of Scotland, contains within its limited space variety of scenery and
wealth of historic association unequalled by larger counties, so Bute,
one of the least considerable of the islands of the west, appears to
the intelligent observer as a miracle of loveliness, teeming with facts
and fancies of olden times. The River Clyde, which here debouches into
the Atlantic Ocean, surrounds the islands of Bute, Arran, and the
Cumbraes, each presenting a different type of beauty from the others,
and claiming diverse meads of praise. The scenery of Arran, whose bold
outline of rugged alpine peaks in barren grandeur is thrown against the
sky, contrasts with the commonplace elevation of the Cumbraes, whose
gentle, undulating eminences are too fruitful and well-cultivated to
become the home of romance. To Bute is reserved that combination of
wild, unsophisticated nature and extreme civilization which holds the
greatest charm for the tourist of modern times. From the inconsiderable
heights which this island affords, you may overlook the broad expanse
of water which lies betwixt Bute and the Ayrshire coast, whose
continuous outline becomes reduced shorewards, until it terminates in
the distant point of Port Crawford; or, looking northward, the grim
desolation of the Cowal shore presents a different scene. There the
o’ertopping Argyll mountains fade away into obscurity, filling in the
distant background with some far-remote Ben, which none save an expert
will venture to name. There are not many places in Scotland where, at
one moment, we may find ourselves--
“Far ’lone amang the Hieland hills
’Mid Nature’s wildest grandeur;”
and at the next may turn to view--
“The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples”
of a very advanced civilization. Yet these are points in the island of
Bute from which the beholder may elect either to feast his eyes upon--
“The hills embrowned with brackens’ rusty gold,
And the bell-heather,”
telling of the scanty pasturage and waste lands which produce the men
of war; or to turn his gaze upon the--
“Deep waving fields and pastures green,
With gentle slopes and groves between,”
of a highly-civilized land, which exhibits the blessings of peace.
From a slight elevation the eye may at one glance see the ancient town
of Rothesay, stretching around the shore of its crescent-shaped bay,
and uplifting its multi-form spires and towers above the din and tumult
of constant traffic; and at the same time it may rest upon the placid
waters of Loch Ascog or Loch Fad, embosomed amid the uplands of the
island, and reposing as tranquilly as though they were situated in the
least-frequented hills of the Northern Highlands.
The summit of the heath-clad steep of Barone Hill permits a very wide
expanse of country to be seen; and topographers of an arithmetical
turn may reckon up twelve counties as being thus brought within the
range of vision. The receding coast of Ayrshire allows a broad sheet
of water to extend southwards to the horizon; and the Argyll shore,
suddenly trending westward, and terminating in the elongated peninsula
of Cantyre, leaves Bute standing alone amid the surrounding element--
“A priceless gem, set in a silver sea.”
The very minuteness of the separate portions of the scene gives
a kind of fairy charm to it. For it seems as if one were looking
upon some exquisite model of Scottish landscape, wherein might be
seen, upon a reduced scale, the loch, the hillside, and the river,
with every distinctive characteristic which belongs to “the land
of the mountain and the flood.” And so this lovely islet is but a
microcosm, a toy-model of Scottish scenery. One is not astonished,
therefore, to find that Bute has some pre-historic ruins of a religious
establishment, whose unwritten story must be of a remote date.
The remains of the ancient Chapel of St Blane may still be seen
nestling in a sequestered dell in the southern part of the island;
and here, if tradition may be believed, the holy Blane has peacefully
reposed for these last thirteen centuries. The architecture of the
Chapel certainly belongs to an era of comparative antiquity, though
the dates of some of the earlier chroniclers of the Saints are no
more reliable than the chronology of the Chinese historians. The
story of Saint Blane as now preserved in the traditions of the island
must be taken with “a pinch of salt,” as the Romans used to say. A
certain bishop from Ireland (these Irish people early found the way to
Caledonia), called St Chattan, had selected this part of Bute as his
residence, and here he settled with his sister Erca, resolved to effect
the conversion of the pagans of Scotland to the true and universal
faith. Whatever effect the ministrations of the holy man may have had
upon the natives is now unknown; but it is recorded that whilst he was
powerless to win over the King of Scots to his religion, the beauty
of his sister enticed that sovereign from the path of rectitude. The
unhappy Erca, when her crime could no longer be hid, was visited with
the punishment then deemed the best corrective for errors of judgment.
She was placed in a coracle, or boat of skins, and set adrift upon
the bosom of the Clyde, a living Elaine in search of her faithless
Lancelot. The wind and the tide bore her far away southwards, and cast
her, with her helpless babe, upon the hospitable shore of Ireland.
Here she was rescued by two generous Hibernian monks, who baptized the
little stranger by the name of “Blaan,” and tended and cared for him
for some time. At length he was sent to his uncle, Chattan, in Bute,
who adopted and educated him for the priesthood, and shortly after
his ordination he journeyed to Rome, and was consecrated Bishop by
the occupant of St Peter’s Chair. Returning to Scotland he settled in
Perthshire, founding the sacred house of Dunblane, of which See he was
the first bishop; and after his demise his remains were conveyed to
Kilchattan Bay, in Bute, the scene of his early life, to rest near the
relics of his uncle and benefactor.
Not far from St Blane’s Chapel there stands a vitrified Roman fort,
showing that these ubiquitous conquerors had penetrated even here, and
left the traces of their civilizing influences behind them. Indeed,
the name “Bute” is said by some philologists to be a corruption of the
Latin “budæ,” the name applied by the Roman historians to the western
isles of Scotland. The defective geography of the time probably led
them to imagine that the whole of the west coast was protected by a
continuous chain of islands, extending from Orkney (“Ultima Thule”)
to Arran, inhabited by a savage and irreclaimable people, upon whom
the arts of Italy could exercise no humanizing power. Bute, therefore,
seems to have been the spot chosen by them as the extreme limit of the
civilization of western Scotland, and here they terminated their line
of defence.
All theories upon the origin of the fort of Dunna-Goil, regarding which
no authentic records exist, are but founded upon conjecture, and set
solely upon circumstantial evidence. The antiquity of Rothesay Castle,
though wrapt in some obscurity, is not so far removed from written
history; and as the interest attached to it arises from its connection
with known events in the annals of Scotland, the influence of inventive
romance is not so apparent.
The ancient Castle of Rothesay is peculiarly situated. The bay takes
a gigantic sweep inland from the point of Bogany to that of Ardbeg;
and at the very centre of this hemisphere, only a few yards from the
shore, this venerable pile has been erected. Unlike most of the ancient
Castles, it is built upon low ground, and might be easily commanded
from the heights. Its position, however, has doubtless been chosen
as affording an extensive view of the Firth of Clyde, though the
clustering dwellings which now surround it effectually interrupt the
prospect. The building is considerable in extent, though the various
styles of architecture and the methods of masonry employed show that
the original structure has been very much enlarged. Possibly the
nucleus around which these additions have been made was the circular
tower on the east side, which bears the greatest resemblance to the
antique forts of remote times. And the derivation of the name of
Rothesay, which authorities say is compounded from the Gaelic _Roth_,
a circle, and _Suidh_ a seat, give some countenance to the theory
that the circular donjon was the earliest part of the building. The
crow-stepped Flemish gables and circle-top windows of other portions
belong to a period much nearer our own time.
The Castle has been of sufficient compass to contain within its walls
an extensive court-yard and a private chapel. Though now entirely
roofless, there are many traces left of foundations and razed walls
which sufficiently indicate the importance and extent of the Castle. In
many parts of the buildings the walls are over seven feet in thickness,
and are composed mostly of square-hewn stones with rough rubble-work.
The edifice is surrounded by a moat fifteen feet deep by about nine
feet wide, which is supplied with water from Loch Fad, though probably
in the earlier days of the Castle the waters of the bay have laved its
walls.
The main doorway is the least imposing portion of the structure, though
the sculptured arms above it, and the portcullis groove in the lintels
still challenge the attention of the antiquary. The clustering ivy
which luxuriates in every portion of the Castle, clothing its rugged
front with vesture of perennial green, serves to enhance the romantic
effect of the whole scene, and to awaken those memories of the past
which are ever associated with this “dainty plant that creepeth o’er
ruins old.” And the past of Rothesay Castle is not uneventful.
It is supposed that the original building was erected by Magnus
Barefoot, King of Norway, some time about the end of the 11th century.
This redoubtable sea-king had conquered the Hebridean Isles, and,
descending as far south as Bute, he there established a post from which
he might menace the mainland of Scotland. And if this tradition be
correct, it is curious to note that this Royal Castle of Rothesay was
erected by an alien and an invader, and must have stood for many years
as a sign of the subjection of the natives to a foreign yoke. Yet those
jovial fair-haired Norwegians were no ascetics, but bold, free-handed,
and frank, as befitted the warriors whose “march was o’er the mountain
waves,” whose “home was on the deep.” And these old walls, in their
earliest days, must have witnessed many a scene of “gamyn and glee,”
and resounded upon festive occasions with “mirth and youthful jollity.”
For we know the method of the Norwegian rover’s life from the Saga of
King Olaf--
“The guests were loud, the ale was strong,
King Olaf feasted late and long;
The hoary Scalds together sang,
O’erhead the smoky rafters rang.”
And with some such rites as these was the baptism of Rothesay Castle
accomplished in those distant times.
Some romantic theorists assert that the true meaning of Rothesay in
Gaelic is “Wheel of Fortune,” and state that this name was bestowed
upon it in consequence of the rapid changes which took place in the
possession of this ancient fortalice. The original appellation given
to it by its Norwegian founders is now unknown; but the study of its
history sufficiently justifies this fanciful title, as shall now be
related.
The topographical position of many of our Scottish Castles made them
historical, even though they had no intrinsic claim upon the historian.
The names of many of them are preserved, not so much in consequence
of their importance as because they occupied debatable land, upon
which opposing armies continually met to decide their contests. Such
a position did Rothesay Castle occupy. Situated at the entrance to
the estuary of the Clyde, and possessing a well-sheltered harbour and
good post of observation, it was naturally one of the coveted spots
which attracted the attention of the northern invaders. The Norwegians
and Danes, who successively over-ran the coasts of Scotland, were not
ignorant of the advantages possessed by the hold of this fort, and
thus it happened that many a bloody fray took place beneath its walls.
And so, for a hundred and fifty years after its erection the Castle
changed hands frequently, until it came at length into the power of
the Norwegians after a protracted siege.
The native Scots had not sufficient strength to dislodge them from
this coign of vantage, and when Hako, the Dane, led his great Armada
into the Firth of Clyde, he found in Rothesay a safe harbour for his
fleet, and a strong fortress for his protection. Warily extending his
conquests, he took possession of Arran and the Cumbraes, preparatory
to making a descent upon the mainland; and gathering together the
combined forces of Norway and Denmark, he landed on the Ayrshire coast
immediately opposite Bute. But the young King, Alexander III., had
already aroused the Scottish peoples to resistance, and, marching
himself at the head of his army, he met the invaders at Largs, but a
short distance from their point of landing.
The fortunes of war were not soon decided, as neither party gained
palpable advantage over the other; and so the battle was renewed upon
three successive days. But Neptune and Æolus, the gods of the Sea and
the Wind, came to the aid of Britain, as they did three centuries
later against the Spanish Armada of Philip II. The wild nor’-east wind
sweeping down the Firth, and lashing the troubled waters into fury,
drove the Danish ships from their anchorage, and dashed them helplessly
upon the unfriendly shore. The noble barks, which had withstood the
gales of many years, were powerless in the narrow, unknown channels
in which they were drifting; and the Danes found in their melancholy
experience that neither the winds nor the waves would obey them.
The Scots were active in taking advantage of this occasion; and they
drove the too-confident invaders ignominiously from their coasts. Hako
retired with difficulty, taking the remnant of his army to Orkney; and
there, lamenting the flower of his warriors and his own near kinsmen
slain in this disastrous conflict, he finally expired, the victim of
grief and despair. Thus ended the Battle of Largs, the last contest
betwixt the Scots and Danes upon our native soil. Nearly six centuries
after, the descendants of those warriors met in widely-diverse
circumstances. Then “mighty Nelson” led his fleet through the waters
of the Baltic to the very walls of Copenhagen, and proved to the
successors of the Vikings of old that their rule over the ocean was
at an end. And if Hako mourned in defeat the brave army which he left
shattered and destroyed on the shores of the Clyde, not less, even when
crowned with victory, should we--
“Think of those who sleep
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore.”
After the Battle of Largs, the Castle of Rothesay was garrisoned by
the troops of King Alexander, and the Scots remained in possession of
it until the faint-hearted John Baliol surrendered it to Edward of
England, as an atonement for his heinous crime of independence. But the
valour of King Robert the Bruce freed Scotland from the presence of
the English soldiers for a time, and he regained the Castle. Scottish
politics became confused after his death; and when Randolph, the
Regent, died, affairs reached a crisis. Edward Baliol, collecting a
scratch army in England, took advantage of the prevailing confusion,
and made a rapid descent upon Scotland. His attempts were crowned with
success, however undeserved; and as the young King, David Bruce, had
been hastily conveyed to Dumbarton Castle, as a place of security, the
invader followed him closely, and took the Castle of Rothesay with
ease. His army, however, was not of sufficient strength to enable him
to garrison this stronghold, and it soon submitted to the partizans
of the King. And when, some fifty years later, the troubled state of
Scotland had been somewhat allayed, the beauty of the surrounding
country and the salubrity of the climate, which had not been noticed in
warlike times, then attracted attention. Robert II., the first of the
long line of Stewart Kings, visited the Castle upon several occasions,
and latterly selected it as his residence.
After his death his son John, who ascended the throne under the title
of Robert III., continued to hold Rothesay in favour; so much so that
he conferred the title of Duke of Rothesay upon his eldest son, making
this an hereditary title for the heir-apparent. Hence the Prince of
Wales, who is Duke of Cornwall, and was Earl of Dublin in Ireland,
is Duke of Rothesay and Baron Renfrew in Scotland. The fate of the
first Duke of Rothesay could not be regarded as a good augury by his
contemporaries. The mild King Robert III., unfitted by an accident in
early youth from mingling in the warlike employments of the time, was
possessed of a mind more inclined to religious melancholy and austerity
than chivalrous bravery. It was, therefore, with deep regret and pain
that he heard of the wild and licentious character of his son, the new
Duke of Rothesay. The restraint imposed on this unhappy young man by
the influence of his mother had been withdrawn at her death; and he had
given loose rein to his passions, and would abide no rebuke. The King,
his father, was weak enough to allow his own brother, the wily Duke
of Albany, to poison his mind against Rothesay. So great an influence
did Albany gain over the King that he finally obtained permission to
confine Rothesay in close ward.
The Duke of Albany lost no time in putting this power into practice;
with the assistance of an unprincipled retainer he seized his nephew
and conveyed him to his own Castle of Falkland, where Rothesay was
enclosed in one of the darkest dungeons, and refused the ordinary
necessaries of life. Many strange stories are told regarding this
inhuman treatment. It is said that one of the female servants assisted
to keep him in life by dropping meal into his prison-chamber through
the crevices of the floor above; whilst another bestowed upon him a
portion of the provision which Nature had made for the support of her
own children. Rothesay’s unnatural uncle, having discovered the sources
of this succour, ruthlessly put both of these ministering angels to
death. When life became insupportable, the unhappy youth was relieved
from his misery by welcome death, after enduring the most fearful
torture of which the human frame is capable. His body was quietly
conveyed to Lindores Abbey and buried there, and his ambitious uncle
found himself, by his machinations, one step nearer to the throne. The
title of Duke of Rothesay was transferred to his brother James, who
afterwards ascended the throne as first of that name, and closed an
unhappy life by a violent death.
After the murder of the first Duke of Rothesay, his father, King
Robert, fearful that a similar fate might befall his only remaining
son, resolved to send him to France for safety. But the ship in which
the Duke sailed was captured by an English vessel, and the Prince was
sent into captivity in London. The news of this fresh calamity fell
with crushing weight upon the old King, and brought him, heart-broken,
to his grave; for, like Israel of old, he may have said, “If I am
bereaved of my children, I _am_ bereaved.” And as the night of sorrow
closed around him in his Castle of Rothesay, and he thought of one son
murdered and another in hopeless captivity, whilst the brother, to
whom he had trusted all, had proved faithless and untrue, death must
have seemed a glad release to him from the life-long trouble he had
endured.
It must not be imagined that there are no pleasant episodes connected
with Rothesay Castle. There is a story told of an unwilling visit paid
to it by James V., which is not a little amusing. That merry monarch,
whilst still “the Guidman of Ballengeich,” had often gone in quest of
amorous adventures, but at length he resolved to settle down to serious
matrimony, and set forth, like Cœlebs, in search of a wife. An intimate
connection had ever been maintained betwixt Scotland and France, and as
a union with that country was most desirable, James naturally turned
his thoughts in that direction. But the reformed doctrines had made
many converts in Scotland, and the nobles looked with disfavour upon a
project which might place them at the mercy of the ultra-Roman Court of
France. James was self-willed, however, and would not be diverted from
his purpose. He sailed from Leith, therefore, with the avowed intention
of wedding a French Princess, despite remonstrances of his advisers.
The weather was propitious, and with “youth at the prow and pleasure at
the helm,” his noble bark sailed onwards. But the grim Scottish Barons
performed the journey most unwillingly, and at length laying their
heads together, they resolved to trick the King out of his purpose.
One night whilst he was asleep they persuaded the captain to put about
ship and to run back to Scotland. Whilst their unconscious victim was
peacefully dreaming of love and joy in France, his ship was speeding
fast homewards and placing the rolling sea betwixt him and his hopes.
Judge then of his surprise and indignation when he awoke to find that
the distance between him and love was increasing rather than lessening,
and that the power over his actions had been usurped by his officious
advisers. He raged and stormed, and swore most likely (for at that time
to “swear like a Scot” was a saying on the Continent), and vowed to
punish the whole body of traitors who had dared to coerce him. Against
the captain especially was his wrath turned, for the historian of the
incident relates that “had not beine the earnest solisitatioun of monie
in his favours he had hanged the skipper incontinent.”
To vindicate his power he ordered them again to change their course,
and selecting Bute as his resting-place, he remained for some time in
the Castle of Rothesay, until preparation had been made to convey him
to Stirling. Like all his race, this headstrong Prince became violent
under opposition; and as though influenced irresistibly by the magnet
of love, he rested not until he had set out again to wed a damsel whom
he had never seen. The unhappy Queen Magdalene, daughter of the King of
France, whom he brought back to Scotland, survived her nuptials only
forty days; and shortly afterwards James journeyed again to France
upon a similar errand, returning with Mary of Guise as his bride, the
mother of the unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots.
During the disturbed reign of Charles I., the Castle of Rothesay was
garrisoned in the interests of the King by its hereditary custodian,
Sir James Stewart of Bute; but no serious engagement took place there,
and the troops were despatched to aid the royal cause in other parts
of the kingdom. When Cromwell entered Scotland he caused the soldiers
of the Commonwealth to take possession of Rothesay Castle, probably
anticipating that the resistance of the Highland Clans would be
focussed there; and as he did not care to leave a garrison so far from
his main army, he instructed his men to destroy the strongest parts of
the edifice. The command was faithfully obeyed by the Independents, to
whom the demolition of Cathedral or Castle seems to have been alike
palatable. And Rothesay, which had been a tower of strength for nearly
six centuries, never again held its head aloft in proud defiance.