was now drawing to the end of its existence as a royal residence.
The Stewart line, the members of which had been its first patrons,
had fallen upon evil days. Charles I. was beheaded; Charles II. died
without legitimate heir; and the turbulent reign of the Duke of York
(James VII.) had spread dismay amongst the majority of the Scottish
nation. Many of the Covenanting nobles had found refuge at the Court
of William of Orange, and chief among them was the unfortunate Earl
of Argyll, who, by a most iniquitous sentence, had been attainted and
outlawed. The plots of William of Orange against his father-in-law,
then styled “James II. and VII.,” afforded opportunity for the
malcontents. The growing feeling of dissatisfaction encouraged the
expatriated noblemen to attempt a rising against the Government;
and the joint-expeditions of the Duke of Monmouth and the Earl of
Argyll were organised. It was proposed that the former should land
on the southern shores of England while the latter made a diversion
by invading the northern part of the kingdom. In June 1685, Monmouth
landed in Dorset, and speedily drew a formidable following to his
standard; but the rash encounter which he dared at Sedgemoor finally
overthrew him, and awoke the vengeance of a ruthless government.
Argyll’s expedition had no more fortunate issue. The leaders had
disputed as to the proper point of attack; and in the multitude of
counsellors there is danger. Argyll insisted upon landing in his own
country, while some of the Lowland nobles more reasonably proposed
to win over the landed proprietors in the south of Scotland by force
or persuasion. A compromise was finally adopted whereby the first
landing was arranged to take place in Argyll, but the attack to be
directed against the rich counties bordering upon the Clyde. Landing
in Cantyre, the little army was soon increased by the Campbell Clan;
and, taking possession of Rothesay Castle, they fortified it, storing
the ammunition upon one of the small islands in the Kyles of Bute. But
the irresolution of the Earl proved the destruction of the army. Urged
by the confederated leaders to advance and give battle, he at last
consented to move the troops into the Lennox country, but here, when in
the presence of the enemy, his courage forsook him, and he declined to
risk an encounter. There is often as much skill in avoiding a contest
as in daring it; but Argyll could neither lead an assault nor conduct
a retreat, and his army was soon dispersed without having endured an
engagement. He was himself taken as a fugitive, and as he had been
sentenced to death in 1681, he was executed in 1685 without another
trial, though he had again been a rebel--an instance of the vindictive
rigour of the time.
Meanwhile the stores which Argyll had laid up near Rothesay were
taken by the King’s soldiers, and his brother, Lord Niel Campbell,
whom he had left at the Castle, made his escape from the island of
Bute, destroying the fortress ere he fled, and leaving little to the
conquerors save the blackened and charred ruins which now remain. And
thus, after a long and honourable career, this noble pile closed its
history in no memorable conflict, nor amid the din of contending hosts,
but during the tumult of a sham revolt the torch of the incendiary was
applied to the structure in wanton malice by the hand of a Scottish
nobleman. The third Marquess of Bute (1847-1900) did much to restore
the outer portion of the Castle, the changes made by him being shown by
the use of red sand-stone, so that they may be easily distinguished.
VIII
CASTLE FRAOCH-EILEAN, LOCH AWE
The scenery of Loch Awe is deservedly held in remembrance by the
tourist who has once witnessed its beauty. It is not easy to select
from amongst the Scottish lakes that sheet of water which most fully
exhibits the characteristics of Highland landscape; but it will be
found that those travellers whose experience of Scotland’s lochs and
hills is widest are inclined to ascribe a very high position to Loch
Awe in comparison with wilder and more northern scenes. Embosomed
amid “Heaven-kissing hills,” and dotted with many islets crowned with
verdure, this vast inland loch washes a shore-line which presents many
varied aspects to the beholder. The glen in which it lies is formed
by the overhanging hills of Argyllshire which rise precipitously all
around, sometimes attaining so extreme an altitude that the extent
of the loch is dwarfed beside them. Although nearly thirty miles in
length, Loch Awe does not exceed two miles in breadth, and the frequent
storms which come sweeping down from Glen Strae and the Pass of Brander
keep the waters in such constant motion that it seems to be some
gigantic river rather than a peaceful mountain-lake.
The isles which lie cradled in its bosom are rich in foliage, which
contrasts with the bare, brown, heath-clad mountain summits, whose
bold outline stands relieved against the sky, and in the midst of the
overwhelming grandeur of the scene they assume fairy-like proportions
which their actual extent does not justify. Far away north rises
the peak of Ben Cruachan, whose summit is 3611 feet above the level
of the sea. The springs which feed the tributary streams in this
quarter mostly owe their origin to this mountain, and the valley which
stretches from its base forms the bed of Loch Awe. The tradition which
accounts for the origin and present position of the loch may be of
special interest to the reader, and is not well-known.
In the times of remote antiquity, ere wizards, witches, and fairies
had been scared from Scotland, the rich and fertile valley now covered
by the waters of the loch, was in the possession of a brave and
fearless woman, the daughter of a former chief who held the locality.
For years she ruled the land which belonged to her wisely and well;
but by some hidden means the “uncanny folk” gained an ascendency over
her, and wrought their wicked purposes upon her. She was laid under a
spell which doomed her to death unless she performed a certain task
with unfailing regularity. Her duty was a peculiar one. Midway up Ben
Cruachan there was a tiny spring whose limpid waters had often solaced
the chief’s daughter and refreshed her followers upon their return
from the chase; for in those days the toils and dangers of this sport
did not terrify the softer sex. This spring she was enjoined to cover
each night with a cabalistic stone whose potency should avert unheard
of dangers from her. The unknown is always terrible; and in dread of a
peril which she could not understand, she did not fail to perform her
nightly duty, though with fear and trembling.
At last a moment’s weakness accomplished her destruction. Returning
after a weary and fruitless chase one day, she was separated from her
companions, and, footsore and “forfouchten,” disappointed in mind and
exhausted in body, she sank down at the base of Ben Cruachan, unable
to reach her home. There are times when the most vigorous intellect
must succumb to the influence of physical exhaustion, no matter
how important the duties may be which lie before it, and then the
overburdened spirit, weary of resistance, abandons the contest.
“Is it not pitiful
Our souls should be so bound about with flesh,
Even when they leap and smite with wings and feet,
The least pain plucks them back, puts out their eyes,
Turns them to tears and words?”
And so this Highland Diana, this mighty huntress, sank to rest beneath
a beechen tree at the foot of the hill. She knew that the setting sun
had its duty for her, but, reckless of consequences, she fell into a
deep and troubled sleep.
She was destined to endure a rude awakening. Ere long there came
the ceaseless drip-dripping of a running streamlet, which mingled
pleasantly with her dreams, but soon increased to the murmur of the
rill, the rush of the mountain-torrent, the thunder of the cascade; and
the _Cailleach Bhe’ir_ awoke to find herself in the midst of a raging
flood. The insignificant spring which she had despised had now become a
foaming sea, and the fair and fertile vale, once her loved inheritance,
was now the prey of the merciless waters. Regret became despair, and
she plunged into the seething abyss, never more to return. And now Loch
Awe stretches its waters, glistening in silver sheen, over this once
fertile Vale of Tempe; and the gentle undulations which arose upon the
plain appear as crested islets, crowned with foliage, or fringed with
sedge and dwarf willow.
One of the loveliest of these islands is that known as _Fraoch Eilean_,
the Isle of Heather. On the mainland, immediately opposite to it, the
mountain surfaces descend precipitously, forming the deep valley known
as the Pass of Awe. Yet though exposed to the rude Borean blasts which
sweep in fury down the loch from this spot, Fraoch-Eilean has ever
maintained its fertile appearance. The verdant trees which cluster
round the ruins of the ancient Castle effectually screen it from the
view; and few save those who care to explore the recesses of the wood
are conscious of its existence. But the venturous spirit who threads
the weedy maze by which it is encompassed will be repaid for his
labour.
Though now roofless and uninhabitable the Castle, sometimes called
Dunderawe, exhibits traces of its former strength, which plainly show
that it was fitted to become the stronghold of a powerful Argyllshire
Clan. And from the vantage ground afforded by the crumbling walls and
tottering battlements the daring climber may obtain an enchanting
view of the valley of Loch Awe. Northward the Pass appears to follow
the trend of the basin of the loch, and, but for its elevation, would
naturally have been a prolongation of it. The height of the hills which
rise on either side causes this spot to become the scene of some of
the grandest phenomena of storm and tempest. Their lofty crests, by
intercepting the fleecy clouds which float in ether, bring frequent
showers at unexpected moments upon the lowly vale, or, by attracting
the dark-rolling thunder cloud, precipitate the atmospheric tumult, and
draw down the ruddy levin-brand upon their elevated summits.
[Illustration: FRAOCH-EILEAN CASTLE _Valentine & Sons, Ltd._]
Southward, through the interlacing boughs, the silvery lake may be seen
extending itself, with many a winding turn and creek, and encircling
the sister isles of Innis-Hail, Eilean-taigert, and Innis-Connel, each
claiming notice for some tale of long ago, inwoven with its history.
To the east and west rise those peaks whose drainage, by stream and
torrent, reaches the loch, and whose position compels the wild north
wind frequently to rush with irresistible force down the channel
thus formed, and to lash the placid waters of the lake into foam and
fury. Fenced from the storm by the trees which rustle in the blast, the
wayfarer may turn his gaze upon the scene which is thus spread around,
and feel that--
“’Tis pleasant from the loopholes of retreat
To peep at such a world.”
Like many other ruins on the shores of the loch, the Castle of
Fraoch-Eilean has an unwritten history. Tradition records that the
island was gifted to Sir Gilchrist Macnaughton by Alexander III., who
caused the first Castle to be built there in 1267, and handed it over
to the chief by making him perpetual Castellan. The only duty imposed
upon him was the seldom-exercised one of providing entertainment
for the King of Scotland should he pass that way. But the journey
to the wilds of Argyllshire was not often attempted by the Scottish
rulers in early days; for the state of the roads and the manners of
the inhabitants made it neither pleasant nor safe for the King’s
Majesty to venture within their bounds. And when Robert Bruce made his
presence known in the locality, it was as an errant knight in search
of a kingdom; and as the sworn foe of Macdougal of Lorn, he could
not receive the homage of the lesser Chief Macnaughton. The keeping
of the Castle, therefore, became somewhat of a sinecure, so far as
kingly visits were concerned. Only once is there record of special
preparations having been made for a royal guest, and these ended in
disappointment and failure.
During “Scotland’s fule-time” in 1745, when the northern clans became
insane upon the subject of government, and madly sought to place their
King-Stork again upon the throne, the Macnaughtons were not exempt
from the national frenzy. Prince Charlie, the gay inheritor alike of
the vices and virtues of his race, was to pass near the shores of
Loch Awe upon a semi-royal progress, and it became necessary that his
Castellan should furnish his royal seat of Fraoch-Eilean, and provide
such entertainment as befitted the heir of a line of kings. Doubtless
the silent woods of the heath-clad isle resounded to the din and tumult
which the unwonted occasion called forth and made necessary, and the
hereditary cobwebs were swept from their places, lest they should
offend the eye of Royalty. Horace describes a similar preparation for a
feast in these terms:--.
“While all the hands were hard at work, and boys and
girls ran here and there;
And brightly glowed the fires, which rolled their murky
smoke to outer air.”
But the ways of the Stewarts were not like the ways of ordinary
mortals, and Prince Charlie suddenly altered his intention and passed
the Castle heedlessly by. Now the boldest Macnaughton in that ancient
and honourable clan would scarcely care to invite the royal presence
to dignify the grey ruin which was once the seat of his chief.
Though there are few stories related of the Castle, the island itself
is not bereft of tradition. By one of those curious coincidences which
startle the student of folk-lore, it will be found that the ancient
Greek fable of the Hesperides has its counterpart in a tale which has
been handed down for many generations amongst the dwellers on the
shores of this remote Highland loch. It may be possible to invent an
explanatory theory to account for this fact; but as the romance alone
make the frivolous tale endurable, the task would be a thankless one.
Once on a time there dwelt on the borders of Loch Awe a certain lovely
“lady, the wonder of her kind,” at whose feet knelt the bravest knights
and the gayest courtiers of whom the locality could boast. To Sir
Fraoch, however, did her heart incline; but with that caprice which
so often works woe to womankind, she refused to bestow her hand upon
him until he had accomplished some stupendous task which would place
him above his rivals in knightly daring. The green isle, against whose
shores the waters of the loch were fretting into foam, had long been
famous as the natural orchard in which grew apples of gold fitted to
charm the life of the possessor, and to confer unimagined blessings.
But this precious fruit was jealously guarded by a huge serpent, the
rival of Behemoth, whose very name carried fear and dread to the
hearts of the natives. With that folly and unreason which is sometimes
found even in the tenderest bosom, the Lady of Loch Awe charged her
knight as a true man and faithful lover to bring her some of these
golden apples of fabled virtue, in defiance of the grisly monster in
whose charge they were held.
Sir Fraoch thought not of the toil or danger, but only of the glorious
reward which should be his, and at once addressed himself to his task.
Entering his skiff he rowed rapidly towards the Isle of Heather, and
daring wind and tide at last beached his tiny vessel. Drawing his
sword from its sheath to be ready for any emergency he boldly leapt
ashore, and looked around in vain for an opponent. The dreaded serpent
seemed to him but a phantom of the imagination, since no trace of it
was visible. Advancing through the wilderness of verdure which covered
the isle, he sought to gain the spot where tradition had placed the
auriferous tree.
“His path was rugged and sore;
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.”
But at length he won the coveted prize, and plucking some of the
wished-for fruit he endeavoured to reach his boat. To his dismay he
found his return prevented by the wily monster, who had suffered him
to land upon this Circean isle that his prey might be more secure.
Powerless are the emissaries of evil against the true-hearted knight
(in fable at least), and after a deadly struggle Sir Fraoch escaped to
his skiff, leaving the terror of the island vanquished and overthrown.
Faint from the fury of the fray in which he had been engaged, the
knight rowed more slowly back to his lady’s hall than he had set forth
at early morn; and, tempted by the beauty of the fruit he had won, he
partook of the spoil thus dearly bought. Ere long he felt that sudden
chill which creeps along the veins and paralyses the nerves, thus
giving the first hint of poison; and before he reached his destination
he knew full surely that his hours were numbered. Yet not without a
glow of triumph did he meet her for whom he had endured the extreme
penalty, to lay at her feet the tokens of his victory. But the glazing
eye and the interrupted speech told the tale too readily to her, and
she soon saw that she had thrown from her the love and respect, nay,
the life of her knight, to gratify an idle whim, and to indulge in
wanton sport and wicked jest. The situation offered no escape for her
save one; and, as was the custom with mythological heroines when placed
in similar circumstances, she tasted of the poisonous fruit, and then
expired in her lover’s arms.
Such is the flimsy tale still told by the credulous natives of Loch
Aweside when accounting for the name of the island. A practical age,
which believes only what it can understand, naturally rejects this
imaginative fabrication, and finds a more likely origin of the name in
the physical aspect of the scene. The Isle of Heather still deserves
its title, though the years which have rolled over it have overthrown
the proud dwelling which man had erected, and left the Castle desolate
and ruined. The loch, the hill, the glen, remain as they have been from
pre-historic times; but the men who loved them as the scenes of their
early years now sleep within their shadow, or bear the memory of them
wherever they may wander in distant lands or foreign shores.
“Not by the sunshine, with its golden glow,
Nor the green earth, nor yet the laughing sky,
Nor the fair flower-scents as they come and go,
In the soft air, like music wandering by;
Oh! not by these, the unfailing, are we taught
How time and sorrow on our frames have wrought,
But by the saddened eye, the darkened brow
Of kindred aspect, and the long dim gaze
Which tells us we are changed--how changed from other days!”
The first Castle of Dunderawe, or Fraoch-Eilean, built in 1267,
remained as the principal seat of the chiefs of Macnaughton for over
three centuries; but in 1596, Alexander Macnaughton erected the Castle,
the ruins of which now remain. In early times this clan had large
possessions, and “owned all the country between Loch Fyne and Loch
Awe, parts of which were Glenira, Glen Shira and Glen Fyne.” The chief
had also Dhu Loch in Glen Shira, Macnaughton Castle in Lewis, and
Dunnaghton Castle in Strathspey, so that his clansmen formed a very
powerful clan. Alexander Macnaughton, who was knighted by James IV.,
fell with that monarch on the fatal field of Flodden. The devotion of
the Clan to the Stewarts led to the forfeiture of their possessions in
1691; and the direct line of chieftainship terminated with John early
in the 18th century. The succession then fell to the descendants of
John, younger son of the hero of Flodden, who had settled in County
Antrim, and become a Scoto-Irish Laird. In 1878, at a Meeting of the
clan in Edinburgh, it was decided that the right to the chieftainship
was then due to Sir Francis Edmund MacNaghten of Dunderawe, Bushmills,
Antrim; and the present chief is Sir Francis Alexander MacNaghten,
seventh baronet, who resides at the residence of his late namesake. His
uncle, the late Lord MacNaghten, in 1887, was made a Lord of Appeal,
and officiated on the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords.
The ruined Castle shows the date “1596,” with the initials of “I.M.”
and “A.N.” over the doorway, with the inscription, “Behold the End;
be not wiser than the Highest,” and the clan motto, “I hope in God.”
The building, though a ruin, could easily be made habitable, and thus
preserve the memory of a once-important clan, now dispersed throughout
the world.
IX
MEGGERNIE CASTLE, GLEN LYON
Meggernie Castle is the principal historic centre of the beautiful
valley of Glen Lyon. This glen is the longest and one of the grandest
in the Western Highlands, extending in a westerly direction from
Fortingall to near Tyndrum, a distance of nearly 35 miles. It derives
its name from the river Lyon, which finds its way from its origin on
the south-east side of Ben-a-Chastle, and is often a placid stream,
but sometimes during a winter spate a raging torrent, expanding
about midway in its course into Loch Lyon, and flowing thence until
it becomes a tributary of the Tay, near Taymouth Castle, its entire
length being nearly 40 miles. The narrow limits of the glen prevent
the river from ever having a broad surface, the distance between the
precipitous banks being only about 8 feet to 10 feet, and here the Lyon
becomes boisterous because of its confined course. But the scenery in
this quarter is of entrancing beauty, and is thoroughly Highland in
character. Where Meggernie Castle stands the surrounding country is in
comparative solitude, and recalls the words of the poet:--
“Here have I found at last a place of rest
To hide me from the world.”
[Illustration: MEGGERNIE CASTLE _Valentine & Sons, Ltd._]
It is not easy to reach the Castle from the outside, though the
road up Glen Lyon to the Castle is in fairly good condition, and
is carried through the locality right on to Logierait in the east.
Several of the mountains in the neighbourhood of the glen rise to
an altitude of over 3,500 feet, and are familiar to every devoted
Scottish mountain-climber. The village of Fortingall is about 13 miles
distant from Meggernie Castle, through a pleasant though wild district
peculiarly typical of the Scottish Highlands.
In very early times the land on both sides of Glen Lyon as far south
as Loch Awe, belonged to the MacGregor Clan, and there is every
likelihood that the clansmen had a Keep of some kind on the site
of Meggernie Castle, as this would command the whole district. The
MacGregors claimed to be descended from Alpin, King of Scots, and were
sometimes known by the cognomen of Clan Alpin or Mac Alpin. Their
motto to this day asserts a lofty origin, as the Gaelic _S’rioghal Mo
Dhream_ signifies, “My Race is Royal.” The statement has been made that
a MacGregor chief built the Castle of Coalchuirn (sometimes spelled
Kilchurn) on Loch Awe, but this is not well founded. The clan suffered
misfortune at the hands of their two neighbours, the Campbells of
Argyll and the Stewarts of Cardney. The MacGregors had been vassals of
the Earl of Ross in the time of Alexander II., who reigned from 1214
till 1249, and the Earl bestowed upon them the lands of Glenorchay, at
the head of Loch Awe which they had chosen as a residence, and which
became their headquarters. The clan became a powerful one, and took a
prominent share in the Battle of Bannockburn. But David II., the son of
Robert Bruce, forgot his obligation to the Clan Gregor, and deprived
them of Glenorchay, which he gave to the branch of the Campbells that
had settled at Loch Awe, and the dispossessed clansmen had to retire to
the Muir of Rannoch. The policy of the Campbells had long been one of
lawless acquisition, and they drove the MacGregors out of Glen Lyon and
seized upon their property.
The Stewart Kings were equally unjust to this harassed clan, for Robert
II., who ruled from 1370 to 1390, confiscated the Keep at Meggernie,
which the MacGregors had built and inhabited, and conferred it upon his
illegitimate son, Sir John Stewart of Cardney. Thus, with the Campbells
on the south of the glen and the Stewarts on the north, the poor
clansmen were between two fires, and lost all their possessions in the
district. The clan was dispersed and the clansmen became “broken men,”
dispersed through Perthshire, and long without an acknowledged chief.
It is not necessary to pursue the history of this clan further, since
it is here shown how they were driven out of Meggernie.