Many ages ago, when a powerful but capricious chief of Glengarry was
erecting the venerable and stern mansion, whose ruins still arrest
the stranger’s eye, he very injudiciously chose his companion and
favourite from the humblest class of his retainers; and this one, like
the generality of favourites once corrupted by a superior’s improper
familiarity, soon forgot prudence and propriety. One day, when the
castle’s infant walls had just upreared their massy front over their
foundation, and while their warlike founder, in company with another
chief, was superintending and admiring the progress of the building,
up came the favourite with the greatest air of confidence, and without
even saluting, as was then customary, his lord and chief, the dread
possessor of unlimited feudal power, accosted him thus, in the presence
of a recently conciliated rival—‘Alas! poor chief, know ye what the
M’Bhethains say? They call you miser, and inquire, how comes it that
you could not spare a little silver and gold to be placed in thy
castle’s foundation, as is customary with other chiefs? Your present
companion, they say,’ alluding to the chief already noticed, ‘has as
much silver in the foundation of his castle as would buy yours.’ At
this the stranger sneered with fiendish pleasure, seeing him whose
friendship fear, not love, prompted him to court, but whom he fervently
hated at heart, so much insulted by his own vassal. The chief himself
was too severely stung—his rage was too gigantic—to stoop to
instantaneous revenge: besides, it was derogatory for a chief to
inflict personal chastisement on a vassal, and impracticable to do so
in presence of another chief; but his brow was clouded, and his face
was darkened as he spoke, until, recollecting himself, he smothered up
his rage, and, endeavouring to assume an appearance of cheerfulness,
he exclaimed—‘You are right Raonuil, I have quite omitted to do what
you remind me of, I therefore thank you for the hint, and, believe
me, I allow you more merit, from a conviction that I am not directly
or indirectly beholden to those you mention for the suggestion, as it
is not their own custom to do the like; however, it should be done,
and, with your assistance, we will correct the omission to-night.’
The vassal retired chuckling, at what he considered the effect of his
influence. It is impossible to discover the cause which had prompted
him to talk so insultingly to his lord and master: some attribute
it to the disappointment of dishonest expectations, supposing that
he intended to abstract any jewellery which might be deposited as a
memento in the foundation; while others imagine that his chief must
have previously offended him, and that the insult was intended; but
more probably his main object was to ingratiate himself with the
stranger.
M’Raonuil lived in a small solitary cottage, a considerable distance
from the residence of his chief, and, late on the night in question, he
was startled in his slumbers by a loud knocking at his door; he arose
trembling, with a secret dread of something unknown, and shuddered
involuntarily as he opened his door to discover the cause of this
disturbance. He opened it, and lo! there stood his chief, alone, with
a naked dagger in one hand, and a dark lantern in the other, frowning
like a spirit of vengeance. The frightened vassal at this terrific
sight quickly sank on his bended knee to implore his chieftain’s grace
and mercy, his heart bursting with remorse and sorrow, but the ear of
vengeance would not listen to the importunities of remorse, nor to the
supplicating sighs of fear. ‘Come,’ said the stern and angry chief,
‘arise, shake off that ague fit and follow me, for I require your
service!’ To disobey the chief was a crime unknown and unheard of in
those days, and his peremptory command and determined appearance showed
the vassal that remonstrance or question was vain and futile; so with
a tremulous hand he arrayed himself in his best apparel, and with a
bursting and yearning heart—
He bade his wife and children dear,
A long, a last adieu,
and mournfully prepared to follow his chief. They sallied forth in
silence and in gloom, the doomed man (for he knew his fate was sealed),
marched sullenly behind. Neither seemed inclined to disturb the drowsy
stillness which reigned around them; and as they marched along, the
owl’s screech voice assailed the vassal’s ear, proclaiming the ominous
words, ‘man prepare to die,’ and ever and anon, when the glare of the
chief’s dim lantern gleamed upon him, it exhibited to the unhappy
victim the diabolical smile which grinned on his chief’s countenance
at the proximity of such a feast of vengeance. At length they reached
the castle, in the deep silence of midnight! where the chief, pointing
to a gloomy excavation which he had caused that night to be made in
its foundation, desired his vassal to enter, which, without the least
hesitation, he did, mourning as he went, and wringing his hands in
utter grief. As soon as he entered he saw the muscular chief with great
difficulty roll a ponderous stone over the mouth of his dim and
dreary sepulchre, and heard him chanting to himself, as in mockery,
the M’Raonuil’s dirge; but these cheerless sounds soon grew faint and
ultimately died away.
The chief now quitted the castle, intending to drown all thoughts of
its forlorn captive, amidst the riot and luxurious turbulence which
a chieftain’s life afforded, but he found himself mistaken. The foul
deed he had that night performed made a deep and indelible impression
on his mind, and go where he would he wandered like a forlorn outcast,
changed, dejected, and thoughtful.
Wherever he roamed his weeping captive came trembling to his mind. If
awake, it was of him, and him only, that he thought, and if asleep,
he dreamed only of him, and, often in the deep stillness of night,
a sullen voice whispered in his ear—‘the heavy punishment you have
inflicted on your clansman is too severe for the venal crime he
committed, therefore you cannot expect to fight victoriously under such
a load of guilt.’
It happened that at this time the chief was about to enter into a
struggle with an aggressive and powerful neighbour, and on the result
of this combat depended his own and clansmen’s lives. Their antagonists
were far superior in point of number, and were warriors renowned for
their wonderful exploits—for fearlessness, daring, and courage; but
they were a ruthless and relentless enemy, and whatever they vanquished
they utterly destroyed. They seemed to fight not for any chivalrous
honour, but rather from the devilish pleasure they had in reducing to
ashes that which other men took months and years to build. In short,
these spoilers took great umbrage at the chief of Glengarry, which
meant certain destruction, unless he could defeat them in arms, and so
he, in desperation, determined, as his only chance of safety, to hazard
a battle. Yes! he would have a struggle, a fierce and furious struggle,
ere he sank beneath the iron hand of a despotic rival: and if he did
fall, he, like the dying lion, would wound the earth in his throes. He
would not bleed like the bleating lamb, nor would he imitate the timid
hind, and seek safety by flight! No! he had fangs like the wolf, and
with these he would tear the flesh from the bones of his oppressor.
On the tenth day after the captivity of his late favourite, he had
his clan marshalled and under arms, awaiting the approach of the foe
whom he had challenged to meet him there, to settle their dispute by
open combat. His warriors were all burning for distinction in the
field, but none more ardently than himself, and as he glanced proudly
along their line he smiled on hearing them curse the lazy foe, who
lagged so tardily on their way to meet him. This was in the vicinity
of the rising castle, and as he wished to enter the fight as guiltless
as possible, it struck him that he had better relieve himself, if
possible, from the guilt of his prisoner’s undeserved misery, and to
effect this purpose, he stole unperceived to the vault, and with the
assistance of a common plank, used as a lever, he soon raised up the
huge stone, and having placed a sufficient counterpoise to preserve the
entrance, he entered, but scarcely had he done so when snap went the
lever, and down came the stone with a tremendous force. In an instant
he perceived the fearful calamity which had befallen him. He knew that
all was now over, for it was impossible to remove the stone, from the
interior of the vault; and, in terrible despair, he sat, or threw
himself down, writhing with extreme mental agony. To make his misery
greater he heard (or thought he heard) his trusty clansmen expressing
their amazement at his unexpected and cowardly desertion, and heard (or
thought he heard) the sentinels, whom he himself had placed, proclaim
with extended lungs—‘The foe! they come! they come!’ Then he heard the
din of war on the heath, and the shock of battle sound, ‘like a crash
of echoing thunder,’ and then the shout triumphant of his foes—and oh!
he would have given his very soul’s redemption for power to arise from
that murky dungeon and stalk to the midst of the combat like an angel
of death—
And perish if it must be so,
At bay destroying many a foe.
When the sounds of strife and every hope had died away, the shout
triumphant, and the dying yells, he thought on the lone sharer of his
captivity, whom he could discover was still alive, and he wondered
that the soul, ever eager as an iron bound prisoner to escape, should
be enticed by such misery to linger—for his part he would rather
flutter like the butterfly through its sweet though short career, than
live, like the toad, a thousand years prisoner to a marble block. As
he mused thus in painful silence his deliverers arrived. They were
his victorious foes—and those of his own clan who had survived the
field of battle—the little remnant who had but now given his little
band like chaff to the four warring winds of the earth. They came in
quest of riches, which they supposed had been deposited in the vault.
The stone was rolled away, and one by one they dropped into the vault,
but each as he entered, fell a victim to the fury of its angry and
exasperated inmate, who shortly afterwards, with the aid of his old
favourite vassal, quitted its gloomy precincts, leaving his enemy and
his laurels there to wither and to die.