Loch of Monzievaird, is undoubtedly very old, but how old no one can
tell. A square tower, about 17 feet by 18 feet, with walls five or six
feet thick, of tremendous strength, is all that now remains. It is
said to have been a seat of the "Red Cumin," the rival of Robert the
Bruce for the throne of Scotland, slain at Dumfries before the high
altar. The prison is sometimes said to have been on the island in the
loch, but really the dungeon must be sought under the foundations of
the tower. In the charter giving Ochtertyre to the Murrays, in the
year 1467, it is even then described as an "ancient fortalice." The
key of the tower was found about fifty years ago on the east side of
the building. The old church of Monzievaird, now converted into a
mausoleum, was the scene of a dreadful tragedy, characteristic of the
spirit of feudal times. The Murrays and the Drummonds were but ill
neighbours in the days of James IV. The collision between them in this
instance has been ascribed to the levying of tithes, but without
historic grounds; and the law of retaliation is even older than that of
teinds, and far more widely practised. In a foray which began near
Knock Mary the Murrays or their retainers were overpowered and driven
westward. They kept up a running fight round the western base of
Tomachastel, and an obstinate struggle took place in the hollow between
Westerton and the Loch, where many men fell. The Murrays, however,
succeeded in reaching the church, where 120 men able to bear arms, with
their wives and children, took refuge. They were followed by the
Drummonds, reinforced, as some say, by Campbell of Dunstaffhage, and
thirsting for vengeance. Even then they might have escaped, had not
one of the Murray clan indiscreetly revealed their hiding-place by
aiming a successful shot at one of the Drummonds. The Drummonds now
summoned them to surrender, but in vain, and then piled wood round the
long, low, heather-thatched edifice, and consumed it with its human
holocaust. One Murray alone, David by name, escaped, being aided by
one of the Drummonds, who was attached to his sister. He in turn was
hated and persecuted by his own clan, and forced to escape to Ireland.
After some years he returned thence under the effectual protection of
the powerful Abbot of Inchaffray, who was a Murray. He was settled on
the Abbey lands, and the property which he received still bears the
name of Drummond-Ernoch (of Erin).
The massacre of Monzievaird was sternly avenged by King James IV. The
Master of Drummond, leader of the party, and some of his followers were
executed at Stirling. The estate of Drummond was required to provide
for the widows and orphans, and further to expiate their sacrilegious
crime by re-building the church. Even then the house of prayer could
scarcely be called the abode of peace. It is said to have been the
scene of fierce bickerings, and that the gauntlet of the Murrays was
for many years fastened on a small gallery of the church, and formal
challenge made to anyone to remove it before divine service was allowed
to begin. When the foundations of the present mausoleum were being dug
a quantity of charred wood was found, and very many calcined
bones--those nearer the door on the west being of larger size than the
others towards the east, which were probably those of women and
children. They must have been buried as they lay.
The Murrays of Ochtertyre come of the Tullibardine family, and the
present proprietor is the fifteenth in descent from the first. The
addition of Keith to the ancient "Moray," changed to Murray, arose from
marriage with the heiress of Dunnottar Castle, in Kincardineshire. It
is a singular fact that the succession has uniformly descended from
father to son. The existing house of Ochtertyre was built by the
great-grandfather of the present Baronet, and for prospect it would be
hard to equal it. The old house stood near the great ash tree further
west, and a yet older is proved by a family record, which narrates the
births of generations at Quoig House, above the church. Robert Burns'
visit to Ochtertyre in 1787 and the two poems he produced are too
familiar to need mention here. In the reign of Charles I. a mortality
greater even than that caused by war almost depopulated the bonnie
braes of Ochtertyre. The dreaded Plague assumed alarming proportions,
and many huts were erected for isolation near the west end of
Monzievaird Loch. The dead were not buried in the churchyard, but in a
large sepulchral mound near the Marle Lodge gate.
The Right Honourable Sir George Murray, G.C.B., perhaps the most
distinguished member of the Ochtertyre family, after meritorious
service in Egypt and the Peninsular War, was chief of the general staff
under Wellington at Waterloo. He also served the State as a
politician, six times representing Perthshire in Parliament, and
attaining among many honours the office of Secretary of State for the
Colonies in the Duke of Wellington's Government of 1828. The present
Baronet is a worthy successor of an honoured line, and his generous
consideration for the public in throwing open his grounds and granting
the fullest facilities for their enjoyment deserves the highest praise.
It is claimed for Glenturret that the two last wolves seen in Scotland
were killed there. But a similar claim has been advanced for
Nairnshire, and, with far more likelihood, for the wilds of the Moor of
Rannoch. The glen, however, was long famous for its falcons. In few
places is the bird-life more various or abundant than in the woods of
bonnie Ochtertyre. And the rabbit, introduced there while the present
century was young, has evidently come to stay and to multiply.
At Upper Quoig two reputed witches once dwelt, but whether from greater
fear or greater enlightenment here than elsewhere, they were never
called to endure the ordeal either by fire or by water. They hunted in
couples apparently, for the story goes that two men at Clathick, rising
early on a May morning, saw them coming up the burn-side, putting a
tether across the stream, and saying, "Come all to me." This
incantation succeeded in providing the witches' dairy with a double
supply of milk, while their neighbours had none! Verily many poor old
crones have lost their lives on as trivial a charge. Passing westward
to the compact property of Clathick, now owned by Captain Campbell
Colquhoun, we learn that it was given off from Ochtertyre in dowry with
a Miss Mary Murray. It was a curious marriage contract provision that
her initials should be cut upon each lintel, and men were living thirty
years ago who had seen "M.M." carved on the stones of the old house.
The estate of Lawers conjures up from the deep oblivion of ages many
stirring times. It was originally "Fordie," but was named Lawers after
the Campbells from Loch Tayside came into possession. How different
our quiet Christian Lord's Days and "kirk-yard cracks" from these
Sunday and festival occasions of bloodshed,
"When strangers from Breadalbane
And clansmen from Loch Tay
Brought to the priest their offerings,
But fought each holy day!"
Still we may remark the ruined chapel almost smothered by the
overturned yew trees that were planted, less, perhaps, to mark the
"route" of the Mass carried in procession (hence "routine," corrupted
into "Rotten Row,") than to furnish the twanging bow for these martial
spirits. That great boulder-stone at the north-eastern end of the
magnificent avenue opposite is, most likely, a Roman landmark, though
it is customary to declare that the Earn once flowed past it. Colonel
Campbell of Lawers was not only a sincere reformer, but John Knox's
history tells us how he commanded a regiment raised to make good the
cause of religious faith and freedom. His second successor was a yet
more staunch and eminent Scotsman, knighted in 1620, and created Earl
of Loudon in 1633. He proved himself a stout opponent of the arbitrary
measures of Charles I. and Laud; was one of the most prominent actors
in the Glasgow Assembly of 1638, and nominated to represent the Church
of Scotland in the Westminster Assembly of Divines. He narrowly
escaped being beheaded in the Tower of London, in spite of a safe
conduct and without trial; but the fiat of the insensate monarch was
recalled, and the warrant torn up by Charles a single day before the
axe was doomed to fall, from fear of the odium and vengeance his death
would have called forth. Not to remain Chancellor of Scotland (as he
was for ten years) would he imperil the interests of religious liberty
and national independence, just then threatened by Stuart absolutism;
and yet he was a man of the type of the great Montrose, as loyal to the
King as he was true to Church and people. Few deserve better to rank
among "The Scots Worthies." He disponed Lawers estate to his brother,
who, fighting against Cromwell at Inverkeithing, was badly beaten, and
had his lands on the north of Loch Earn taken from him by an oppressive
exaction put in force against him by the same Stuart dynasty, whose
cause he had so faithfully championed.
A thrilling tale introduces the next laird of Lawers, son of the last
named. He executed a punitive commission against his uncanny
neighbours, the Macgregors, who determined on revenge. They surprised
him at Lawers in bed, and threatened instant death, even in his wife's
presence. He urged for time to pray, and that it might be for
quietness in the chapel hard by, which request they granted. On the
way thither he so played on their cupidity, offering them 10,000 merks
if they would spare his life, that at last he prevailed. Faithful to
his engagement, he raised this immense sum, much of it being gathered
in halfpence, and carried on horseback to the appointed trysting-place.
But Lawers was better than his word, for soldiers surrounded the house,
and made the Macgregors prisoners. The game ended with checkmate, when
the duped freebooters paid the death penalty in Edinburgh. Colonel
David R. Williamson, the present laird of Lawers, has been long noted
for his public spirit and eminent services to agriculture.
Tomachastel, the central wooded height of the parish, now surmounted by
the monument, erected by his widow, in 1832, to the memory of General
Sir David Baird of Ferntower, is marked out beyond all reasonable doubt
as the site of the ancient Castle of Earn, for long the fortress
dwelling of the great and powerful Earls of Strathearn. The title is
now merged in the names of Royalty, like the Dukedoms of Rothesay and
Albany. Our own beloved Queen's father was the Duke of Kent and
Strathearn, as her third son is Duke of Connaught and Strathearn. No
situation within the wide strath can compare with it in fair and
far-reaching prospect, combined with facilities for defence; and the
lighting of its beacon fire would be so universally observed over a
wide domain that a personal summons, like that of the fiery cross,
would scarcely be needed. Romance and gruesome horror are strangely
blended here; for was it not from the walks in close proximity to the
castle that the fair Lady Mary Graham, only daughter of stout old
Malise, Earl of Strathearn, espied her future husband, John Moray of
Drumshergart, fishing in the well-stocked pools below? And did he not
find her society more engrossing than any (whole or half) scaly
inhabitant of the mermaid's pool? The Morays of Abercairny estate (the
fair lady's marriage portion) and many another territorial family claim
descent from the union of these happy lovers. The rough hospitality,
and swift, if not always impartial, administration of feudal justice
are themes inviting to historic imagination; nor is the religious
element wanting, for the Earls of Strathearn, besides founding
Inchaffray Abbey, endowed the Bishopric of Dunblane with one-third of
their domains. A sad and shameful story links the castle with the good
King Robert the Bruce, and probably brought about its destruction.
Joanna, only child of the seventh Earl, was Countess in her own right,
and married to John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, and English Governor of
Scotland. The husband and wife had different minds and purposes. The
lady was found guilty of conspiracy, with Lord Soulis of Hermitage
Castle and others, against the life of the good King Robert. She
confessed her offence, and was condemned to perpetual imprisonment
within her own castle. Constant tradition affirms that it was set on
fire and burnt to the ground, whether as the result of accident or a
successful siege. One story tells how the Earl tried to save his wife,
but failed from the irresistible power of the flames. The castle
became a ruin, and was never re-built. Actual observation, after more
than 500 years, has confirmed the truth, in this case stranger than
fiction. Sir David Baird, the hero of the Nile, Cape of Good Hope,
Corunna, and Seringapatam (remembered by the oldest folk for hunting
with hawks, attended by a native Indian), having died at Ferntower in
1832, was first buried in Monzievaird Churchyard, and old people still
recall the extraordinary storm of thunder and rain which signalised his
funeral day. His widow prepared the massive monumental obelisk of
granite, said to be exactly similar to Cleopatra's Needle, since struck
by lightning in 1878, and badly rent, but now restored. It required
foundations broad and deep. Most of the stones of the old castle had
gone to form dykes in the neighbourhood. The workmen, thinking they
had to deal with solid rock, proceeded to blast it, when to their
amazement the charge of gunpowder, instead of only throwing stones and
debris into the air, operated downward and revealed a dungeon cut in
the solid rock. There lay all that remained of the proud and daring
Joanna, Countess of Strathearn and Princess of the Orkneys. A few gold
and silver bracelets and ornaments, belonging to a lady's dress, were
found among the black rubbish with another trinket, teaching the old,
old lesson, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."
It only remains to describe the antiquities of Strowan. There was a
Thane of "Struin" in Strathearn, in very early times, when Thanes were
servants of the King, holding their land in fee-farm for a certain
"census," or feu-duty. Strowan, like Monzievaird, had a Celtic saint
for founder--St. Ronan. He is not to be identified with the saint of
that name, of whom the venerable Bede records that he championed the
later Roman method of calculating the time of the Easter festival
against Bishop Finan of Lindisfarne, who stoutly held the Columban
rule. Rather may we count him the same with the Abbot of Kingarth, in
Bute (died 737 A.D.), and founder of Kilmaronog, on Loch Etive, the
parish of similar name in Dumbartonshire, and the Parish Church of
Iona, called after him "Tempul Ronain." St. Ronan's name is to this
day associated with his well, the pool that never failed to supply him
with fish on Fridays; the ruins of the old church or chapel, and St.
Ronan's bell. Tradition says that the Cross of Crieff was taken from
Strowan to Crieff upwards of 200 years ago. The market cross of
Strowan now stands on a small mound west from the old kirk and near the
mansion-house. A fine old lime tree which shaded it succumbed to the
unprecedented storm of November, 1893; and all who know the venerable
Laird of Strowan hope that he may live to see the young lime sapling
with which he lately replaced it grow up to cast its shade over the
cross once more. The latter is Maltese in form; and has on it, besides
the initials of the Latin inscription on the Saviour's cross, I.N.R.I.,
the Moray star, and other symbols. It was probably taken from the
churchyard. The arches of the bridge, with its narrow roadway and
parapet, and little cities of refuge for foot-passengers, are not of a
hoary antiquity; but the pillars, on which at one time planks used to
be laid for crossing, are much older. The Kirk-Session records contain
many entries of sums paid to the boatman for ferrying parishioners from
the north side to Strowan Church. Picturesque ruin though the church
is, it is not 230 years old in any part, and public worship on
alternate Sundays was performed there till the beginning of this
century. In 1669 the previous church was still standing, and in such
repair that an application was made to the Synod to require the lairds
of Monzievaird, Ochtertyre, Fordie, Clathick, &c., to attend the Church
of Strowan in consequence of Monzievaird Church having become ruinous
and past repair. The Commissioners of Teinds had ordered one church to
be built near the present site, but the heritors of each of the united
parishes did their best to evade complying. Two graves are deserving
of special mention. One is the resting-place of "fair Helen of
Ardoch"; the other marks the place of repose of the eldest son of the
House of Strowan, who laid down his life on the sands of Tel-el-Kebir,
bravely advancing to the charge against the Egyptian lines.
St. Ronan's Bell is preserved at Strowan House. It is small, circular,
and looks as if it had been made to be grasped by the hand. Tradition
says it was rung under the bell-man's gown when mass was said in Romish
times. The tongue is wanting. Some say it never had one, but was
meant to be struck from without. It never could have been heard afar
off. Close scrutiny proves it to be slightly cracked. But worthless
for music, it is excellent for law! It is the symbol of tenure of
Ballindewar or Dewarland. (Dewar is from the Gaelic for keeper). The
Dewars were the hereditary beadles of Strowan, and keepers of St.
Ronan's bell. They held their croft free of all cess, stipend, or
public burden, as it still remains. When the present Laird of Strowan
negotiated at a high price the purchase of this piece of land, he
received with "the bellman's pendicle" the bell itself as the charter
of the feu lands, and as custodier of all rights of the same.
The saddest feature in making this short survey of the united parish is
the great and continuous decline of the population. In 1755 there were
1460 people; in 1793 there were 1025; in 1891 the number had sunk to
490. No doubt the livelier prospects of town life allure many. No
doubt many have profited by the fact of removal. The agricultural
outlook appears gloomier than ever, which tends to restrict the area
under cultivation. But it cannot be gainsaid that many have had to
remove from the mistaken policy of adding land to land and field to
field. It is breaking down when viewed in the sole interest of the
proprietor; how much more is it found wanting when viewed from the
standpoint of the wider interests and welfare of our common country?
The minister of Monzievaird and Strowan most likely to achieve
immortality is the Rev. William Robertson, the gifted versifier and
author of Hymns 3--"Thee God we praise, Thee Lord confess," the
Monzievaird _Te Deum_, and 311--"A little child the Saviour came," the
first baptismal hymn, in the Scottish Hymnal. To him the account now
given, incomplete as it is, owes more than to any other. He has also
cast into verse that seems worth preserving his parish musings in the
following lines:--
A shady knoll o'erlooks a dale
Where Earn meanders down the vale;
A knoll enwreathed in oak and fern,
The sweetest nook in all Strathearn.
The morn there breaks with earliest ray,
Here latest shines the lingering day,
There summer reigns supremely fair,
And winter ev'n is lovely there.
Its eastern prospect looks entire
Along the glades of Ochtertyre;
Its south, a mountain forest shade
By dark blue pine and larches made;
While lone Glenartney in the west
Lies cradled like a turtle's nest,
And huge Benvoirlich crown'd with snow
Defends the smiling glens below.
Dear shady knoll, whose varied view
Enfolds green field and mountain blue,
How oft at morn and eventide
I've strolled around thy stony side
And listened to the artless song
That swell'd the glorious vale along!
Mark'd where the sunbeams kindliest fell
On rocky ridge and heathery dell,
And yielded all my soul to share
The teachings of a scene so fair!
In storm or calm, thy grateful shade
My fond retreat was ever made.
There have I marked the thunder cloud
Invest all heaven with sable shroud;
There heard the peal arouse again
The echoes of the Turret glen,
While Auchingarroch from afar
Rolled back the elemental war;
There have I watched wing'd lightning play
Adown Glenartney's rugged way,
Or gild each flinty summit hoar
From Callander to far Ken More;
There seen the Ruchill deluge foam,
And o'er the strath in eddies roam,
Sweeping beyond the power to save
A golden harvest on its wave.
* * * * *
High on my left, unstained by storm,
An obelisk uprears its form;
Commemorates in fitting style
Heroic deeds upon the Nile,
When he who conquered in Mysore
To Afric's sands his legions bore,
And showed the trembling prince and slave
The gentleness of one that's brave.
Yet on that monumental stone
More feats of high renown are shown,
Where he a prisoner and enchained,
At last his noblest laurels gained:
Lived to avenge each treacherous wrong,
And triumph when he suffered long.
There, too, his brilliant tasks to cope,
'Tis told he seized the Cape of Hope;
And sad Corunna's bloody shore
But added to his fame the more.
A widow's love the warrior praised,
A widow's love the column raised;
And yet that column tall and bold,
Traced in the lines of Egypt old,
Arises as a new cut stone
Amid the dust of ages gone;
For while it tells of yesterday,
It stands upon the summit grey
Where stately tower and donjon stern
Were keep and tomb of fair Strathearn;
Where Wallace oft his prowess tried,
And royal Bruce in valour vied.
Talk we of Bruce? By yon dark wood
The Comyn's ancient fortress stood--
That traitor whose unhappy fate
Still on the monarch's conscience sate,
And urged him in a zeal divine
To send his heart to Palestine.
See where the waters dash aside,
And swiftly round the thicket glide,
Where mossy crag and fan-like bough
Inshade the torrent far below.
Within a towery wilderness
Of nature's wildest gorgeousness,
There rose in architecture quaint
The cell of Strowan's valiant saint--
A soldier-priest whose claymore long
Was more persuasive than his tongue;
Here stands his cross, there flows his well,
Here still is seen his holy hell;
Here, ivy-mantled, still remain
The ruins of the ancient fane,
Where once to heaven the anthem rose,
And silent now the loved repose.
On every side each scene has store
Of song and legendary lore;
Each stream has still its story true,
Each height some bloody conflict knew;
Each crag must give its meed to fame,
And consecrate a hero's name.
High o'er the rest, all bleak and dern,
Moulders the royal Kenneth's cairn,
Who for his crown his good sword bared,
And fell in fight at Monzievaird.
Even in their church, the doom of fire
Consumed the clan of Ochtertyre;
And in his home across the plain,
Old Drummond-Ernoch was slain;
Sons of the mist avenged their dead,
And bore away his grisly head.
Old tales like these, old legends true,
Spring up where'er I turn my view--
From Turret's glen and brawling wave,
From Tosach's keep and fairy grave,
From Ochtertyre's unfading bower,
From Comyn's lone and moated tower,
From where our chief with skilful eye
Watched wonders in the midnight sky,
From Tomachastel's haunted brow,
From cell for Ronan's prayer and vow,
From lordly Drummond's forest wall,
From Lochlane's grim empannelled hall,
From stately Turleum clothed in pine,
And every height surrounding mine.
'Twere idle then each tale to tell,
Of ancient feat by stream or dell,
From Benychonzie's snow-clad breast
To green Glenartney in the west,
Or round by sweet Dunira's den,
Where "bonnie Kilmanie gaed up the glen."
No need I ween of distant view
My sauntering footsteps hence to woo;
No need of song or knightly feat
To add new charm to my retreat.
Its own associations claim
Far better meed than modern fame,
With books and scenes and neighbours sage,
I commune with a former age.
BETWEEN STRATHALLAN AND STRATHEARN
By Rev. JAMES MACGIBBON, B.D., Blackford.
The name Blackford was given, according to tradition, by an ancient
king of Caledonia, whose experience in passing the River Allan at this
point was of the saddest. The stream spread itself out in those days,
says the story, so as to be more lake than stream. When the king came
to it with his queen and suite the waters were deep and the current
strong. It must have been at night surely, if we are to have any faith
in the tale, for the poor queen was carried away beyond help and hope.
They drained the strath dry to recover the body; and a solitary knoll
on the Allan's bank some way below the present village marks the place
where they found and buried the remains of fair Queen Helen. Hence the
name Blackford. In the days of the Roman occupation the legionaries
frequented this upper part of Strathallan, and have left traces of
their presence. Many of them, indeed, must have quartered near; for at
the Loaninghead, about two miles east of the village, there is an
undeniable Roman camp, an outpost of the great camp at Ardoch.
But the earliest historical reference to Blackford is in Blind Harry's
"Acts and Deeds of Sir William Wallace." After taking the peel of
Gargunnock, Wallace and his men passed up Strathallan on the way to
Methven, and at Blackford met a party of the English, whom they slew,
and threw their bodies into the Allan.
"At yai Blackfurd, as at yai suld pass our,[1]
A squeir come, and with hym bernys four.
Till Doun suld ryd and wend at yai had beyne
All Inglismen, at he befor had seyne.
Tithings to sper he howid yaim amang.
Wallace yarwith swyth with a suerd outswang.
Apon ye hede he straik with so great ire,
Throw bayne and brayne in sondyr schar ye swyr.
Ye tothir four in hands sone wer hynt,
Derfly to dede stekyt or yai wald stynt.
Yar horss yai tuk, and quhat yaim likit best,
Spoilzied yaim bar, syne in the brook yaim kest."