Marrig House stands on a gentle declivity near the upper end of
Loch-Seaforth, a bay some miles in length, in the Outer Hebrides. It
was in olden times a structure of the most primitive description. Its
walls, some six feet in thickness, and about four feet in height, were
built of sods, earth, and mountain boulders; and its roof of pieces of
wreckage found on the sea-shore, covered over with sods, ferns, and
rushes. It had neither window or chimney, save a rude opening at the
top of the wall, and an old creel stuck into the ridge, which served
the double purpose of admitting light and emitting the dense volumes
of smoke which invariably darkened the interior. The fire was in the
centre of the clay-made floor. The cooking utensils were suspended from
the rafters by a heather rope. The partitions, made of boards, pieces
of wreckage, and old sails, did not extend higher than the level of the
walls.
Being on a portion of the estate of Harris—which was from time
immemorial possessed by the branch of the Macleods known as Siol
Thormaid—Marrig House was occupied by a Macleod; and not unfrequently
did it afford temporary shelter and entertainment to the Chief of Siol
Thormaid himself, when following the chase in the adjoining forests. It
was from this house that Sir Rory Mor Macleod of Dunvegan and Harris,
while laid up with a bad leg, wrote, on the 2nd of September 1596, a
letter to King James, acknowledging receipt of the King’s charge, of
the 18th of August, commanding him to be at Islay with all his forces
on the second day thereafter, under pain of treason, and explaining
that it was impossible to comply with His Majesty’s orders, even
‘althocht my hail force haid beine togidder, and wund and widder serued
one at eiverir airt.’ But the house which was then at Marrig has long
since disappeared, and a more substantial and modern one now stands in
its place. The tenant of Marrig was locally called ‘Fear Mharig,’ or
the good man of Marrig, a term which was and still is applied in the
Highlands to large tenants.
Marrig at the time of which we write was tenanted by a near relation of
the Chief of Siol Thormaid, a brave, prudent, and upright man. He had
an only daughter, his heiress, upon whom Nature had bestowed no small
share of her favours; she was as modest and tender-hearted as she was
beautiful. She was courted and sought after by all the young gentlemen
of the island; but being devotedly attached to her father, whom she
idolized, and on whose advice and counsel she invariably acted, their
proffered suits were always rejected, until circumstances which took
place in the neighbourhood of Glasgow at that time brought a new and
more successful suitor on the scene.
It happened, while a son of the then Earl of Argyll was prosecuting
his studies in the University of Glasgow, that a dispute arose between
him and one of his fellow-students regarding the superiority of their
respective clans. The quarrel ultimately assumed such proportions, that
it was resolved to decide it by an appeal to arms. The weapons chosen
were the broadsword and target, these being the common weapons of war
in those days. At the proper time the combatants, with their seconds,
appeared at the appointed place. A desperate combat immediately began,
and continued with unabated fury for some time; and so well were the
warriors matched that it became doubtful latterly which of them would
carry the day. Campbell, however, ultimately made a clever and skilful
stroke, which secured him the victory—having split his adversary’s
head almost in two. Campbell was thus, according to law, guilty of
manslaughter, and being ‘wanted’ for that offence, he and his second,
a son of Macleod of Dunvegan and Harris, fled to the latter island for
refuge.
Campbell was not long in the island when he became acquainted with
Mary Macleod, the fair heiress of Marrig, and became deeply enamoured
of her; and being a handsome man of prepossessing appearance, refined
address, winning manners, and withal of an illustrious family, his
love was soon warmly returned, and with the full concurrence of the
young lady’s father the day of their marriage was fixed for an early
date. But it happened soon afterwards that the old gentleman casually
received a full account of the reason which brought his daughter’s
affianced to Harris, and, his whole nature revolting at the idea of
marrying his daughter to a man guilty of manslaughter, he at once
resolved to break off the alliance. He well knew that this could not be
accomplished without encountering some serious difficulty, possibly a
bitter and deadly feud. Not that he apprehended any serious opposition
on the part of his daughter, who, he was sure, would sacrifice almost
anything to please him; but her suitor was a very different person.
He was proud and easily irritated, and that he was of a violent
disposition was sufficiently demonstrated from the fact that he had
already fought a duel and had slain his opponent for the honour of
his name. He belonged to a powerful family, whose chief might feign
offence at his son’s proffered suit and engagement being thus summarily
rejected and violated, and who might come to make reprisals, or,
peradventure, declare open war with the Siol Thormaid, the result of
which might be disastrous. Carefully considering all these questions
which operated strongly on his feelings, the good man of Marrig called
his daughter to his presence, and told her in an affectionate and
feeling manner what he had discovered of the history of her lover, and
then, in a tone sufficiently firm to manifest that he meant what he
said, he made known his resolution. ‘You must not,’ he said, ‘have any
further communication with Campbell. Sorry, indeed, am I to be under
the necessity of thwarting my dear Mary’s affections, but ten times
more would it pain me to see her wedded to a man whose past conduct
my soul loathes. My darling Mary is still very young. Let her trust
in Providence, and she will yet get a husband, in whom she may safely
repose her trust, and whom her aged father can love as he loves his
daughter.’
‘Never have I attempted to go against my father’s commands,’ answered
she, weeping bitterly, ‘nor shall I do so now; but as my heart bleeds
for my beloved, I trust you have authentic information before you can
act so harshly. Shall I, Oh! shall I be permitted to see him once more?’
‘I have no reason to doubt the correctness of my information,’ replied
he, ‘for I received it from young Macleod, who witnessed the duel. You
may see Campbell once more, but once for all.’
A meeting had previously been arranged between the lovers for the very
evening of the day on which the above conversation took place between
Mary Macleod and her father; and with buoyant spirits, and a step
so light that it scarcely bent the purple heather, Campbell walked
from Rodel to Marrig that day—a distance of between twenty-five and
thirty miles—to meet his affianced Mary. Little, alas! did he think,
while performing his journey, that she would greet him with such
heart-rending words to both as ‘My dear, I must see you no more.’ The
lovers embraced each other when they met. ‘How happy am I to meet you
and see you, my darling Mary, once more,’ said Campbell, who was the
first to speak; ‘but, thank God, we shall soon meet to part no more
while we live.’
‘Happy, thrice happy would I be,’ sobbed the maiden, ‘if that were so;
but, alas! it cannot be.’ And in broken accents she recapitulated all
that her father said to her, adding with a groan, ‘I must never see you
again.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Campbell in great excitement, ‘must I never see my
dear, my own Mary again? It cannot be. The very thought would kill me.
I will not part with my own, my darling Mary.’
They both burst into tears, and continued to weep and sob for a time;
but the young lady, who, on the whole, considering the trying nature
of it, bore the ordeal with remarkable fortitude, remarked that as her
father’s word was inexorable as the laws of the Medes and Persians
which altered not, they must be reconciled to their fate.
‘If it must be so, then,’ Campbell replied, ‘I shall try to submit to
it. But the island of Harris will henceforth have no attraction for me.
I shall depart from it at once, and go to the seas, where I can muse in
melancholy silence on the maid who first stole my heart and afterwards
rejected me.’
‘Restrain thy plaint, my dear Archy,’ rejoined the maiden, as she
proceeded to assure him that the step she had taken was entirely in
obedience to the wishes of her father, without whose consent she would
never marry while he lived; but she would faithfully promise that if
he would wait for her until her father had paid the debt of nature she
would be only too happy to fulfil her engagement and become his wife.
‘And,’ she continued, ‘I shall never marry another while you live.’
Campbell replied that since he found that her love to him was still
unaltered, he would become more reconciled to his hard fate; that
her kind and loving words had infused him with fresh hopes; that her
father, in the natural course of things, before many years had passed
away, would go to his fathers, and that till that event took place he
would patiently wait for his loving Mary. He then handed her the ring
which he intended to place on her finger on the day of her nuptials,
saying, ‘Take this and keep it till we meet again.’
She took the ring with mingled feelings of joy and sorrow—of joy,
because she could look at it as a memento of their engagement; of
sorrow, because it would remind her of an absent lover. After looking
intensely at it for some time she carefully placed it in her bosom,
saying, ‘I, too, will give you a pledge of our betrothal, it was
intended to be worn on your breast at our wedding,’ and she then
handed him a knot of blue ribbon, made by herself, and having both
their initials wrought in it with golden silk thread. Taking a parting
embrace of each other, they wept long and bitterly, and with heavy
hearts separated, it might be, for ever.
During this conversation they sat on the south side of an elevated spot
overlooking Loch-Seaforth, and when they parted she went direct to
Marrig House, while he went in the direction of Stornoway, with the
view of procuring employment as a seaman on board some vessel. Many
a look did he give towards Marrig, between Athline, at the head of
Loch-Seaforth, and Araidh Bhruthaich, the Shealing of the Ascent, in
Lochs, made famous in local tradition as the place where the Irish
plunderers lifted Donald Cam Macaulay’s cattle in his absence while he
was away on business at the Flannel Isles, and for which act they paid
with their lives; for Donald overtook them at Loch-Seaforth, and slew
every one of them.
Stornoway is twenty-six miles north of Marrig; and though the evening
was far advanced ere Campbell left, he arrived at the capital of the
Lews before many of the good citizens had retired for the night. One
would have thought that, after travelling upwards of fifty miles that
day, he would have slept pretty soundly; but such was not the case. The
thought of what had occurred at Marrig disquieted his mind so much,
that it almost became unhinged. Sleep, usually the sweet and refreshing
balm to the weary traveller, left him to writhe on a sleepless pillow.
No wonder, then, that the first peep of daylight found him in the
neighbourhood of the old castle of Stornoway—then the seat and
stronghold of the once famous Chief of Siol Thorcuil—sauntering on the
sandy beach, and peering out into the placid blue water of the bay, in
the hope of descrying some ship to take him away from the scene of his
present sorrow. He did not long look in vain, for he soon noticed a
vessel lying some distance off; and presently a small boat coming for a
supply of water left her for the shore. The ship, which had shortened
her cable before the boat had put off, he found, was bound for Holland.
‘Short of men?’ exclaimed Campbell, as the boat touched the beach.
‘Would ship one good hand,’ one of the sailors replied.
‘All right; here he is,’ responded Campbell, who, as soon as the casks
were full, accompanied the sailors to the vessel. He was engaged at
once; the ship weighed anchor, and proceeded to sea. Campbell having
now left the Hebrides, we shall return to Harris and note affairs at
Marrig.
Several years had passed away before Mary Macleod thoroughly recovered
from the effects of the shock produced by her bitter disappointment.
She mourned long and sorrowfully for her absent lover, and feared she
would never see him more. Her lamentations were so pitiful, she grew
so terribly thin and wan, that her father was sorely grieved that he
could not undo what he had done. ‘Woe to me,’ he often exclaimed, ‘for
killing my daughter. She is rapidly sinking to an untimely grave.’
Although some of Mary’s former admirers returned with the full ardour
of their love as soon as Campbell had left the island, and pressed
their suits with renewed zeal, she politely but firmly rejected their
proposals, with the saying, ‘I am not yet a widow.’
Five years had now almost passed away since Mary Macleod and Archie
Campbell parted, and still no tidings reached her of his whereabouts.
She knew not whether he was dead or alive. At that time some of the
sailors belonging to a large ship which came into Loch-Seaforth
for shelter called one evening for milk at Marrig House; and in
conversation with them it transpired that their vessel, then in
Loch-Seaforth, was the identical ship in which Campbell sailed from
Stornoway five years before; that he never left her until he was
accidentally drowned in the Bay of Biscay four years afterwards; that,
by his kind and obliging manner, he became a general favourite with all
his comrades, all of whom deeply lamented his loss. This unexpected
intelligence acted upon the forlorn and broken-hearted maiden as if
struck by lightning. She uttered a wild and piercing scream, and fell
fainting on the floor. During the excitement that followed the sailors
made their exit, and proceeded to their ship, which weighed anchor next
morning and disappeared; so that the fair maiden had now lost further
opportunity of obtaining any additional information she might desire
about her lover. Sad and melancholy as she had been hitherto, she was
now depressed and cheerless in the extreme. Refusing to be comforted,
she moaned and sighed day and night for weeks and months together.
Nothing apparently could rouse her spirits from the deep melancholy
which had taken possession of her. She continued thus for nearly two
years, during which time she was all but a hermit. She was often
visited, it is true, during those solitary years by many admirers, who
used all the fair words at their command to press their suit upon her,
but she invariably answered that she ‘did not yet tire of her widow’s
weeds.’ Eventually, however, she became gradually more cheerful, and
took some pleasure in society; and ultimately went and sang and danced
at local balls and other fashionable gatherings as in days long gone by.
Of all Mary Macleod’s admirers Macleod of Hushinish was her greatest
favourite; and some three years after she obtained intelligence of
Campbell’s death, she consented to become his wife, with the full
consent of the father and other relations, and the day of their
espousal was fixed. The preparations for the wedding, which was to be
on a grand scale, were necessarily extensive. The liquors consisted of
whisky, rum, gin, and brandy. The marriage ceremony was, according to
the usual custom, to be performed in her father’s house, whither the
officiating clergyman had been invited several days previously. For
some days prior to the marriage a strong gale of wind blew from the
south, and the barometer gave every indication of its continuance. This
proved a fortunate circumstance for the bride’s father, whose stock of
gin and brandy had become somewhat limited at the very time when it
was most required; for, two days previous to that of the marriage, a
foreign vessel had put into Loch-Seaforth to shelter from the storm,
and from this ship he procured an addition to the necessary supply of
spirits. On account of the liberal terms on which the captain supplied
him, Fear Mharig invited him and the first mate to the wedding. The
captain—a middle-aged burly man, with a well tanned face—was, as
became his position, dressed in a suit corresponding to his rank;
but the mate, who seemed about thirty years of age, with brown, but
well-fared face, of ordinary height and handsome figure, was dressed in
the garb of an ordinary seaman.
The number of people collected at Marrig House was so large that the
marriage ceremony had to be performed in the large barn, where as many
as it could contain were requested to go and witness the proceedings.
In the general rush the captain and his mate were left outside. But
being the greatest strangers, and anxious that they should see the
ritual, some of the leading Harris men gave up their own seats in
favour of the sailors, who thus received front positions. They had
scarcely occupied them when the bride and her maids entered, followed
almost immediately by the bridegroom and his party. The bride, attired
in her magnificent marriage robes, looking beautiful, and spotless
as an angel, was greeted with vociferous cheering. This enthusiastic
welcome over, and just when the minister was about to commence the
service, the mate, who chanced to be exactly opposite to the bride,
interrupted the proceedings by saying in the blunt but pointed manner
peculiar to sailors, ‘I presume that all the ladies and gentlemen
present have already presented the bride with their presents. I
haven’t yet had a proper opportunity of giving mine; and although it
is but small, and apparently trifling, I trust the young lady will,
nevertheless, accept and appreciate it as a token of my constant
love and devoted affection.’ He then handed to the bride a neatly
folded paper parcel, about the size of a small-sized envelope. She
nervously tore it open, and on examining the contents, she, to the
great astonishment of the assembly, exclaimed, ‘Archy, Archy, my dear!
my long absent Archy,’ and springing forward she embraced him again
and again. It is almost needless to say that the sailor’s gift was
the identical knot of blue ribbon given by Mary Macleod to Archibald
Campbell some eight years before. Mary and her betrothed, Archibald
Campbell (for it was he), were for several minutes locked fast in
each other’s embrace, and she, after the commotion produced by this
unexpected meeting had somewhat subsided, said, in an audible tone,
that she was now ready to fulfil her original engagement to her first
love, and that her father, she was quite sure, would now offer no
objections to their marriage. Fear Mharig at once replied that he had
already suffered quite enough of harrowed remorse for the part he had
previously taken in their separation to offer any further objection.
He would therefore give his full consent, for the whole matter seemed
to him to have been arranged by Providence. Young Macleod of Harris,
Campbell’s University companion, now stepped forward, and shook the
sailor warmly by the hand, giving him a thousand welcomes, and
congratulating him on coming so opportunely to claim the hand of Mary
Macleod; and Fear Mharig suggested that, as all the arrangements were
ready, and the clergyman standing there, the marriage ceremony had
better be proceeded with; which proposal was acted upon, and Archibald
Campbell and Mary Macleod were there and then made man and wife. During
the proceedings, young Hushinish, the disappointed bridegroom, stood a
silent spectator and quite dumbfounded.
The marriage ceremony over, Campbell entertained the company, relating
his travels and all the peculiar incidents which occurred during the
eight years that elapsed since he left Harris, one of which was how his
ship came to Loch-Seaforth three years before, as already noticed, how
that he himself formed one of the party of sailors who then called at
Marrig House for milk, and personally reported that he had been drowned
in the Bay of Biscay. His object in making this untrue statement
was to test his Mary’s affection; for finding that her father was
still alive, he deemed it prudent not to make himself known. He then
solemnly assured them, corroborated by his Captain, that his coming
to Loch-Seaforth two days ago, driven by the storm, was by the merest
accident.
It need hardly be said that the vessel left Loch-Seaforth minus the
first mate, who was from his marriage-day henceforth called Fear
Mharig. From Mary Macleod and Archibald Campbell, descended all the
Campbells in Harris, Lews, Uist, and Skye many of whom became famous in
their day and generation.