neighbouring inhabitants during the raids of lawless Highland
chieftains, does not appear conspicuously in history until the time of
the Civil Wars. The rapid changes in political faith which then took
place amongst the nobility rendered their Castles the frequent scenes
of retribution for crimes committed within their walls. And thus the
dungeons of Dunnottar Castle were tenanted alternately by Covenanters
and Episcopalians as either of these parties gained the ascendancy.
The traditional policy of the Keith family was distinctly Tory in its
tendency, and even when the existing holder of the title in 1645
had declared for the Covenant, it was but a half-hearted support
which he gave to the Lords of the Congregation. When, therefore, the
Marquess of Montrose, who had been won over to the King, was on his
way from the North and called upon Dunnottar to surrender in the
name of King Charles, it was with much difficulty that the possessor
of that fortress was prevented from declaring himself the vassal of
His Majesty. The persuasive eloquence of the Presbyterian clergymen,
his companions in the Castle, at length overcame his scruples, and
he fortified the place against the great Marquess, and put him to
defiance. Finding that he had no time to spend upon a formal siege of
Dunnottar, and doubting its importance in the guerilla warfare which he
then pursued, Montrose avenged himself by devastating the surrounding
country, and supplied the necessities of his army from the produce of
the inhabitants.
But “the whirligig of Time brings in his revenges,” and so it happened
shortly after that the Castle changed hands and found a new master, who
was as vigorous a persecutor as its former one had been a saint. Even
yet among the ruins is shown the “Whig’s Vault,” in which, according to
tradition, a number of the hill-folk were confined, and subjected to
extreme trials of fortitude and endurance. Torture was freely resorted
to, and boots, thumbkins, and racks were called into requisition to
provoke an abjuration of Presbyterianism. The rings are yet shown
to which prisoners were chained, and the “Martyrs’ Monument,” in the
ancient churchyard, serves to localise the tradition.
The historical incident, however, which is most distinctly associated
with the name of Dunnottar is the preservation of the regalia during
the invasion of Cromwell. When the Lord Protector had “crossed the
Rubicon” and openly broken with the Presbyterian party in the north,
he found that it was necessary for the establishment of his prestige
to strike a vigorous and decisive blow at the strength of the Scottish
Independents. The English leader was essentially a man of war, so
he buckled on his armour, and ere the Lords of the Congregation had
finished their stormy deliberations he had entered the country with
fire and sword. Here he found himself opposed by both the Tory and Whig
parties; yet, as these two would not coalesce against the common foe,
the strength of the country was divided, and he marched triumphantly
through Scotland, as he did through Ireland, making his name a terror
to the people. To General Monck he entrusted the reduction of the
Castles of Scotland which still held out against the Parliament, and
this victorious leader subdued them, one after the other, meeting
with little resistance from the people. Dunnottar was the last of the
Castles to be attacked, in 1652, and to its siege a particular interest
was attached.
Since the Union of the Crowns in the person of James VI., half a
century before this time, the Scottish nation had watched over the
regalia of the kingdom with peculiar jealousy. They had not succeeded
in retaining the ancient “Stone of Destiny” at Scone Palace, upon
which the Kings of Scots from time immemorial had been crowned, and
the superstition of the age led them to imagine that the luck of the
kingdom would depart if the Crown Jewels and Insignia were removed.
After the disastrous battle of Dunbar the Scottish leaders cast about
for a suitable place of safety for these precious relics, and the
Castle of Dunnottar was selected as the strongest fortress in their
possession. The emblems were conveyed thither in secrecy and dispatch,
and handed over to Lord Keith.
The place of their seclusion, however, was soon discovered, and, as the
cupidity of the English had been excited by extravagant accounts of the
value of the jewels, these became a special object of interest to them.
They laid close siege to the Castle, and prepared for a long campaign.
Sir George Ogilvy of Barras, then Governor, at once put Dunnottar in
a state of defence, and endeavoured to establish communications with
the land by the seaward side of the Castle. In this attempt he was
foiled, and the English Army, trusting to conquer by protracting their
blockade, resolutely encamped before the fortress. Even so extensive
a storehouse as Dunnottar must ultimately fail if sufficient time be
spent upon it, and when the stores at length gave token of reaching
a speedy termination, it became necessary to provide for the safe
keeping of the national honours. A very bold and daring scheme was
conceived and executed by the Governor, with the assistance of the
Rev. Mr. Grainger, minister of Kinneff, and his wife, then confined
to the Castle. For the purpose of putting the besiegers off their
guard, a report was circulated that the regalia had been sent to the
Continent in the charge of Sir John Keith, a brother of the Earl’s. So
industriously was this report spread that the vigour of the siege was
relaxed, and a fuller communication with the land permitted.
[Illustration: DUNNOTTAR CASTLE _Valentine & Sons, Ltd._]
In these circumstances the courageous Mrs. Grainger applied to General
Monck for permission to remove some bundles of lint from the Castle, to
which she made claim, and, as he was more noted for gallantry than any
other of the Parliamentary generals, her request was readily granted.
With the sword and the sceptre enclosed in the bundles which her
servant carried, and with the crown secreted about her own person, she
boldly made her way through the English camp, receiving, it is said,
special attention from the general himself, and, taking the road to
Kinneff Church, where her husband awaited her, she finally deposited
her charge there. Mr. Grainger removed some of the flagstones in the
floor of the church, and, wrapping the precious articles in fine linen,
he deposited them there, where they lay unmolested until after the
Restoration of Charles II.
Meanwhile the Castle of Dunnottar, after a brave defence, was
compelled to surrender, and great was the disappointment of the English
when they found themselves checkmated. The unfortunate Governor was
subjected to close examination, and even, it is alleged, to the
torture, but he held his secret unflinchingly. The minister and his
wife were likewise ill-treated, but they steadfastly refused to betray
the hiding-place wherein they had disposed the valuable honours. And
thus the siege of Dunnottar, from which the Parliamentarian Army had
expected to reap such glorious spoils, became nothing but a barren
victory, and the sagacious leaders had to confess themselves outwitted
by a woman.
The end of the history of Dunnottar Castle came in the year 1715, a
date ever memorable in Scottish annals. The tenth Earl Marischal, who
then held sway there, was sufficiently ill-advised to join the rash
noblemen who took the field at that time in support of the Chevalier
de St George (James VIII). Ever noted for their devotion to the House
of Stuart, the Keiths were easily led into the Jacobite Rising, and
George, Earl Marischal, remained faithful to his troth until the
end. After the collapse of that unfortunate expedition the Earl was
attainted of treason, tried, and condemned, and as he was then upon the
Continent, and could not conveniently suffer beheading, it was decided
that Dunnottar Castle should be dismantled. And thus this ancient
fortress, which had for more than four hundred years maintained a bold
front against invasion and rebellion, was taken when defenceless by
the soldiers of the new dynasty, the fortifications razed to the dust,
and its halls left roofless and uninhabitable. The ruthless spirit of
oppression, stimulated by fear, which characterized the government of
that time, could not suffer so venerable a stronghold of the Stuart
family to remain unmolested. And it was the consideration of such
revengeful demolitions of ancient landmarks which prompted the old
Jacobite ballad which runs thus:--
“Our ancient Crown’s fa’en in the dust;
De’il blin’ them in the stour o’t,
An’ write their names in his black book,
Wha ga’e the Whigs the pow’r o’t.
Our sad decay in Kirk and State
Surpasses my descrivin’;
The Whigs cam’ ower us for a curse,
An’ we ha’e dune wi’ thrivin’.”
VI
CASTLE CAMPBELL
The Ochil Hills bear much the same relation to the East Coast of
Scotland as the Kilpatrick Hills do to the West. Though not in
themselves privileged to give rise to an extensive stream, they are
both inseparably associated with the noble rivers, the Forth and the
Clyde, which sweep majestically past their several bases on their way
to the eastern and western seas. But in point of grandeur the Ochils
transcend the western range, even as they are themselves dwarfed into
insignificance by the loftier hills of the north.
Opposed by the Pentland Hills, which limit the southern basin of the
Forth, the Ochils form a lofty barrier between the valleys of the
Forth and the Tay, and send tributary streams to swell the volume of
both of these rivers. Three minor ranges of the Sidlaws, the Ochils,
and the Pentland Hills thus enclose between them the two noblest
rivers on the East Coast of Scotland, and direct their course to the
North Sea. The Ochils, unlike the more northern mountains, are clad
with verdure almost to their summits, and though bold in outline and
varied in colour, they have not the sterile majesty of the peaks of
Aberdeenshire. At their base lie many little hamlets and towns,
whose subsistence is drawn rather from their manufactures than
from agriculture. Tillicoultry and Alva are alike famous for their
productions in the woollen trade, and the extensive factories which
here exist show that the introduction of steam as a motive power has
rather increased than diminished the number of weavers.
Pre-eminent among the Ochil towns stands Dollar, picturesquely situated
upon one of the innumerable “crooks of Devon,” which claims remembrance
from many causes. The educationalist will think of it as the site of
the famous Academy, to which many Scottish men of letters owe their
mental birth; the poet will remember it as the residence of Tennant,
the inimitable author of “Anster Fair,” and the immortalizer of “Maggie
Lauder”; and the Waltonian will never forget that in its neighbourhood
he has bagged the finest trout which the streams of Scotland afford.
For down by the very doors of the inhabitants of Dollar flows the
lovely river Devon, whose name is not unknown among the lyrics of
Scotland, since of it does our National Bard sing in his well-known
lay:--
“How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
With green spreading bushes and flowers blooming fair.”
It is not easy to find a more purely Scottish stream than this same
Devon river, which calls forth the enthusiasm of the tourist. Taking
its rise in the eastern end of the Ochil range, it wanders by the
natural dip of the land towards Lochleven; but a peculiar geological
formation interposes a barrier and diverts the stream westward, so
that, instead of having a short-lived existence ere it lost itself in
the loch, it “meandering flows” through many miles of varied scenery,
until at length it becomes tributary to the Forth. Nowhere does it
attain considerable size, but everywhere it presents the essential
phenomena of the Scottish stream. From the Crook of Devon, which is
literally the turning-point of its existence, it wanders placidly
between the banks with verdure crowned, until it nears Rumbling Bridge.
Here the rapid descent of the valley of Dollar causes it to assume a
more turbulent character, and, dashing through the “Devil’s Mill,”
where its stream is not seen, but heard as some weird subterranean
“voice of many waters,” it hurries on towards the Cauldron Linn. The
force of the water, continuously rushing for centuries, has hollowed
a vast basin in the sandstone rock, and the stream now pours through
a contracted aperture, with the force of a water-spout, sheer over
the precipice. From this point it descends more gently through the
valley of Dollar, presenting all the characteristics of a Scottish
salmon-stream, and realizing Tennyson’s description of “The Brook”:--
“I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling.”
Passing near the town of Dollar, it takes a south-westerly direction
toward the Forth, merely catching a glimpse of the picturesque Castle
Campbell, which stands amid the green woodland of the hill.
Viewed from a distance, this ancient Keep might readily be mistaken for
some retiring mansion-house, embowered in a miniature forest of larch
and beech, or, by a stretch of the imagination, to the poet’s mind it
might seem
“A palace, lifting in eternal summer
Its marble head from out a glossy bower
Of leaves.”
Yet a nearer acquaintance with its topography will speedily dispel
this illusion. The approach to the Castle soon alters from the mild
riverside way with which it begins, to the rugged and stern mountain
path which terminates at the ruin. The “bower of leaves” becomes
a gloomy forest, and the “marble palace” vanishes into a grim and
solitary ruin, which frowns defiantly from the summit of a precipice,
apparently inaccessible. The road is now narrowed to its minutest
limit, and crosses the fearful chasm which partly surrounds the Castle
by one of those shaky wooden bridges which terrify the soul of the
timorous tourist. But the view to be obtained from this spot is well
worth the trouble thus occasioned. In the valley of the Devon its
glistening stream appears, disappears, and reappears far below the
spectator; and the spires of Dollar and the factories of Tillicoultry,
the scenes of the triumph of head and hand, are at once visible. Over
the rising ground which lies between the Devon and Alloa, the estuary
of the Forth may be seen, now expanded into a noble firth; while
westward the levelling country indicates the proximity of the fertile
Carse of Stirling.
Nearer the point of vision the two streams which flow around the
Castle and fall into the Devon a short way from it have been named by
some romantic native in pre-historic times, the Water of Care and the
Burn of Greif (Gryfe); while the ancient title of the ruin itself was
“the Castle of Gloom,” and the site of the melancholy trio was “the
Valley of Dolour.” This poetical combination, however, like so many
fanciful tales, has collapsed before the searching examination of
this practical age, and a new interpretation must now be given. The
name of Castle Gloom is probably a corruption of the Gaelic _Chleum_
or _Coch Leum_--the Mad Leap, though the origin of that title is lost
in obscurity. The Water of Care was most likely applied to the stream
after the building of the edifice, as it seems an easy transition from
_Caer_, the Celtic prefix for a castle and its surroundings. Dollar is
now supposed to have been originally _Balor_, the high field--a title
which its position justifies; and thus the tender element of romance
evaporates beneath analysis.
[Illustration: CASTLE CAMPBELL _Valentine & Sons, Ltd._]
The date of the erection of the Castle is now undiscoverable,
nor has the most elaborate investigation thrown much light upon its
origin. There is a tradition still current which declares that it was
a portion of the dowry which King Robert the Bruce bestowed upon his
sister, Lady Mary Bruce, on the occasion of her marriage with Sir Neil
Campbell of Lochow. But if this was the case it must have gone out of
the possession of the family afterwards, for it was certainly held by
Archbishop Schevet, of St Andrews, and was gifted by him to the head of
the Campbells in his time as a bribe to secure his support on a special
occasion. The Archbishop died in 1498 at an advanced age. In 1493 an
Act of Parliament was passed to enable the proprietor (apparently the
second Earl of Argyll) to change its name from “Castle of Gleume” to
“Castle Campbell,” by which designation it is still known. And though
it must have been peculiarly convenient for a powerful western clan to
have a stronghold of such security in the eastern district, whereby
disaffection might be overawed, the isolation of the Castle from the
main body of the Clan Campbell frequently exposed it to danger, and
finally brought about its destruction.
The rivalry between the clans of the east and the west of Scotland
raged with violence for centuries, and the untutored clansmen pursued
their feuds with the same deep spirit of revenge as a Corsican follows
the vendetta of his family. When, therefore, the Covenanters in the
time of Charles I. included two such eminent men as Montrose and
Argyll, the leaders of the Grahams and the Campbells, who had been
sworn foes for a lengthened period, it was soon evident that they could
not long remain devoted to the same cause. Their traditional enmity
effectually prevented them from coalescing, and the crafty spirit of
Argyll led him to attempt
“Ways that are dark,
And tricks that are vain,”
The haughty soul of Montrose recoiled from his leadership and renounced
the Covenanting cause which he had espoused. His overtures to the King
were well received at Court, for his reputation as a warrior had gone
before him, and he was looked upon as a Chevalier Bayard, _sans peur et
sans reproche_.
The exploits of the great Marquess of Montrose in Scotland read
more like a romance of olden times than veritable history; and his
heartfelt devotion to the King in good or ill-fortune elevate him to
the position of a hero. But the sun of the Stewart family was then
under eclipse; and it was not given to Montrose to be the instrument of
their restoration to power, however strenuous his endeavours for that
purpose; though, perhaps his cruel and ignominious death did as much
to forward the Royal Cause as his most brilliant victory on the field
of battle. The history of Montrose, however, is not to concern us at
present, save in its relation to Castle Campbell.
The period of Scottish history which treats of the Civil War during
the time of Charles I. and the Commonwealth, shows distinctly that the
gratification of private revenge and the settlement of family feuds
largely influenced the combatants. The wavering fortunes which inclined
now to the Covenanters and anon to the Royalists soon reduced the land
to the state in which Judæa was placed when “there was no King in
Israel.” Argyll had his own traditional enemies, but so also had every
prominent man in his retinue; and thus vengeance was widely spread, and
never lacked opportunity. The history of the time was a constant record
of murder and rapine, of insult and reprisal, until the condition of
the country became absolutely deplorable. The opposing forces soon
reached that stage at which no sense of honour restrains from excess,
and when the claims of family ties and blood relationships are boldly
set at naught or publicly outraged. And it was during this fearful
time, and as a result of this melancholy and fratricidal position that
Castle Campbell fell a victim to the general fury.
The Campbells, as already mentioned, were at feud with the Grahams, but
they were also sworn foes to the Ogilvies, another powerful eastern
clan, which commanded a large portion of Forfarshire. The Earl of
Airlie, leader of this clan and a devoted adherent of Charles I., had
removed to England early in the struggle of 1640, fearing that the
Covenanters would insist upon his signature. His Castles of Airlie
and Forter were left in charge of his son, Lord Ogilvy, and as they
were well-garrisoned, he thought they might escape the rage of the
enemy. But the Committee of Estates, undaunted by the check which the
young Lord had given them, issued a Commission of Fire and Sword to
Argyll, authorizing him to capture both these strongholds. The task was
a congenial one to the ruthless Argyll; and with fiendish glee he set
about its accomplishment. Directing an overwhelming force against the
Castle of Airlie, he compelled Lord Ogilvy to withdraw, and then, in
pursuance of his instructions from the Committee, he proceeded to raze
the walls and battlements.
A contemporary writer records that “Argyll was seen taking a hammer in
his hand, knocking down the hewed work of the doors and windows till
he did sweat for heat at his task.” And the ancient ballad from which
the following verses are quoted, details, with perhaps some superfluous
exaggerations, the poetical aspect of the grim scene:--
“It fell on a day, and a bonnie simmer day,
When green grew aits an’ barley,
That there fell oot a great dispute
’Tween gleyed Argyll an’ Airlie.
Argyll has raised ane hunder men,
Ane hunder harnessed rarely;
An’ he’s awa’ by the back o’ Dunkeld
To plunder the Castle o’ Airlie.
Lady Ogilvy looks ower her bower window,
An’ O, but she looks wearily;
An’ there she spied the great Argyll,
Come to plunder the bonnie house o’ Airlie.
‘Come down, come down, my Lady Ogilvy,
Come down an’ kiss me fairly.’
‘O, I wadna kiss the fause Argyll
Tho’ he shouldna leave a standin’ stane in Airlie.’
‘O, I ha’e seven braw sons,’ she said--
‘The youngest ne’er saw his daddie;
But tho’ I had ane hunder mae
I’d gi’e them a’ to King Charlie.
‘But gin my gude Lord had been at hame,
As this nicht he is wi’ Charlie,
There durstna a Campbell in a’ Argyll
Ha’e plundered the bonnie house o’ Airlie.
‘Gif my gude Lord was noo at hame,
As he is wi’ King Charlie,
The dearest blude o’ a’ thy kin
Wad slocken the burnin’ o’ Airlie!’”
Thus runs the old song, and though there seems too strong a flavour of
the Trojan dame in this Scottish matron, the strain proved prophetic,
for her Lord had the privilege on the bloody field of Kilsyth of
executing summary vengeance upon the Campbell clan in open battle.
Meanwhile, a partial revenge had been taken upon the unfortunate Castle
Campbell by the followers of Montrose. After the “glorious victory”
at Aulderne, that intrepid leader descended by the east coast to the
Forth, and then, striking across the country by way of Kinross and
Devon Valley, he thought to surprise and capture Stirling with little
effort. In his progress westward he had to pass this stronghold of
Argyll; and as the ruthless conduct of the cross-eyed Earl at Airlie
had been detailed to Montrose, he relaxed discipline to allow the
Ogilvies, who were with him, to indulge their revengeful spirit. These
were joined by the followers of the Earl of Stirling, whose house of
Menstrie, at the base of the Ochils, had been relentlessly destroyed
by the same hand. And as these avengers of blood marched boldly up
the narrow path towards the ancient Castle of Gloom, well might the
Campbells within its walls tremble
“To see the gallant Grahams come hame.
I’ll crown them east, I’ll crown them wast,
The bravest lads that e’er I saw;
They bore the gree in free fechtin’,
An’ ne’er were slack their swords to draw.
They won the day wi’ Wallace wight.
They were the lords o’ the south countrie;
Cheer up your hearts, brave cavaliers,
The gallant Grahams ha’e come ower the sea!”
The resistance offered to the assault must have been slight, since the
position of the Castle might have rendered defence easy. But the name
of Montrose acted as a magic spell upon his enemies; and this token
of western power fell into the hands of the warriors of the east, and
was laid waste by fire and sword. Nor have its lofty battlements since
borne the Banner of Argyll, with the Galley of Lorne, and the proud
motto of the Campbells, _Ne obliviscaris_.
VII
ROTHESAY CASTLE
[Illustration: ROTHESAY CASTLE _Valentine & Sons, Ltd._]