In olden days the east coast of Scotland was studded with fortresses,
which, like a crescent chain of sentinels, watched carefully for the
protection of their owners and their dependents. The ruins remain and
raise their hoary heads over valley and stream, river bank and sea
shore, along which nobles, and knights, and followers "boden in
effeyre-weir" went gallantly to their fates; and where in the Highlands
many a weary drove followed from the foray, in which they had been
driven far from Lowland pastures or distant glens, with whose
inhabitants a feud existed. Could the bearded warriors, who once
thronged these halls awake, they would witness many a wonderful change
since the half-forgotten days when they lived and loved, revelled, and
fought, conquered, or sustained defeat. Where the bearer of the
Crann-tara or fiery cross once rushed along on his hasty errand, the
lightning of heaven now flashes by telegraphic wires to the farthest
corners of the land. Through the craggie passes, and along the level
plains, marked centuries ago with scarce a bridle path, the mighty steam
horse now thunders over its iron road; and where seaward once swam the
skin _curach_, or the crazy fleets of diminutive war galleys, and tiny
merchant vessels with their fantastic prows and sterns, and carved
mast-heads, the huge hull of the steam propelled ship now breasts the
waves that dash against the rugged headlands, or floats like a miniature
volcano, with its attendant clouds of smoke obscuring the horizon.
The Parish of Fearn in Easter Ross contains several antiquities of very
distant date. One of these shattered relics, Castle Cadboll, deserves
notice on account of a singular tradition regarding it, once implicitly
credited by the people--namely, that although inhabited for ages no
person ever died within its walls. Its magical quality did not, however,
prevent its dwellers from the suffering of disease, or the still more
grievous evils attending on debility and old age. Hence many of the
denizens of the castle became weary of life, particularly the Lady May,
who lived there centuries ago, and who being long ailing, and longing
for death, requested to be carried out of the building to die.
Her importunity at length prevailed; and according to the tradition, no
sooner did she leave it than she expired.
Castle Cadboll is situated on the sea shore, looking over the broad
ocean towards Norway. From that country, in the early ages of Scottish
history, came many a powerful Jarl, or daring Vikingr, to the coasts,
which, in comparison with their own land, seemed fertile and wealthy.
There is a tradition of a Highland clan having sprung from one of those
adventurers, who with his brother agreed that whoever should first touch
the land would possess it by right.
The foremost was the ultimate ancestor of the tribe; his boat was almost
on shore, when the other, by a vigorous stroke, shot a-head of him; but
ere he could disembark, the disappointed competitor, with an exclamation
of rage, cut off his left hand with his hatchet, and flinging the bloody
trophy on the rocks, became, by thus "first touching Scottish ground,"
the owner of the country and founder of the clan. The perfect accuracy
of this story cannot now be vouched for; but it is an undeniable fact
that the clan MacLeod have successfully traced their origin to a
Norwegian source; and there is a probability that the claim is correct
from the manifestly Norwegian names borne by the founders of the Clan
_Tormod_ and _Torquil_, hence the _Siol Tormod_--the race of Tormod--the
MacLeods of Harris; and the _Siol Torquil_, the race of
_Torquil_--MacLeods of Lewis--of whom came the MacLeods of Assynt, one
of whom betrayed Montrose in 1650, and from whom the estates passed away
in the end of the seventeenth century to the Mackenzies.
The MacLeods of Cadboll are cadets of the house of Assynt. But to what
branch the Lady May of the legend belonged it is difficult to decide, so
many changes having occurred among Highland proprietors.
The cliffs of this part of Ross-shire are wild and precipitous, sinking
with a sheer descent of two hundred feet to the ocean. The scenery is
more rugged than beautiful--little verdure and less foliage. Trees are
stunted by the bitter eastern blast, and the soil is poor. Alders are,
however, plentiful, and from them the parish has derived its name of
Fearn. There is a number of caves in the cliffs along the shore towards
Tarbet, where the promontory is bold, and crowned with a lighthouse,
whose flickering rays are now the only substitute for the wonderful gem
which was said of yore to sparkle on the brow of one of these eastern
cliffs,--a bountiful provision of nature for the succour of the
wave-tossed mariner.
During the reign of one of the early Stuart kings, _which_ is of little
moment, Roderick MacLeod ruled with a high and lordly hand within the
feudal stronghold of Cadboll. He was a stout and stern knight, whose
life had been spent amidst the turmoil of national warfare and clan
strife.
Many a battle had he fought, and many a wound received since first he
buckled on his father's sword for deadly combat. Amid the conflicting
interests which actuated each neighbouring clan--disagreement on any one
of which rendered an immediate appeal to arms, the readiest mode of
solving the difficulty--it is not to be wondered at that Cadboll, as a
matter of prudence, endeavoured to attach to himself, by every means in
his power, those who were most likely to be serviceable and true.
MacLeod had married late in life, and his wife dying soon after, while
on a visit to her mother, left behind her an only daughter, who was dear
as the apple of his eye to the old warrior, but, at the same time, he
had no idea of any one connected with him having any freedom of will or
exercise of opinion--save what he allowed--nor did he believe women's
hearts were less elastic than his own, which he could bend to any
needful expedient. About the period our story commences the Lady May was
nearly eighteen years of age, a beautiful and gentle girl, whose hand
was sought by many a young chief of the neighbouring clans; but all
unsuccessfully, for the truth was she already loved, and was beloved, in
secret, by young Hugh Munro from the side of Ben Wyvis.
The favoured of the daughter was not the choice of her father, simply
because he was desirous to secure the aid of the Macraes, a tribe
occupying Glenshiel, remarkable for great size and courage, and known in
history as "the wild Macraes." The chief--Macrae of Inverinate, readily
fell in with the views of MacLeod, and as the time fixed for his
marriage with the lovely Lady May drew nigh, gratified triumph over his
rival Munro, and hate intense as a being of such fierce passions could
feel, glowed like a gleaming light in his fierce grey eyes.
"Once more," he said, "I will to the mountains to find him before the
bridal. There shall be no chance of a leman crossing my married life,
and none to divide the love Inverinate shall possess entire. By my
father's soul, but the boy shall rue the hour he dared to cross my
designs. Yes, rue it, for I swear to bring him bound to witness my
marriage, and then hang him like a skulking wild cat on Inverinate
green."
It was nightfall as he spoke thus. Little he knew that at the same
moment Hugh Munro was sitting beneath the dark shadows of the alder
trees, which grew under the window of the little chamber where May
MacLeod was weeping bitterly over the sad fate from which she could see
no way of escape. As she sat thus the soft cry of the cushat fell upon
her ears. Intently she listened for a few moments, and when it was
repeated stepped to the window and opened it cautiously, leaning forth
upon the sill. Again the sound stole from among the foliage, and May
peered down into the gloom, but nothing met her gaze save the shadows of
the waving branches upon the tower wall.
"It is his signal," she whispered to herself as the sound was repeated
once more. "Ah me! I fear he will get himself into danger on account of
these visits, and yet I cannot--I cannot bid him stay away."
She muffled herself in a dark plaid, moved towards the door, opened it
cautiously, and listening with dread, timidly ventured down to meet her
lover.
"I must and will beg him to-night to stay away in future" continued she,
as she tripped cautiously down the narrow winding stair--"and yet to
stay away? Ah me, it is to leave me to my misery; but it must be done,
unkind as it may be, otherwise he will assuredly be captured and slain,
for I fear Macrae suspects our meetings are not confined to the day and
my father's presence."
After stealing through many dark passages, corridors, and staircases, in
out-of-the-way nooks, she emerged into the open air, through a neglected
postern shadowed by a large alder, opposite the spot from which the
sound proceeded.
Again she gazed into the shadow, and there leaning against a tree
growing on the edge of the crag she saw a tall slender figure. Well she
knew the outlines of that form, and fondly her heart throbbed at the
sound of the voice which now addressed her.
"Dearest," said the young Munro in a low tone, "I thought thou wouldst
never come. I have been standing here like a statue against the trunk of
this tree for the last half-hour watching for one blink of light from
thy casement. But it seems thou preferrest darkness. Ah May, dear May,
cease to indulge in gloomy forebodings."
"Would that I could, Hugh," she answered sadly. "What thoughts but
gloomy ones can fill my mind when I am ever thinking of the danger you
incur by coming here so often, and thinking too of the woeful fate to
which we are both destined."
"Think no more of it" said her lover in a cheerful tone. "We have hope
yet."
"Alas, there is no hope. Even this day my father hath fixed the time
for--to me--this dreaded wedding? And thou Hugh, let this be our last
meeting--_Mar tha mi!_ our last in the world. Wert thou caught by
Inverinate, he so hates thee, he would have thy life by the foulest
means."
"Fear not for that dearest. And this bridal! Listen May, before that
happen the eagle will swoop down and bear thee away to his free
mountains, amid their sunny glens and bosky woods, to love thee darling
as no other mortal, and certainly none of the Clan-'ic-Rathmhearlaich
has heart to do."
"Ah me!" sighed May, "would that it could be so. I cannot leave my
father until all other hope is gone, and yet I fear if I do not we are
fated to be parted. Even this may be the last time we may meet. I warn
thee, Hugh, I am well watched, and I beg you will be careful. Hush! was
that a footfall in the grove below the crag?" and she pointed to a clump
of trees at some distance under where they were standing, and on the
path by which he would return.
"By my troth it may be so," said he. "Better, dear May, retire to your
chamber and I shall remain here till you bid me good night from your
window."
Again they listened, and again the rustling met their ears distinctly.
It ceased, and the maiden bidding her mountain lover a fond good night,
ascended to her chamber, while he disdaining to be frightened away by
sound, moved to his former position below the alder tree. Seating
himself at its root, with his eyes fixed on the window, in a voice low
but distinct, he sang to one of the sweet sad lays of long ago, a ditty
to his mistress, of which the following paraphrase will convey an
idea:--
"Oh darling May, my promised bride,
List to my love--come fly with me,
Where down the dark Ben Wyvis side
The torrent dashes wild and free.
O'er sunny glen and forest brake;
O'er meadow green and mountain grand;
O'er rocky gorge and gleaming lake--
Come,--reign, the lady of the land.
Come cheer my lonely mountain home,
Where gleams the lake, where rills dance bright;
Where flowers bloom fair--come dearest come
And light my dark and starless night.
One witching gleam from thy bright eye
Can change to halls of joy my home!
One song, one softly uttered sigh,
Can cheer my lone heart--dearest come."
The moment the song ceased the fair form of May MacLeod appeared at the
casement overhead, she waved a fond farewell to her mountain minstrel
and closed the window; but the light deprived of her fair face had no
charm for him--he gazed once more at the pane through which it beamed
like a solitary star, amid the masses of foliage, and was turning away
when he found a heavy hand laid on his shoulder.
"Stay," exclaimed the intruder in a deep stern voice, whose tone the
young chief knew but too well. "Thou hast a small reckoning to discharge
ere thou go, my good boy. I am Macrae."
"And I," answered the other, "am Hugh Munro, what seek'st thou from me?"
"That thou shalt soon know, thou skulking hill cat," answered Macrae
throwing his unbuckled sword belt and scabbard on the ground and
advancing with extended weapon.
"Indeed! then beware of the wild cat's spring," Munro promptly replied,
giving a sudden bound which placed him inside the guard of his
antagonist, whose waist he instantly encircled within his sinewy arms
with the design of hurling him over the crag on which they stood. The
struggle was momentary. Munro, struck to the heart with Macrae's dagger,
fell with May's loved name on his lips, while Macrae, staggering over
the height in the act of falling, so wounded himself by his own weapon
as to render his future life one of helpless manhood and bitter mental
regret.
MacLeod was soon after slain in one of the many quarrels of the time,
while his daughter May, the sorrowing heiress of the broad lands of
Cadboll, lived on for fifty years one long unrelieved day of suffering.
Fifty years! Alas for the mourner--spring succeeded winter, and summer
spring, but no change of season lightened May MacLeod's burden! Fifty
years! year by year passing away only brought changes to those who lived
under her gentle sway, and among the dependents of her home; youth
passed into age, young men and maidens filled the places of the valued
attendants of her girlhood; but the Lady--solitary--still a mourner, in
her feudal tower grew old and bent, thin and wan, and still in her heart
the love of her youth bloomed fresh for her betrothed.
And then disease laid hold of her limbs--paralyzed--unable to move, she
would fain have died, but the spell of Cadboll was on her--death could
not enter within its walls.
Sickness and pain, care and grief, disappointment, trust betrayed,
treachery and all the ills which life is heir to, all might and did
enter there. Death alone was barred without.
Sadly her maidens listened to her heart breaking appeals, to the spirit
of Munro, her unwed husband, the murdered bridegroom of her young life,
to come to her aid from the land of shadows and of silence. They knew
her story of the fifty years of long ago, and they pitied and grieved
with her, wondering at the constancy of her woman's heart.
Still more sadly did they listen to her appeals to be carried out from
the castle to the edge of the precipice where the power of the spell
ceased, there to look for, meet and welcome death; but they knew not the
story of the spell, and they deemed her mad with grief.
Terrified at last by her appeals to the dead, with whom she seemed to
hold continual conversation, and who seemed to be present in the chamber
with them, though unseen, and partly, at length, worn out with her
unceasing importunities, and partly to gratify the whim, as they
considered it, of the sufferer, tremblingly they agreed to obey her
requests and to carry her forth to the edge of the cliff. A frightened
band, they bore the Lady May, lying on her couch, smiling with hope and
blessing them for thus consenting. Over the threshold, over the
drawbridge, her eyes fixed on the heavens, brightened as they proceeded.
Hope flushed with hectic glow upon her pale suffering face, grateful
thanks broke from her lips. Hastening their steps they passed through
the gate, wound along the hill side, and as the broad expanse of ocean
with the fresh wind curling it into wavelets burst upon the sight, a
flash of rapture beamed on her countenance; a cry of joy rushed from her
pallid lips--their feeble burden grew heavier. A murmur of welcoming
delight was uttered to some glorious presence, unseen by the maidens,
and all became hushed eternally. The Lady May lay on her couch a
stiffening corpse. The spell of Cadboll had been broken at last. A
MacLeod inhabited it no more, and decay and ruin seized on the hoary
pile of which now scarcely a vestige remains to tell of the former
extent and feudal strength of Castle Cadboll.
(_To be continued._)