious, but incidentally learning the obstacle which existed in
Sutherland’s passion for Effie Stewart, he resolved to use this as
the very means of bringing him round to his purpose. He had heard,
amongst other gossip, that Archie Guthrie’s attentions to the girl
were received with favour. Ian was now completely under his control,
and accident unfortunately favoured the factor in working upon his
jealousy. Returning home from a visit to the post-town one evening in
his dog-cart, Forbes observed, on a part of the road near Stewart’s
cottage, the lovers standing together arm-in-arm, in the moonlight,
evidently transacting a lengthened and agreeable parting for the night.
Ian, whom he still sheltered, was waiting his arrival and assisted
him to alight. With a malignance worthy of the worst part of his evil
nature, he immediately despatched the unsuspecting Sutherland upon a
message which should take him past the spot where Archie and Effie
were standing. The effect was terrible. Ian Dhu on reaching the place
discovered the pair in the act of embracing; staggering for a moment
as if shot, he fled from the spot and disappeared, to return, after
several weeks, to consummate the tragedy which forms the sequel of the
tale.