Glen-Urquhart, where Castle Urquhart is situated, is one of the
most beautiful of our Highland valleys, distant from Inverness some
fourteen miles, and expands first from the waters of Loch-Ness into a
semi-circular plain, divided into fields by hedgerows, and having its
hill-sides beautifully diversified by woods and cultivated grounds.
The valley then runs upwards some ten miles to Corriemonie, through
a tract of haugh-land beautifully cultivated, and leading to a rocky
pass or gorge half-way upwards or thereabouts, which, on turning, an
inland valley, as it were, is attained, almost circular, and containing
Loch-Meiglie, a beautiful small sheet of water, the edges of which
are studded with houses, green lawns, and cultivated grounds. Over a
heathy ridge beyond these, two or three miles, we reach the flat of
Corriemonie, adorned by some very large ash and beech trees, where the
land is highly cultivated, at an elevation of eight or nine hundred
feet above, and twenty-five miles distant from, the sea. At the base
of Mealfourvonie, a small circular lake, of a few acres in extent,
exists, which was once thought to be unfathomable, and to have a
subterranean communication with Loch-Ness. From it flows the Aultsigh
Burn, a streamlet which, tumbling down a rocky channel, at the base
of one of the grandest frontlets of rock in the Highlands, nearly
fifteen hundred feet high, empties itself into Loch-Ness within three
miles of Glenmoriston. Besides the magnificent and rocky scenery to
be seen in the course of this burn, it displays, at its mouth, an
unusually beautiful waterfall, and another about two miles further up,
shaded with foliage of the richest colour. A tributary of the Coiltie,
called the Dhivach, amid beautiful and dense groves of birch, displays
a waterfall as high and picturesque as that of Foyers; and near the
source of the Enneric River, which flows from Corriemonie into the
still waters of Loch-Meiglie, another small, though highly picturesque
cascade, called the Fall of Moral, is to be seen. Near it is a cave
large enough to receive sixteen or twenty persons. Several of the
principal gentlemen of the district concealed themselves here from the
Hanoverian troops during the troubles of the ’45.
On the southern promontory of Urquhart Bay are the ruins of the Castle,
rising over the dark waters of the Loch, which, off this point, is
125 fathoms in depth. The castle has the appearance of having been a
strong and extensive building. The mouldings of the corbel table which
remain are as sharp as on the day they were first carved, and indicate
a date about the beginning of the 14th century. The antiquary will
notice a peculiar arrangement in the windows, for pouring molten lead
on the heads of the assailants. It overhangs the lake, and is built on
a detached rock separated from the adjoining hill, at the base of which
it lies, by a moat of about twenty-five feet deep and sixteen feet
broad. The rock is crowned by the remains of a high wall or curtain,
surrounding the building, the principal part of which, a strong square
keep of three storeys, is still standing, surmounted by four square
hanging turrets. This outward wall encloses a spacious yard, and is in
some places terraced. In the angles were platforms for the convenience
of the defending soldiery. The entrance was by a spacious gateway
between two guard rooms, projected beyond the general line of the
walls, and was guarded by more than one massive portal and huge
portcullis to make security doubly sure. These entrance towers were
much in the style of architecture peculiar to the Castles of Edward
I. of England, and in front of them lay the drawbridge across the
outer moat. The whole works were extensive and strong, and the masonry
was better finished than is common in the generality of Scottish
strongholds.
The first siege Urquhart Castle is known to have sustained was in the
year 1303, when it was taken by the officers of Edward I. who were sent
forward by him, to subdue the country, from Kildrummie, near Nairn,
beyond which he did not advance in person, and of all the strongholds
in the North, it was that which longest resisted his arms.
Alexander de Bois, the brave governor, and his garrison, were put to
the sword. Sir Robert Lauder of Quarrelwood, in Morayshire, governor
of the Castle in A.D. 1332, maintained it against the Baliol
faction. His daughter, marrying the Earl of Strathglass, the offspring
of their union, Sir Robert Chisholm of that Ilk, became Laird of
Quarrelwood in right of his grandfather. After this period it is known
to have been a Royal fort or garrison; but it is very likely it was so
also at the commencement of the 14th century, and existed as such in
the reigns of the Alexanders and other Scottish sovereigns, and formed
one of a chain of fortresses erected for national defence, and for
insuring internal peace. In 1359 the barony and the Castle of Urquhart
were disponed by David II. to William, Earl of Sutherland, and his son
John. In 1509 it fell into the hands of the chief of the Clan Grant,
and in that family’s possession it has continued to this day.
How it came into the possession of John Grant, the 10th Laird, surnamed
the ‘Bard,’ is not known; but it was not won by the broadsword, from
Huntly, the Lieutenant-General of the King. It has been the boast
of the chiefs of the Clan Grant that no dark deeds of rapine and
blood have been transmitted to posterity by any of their race. Their
history is unique among Highland clans, in that, down to the period
of the disarming after Culloden, the broadswords of the Grants were
as spotless as a lady’s bodkin. True it is, there were some dark
deeds enacted between the Grants of Carron and Ballindalloch, and at
the battles of Cromdale and Culloden the Grants of Glenmoriston were
present; but far otherwise was the boast of the Grants of Strathspey—a
gifted ancestry seemed to transmit hereditary virtues, and each
successive scion of the house seemed to emulate the peaceful habits of
his predecessor. That this amiable life did not conceal craven hearts
is abundantly evident from the history of our country. There is a
continual record of gallant deeds and noble bearing in their records
down to the present time, and there are few families whose names,
like the Napiers and the Grants, are more conspicuous in our military
annals. But their rise into a powerful clan was due to the more
peaceful gifts, of ‘fortunate alliances’ and ‘royal bounties.’
It is much to be regretted that so little has been transmitted to
posterity of the history of this splendid ruin of Castle Urquhart.
The probability is that it is connected with many a dark event over
which the turbulence of the intervening period and the obscurity of its
situation have cast a shade of oblivion.
The most prominent part of the present mass, the fine square tower
at the north-eastern extremity of the building, is supposed to have
been the keep, and is still pretty entire. From this point, the view
is superb. It commands Loch-Ness from one end to the other, and is an
object on which the traveller fixes an admiring gaze as the steamer
paddles her merry way along the mountain-shadowed water. On a calm day
the dashing echo of the Fall of Foyers bursts fitfully across the Loch,
and when the meridian sun lights up the green earth after a midsummer
shower, a glimpse of the distant cataract may be occasionally caught,
slipping like a gloriously spangled avalanche to the dark depths below.
The story in which the castle was the principal scene of action is
quite characteristic of the times referred to. A gentleman of rank, who
had been out with the Prince and had been wounded at Culloden, found
himself on the evening of that disastrous day on the banks of the River
Farigaig, opposite Urquhart Castle. He had been helped so far by two
faithful retainers, one of whom, a fox-hunter, was a native of the vale
of Urquhart. This man, perceiving the gentleman was unable to proceed
further, and seeing a boat moored to the shore, proposed that they
should cross to the old Castle, in a vault of which, known only to a
few of the country people, they might remain secure from all pursuit.
The hint was readily complied with, and in less than a couple of hours
they found themselves entombed in the ruins of Urquhart Castle, where
sleep shortly over-powered them, and the sun was high in the heavens
next day ere any of them awoke. The gentleman’s wound having been
partially dressed, the fox-hunter’s comrade yawningly observed ‘that a
bit of something to eat would be a Godsend.’ ‘By my troth it would,’
said the fox-hunter, ‘and if my little Mary knew aught of poor Eoghainn
Brocair’s (Ewan the fox-hunter) plight, she would endeavour to relieve
him though Sassenach bullets were flying about her ears.’ ‘By heaven!
our lurking-place is discovered!’ whispered the gentleman, ‘do you
not observe a shadow hovering about the entrance.’ ’Tis the shadow
of a friend,’ replied the Brocair; and in an instant a long-bodied,
short-legged Highland terrier sprung into the vault. ‘Craicean, a
dhuine bhochd,’ said the overjoyed fox-hunter, hugging the faithful
animal to his bosom, ‘this is the kindest visit you ever paid me.’ As
soon as the shades of evening had darkened their retreat, Eoghainn
untied his garter, and binding it round the dog’s neck, caressed him,
and pointing up the Glen, bade him go and bring the Brocair some food.
The poor terrier looked wistfully in his face, and with a shake of
his tail, quietly took his departure. In about four hours ‘Craicean’
reappeared, and endeavoured by every imaginable sign to make Eoghainn
follow him outside. With this the Brocair complied, but in a few
seconds he re-entered, accompanied by another person. Eoghainn having
covered the only entrance to the cave with their plaids, struck a light
and introduced to his astonished friends his betrothed, young Mary
Maclauchlan. The poor girl had understood by the garter which bound
the terrier’s neck, and which she herself had woven, that her Eoghainn
was in the neighbourhood, and hastened to his relief with all the
ready provisions she could procure; and not least, in the estimation
of at least two of the fugitives, the feeling maiden had brought them
a sip of unblemished whisky. In this manner they had been supplied
with aliment for some time, when one night their fair visitor failed
to come as usual. This, though it created no immediate alarm, somewhat
astonished them; but when the second night came and neither Mary nor
her shaggy companion appeared, Eoghainn’s uneasiness on Mary’s account
overcame every other feeling, and, in spite of all remonstrance, he
ventured forth to ascertain the cause of her delay. The night was dark
and squally, and Eoghainn was proceeding up his native glen like one
who felt that the very sound of his tread might betray him to death.
With a beating heart he had walked upwards of two miles, when his ears
were saluted with the distant report of a musket. Springing aside,
he concealed himself in a thicket which overhung the river. Here he
remained but a very short time when he was joined by the Craicean
dragging after him a cord several yards in length. This circumstance
brought the cold sweat from the brow of the Brocair. He knew that their
enemies were in pursuit of them, that the cord had been affixed to the
dog’s neck in order that he might lead to their place of concealment;
and alas! Eoghainn feared much that his betrothed was at the mercy of
his pursuers. What was to be done? The moment was big with fate, but he
was determined to meet it like a man. Cutting the cord and whispering
to the terrier, “cul mo chois” (back of my heel) he again ventured to
the road and moved warily onward. On arriving at an old wicker-wrought
barn, he saw a light streaming from it, when creeping towards it, he
observed a party of the enemy surrounding poor Mary Maclauchlan, who
was, at the moment, undergoing a close examination by their officer.
‘Come girl,’ said he ‘though that blind rascal has let your dog, who
would certainly have introduced us to the rebels, escape, you will
surely consult your own safety by guiding me to the spot; nay, I know
you will, here is my purse in token of my future friendship, and in
order to conceal your share in the transaction you and I shall walk
together to a place where you may point me out the lurking place of
these fellows, and leave the rest to me; and do you,’ continued he,
turning to his party, ‘remain all ready until you hear a whistle,
when instantly make for the spot.’ The Brocair crouched, as many a
time he did, but never before did his heart beat at such a rate. As
the officer and his passive guide took the road to the old Castle,
Eoghainn followed close in their wake, and, when they had proceeded
about a mile from the barn, they came upon the old hill road when Mary
made a dead halt, as if quite at a loss how to act. ‘Proceed, girl,’
thundered the officer, ‘I care not one farthing for my own life, and if
you do not instantly conduct me to the spot where the bloody rebels are
concealed, this weapon,’ drawing his sword, ‘shall within two minutes
penetrate your cunning heart.’ The poor girl trembled and staggered as
the officer pointed the sword at her bosom, when the voice of Eoghainn
fell on his ear like the knell of death, ‘Turn your weapon this way,
brave sir’, said the Brocair, ‘Turn it this way,’ and in a moment the
officer and his shivered sword lay at his feet. ‘Oh, for heaven’s
sake,’ screamed the fainting girl, ‘meddle not with his life.’ ‘No,
no, Mary; I shall not dirty my hands in his blood. I have only given
him the weight of my oak sapling, so that he may sleep soundly till
we are safe from the fangs of his bloodhounds.’ That very night the
fugitives left Urquhart Castle and got safe to the forests of Badenoch,
where they skulked about with Lochiel and his few followers until the
gentleman escaped to France, when Eoghainn Brocair and his companion
ventured once more, as they themselves expressed it, ‘to the communion
of Christians.’ The offspring of the Brocair and Mary Maclauchlan are
still in Lochaber.