and presented himself to the Countess, who required him to give her
information concerning her absent lord. Coinneach asked where Seaforth
was supposed to be, and said, that he thought he would be able to find
him if he was still alive. He applied the divination stone to his eye,
and laughed loudly, saying to the Countess, “Fear not for your lord, he
is safe and sound, well and hearty, merry and happy”. Being now satisfied
that her husband’s life was safe, she wished Kenneth to describe
his appearance; to tell her where he was now engaged, and all his
surroundings. “Be satisfied,” he said, “ask no questions, let it suffice
you to know that your lord is well and merry.” “But,” demanded the
lady, “where is he? with whom is he? and is he making any preparations
for coming home?” “Your lord,” replied the seer, “is in a magnificent
room, in very fine company, and far too agreeably employed at present to
think of leaving Paris.” The Countess, finding that her lord was well
and happy, began to fret that she had no share in his happiness and
amusements, and to feel even the pangs of jealousy and wounded pride.
She thought there was something in the seer’s looks and expression which
seemed to justify such feelings. He spoke sneeringly and maliciously
of her husband’s occupations, as much as to say, that he could tell a
disagreeable tale if he would. The lady tried entreaties, bribes, and
threats to induce Coinneach to give a true account of her husband, as
he had seen him, to tell who was with him, and all about him. Kenneth
pulled himself together, and proceeded to say—“As you will know that
which will make you unhappy, I must tell you the truth. My lord seems to
have little thought of you, or of his children, or of his Highland home.
I saw him in a gay-gilded room, grandly decked out in velvets, with silks
and cloth of gold, and on his knees before a fair lady, his arm round
her waist, and her hand pressed to his lips.” At this unexpected and
painful disclosure, the rage of the lady knew no bounds. It was natural
and well merited, but its object was a mistake. All the anger which ought
to have been directed against her husband, and which should have been
concentrated in her breast, to be poured out upon him after his return,
was spent upon poor Coinneach Odhar. She felt the more keenly, that the
disclosures of her husband’s infidelity had not been made to herself in
private, but in the presence of the principal retainers of her house,
so that the Earl’s moral character was blasted, and her own charms
slighted, before the whole clan; and her husband’s desertion of her for a
French lady was certain to become the public scandal of all the North of
Scotland. She formed a sudden resolution with equal presence of mind and
cruelty. She determined to discredit the revelations of the seer, and to
denounce him as a vile slanderer of her husband’s character. She trusted
that the signal vengeance she was about to inflict upon him as a liar and
defamer would impress the minds, not only of her own clan, but of all the
inhabitants of the counties of Ross and Inverness, with a sense of her
thorough disbelief in the scandalous story, to which she nevertheless
secretly attached full credit. Turning to the seer, she said, “You have
spoken evil of dignities, you have vilified the mighty of the land; you
have defamed a mighty chief in the midst of his vassals, you have abused
my hospitality and outraged my feelings, you have sullied the good name
of my lord in the halls of his ancestors, and you shall suffer the most
signal vengeance I can inflict—you shall suffer the death”.
Coinneach was filled with astonishment and dismay at this fatal result of
his art. He had expected far other rewards from his art of divination.
However, he could not at first believe the rage of the Countess to be
serious; at all events, he expected that it would soon evaporate, and
that, in the course of a few hours, he would be allowed to depart in
peace. He even so far understood her feelings that he thought she was
making a parade of anger in order to discredit the report of her lord’s
shame before the clan; and he expected that when this object was served,
he might at length be dismissed without personal injury. But the decision
of the Countess was no less violently conceived than it was promptly
executed. The doom of Coinneach was sealed. No time was to be allowed for
remorseless compunction. No preparation was permitted to the wretched
man. No opportunity was given for intercession in his favour. The
miserable seer was led out for immediate execution.
Such a stretch of feudal oppression, at a time so little remote as
the reign of Charles II., may appear strange. A castle may be pointed
out, however, viz., Menzies Castle, much less remote from the seat of
authority, and the Courts of Law, than Brahan, where, half a century
later, an odious vassal was starved to death by order of the wife of the
chief, the sister of the great and patriotic Duke of Argyll!
When Coinneach found that no mercy was to be expected either from the
vindictive lady or her subservient vassals, he resigned himself to his
fate. He drew forth his white stone, so long the instrument of his
supernatural intelligence, and once more applying it to his eye, said—“I
see into the far future, and I read the doom of the race of my oppressor.
The long-descended line of Seaforth will, ere many generations have
passed, end in extinction and in sorrow. I see a chief, the last of his
house, both deaf and dumb. He will be the father of four fair sons,
all of whom he will follow to the tomb. He will live careworn and die
mourning, knowing that the honours of his line are to be extinguished
for ever, and that no future chief of the Mackenzies shall bear rule at
Brahan or in Kintail. After lamenting over the last and most promising of
his sons, he himself shall sink into the grave, and the remnant of his
possessions shall be inherited by a white-coifed (or white-hooded) lassie
from the East, and she is to kill her sister. And as a sign by which it
may be known that these things are coming to pass, there shall be four
great lairds in the days of the last deaf and dumb Seaforth—Gairloch,
Chisholm, Grant, and Raasay—of whom one shall be buck-toothed, another
hare-lipped, another half-witted, and the fourth a stammerer. Chiefs
distinguished by these personal marks shall be the allies and neighbours
of the last Seaforth; and when he looks around him and sees them, he may
know that his sons are doomed to death, that his broad lands shall pass
away to the stranger, and that his race shall come to an end.”
When the seer had ended this prediction, he threw his white stone into
a small loch, and declared that whoever should find that stone would be
similarly gifted. Then submitting to his fate, he was at once executed,
and this wild and fearful doom ended his strange and uncanny life.
Sir Bernard Burke, to whose “Vicissitudes of Families” we are mainly
indebted for this part of the Prophecies, says:—With regard to the four
Highland lairds, who were to be buck-toothed, hare-lipped, half-witted,
and a stammerer—Mackenzie, Baronet of Gairloch; Chisholm of Chisholm;
Grant, Baronet of Grant; and Macleod of Raasay—I am uncertain which
was which. Suffice it to say, that the four lairds were marked by the
above-mentioned distinguishing personal peculiarities, and all four were
the contemporaries of the last of the Seaforths.
We believe Sir Hector Mackenzie of Gairloch was the buck-toothed laird
(an Tighearna Stòrach); the Chisholm, the hare-lipped; Grant, the
half-witted; and Raasay, the stammerer, all of whom were contemporaries
of the last Lord Seaforth.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE SEER’S DEATH
Mr. Macintyre supplies the following account of the Seaforth prophecy and
the Seer’s death, as related at this day, in the Black Isle:—
Coinneach’s supernatural power was at length the cause which led to his
untimely and cruel death. At a time when there was a convivial gathering
in Brahan Castle, a large concourse of local aristocratic guests was
present. As the youthful portion were amusing themselves in the beautiful
grounds or park surrounding the castle, and displaying their noble
forms and features as they thought to full advantage, a party remarked
in Coinneach Odhar’s hearing, that such a gathering of gentlemen’s
children could rarely be seen. The seer answered with a sneer, “that
he saw more in the company of the children of footmen and grooms than
of the children of gentlemen,” (Is mo th’ann do chlann ghillean-buird
agus do chlann ghillean-stabuil na th’ann do chlann dhaoin’ uaisle), a
remark which soon came to the ears of Lady Seaforth and the other ladies
present, who were so much offended and provoked at this base insinuation
as to the paternity of the Brahan guests, that they determined at once
to have condign punishment on the once respected seer. He was forthwith
ordered to be seized; and, after eluding the search of his infuriated
pursuers for some time, was at last apprehended. Seeing he had no way
of escape, he once more applied the magic stone to his eye, and uttered
the well-known prophetic curse [already given] against the Brahan family,
and then threw the stone into a cow’s footmark, which was full of water,
declaring that a child would be born with two navels, or as some say,
with four thumbs and six toes, who would in course of time discover it
inside a pike, and who then would be gifted with Coinneach’s prophetic
power. As it was the purpose of his pursuers to obtain possession of this
wonderful stone, as well as of the prophet’s person, search was eagerly
made for it in the muddy waters in the footprint, when, lo! it was found
that more water was copiously oozing from the boggy ground around, and
rapidly forming a considerable lake, that effectually concealed the
much-coveted stone. The waters steadily increased, and the result, as the
story goes, was the formation of Loch Ussie (Oozie). The poor prophet
was then taken to Chanonry Point, where the stern arm of ecclesiastical
authority, with unrelenting severity, burnt him to death in a tar-barrel
for witchcraft.
It is currently reported that a person answering to the foregoing
description was actually born in the neighbourhood of Conon, near Loch
Ussie, and is still living. Of this I have been credibly informed by a
person who saw him several times at the Muir of Ord markets.
We see from the public prints, our correspondent humorously continues,
that the Magistrates and Police Commissioners of Dingwall contemplate
to bring a supply of water for “Baile-’Chail” from Loch Ussie. Might
we humbly suggest with such a view in prospect, as some comfort to the
burdened ratepayers, that there may be, to say the least, a probability
in the course of such an undertaking of recovering the mystic stone,
so long compelled to hide its prophetic light in the depths of Loch
Ussie, and so present the world with the novel sight of having not only
an individual gifted with second-sight, but also a Corporation; and,
further, what would be a greater terror to evil-doers, a magistracy
capable, in the widest sense of the word, of discerning between right and
wrong, good and evil, and thus compelling the lieges in the surrounding
towns and villages to exclaim involuntarily—_O si sic omnes!_ They might
go the length even of lending it out, and giving you the use of it
occasionally in Inverness.
When Coinneach Odhar was being led to the stake, fast bound with cords,
Lady Seaforth exultingly declared that, having had so much unhallowed
intercourse with the unseen world, he would never go to Heaven. But the
seer, looking round upon her with an eye from which his impending fate
had not banished the ray of a joyful hope of rest in a future state,
gravely answered—“_I_ will go to Heaven, but _you_ never shall; and this
will be a sign whereby you can determine whether my condition after
death is one of everlasting happiness or of eternal misery; a raven
and a dove, swiftly flying in opposite directions will meet, and for a
second hover over my ashes, on which they will instantly alight. If the
raven be foremost, you have spoken truly; but if the dove, then my hope
is well-founded.” And, accordingly, tradition relates, that after the
cruel sentence of his hard-hearted enemies had been executed upon the
Brahan Seer, and his ashes lay scattered among the smouldering embers
of the fagot, his last prophecy was most literally fulfilled; for those
messengers, emblematically denoting—the one sorrow, the other joy—came
speeding to the fatal spot, when the dove, with characteristic flight,
closely followed by the raven, darted downwards and was first to alight
on the dust of the departed Coinneach Odhar; thus completely disproving
the positive and uncharitable assertion of the proud and vindictive Lady
of Brahan, to the wonder and consternation of all the beholders.
Mr. Maclennan describes the cause of Coinneach’s doom in almost identical
terms; the only difference being, that while the former has the young
ladies amusing themselves on the green outside, the latter describes them
having a grand dance in the great hall of the Castle. The following is
his account of the prophet’s end:—
In terms of her expressed resolution, Lady Seaforth, some days after
this magnificent entertainment, caused the seer to be seized, bound hand
and foot, and carried forthwith to the Ness of Chanonry, where, despite
his pitiful looks and lamentable cries, he was inhumanly thrown, head
foremost, into a barrel of burning tar, the inside of which was thickly
studded with sharp and long spikes driven in from the outside. On the
very day upon which Coinneach was sent away from the castle to meet his
cruel fate, Lord Seaforth arrived, and was immediately informed of his
Lady’s resolution, and that Coinneach was already well on his way to
the Chanonry, where he was to be burned that very day, under clerical
supervision and approval. My lord, knowing well the vindictive and
cruel nature of his Countess, believed the story to be only too true.
He waited neither for food nor refreshment; called neither for groom
nor for servant, but hastened immediately to the stable, saddled his
favourite steed with his own hands, for lairds were not so proud in those
days, and set off at full speed, hoping to reach Chanonry Point before
the diabolical intention of her ladyship and her religious (!) advisers
should be carried into effect. Never before nor since did Seaforth ride
so furiously as he did on that day. He was soon at Fortrose, when he
observed a dense smoke rising higher and higher from the promontory
below. He felt his whole frame giving way, and a cold sweat came over
his body, for he felt that the foul deed was, or was about to be,
perpetrated. He pulled himself together, however, and with fresh energy
and redoubled vigour, spurred his steed, which had already been driven
almost beyond its powers of endurance, to reach the fatal spot to save
the seer’s life. Within a few paces of where the smoke was rising the
poor brute could endure the strain no longer; it fell down under him and
died on the spot. Still determined, if possible, to arrive in time, he
rushed forward on foot, crying out at the height of his voice to those
congregated at the spot, to save their victim. It was, however, too late,
for whether Seaforth’s cries were heard or not, the victim of his lady’s
rage and vindictive nature had been thrown into the burning barrel a few
moments before his intended deliverer had reached the fatal spot.
The time when this happened is not so very remote as to lead us to
suppose that tradition could so grossly blunder as to record such a
horrible and barbarous murder by a lady so widely and well-known as Lady
Seaforth was, had it not taken place.
It is too much to suppose that if the seer had been allowed to die
a peaceful and natural death, that such a story as this would have
ever originated, be carried down and believed in from generation to
generation, and be so well authenticated in many quarters as it now is.
It may be stated that a large stone slab, now covered under the sand,
lies a few yards east from the road leading from Fortrose to Fort-George
Ferry, and about 250 yards north-west from the lighthouse, which is
still pointed out as marking the spot where this inhuman tragedy was
consummated, under the eyes and with the full approval of the highest
dignitaries of the Church.
[Illustration]
THE FULFILMENT OF THE SEAFORTH PROPHECY.
Having thus disposed of the seer himself, we next proceed to give in
detail the fulfilment of the prophecies regarding the family of his cruel
murderer. And we regret to say that the family of Seaforth will, in this
connection, fall to be disposed of finally and for ever, and in the
manner which Coinneach had unquestionably predicted. As already remarked,
in due time the Earl returned to his home, after the fascinations of
Paris had paled, and when he felt disposed to exchange frivolous or
vicious enjoyment abroad for the exercise of despotic authority in the
society of a jealous Countess at home. He was gathered to his fathers
in 1678, and was succeeded by his eldest son, the fourth Earl. It is
not our purpose to relate here the vicissitudes of the family which are
unconnected with the curse of Coinneach Odhar, further than by giving
a brief outline, though they are sufficiently remarkable to supply a
strange chapter of domestic history.
The fourth Earl married a daughter of the illustrious family of Herbert,
Marquis of Powis, and he himself was created a Marquis by the abdicated
King of St. Germains, while his wife’s brother was created a Duke. His
son, the fifth Earl, having engaged in the rebellion of 1715, forfeited
his estate and titles to the Crown; but in 1726 his lands were restored
to him, and he, and his son after him, lived in wealth and honour as
great Highland chiefs. The latter, who was by courtesy styled Lord
Fortrose, represented his native county of Ross in several Parliaments
about the middle of last century. In 1766, the honours of the peerage
were restored to his son, who was created Viscount Fortrose, and in 1771,
Earl of Seaforth; but those titles, which were Irish, did not last long,
and became extinct at his death, in 1781. None of these vicissitudes were
foretold in the seer’s prophecy; and, in spite of them all, the family
continued to prosper. That ruin which the unsuccessful rising in 1715
had brought upon many other great houses, was retrieved in the case of
Seaforth, by the exercise of sovereign favour; and restored possessions
and renewed honours preserved the grandeur of the race. But on the death
of the last Earl, his second cousin, descended from a younger son of the
third Earl and his vindictive Countess, inherited the family estates and
the chiefdom of the Mackenzies, which he held for two short years, but
never actually enjoyed, being slain at sea by the Mahrattas, at Gheriah,
in the south of India, in 1783, after a gallant resistance. He was
succeeded by his brother, in whom, as the last of his race, the seer’s
prophecy was accomplished.
Francis Humberston Mackenzie was a very remarkable man. He was born in
1794, and although deaf, and latterly dumb, he was, by the force of his
natural abilities and the favour of fortune, able to fill an important
position in the world. It would have been already observed that the “Last
of the Seaforths” was born in full possession of all his faculties,
and that he only became deaf from the effects of a severe attack of
scarlet fever, while a boy in school, which we have previously noticed in
connection with his remarkable dream. He continued to speak a little, and
it was only towards the close of his life, and particularly during the
last two years, that he was unable to articulate—or perhaps, unwilling to
make the attempt, on finding himself the last male of his line. He may be
said to have, prior to this, fairly recovered the use of speech, for he
was able to converse pretty distinctly; but he was so totally deaf, that
all communications were made to him by signs or in writing. Yet he raised
a regiment at the beginning of the great European war; he was created a
British peer in 1797, as Baron Seaforth of Kintail; in 1800 he went out
to Barbadoes as Governor, and afterwards to Demerara and Berbice; and in
1808 he was made a Lieutenant-General. These were singular incidents in
the life of a deaf and dumb man. He married a very amiable and excellent
woman, Mary Proby, the daughter of a dignitary of the Church, and niece
of the first Lord Carysfort, by whom he had a fine family of four sons
and six daughters. When he considered his own position—deaf, and formerly
dumb; when he saw his four sons, three of them rising to man’s estate;
and when he looked around him, and observed the peculiar marks set upon
the persons of the four contemporary great Highland lairds, all in strict
accordance with Coinneach’s prophecy—he must have felt ill at ease,
unless he was able, with the incredulous indifference of a man of the
world, to spurn the idea from him as an old wife’s superstition.
However, fatal conviction was forced upon him, and on all those who
remembered the family tradition, by the lamentable events which filled
his house with mourning. One after another his three promising sons
(the fourth died young) were cut off by death. The last, who was the
most distinguished of them all, for the finest qualities both of head
and heart, was stricken by a sore and lingering disease, and had gone,
with a part of the family, for his health, to the south of England. Lord
Seaforth remained in the north, at Brahan Castle. A daily bulletin was
sent to him from the sick chamber of his beloved son. One morning, the
accounts being rather more favourable, the household began to rejoice,
and a friend in the neighbourhood, who was visiting the chief, came down
after breakfast full of the good news, and gladly imparted it to the old
family piper, whom he met in front of the Castle. The aged retainer shook
his head and sighed—“Na, na,” said he, “he’ll never recover. It’s decreed
that Seaforth must outlive all his four sons.” This he said in allusion
to the seer’s prophecy; thus his words were understood by the family;
and thus members of the family have again and again repeated the strange
tale. The words of the old piper proved too true. A few more posts
brought to Seaforth the tidings of the death of the last of his four sons.
At length, on the 11th January, 1815, Lord Seaforth died, the last of his
race. His modern title became extinct. The chiefdom of the Mackenzies,
divested of its rank and honour, passed away to a very remote collateral,
who succeeded to no portion of the property, and the great Seaforth
estates were inherited by a white-hooded lassie from the East. Lord
Seaforth’s eldest surviving daughter, the Honourable Mary Frederica
Elizabeth Mackenzie, had married, in 1804, Admiral Sir Samuel Hood,
Bart., K.B., who was Admiral of the West India station while Seaforth
himself was Governor in those islands. Sir Samuel afterwards had the
chief command in the Indian seas, whither his lady accompanied him, and
spent several years with him in different parts of the East Indies. He
died while holding that high command, very nearly at the same time as
Lord Seaforth, so that his youthful wife was a recent widow at the time,
and returned home from India in her widow’s weeds, to take possession
of her paternal inheritance. She was thus literally a white-coifed or
white-hooded lassie (that is, a young woman in widow’s weeds, and a
Hood by name) from the East. After some years of widowhood, Lady Hood
Mackenzie married a second time, Mr. Stewart, a grandson of the sixth
Earl of Galloway, who assumed the name of Mackenzie, and established
himself on his lady’s extensive estates in the North. Thus, the
possessions of Seaforth may be truly said to have passed from the male
line of the ancient house of Mackenzie. And still more strikingly was
this fulfilled, as regarded a large portion of these estates, when Mr.
and Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie sold the great Island of Lewis to Sir James
Matheson.
After many years of happiness and prosperity, a frightful accident threw
the family into mourning. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie was one day driving her
younger sister, the Hon. Caroline Mackenzie, in a pony carriage, among
the woods in the vicinity of Brahan Castle. Suddenly, the ponies took
fright, and started off at a furious pace. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie was
quite unable to check them, and both she and her sister were thrown out
of the carriage much bruised and hurt. She happily soon recovered from
the accident, but the injury which her sister sustained proved fatal,
and, after lingering for some time in a hopeless state, she died, to the
inexpressible grief of all the members of her family. As Mrs. Stewart
Mackenzie was driving the carriage at the time of the accident, she may
be said to have been the innocent cause of her sister’s death, and thus
to have fulfilled the last portion of Coinneach’s prophecy which has yet
been accomplished.