"where I have been president of a court-martial. Your cries alarmed us
within a few yards of this old cross, and my horse began to snort and
rear, refusing to advance a step; but trusty Dugald went headlong on,
and with his short weapons, I see, has done you right good service.
'Tis well the matter is no worse, and had the wolves not given you so
severe a mauling, Stuart," added the colonel with a smile, as he put his
foot in his stirrup, "I should have sent Claude for your sword again.
You know you should never be without your arms, or forget the order
against strolling more than two miles from camp or quarters. By my
word, these were no ordinary foes to contend with, these wolves; they
are larger than Highland shelties, and their skins will be a prize for
the _paisanos_ in the morning, for Dugald is, of course, too proud to
take fee or reward from the alcaldes."
"I have escaped their maws by a miracle," said Stuart, yet gasping with
the excitement of the fierce struggle.
"By nae miracle at all, sir," said old Dugald, "by nae miracle; but just
by the help o' a teuch auld carle's hand and the bit cauld iron; and I
assure your honours, I wad rather face a thoosand rampaugin wolves, than
ae kelpie, habgoblin, wraith, spunkie, sheeted ghaist, deadlicht,
broonie, or ony ither scrap o' deevildom sae common at name in the
Hielands. Hoich, sirs! it was indeed nae sma' matter to cut the weasens
o' thae awfu' monsters o' wolves; but," said he, holding aloft his long
Highland dagger, which flashed back the rays of the moon, "but that is a
blade that has rung on the target o' the _lham-dearg_; and after _that_,
what could a bold hand not do wi' it?"
"On the target of who?" asked Ronald.
"The _lham-dearg_, sir."
"The words are Gaelic; but who is he?"
"A spirit wi' a bloody hand, that haunts at the mirk hour the wood o'
Glenmore, in the Grants' country."
"What has this to do with your dirk?" said Stuart, who became interested
in every thing which looked like a northern legend.
"Pooh!" said Cameron; "'tis an old ghost story, and not one of Dugald's
prime ones. But he is as prosy with his legends, as Colin Campbell is
about Egypt and Ralph Abercrombie."
"He doesna believe it noo," muttered Dugald, shaking his white hairs
sorrowfully; "but when he was a bairn at hame in Fassifern-house, I hae
made his vera lugs tingle wi' fear at the name o' the _lham-dearg_, and
he used to grane and greet for a licht that he micht see to sleep, as he
said; and in thae days he wadna hae gane into a dark place, to be made
king o' the braw Highlands frae Castle Grant to Lochaber. But noo wars
and campaigning hae learned him to scoff at a' thae matters, though his
faither, the laird, (gude guide him!) a man as auld as mysel, believes
every word o' them. I daursay, he doesna believe noo that deidlichts
burn on the piper's grave in the auld kirk-yaird at hame; or that
spunkies and fairies bide in the glen o' Auchnacarry, kelpies in
Loch-Archaig, or that the _daoine shie_ haunt the dark holes, cairns,
round rings, and unco' places o' the Corrie-nan-gaul in Knoydart, where
I mysel hae seen them dancing tulloch-gorm in the bonnie moonlicht."
"Certainly not, Dugald. What I believed when a child, will scarcely
pass now for truth; and I believe you never saw any thing unearthly
until Ferintosh had swelled your belt to bursting. Come, Dugald,
acknowledge this to be true," said Cameron, laughing.
"May be ye'll no believe in the red-cap, that haunts the auld tower at
Archaig; and may be no in the vera _taisch_?" said the old servitor in a
voice approaching to a groan at the other's apostasy. "Ochone, may be
no! although I mysel saw bluid on his hand, and tauld him o' it the day
before the shot struck him there at the battle of Arroya del Molino."
"Dugald," said the colonel, "I will not argue with you about the second
sight, because I know you have some pretensions to the character of a
_taischatr_. You certainly have me at vantage there, and your
prediction about the shot at Arroya came true; and exactly twenty-four
hours after you said my hand dropped blood, a musquet-shot passed
through it. A very singular coincidence indeed."
"It was nane," replied the old Gael firmly, "it was nane; and I saw the
shot before it came, because there was a wreath before my een, and a'
the power o' the _taisch_ was in me."
"Well, Stuart, what think you of the second sight?"
Ronald was loath to express his disbelief in this superstition, which
found a disciple in the colonel, and so hesitated to reply.
"I see you are too true a Highlander to disbelieve in its existence, and
yet you are reluctant to acknowledge the truth," said Fassifern
laughing, while he mistook the other's meaning. "But let us reach
Banos, and over some of the bottled sherry which I lately got from
Lisbon we will discuss these matters, and hear Dugald's story of the
spirit of Glenmore, which if you are at all superstitious might have too
much effect if related by him in Gaelic by moonlight, and on a lonely
hill-side."
This proposal was at once accepted, and they began to descend the narrow
and winding pathway which led from the rugged summits of the sierra
towards the village. Dugald advanced in front, leading the horse of
Cameron, who followed behind with Stuart. The latter thanked his stars
for escaping from his late encounter so easily, having only sustained a
few severe scratches and bruises. While enjoying some of the colonel's
pure bottled sherry, a rarity in Spain, where the wine is ever kept in
greasy hog-skins, Ronald soon forgot his disagreeable adventure at the
abogado's cross. Dugald who, in consideration of his venerable age and
relationship to Fassifern (being a fortieth cousin or so), was seated at
the table, partook of the wine, and to wile away the time related in
Gaelic the Highland legend he had referred to. Many readers may
consider it a foolish, perhaps an intrusive tale altogether; but had
they heard it far away from home, in a hut at Banos, related in
expressive and poetical Gaelic by such a reverend and warrior-looking
old man as Dugald Cameron, it would have had a very different effect
from what it can ever produce when related in plain and unvarnished
English, stripped of all the Ossianic description and style in which
Ronald Stuart first heard it.
*The Lham-Dearg*
"My story commences at the close of the fatal,--ay, sirs, I may say the
most deplorable battle of Culloden; a battle which laid prostrate, for
ever the hopes of a gallant prince, the cause of an illustrious house,
and the energies of a brave and loyal people, and proved that _right_
may contend in vain against _might_, and that justice must sometimes
yield to the overwhelming majority of brute force. I was then but a
wild Highland boy of fifteen, and followed the clan-regiment of the
noble Lochiel, upon whom I attended as a sort of page, to carry his
target and scabbard on the march. My brave old father, too, was in the
battle; and being, in consequence of his relationship to the chief, a
front rank man, he greatly distinguished himself in that desperate but
unavailing charge we made on the troops of the Elector, after foolishly
enduring a cannonade which miserably thinned our numbers. Ah, sirs! had
we at first rushed on them with the broad-sword, as was ever our wont,
another race would have filled the throne at this hour; but when we did
charge, Cumberland's two lines were swept before our long blades like
winnowed chaff upon the gale. Even then the day seemed ours, when the
fire of the third compelled us to recoil. Ochone! let me think of it no
more, for I grow wild at times when the memory of these days swells up
in my withered heart, and the dangers, the glory, and the chivalry of
the 'forty-five' are all remembered with mingled pride and sorrow. I
was but a child then, and yet on that bloody day I shot dead several of
Barrel's regiment, while the Camerons were among them, hewing them down
like willow-wands with axe and claymore.
"In the rout which followed, I fled away with our wounded chieftain, and
gained a place of safety among the hills; but my father was taken
captive by the Campbells from the west country, and so he was one of the
few who escaped the death decreed to all by the bloody mandates of the
German duke, whose memory will be abhorred and execrated while grass
grows and water runs in the land of the Gael.
"It is of my father's adventures I have now principally to speak.
"He was disarmed and manacled by the false sons of Diarmed, and from
amidst them he beheld the merciless red-coats slaying, murdering in cold
blood the helpless and unresisting wounded by spontoon and bayonet, by
the sword and volleys of musquetry; while the relentless Cumberland rode
about the muir of Drummossie with his staff, treading down the hearts of
better and braver men than ever will come of his tribe.
"The sun set that night on a field of blood, and one of woe and
desolation to the Highlanders.
"Those wretched prisoners, whom the blood-glutted soldiers were too
weary to slaughter, were, to the number of four hundred and forty men,
enclosed in a hollow square, surrounded by the regiments of Barrel,
Wolfe, and Bligh, who hemmed them in with fixed bayonets, and subjected
them to every taunt and insult that national hatred, the meanest malice
and cowardice when most triumphant, could suggest. Amongst other brave
and unfortunate clansmen my father listened to them; his bosom swelled
with rage and agony, and he longed to burst his bonds and leap like a
tiger headlong upon them. But he was powerless, unarmed, and ironed,
rather like some base malefactor than a gentle-blooded _duinhe-wassel_
of the clan Cameron. The cutting taunts of Bligh's soldiers roused at
last even the ire of Colonel Campbell of the Argyleshire men, and his
blood became fired at the gross abuse lavished upon his countrymen.
Stepping forward with his sword drawn, he sternly commanded them to be
silent, and said that he would wager his commission against a
crown-piece, that any Highlander there would meet in equal arms, and
vanquish the best man present that wore a scarlet coat.
"'Ha! do you say so, sir?' cried the duke, who with his staff was in the
centre of the square.
"'May it please your highness, I do most assuredly,' said Campbell,
raising his bonnet; 'and I long to see the matter put to the test, to
cure these southron gentry of their unwarrantable insolence. By my
faith, they seem to forget the good use they made of their heels at
Preston and Falkirk!'
"'And you will stand to your wager, colonel?'
"'My commission to a crown-piece.'
"'Done!' said the duke. 'Your bet is a fatal one, as you will find to
your cost, ere many minutes pass away. Your very words savour of
Jacobitism and treason; and your commission shall certainly be lost, if
your rebel beats not a champion of my choosing. My friend, Major Von
Thunderbotham, of Bligh's, may consider your command as his already.'
"'By Heaven! your highness, no dog of a Hessian that ever wore a head,
shall command the men of Macallummore's race!' replied Campbell bluntly,
and regardless of the consequences.
"A gigantic dragoon of Cobham's horse offered himself readily as the
duke's champion; and on his colonel bearing testimony of his strength,
activity, and expertness with his weapon, he was accepted. In his broken
English, the ungenerous duke now addressed the prisoners in a style at
once savage and insulting, offering freedom to any one of them who, in
an encounter with the broad-sword, could foil the trooper. The words
had scarcely fallen from his lips, before my father strode forward and
claimed the combat.
"'Strike well, Cameron, for the honour of the Highlands!' said Campbell,
as my father flung aside his fetters as he would have done a coil of
adders.
"'Had you and others of your race struck for the right this day, the
Prince would not have been a fugitive in the land of his fathers!'
replied the other with an indignant scowl.
"'Oich! you are somewhat insolent for a cock laird or upstart gilly,'
said the abashed Campbell. 'But remember that freedom is before you if
you conquer; and if not, the hemp is grown--ay, man, and twisted
too,--that will hang you like a dog from the walls of Carlisle some day
to come.'
"'Better a thousand times to die on the scaffold with the white cockade
on my brow, than eat the bread of a foreign oppressor and usurper,'
replied my father heedlessly. 'But am I to encounter the sidier roy
with my hands, after the base manner of his people?"
"'No: take my claymore,' answered Campbell; 'its temper and metal are
matchless. Luno of Lochlin never forged a better: and if you are brave
as you are impudent, I have no fears for you.'
"'But a dirk; what shall I do for a dirk?'
"'Take mine, Evan of Tor-a-muilt,' said an aged Highlander stepping
forward, wearing red tartans and the bramble-berry badge in his bonnet.
He placed a dirk,--this very weapon with which I slew the wolves
to-night,--in the hand of my father, who started back with awe at the
sight of the giver. The Highlanders around shrunk back likewise. His
height was superhuman; his hair was white as snow, and a beard of the
same hue descended to the square buckle at his girdle. His eyes had
that keen and bright expression in them which seemed to harrow up the
soul, and read the inmost thoughts of those he looked upon. In his
bonnet he still wore that badge which all others had discarded for
safety,--the white rose of the Stuarts.
"'Strike well, Cameron, and you will have your revenge,' said he, waving
his bonnet as he added, 'God bless King James the Eighth, and send death
to the Elector of Hanover!'
"'Shoot him! bayonet him! Forward!' cried Cumberland in a tempest of
fury, and with the hoarse accents of rage. 'Blow out the brains of the
insolent rebel!'
"But the aged speaker of the treason had disappeared, and although the
prisoners were narrowly searched twice over, he could no where be found,
and the fury of the duke was boundless. What became of the old man, no
one knew. He disappeared suddenly from amidst them; but whether he sunk
into the earth or melted into thin air, remains yet a mystery; but the
Highlanders were filled with terrors, and every man drew his plaid
closer around him, and shrunk from the touch of his neighbour. After
threatening the English trooper with the lash and triangles if he did
not vanquish his opponent, he commanded the combat to begin without
further delay. The dragoon cast aside his leather gloves, and drawing
his long blade, stood upon the defensive. My father belted his plaid
tighter about him, drew his bonnet over his brow, and rushed, in the
northern fashion, headlong on his adversary, who was compelled to retire
backwards, acting only on the defensive. Burning with hatred and fury,
my father pressed forward, heedless of the weapon of the soldier, in
whose broad breast he buried the dirk of the mysterious Highlander, and
then gathering all his force for one mighty effort with the claymore, he
clove the unfortunate dragoon down to the neck, cutting even the folds
of his white cravat.
"'Well done, Cameron! Hoigh! for Lochiel!' cried Colonel Campbell.
'Now your highness will perceive what thews and sinews the mountains can
produce. I have gained my bet. Your countryman the major is likely to
continue one a little longer, and the crown-piece will go to my good
champion.'
"'King George has lost a true man,' replied the duke fiercely, 'and hell
is cheated of a Scots rebel for a short time longer. Well now, dog of a
Highlander! you have missed the gallows this time; but I believe only a
little time will elapse before you dance yet to the hangman's hornpipe.'
"At this supposed smart remark a loud laugh arose among his glittering
staff, and was echoed by the soldiery; but a prouder and more triumphant
shout burst from the unfortunate Gaelic prisoners. Many a gallant
battle-cry mingled with it. _Fraoch-eilan! A dh'aindeoin cotheireadh!
Craigellachie!_ from the men of Glengarry, Clanronald, and Strathspey.
Loud and long they shouted in defiance, till the crimson cheeks and
carbuncles of the corpulent duke turned white with vexation and fury.
When the commotion had subsided Colonel Campbell put a few crown-pieces
into my father's hand, and pointed to the hills.
"'Begone now,' said he, 'and thank your mother for giving you such good
milk, and for making such a man of you.[*] Away! the mountains are
before you, and you are once more a free man.'
[*] These were the very words used by Colonel Campbell when his singular
combat terminated, after the field of Culloden. See any History of the
Civil War, 1745-6.
"'I want not your gold or your silver, sir!' said my father, tossing the
pieces on the bloody grass. 'Your money is the wages of treason to
Scotland, and rebellion against King James. I heed not your frown, sir.
God will now be the best judge between your cause and ours, after this
fatal day. Keep your money, and I will, with your permission, retain
the claymore; it may yet be drawn for King James the Eighth.'
"And without vailing his bonnet, or deigning to bestow a glance on
Cumberland, he broke through the ranks of Wolfe's regiment, and made off
with all speed towards the mountains of the Grants' country, where he
hoped to remain in safe hiding until the clans gathered together once
more, or the present danger had passed away. After concealing himself
in the _Chlachdhian_, or sheltering-cave of Cairn-gorm, and after
wandering for days in Duthil and Inverallan, and being sorely hunted and
pressed by the parties of red-coats scouring and devastating the
country, he found himself one night compelled to take refuge in the
great fir forests of Grant of Rothiemurchus, the whole country from Lorn
to the mouth of the Spey being infested with bands of the _sidier roy_.
Beacons of destruction, by night and by day, blazed on hill and in
valley, while the proud halls of long-descended chieftains and the green
huts of their faithful vassals were given indiscriminately to the
flames; and the shrieks of helpless women and children were borne on the
breeze, which had so lately swelled with the _piobrachd_ and march of
the Highlander. It was a sight indeed to make him thirst for vengeance,
when nightly he looked forth from the cavern of the blue mountain to
behold the sky red with the fires of the destroyer. But, alas! the neck
of the Gael was bending beneath the foot of the stranger, and the power
of the proud race who would never bend, was then broken.
"To shut out sights and sounds which every where announced the downfall
of Albyn, my father plunged into the recesses of the wild forest of
Rothiemurchus, but his retreat was not unmarked. A party of king's
troops, Hessians I believe, clad in yellow uniform, beheld him from a
neighbouring eminence, and despatched a party of ten men, to shoot or
destroy him in any way they chose,--Cumberland having doomed to death
all who wore the garb of the Celtic race. For nearly an hour these
Georgian sleuth-hounds followed upon his track with murderous eagerness
and precision, firing at intervals whenever he came in sight. Their
fire he returned, and shot dead three with his Highland pistol.
"Dashing on, and threading the mazes of the forest with the rapidity and
activity of a true mountaineer, he contrived to baffle his pursuers, and
reached what he supposed to be the inmost recesses of the wilderness.
There, panting and breathless with exhaustion, he flung himself to rest
on the green sward, cursing and deploring the hour when a son of the
Gael had to flee from the arm of a stranger, and was hunted like a deer
on his native hills by the soldiers of one he deemed a German despot and
oppressor.
"He rolled himself up in his plaid, and creeping close under the pine
branches, lay listening with intense eagerness when the crash of a
bramble or the rustle of leaves should announce that the Hessians were
on his track. The night was calm and still. Not a heather-bell or blade
of grass was stirring, and the pendent branches of the gloomy and
gigantic pines hung down perfectly still and motionless. Not a sound
was heard throughout all the immensity of the vast forest, save the
hoarse murmurs of the foaming Spey, whose waters came hurrying down from
the far-off hills of Badenoch, and swept through the recesses of
Rothiemurchus on their course to the Moray Frith. There was no moon
shining, but the night was clear and cloudless, and at times the red
stars were seen twinkling through the dark foliage of the pines.
"As my father (Evan of Tor-a-muilt,[*] as he was named) lay thus in
concealment, he suddenly remembered that he was within the bounds of the
place haunted by the terrible spirit of Glenmore and Rothiemurchus,--the
_lham-dearg_, or bloody-hand, who compelled all who crossed his path
during his nocturnal rambles to do battle with him, and none were ever
known to survive the awful conflict. He would have started up and fled;
but remembering that it was equally dangerous to avoid as to seek the
company of evil spirits, he resolved to remain where he was, saying over
his prayers like a good catholic, and imploring protection from Saint
Colm of the Isles. Yet his blood ran cold with terror, perspiration
burst forth from every pore, and he covered his head in his plaid to
shut out any frightful sight or sound that might invade the stillness of
the gloomy wood. He locked his hand in the basket-hilt of his claymore,
and lay hearkening so intensely, that he might almost have heard the dew
dropping from the leaves.
[*] The Wedders-hill, an eminence at the foot of Loch-Archaig, in
Kilmallie, Inverness-shire.
"A loud exclamation in a barbarous language, and one unknown to him,
caused him to start up; and the report of musquetry, the crash of shot
striking the trees, and the light uniform of a score of Hessians
appearing at a short distance, compelled the hunted Highlander again to
seek safety in flight. As unrelentingly as ever they pursued, incited by
the hope of plunder, and the reward given for every dirk and claymore.
The soldiers, to procure Highland weapons, committed a thousand
outrages, even in the town of Inverness, and among the mountains
tortured by various means the poor peasantry to reveal where their arms
were concealed; after which they were either shot or bayoneted.
"'May the curse of Glencoe be upon ye! and may the raven's croak be your
only coronach, ye wolves' whelps!' cried he, as he again fled through
the wood. 'Better face a Highland bogle than the bayonets of the
Hessians, a race as cowardly as they are merciless!'
"He sought the most difficult and devious paths and soon the shouts of
the enemy died away behind him in the distance. No sooner did he find
himself in safety than his former fears returned, and as he paced slowly
along a narrow forest-path, where the branches were locked together
overhead, and where only the pale starlight glimmered at times, he
beheld before him the figure of a gigantic Highlander. He was moving but
a few yards in front, and his form towered up between the trees in dark
and shadowy outline. The belted plaid fluttered behind him, and the
eagle's wing, with the forbidden badge of James VIII., adorned his
bonnet. With long and stately, but noiseless strides, he continued
moving before my father, who often hallooed aloud to him to turn or
stand, without receiving an answer. The checks of his tartan were red,
his white beard streamed about him, and my father at once recognised by
it the aged warrior who had presented him with the dirk on the muir of
Drummossie.
"'Turn and assist me, if you are a true son of the hills? The
blood-hounds of the Hanoverian have been on my skirts the live-long
night; and even now they track me like a stricken deer.' My father
received no answer to many such exhortations, yet he continued closely
to follow the stranger, who always contrived to elude his grasp, and led
him a wearisome ramble across the ravines and deep corries, through
brawling torrents and intricate dingles, until, enraged at his
contemptuous and singular conduct, he drew his claymore.
"'Turn, base coward!' he exclaimed, 'turn; and I will try whether the
boss of your target is proof against the strokes of claymore and
skene-dhu, or the _biodag_. Turn, turn; or by my father's bones, I will
smite you through the back!'
"Even while he spoke, the form which had glided so far before him
suddenly vanished, and he found himself at the mouth of a cavern, huge,
black, and yawning, with the long and dark whins waving gloomily from
the rocks around. A moment he recoiled at the sight of it, but
summoning up his energies he entered boldly, calling aloud on his
midnight companion in terms of threat and defiance, until the winding
recesses of the cavern rang with the sound.