{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_58578/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_58578","id":"gutenberg_58578","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58578","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Legends -- Scotland -- Highlands"],"text":"Produced by Paul Marshall and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Notes:\n\n  Underscores \u201c_\u201d before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_\n    in the original text.\n  Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.\n  Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.\n  Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations\n    in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.\n\n\n\n\n                              HISTORICAL\n                           TALES AND LEGENDS\n                                OF THE\n                              HIGHLANDS.\n\n                              COMPILED BY\n                         ALEXANDER MACKENZIE,\n                   EDITOR OF THE \u201cCELTIC MAGAZINE,\u201d\n            AUTHOR OF THE \u201cHISTORY OF THE CLAN MACKENZIE,\u201d\n             THE \u201cPROPHECIES OF THE BRAHAN SEER,\u201d &c., &c.\n\n                         \u201c\u2019S iomadh rud a chi\n                     Am fear a bhitheas fada beo.\u201d\n\n                              INVERNESS:\n               A. & W. MACKENZIE, CELTIC MAGAZINE OFFICE\n                   EDINBURGH: MACLACHLAN & STEWART.\n\n                                 1878.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThese TALES AND LEGENDS were very favourably received by a\nwide circle of readers, and by the Press generally, as they appeared\nfrom month to month in the _Celtic Magazine_. They are now published\nin a collected form at the request of many who have previously perused\nthem. I would like to present the public with the names of their\nauthors; but as one of them\u2014the \u201cNorman\u201d and \u201cTorquil\u201d of the _Celtic\nMagazine_\u2014objects to have his name made public, although he has\nwritten the greater number of them, I must content myself now by taking\nadvantage of this opportunity to thank him, \u201cMac Iain,\u201d and the others\nwho supplied the Tales and Legends, the merits of which\u2014especially\nthose for which I may be held personally responsible\u2014I propose to\nleave to the tender mercies of an indulgent public.\n\n                                          ALEX. MACKENZIE.\n\n  CELTIC MAGAZINE OFFICE, INVERNESS,\n             September 1878.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                         PAGE.\n    Locality                                                1\n    The Spell of Cadboll                                    7\n    Prince Charlie and Mary Macleod                        17\n    James Macpherson, the famous Musician and Freebooter   25\n    The First Gauger in Skye                               32\n    The Raid of Cilliechriost                              75\n    Lachlan Og Mackinnon and the Skye Factor               83\n    James Grant of Carron                                  88\n    John Mackay of Farr                                    94\n    The Cummings of Badenoch                              100\n    Glengarry and his Favourite                           108\n    Castle Urquhart and the Fugitive Lovers               114\n    The Fairies and Donald Duaghal Mackay                 122\n    Young Glengarry, the Black Raven                      128\n    Cawdor Castle                                         132\n    A Legend of Invershin                                 137\n    The Bonnie Earl of Moray                              143\n    The Rout of Moy                                       160\n    A Legend of Loch-Maree                                165\n    Allan Donn and Annie Campbell                         189\n    Mary Macleod of Marrig                                199\n\n\n\n\nHISTORICAL TALES & LEGENDS OF THE HIGHLANDS.\n\n\n\n\nLOCALITY.\n\n\nWe are in a West Coast village or township, cut off from all\ncommunication with the outer world, without Steamers, Railways, even\nRoads. We grow our own corn, produce our own beef, our mutton, our\nbutter, our cheese, and our wool. We do our own carding, our spinning,\nand our weaving. We marry and are taken in marriage by, and among,\nour own kith and kin. In short, we are almost entirely independent\nof the more civilized and more favoured South. The few articles we\ndo not produce\u2014tobacco and tea\u2014our local merchant, the only one in\na district about forty square miles in extent, carries on his back,\nonce a month or so, from the Capital of the Highlands. We occasionally\nindulge in a little whisky at Christmas and the New Year, at our\nweddings and our balls. We make it, too, and we make it well. The\nSalmon Fishery Acts are, as yet, not strictly enforced, and we can\noccasionally shoot\u2014sometimes even in our gardens\u2014and carry home,\nwithout fear of serious molestation, the monarch of the forest. We are\nnot overworked. We live plainly but well, on fresh fish, potatoes and\nherring, porridge and milk, beef and mutton, eggs, butter, and cheese.\nModern pickles and spices are as unknown as they are unnecessary. True,\nour houses are built not according to the most modern principles of\narchitecture. They are, in most cases, built of undressed stone and\nmoss (coinneach), thatched with turf or divots, generally covered over\nwith straw or ferns held on by a covering of old herring nets, straw,\nand rope, or siaman.\n\nThe houses are usually divided into three apartments\u2014one door in the\nbyre end leading to the whole. Immediately we enter, we find ourselves\namong the cattle. A stone wall, or sometimes a partition of clay and\nstraw separates the byre from the kitchen. Another partition, usually\nof a more elegant description, separates the latter from the \u201cculaist,\u201d\nor sleeping apartment. In the centre of the kitchen a pavement of three\nor four feet in diameter is laid, slightly raised towards the middle,\non which is placed the peat fire. The smoke, by a kind of instinct\npeculiar to peat smoke, finds its way to a hole in the roof called\nthe \u201cfalas,\u201d and makes its escape. The fire in the centre of the room\nwas almost a necessity of the good old Ceilidh days. When the people\ncongregated in the evening, the circle could be extended to the full\ncapacity of the room, and occasionally it became necessary to have\na circle within a circle. A few extra peats on the fire would, at\nany time, by the additional heat produced, cause an extension of the\ncircle, and at the same time send its warming influences to the utmost\nrecesses of the apartment. The circle became extended by merely pushing\nback the seats, and this arrangement became absolutely necessary in the\nhouses which were most celebrated as the great Ceilidh centres of the\ndistrict.\n\nThe Ceilidh rendezvous is the house in which all the folk-lore of the\ncountry, all the old \u201csgeulachdan,\u201d or stories, the ancient poetry\nknown to the bards, or Seanachaidhean, the old riddles and proverbs\nare recited from night to night by old and young. All who took an\ninterest in such questions congregated in the evening in these centres\nof song and story. They were also great centres of local industry.\nNet-making was the staple occupation, at which the younger members of\nthe circle had to take a spell in turn. Five or six nets were attached\nin different corners of the apartment to a chair, a bedstead, or to a\npost set up for the purpose, and an equal number of young gossippers\nnimbly plied their fingers at the rate of a pound of yarn a-day. Thus,\na large number of nets were turned out during the winter months, the\nproceeds of which, when the nets were not made for the members of the\nhousehold, went to pay for tobacco and other luxuries for the older and\nmost necessitous members of the circle.\n\nWe shall now introduce the reader to the most famous Ceilidh house\nin the district. It is such as we have above described. The good-man\nis bordering on five-score. He is a bard of no mean order, often\ndelighting his circle of admiring friends with his own compositions,\nas well as with those of Ossian and other ancient bards. He holds a\nresponsible office in the church, is ground-officer for the laird as\nwell as family bard. He possesses the only Gaelic New Testament in the\ndistrict. He lives in the old house with three sons whose ages range\nfrom 75 to 68, all full of Highland song and story, especially the\nyoungest two\u2014John and Donald. When in the district, drovers from\nLochaber, Badenoch, and all parts of the Highlands find their way to\nthis noted Ceilidh house. Bards, itinerants of all sorts, traveling\ntinkers, pipers, fiddlers, and mendicants, who loved to hear or\ntell a good story, recite an old poem or compose a modern one, all\ncome and are well received among the regular visitors in the famous\nestablishment. In the following pages strangers and local celebrities\nwill recite their tales, those of their own districts, as also those\npicked up in their wanderings throughout the various parts of the\ncountry.\n\nIt was a condition never deviated from, that every one in the house\ntook some part in the evening\u2019s performance, with a story, a poem,\na riddle, or a proverb. This rule was not only wholesome, but one\nwhich almost became a necessity to keep the company select, and the\nhouse from becoming overcrowded. A large oak chair was placed in a\nparticular spot\u2014\u201cwhere the sun rose\u201d\u2014the occupant of which had to\ncommence the evening\u2019s entertainment when the company assembled, the\nconsequence being that this seat, although one of the best in the\nhouse, was usually the last occupied; and in some cases, when the house\nwas not overcrowded, it was never occupied at all. In the latter case,\nthe one who sat next to it on the left had to commence the evening\u2019s\nproceedings.\n\nIt was no uncommon thing to see one of the company obliged to coin\nsomething for the occasion when otherwise unprepared. On one occasion\nthe bard\u2019s grandson happened to find himself in the oak chair, and was\ncalled upon to start the night\u2019s entertainment. Being in his own house\nhe was not quite prepared for the unanimous and imperative demand made\nupon him to carry out the usual rule, or leave the room. After some\nhesitation, and a little private humming in an undertone, he commenced,\nhowever, a rhythmical description of his grandfather\u2019s house, which\nis so faithful that, we think, we cannot do better than give it. The\npicture was complete, and brought down the plaudits of the house upon\nthe \u201cyoung bard\u201d as he was henceforth designated.\n\nTIGH MO SHEANAIR.\n\n    An cuala sibh riamh mu\u2019n tigh aig I\u2014\u2014r\n    \u2019S ann air tha\u2019n deanamh tha ciallach ceart,\n    \u2019S iomadh bliadhna o\u2019n chaidh a dheanamh,\n    Ach \u2019s mor as fhiach e ged tha e sean;\n    Se duine ciallach chuir ceanna-crioch air,\n    \u2019S gur mor am pianadh a fhuair a phears,\n    Le clachan mora ga\u2019n cuir an ordugh,\n    \u2019S Sament do choinntich ga\u2019n cumail ceart.\n\n    Tha dorus mor air ma choinneamh \u2019n-otraich,\n    \u2019Us cloidhean oir air ga chumail glaist,\n    Tha uinneag chinn air ma choinneamh \u2019n teintean,\n    \u2019Us screen side oirre \u2019dh-fhodar glas;\n    Tha\u2019n ceann a bhan deth o bheul an fhalais\n    A deanamh baithach air son a chruidh\n    \u2019S gur cubhraidh am faladh a thig gu laidir\n    O leid na batha \u2019sa ghamhuinn duibh.\n\n    Tha catha\u2019s culaist ga dheanamh dubailt,\n    \u2019S gur mor an urnais tha anns an tigh,\n    Tha seidhir-ghairdean do dharach laidir,\n    \u2019Us siaman ban air ga chumail ceart,\n    Tha lota lair ann, do ghrebhail cathair,\n    \u2019S cha chaith\u2019s cha chnamh e gu brath n\u2019 am feasd,\n    Tha carpad mor air do luath na moine,\n    \u2019S upstairs ceo ann le cion na vent.\n\n    Tha sparan suithe o thaobh gu taobh ann,\n    \u2019Us ceangail luibte gan cumail ceart,\n    Tha tuthain chaltuinn o cheann gu ceann deth,\n    \u2019Us maide slabhraidh\u2019s gur mor a neart,\n    Tha lathais laidir o bheul an fhail air,\n    Gu ruig am falas sgur mor am fad,\n    Tha ropan siamain \u2019us pailteas lion air\n    \u2019S mar eil e dionach cha \u2019n eil mi ceart.\n\nOn one occasion, on a dark and stormy winter\u2019s night, the lightning\nflashing through the heavens, the thunder clap loud and long, the wind\nblowing furiously, and heavy dark ominous clouds gathering in\nthe north-west, the circle had already gathered, and almost every seat\nwas occupied. It was the evening of the day of one of the local cattle\nmarkets. Three men came in, two of them well-known drovers or cattle\nbuyers who had visited the house on previous occasions, the other a\ngentleman who had, some time previously, arrived and taken up his\nquarters in the district. No one knew who he was, where he came from,\nor what his name was. There were all sorts of rumours floating amongst\nthe inhabitants regarding him; that he had committed some crime, and\nescaped from justice; that he was a gentleman of high estate, who had\nfallen in love with a lowly maiden and run away to spite his family\nfor objecting to the alliance; and various other surmises. He was\ndiscovered to be a gentleman and a scholar, and particularly frank\nand free in his conversation with the people about everything except\nhis own history and antecedents, and was a walking encyclop\u00e6dia of\nall kinds of legendary lore connected with the southern parts of the\ncountry. His appearance caused quite a flutter among the assembled\nrustics. He was, however, heartily welcomed by the old bard and members\nof the circle, and was offered a seat a little to the left of the oak\narm chair. It was soon found that he was a perfect master of Gaelic\nas well as English. It was also found on further acquaintance, during\nmany subsequent visits, that he never told a story or legend without a\npreliminary introduction of his own, told in such a manner as to add\nimmensely to the interest of the tale. Being called upon, he told the\n\u201cSpell of Cadboll.\u201d\n\nThese remarks are taken from the introduction to the Highland Ceilidh\nin the \u201cCeltic Magazine,\u201d at which the following Tales, the reader must\nassume, have been told by the various characters who frequented the\nCeilidh house.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPELL OF CADBOLL.\n\n\nIn olden days the east coast of Scotland was studded with fortresses,\nwhich, like a crescent chain of sentinels, watched carefully for the\nprotection of their owners and their dependents. The ruins remain\nand raise their hoary heads over valley and stream, by river bank\nand sea shore, along which nobles, and knights, and followers \u201cboden\nin effeyre-weir\u201d went gallantly to their fates; and where in the\nHighlands many a weary drove followed from the foray, in which they\nhad been driven far from Lowland pastures or distant glens, with whose\ninhabitants a feud existed. Could the bearded warriors, who once\nthronged these halls, awake, they would witness many a wonderful change\nsince the half-forgotten days when they lived and loved, revelled\nand fought, conquered or sustained defeat. Where the bearer of the\nCrann-taraidh or fiery cross once rushed along on his hasty errand, the\nlightning of heaven now flashes, by telegraphic wires, to the farthest\ncorners of the land. Through the craggy passes, and along the level\nplains, marked centuries ago with scarce a bridle path, the mighty\nsteam horse now thunders over its iron road; and where seaward once\nswam the skin curach, or the crazy fleets of diminutive war galleys,\nand tiny merchant vessels with their fantastic prows and sterns, and\ncarved mast-heads, the huge hull of the steam propelled ship now\nbreasts the waves that dash against the rugged headlands, or floats\nlike a miniature volcano, with its attendant clouds of smoke obscuring\nthe horizon.\n\nThe parish of Fearn, in Easter Ross, contains several antiquities of\nvery distant date. One of these shattered relics, Castle Cadboll,\ndeserves notice on account of a singular tradition regarding it, once\nimplicitly credited by the people\u2014namely, that although inhabited for\nages no person ever died within its walls. Its magical quality did not,\nhowever, prevent its dwellers from the suffering of disease, or the\nstill more grievous evils attending on debility and old age. Hence many\nof the denizens of the castle became weary of life, particularly the\nLady May, who lived there centuries ago, and who being long ailing, and\nlonging for death, requested to be carried out of the building to die.\nHer importunity at length prevailed; and, according to the tradition,\nno sooner did she leave it than she expired.\n\nCastle Cadboll is situated on the sea-shore, looking over the broad\nocean towards Norway. From that country, in the early ages of Scottish\nhistory, came many a powerful Jarl, or daring Viking, to the coasts,\nwhich, in comparison with their own land, seemed fertile and wealthy.\nThere is a tradition of a Highland clan having sprung from one of those\nadventurers, who with his brother agreed that whoever should first\ntouch the land would possess it by right.\n\nThe foremost was the ultimate ancestor of the tribe; his boat was\nalmost on shore, when the other, by a vigorous stroke, shot a-head\nof him; but ere he could disembark, the disappointed competitor,\nwith an exclamation of rage, cut off his left hand with his hatchet,\nand flinging the bloody trophy on the rocks, became, by thus \u201cfirst\ntouching Scottish ground,\u201d the owner of the country, and founder of the\nclan. The perfect accuracy of this story cannot now be vouched for; but\nit is an undeniable fact that the Clan Macleod have successfully traced\ntheir origin to a Norwegian source; and there is a probability that\nthe claim is correct from the manifestly Norwegian names borne by the\nfounders of the Clan Tormod and Torquil, hence the Siol Tormod\u2014the\nrace of Tormod\u2014the Macleods of Harris; and the Siol Torquil, the race\nof Torquil\u2014Macleods of Lewis\u2014of whom came the Macleods of Assynt, one\nof whom betrayed Montrose in 1650, and from whom the estates passed\naway in the end of the seventeenth century to the Mackenzies.\n\nThe Macleods of Cadboll are cadets of the house of Assynt, but to what\nbranch the Lady May of the legend belonged, it is difficult to decide,\nso many changes having occurred among Highland proprietors.\n\nThe cliffs of this part of Ross-shire are wild and precipitous, sinking\nwith a sheer descent of two hundred feet to the ocean. The scenery is\nmore rugged than beautiful\u2014little verdure and less foliage. Trees are\nstunted by the bitter eastern blast, and the soil is poor. Alders are,\nhowever, plentiful, and from them the parish has derived its name of\nFearn. There is a number of caves in the cliffs along the shore towards\nTarbat, where the promontory is bold, and crowned with a lighthouse,\nwhose flickering rays are now the only substitute for the wonderful\ngem which was said of yore to sparkle on the brow of one of these\neastern cliffs\u2014a bountiful provision of nature for the succour of the\nwave-tossed mariner.\n\nDuring the reign of one of the early Stuart kings\u2014which, is of little\nmoment\u2014Roderick Macleod ruled with a high and lordly hand within the\nfeudal stronghold of Cadboll. He was a stout and stern knight, whose\nlife had been spent amidst the turmoil of national warfare and clan\nstrife.\n\nMany a battle had he fought, and many a wound received since first he\nbuckled on his father\u2019s sword for deadly combat. Amid the conflicting\ninterests which actuated each neighbouring clan\u2014disagreement on any\none of which rendered an immediate appeal to arms the readiest mode of\nsolving the difficulty\u2014it is not to be wondered at that Cadboll, as a\nmatter of prudence, endeavoured to attach to himself, by every means\nin his power, those who were most likely to be serviceable and true.\nMacleod had married late in life, and his wife dying soon after, while\non a visit to her mother, left behind her an only daughter, who was\ndear as the apple of his eye to the old warrior, but, at the same time,\nhe had no idea of any one connected with him having any freedom of\nwill or exercise of opinion, save what he allowed; nor did he believe\nwomen\u2019s hearts were less elastic than his own, which he could bend to\nany needful expedient. About the period our story commences, the Lady\nMay was nearly eighteen years of age, a beautiful and gentle girl,\nwhose hand was sought by many a young chief of the neighbouring clans;\nbut all unsuccessfully, for the truth was she already loved, and was\nbeloved, in secret, by young Hugh Munro from the side of Ben-Wyvis.\n\nThe favoured of the daughter was not the choice of her father,\nsimply because he was desirous to secure the aid of the Macraes, a\ntribe occupying Glenshiel, remarkable for great size and courage,\nand known in history as \u201cthe wild Macraes.\u201d The chief\u2014Macrae of\nInverinate\u2014readily fell in with the views of Macleod, and as the time\nfixed for his marriage with the lovely Lady May drew nigh, gratified\ntriumph over his rival Munro, and hate intense as a being of such\nfierce passions could feel, glowed like a gleaming light in his fierce\ngrey eyes.\n\n\u201cOnce more,\u201d he said, \u201cI will to the mountains to find him before the\nbridal. There shall be no chance of a leman crossing my married life,\nand none to divide the love Inverinate shall possess entire. By my\nfather\u2019s soul, but the boy shall rue the hour he dared to cross my\ndesigns. Yes, rue it, for I swear to bring him bound to witness my\nmarriage, and then hang him like a skulking wild-cat on Inverinate\ngreen.\u201d\n\nIt was nightfall as he spoke thus. Little he knew that at the same\nmoment Hugh Munro was sitting beneath the dark shadows of the alder\ntrees, which grew under the window of the little chamber where May\nMacleod was weeping bitterly over the sad fate from which she could\nsee no way of escape. As she sat thus the soft cry of the cushat fell\nupon her ears. Intently she listened for a few moments, and when it was\nrepeated she stepped to the window and opened it cautiously, leaning\nforth upon the sill. Again the sound stole from among the foliage,\nand May peered down into the gloom, but nothing met her gaze save the\nshadows of the waving branches upon the tower wall.\n\n\u201cIt is his signal,\u201d she whispered to herself as the sound was repeated\nonce more. \u201cAh me! I fear he will get himself into danger on account of\nthese visits, and yet I cannot, I cannot bid him stay away.\u201d\n\nShe muffled herself in a dark plaid, moved towards the door, opened it\ncautiously, and listening with dread, timidly ventured down to meet her\nlover.\n\n\u201cI must and will beg him to-night to stay away in future,\u201d continued\nshe, as she tripped cautiously down the narrow winding stair; \u201cand yet\nto stay away? Ah me! it is to leave me to my misery; but it must be\ndone, unkind as it may be, otherwise he will assuredly be captured and\nslain, for I fear Macrae suspects our meetings are not confined to the\nday and my father\u2019s presence.\u201d\n\nAfter stealing through many dark passages, corridors, and staircases,\nin out-of-the-way nooks, she emerged into the open air, through a\nneglected postern shadowed by a large alder, opposite the spot from\nwhich the sound proceeded.\n\nAgain she gazed into the shadow, and there leaning against a tree,\ngrowing on the edge of the crag, she saw a tall slender figure. Well\nshe knew the outlines of that form, and fondly her heart throbbed at\nthe sound of the voice which now addressed her.\n\n\u201cDearest,\u201d said the young Munro in a low tone, \u201cI thought thou wouldst\nnever come. I have been standing here like a statue against the trunk\nof this tree for the last half-hour watching for one blink of light\nfrom thy casement. But it seems that thou preferest darkness. Ah May,\ndear May, cease to indulge in gloomy forebodings.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould that I could, Hugh,\u201d she answered sadly. \u201cWhat thoughts but\ngloomy ones can fill my mind when I am ever thinking of the danger you\nincur by coming here so often, and thinking, too, of the woeful fate to\nwhich we are both destined.\u201d\n\n\u201cThink no more of it,\u201d said her lover in a cheerful tone. \u201cWe have hope\nyet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas, there is no hope. Even this day my father hath fixed the time\nfor, to me, this dreaded wedding! And now, Hugh, let this be our last\nmeeting\u2014_Mar tha mi!_ our last in the world. Wert thou caught by\nInverinate, he so hates thee, he would have thy life by the foulest\nmeans.\u201d\n\n\u201cFear not for that, dearest. And this bridal! Listen, May; before\nthat happen the eagle will swoop down and bear thee away to his free\nmountains, amid their sunny glens and bosky wood, to love thee,\ndarling, as no other mortal, and certainly none of the Clan-\u2019ic-Rath\nmhearlaich has heart to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh me!\u201d sighed May, \u201cwould that it could be so. I cannot leave my\nfather until all other hope is gone, and yet I fear if I do not we are\nfated to be parted. Even this may be the last time we may meet. I warn\nthee, Hugh, I am well watched, and I beg you will be careful. Hush!\nwas that a footfall in the grove below the crag?\u201d and she pointed to a\nclump of trees at some distance under where they were standing, and on\nthe path by which he would return.\n\n\u201cBy my troth it may be so,\u201d said he. \u201cBetter, dear May, retire to your\nchamber, and I shall remain here till you bid me good night from your\nwindow.\u201d\n\nAgain they listened, and again the rustling met their ears distinctly.\nIt ceased, and the maiden, bidding her mountain lover a fond good\nnight, ascended to her chamber, while he, disdaining to be frightened\naway by sound, moved to his former position below the alder tree.\nSeating himself at its root, with his eyes fixed on the window, in a\nvoice low but distinct, he sang to one of the sweet sad lays of long\nago a ditty to his mistress, of which the following paraphrase will\nconvey an idea:\u2014\n\n   \u201cO darling May, my promised bride,\n      List to my love\u2014come fly with me,\n    Where down the dark Ben Wyvis side\n      The torrent dashes wild and free.\n    O\u2019er sunny glen and forest brake;\n      O\u2019er meadow green and mountain grand;\n    O\u2019er rocky gorge and gleaming lake\u2014\n      Come,\u2014reign, the lady of the land.\n\n    \u201cCome cheer my lonely mountain home,\n      Where gleams the lake, where rills dance bright;\n    Where flowers bloom fair\u2014come, dearest, come,\n      And light my dark and starless night.\n    One witching gleam from thy bright eye\n      Can change to halls of joy my home!\n    One song, one softly-uttered sigh,\n      Can cheer my lone heart\u2014dearest, come.\u201d\n\nThe moment the song ceased the fair form of May Macleod appeared at the\ncasement overhead, she waved a fond farewell to her mountain minstrel,\nand closed the window; but the light, deprived of her fair face, had no\ncharm for him\u2014he gazed once more at the pane through which it beamed\nlike a solitary star, amid the masses of foliage, and was turning away\nwhen he found a heavy hand laid on his shoulder.\n\n\u201cStay,\u201d exclaimed the intruder in a deep stern voice, whose tone\nthe young chief knew but too well, \u201cThou hast a small reckoning to\ndischarge ere thou go, my good boy. I am Macrae.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I,\u201d answered the other, \u201cam Hugh Munro, what seek\u2019st thou from me?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat thou shalt soon know, thou skulking hill cat,\u201d answered Macrae,\nthrowing his unbuckled sword, belt, and scabbard on the ground, and\nadvancing with extended weapon.\n\n\u201cIndeed! then beware of the wild-cat\u2019s spring,\u201d Munro promptly\nreplied, giving a sudden bound which placed him inside the guard of\nhis antagonist, whose waist he instantly encircled with his sinewy\narms with the design of hurling him over the crag on which they\nstood. The struggle was momentary. Munro, struck to the heart with\nMacrae\u2019s dagger, fell with May\u2019s loved name on his lips, while Macrae,\nstaggering over the height, in the act of falling so wounded himself by\nhis own weapon as to render his future life one of helpless manhood and\nbitter mental regret.\n\nMacleod was soon after slain in one of the many quarrels of the time,\nwhile his daughter May, the sorrowing heiress of the broad lands of\nCadboll, lived on for fifty years one long unrelieved day of suffering.\n\nFifty years! alas for the mourner\u2014spring succeeded winter, and summer\nspring, but no change of season lightened May Macleod\u2019s burden! Fifty\nyears! year by year passing away only brought changes to those who\nlived under her gentle sway, and among the dependents of her home;\nyouth passed into age, young men and maidens filled the places of the\nvalued attendants of her girlhood; and the lady, solitary, still a\nmourner, in her feudal tower grew old and bent, thin and wan, but still\nin her heart the love of her youth bloomed fresh for her betrothed.\n\nAnd then disease laid hold of her limbs\u2014paralyzed, unable to move, she\nwould fain have died, but the spell of Cadboll was on her, death could\nnot enter within its walls.\n\nSickness and pain, care and grief, disappointment, trust betrayed,\ntreachery, and all the ills which life is heir to, all might and did\nenter there. Death alone was barred without.\n\nSadly her maidens listened to her heart-breaking appeals to the spirit\nof Munro, her unwed husband, the murdered bridegroom of her young life,\nto come to her aid from the land of shadows and of silence. They knew\nher story of the fifty years of long ago, and they pitied and grieved\nwith her, wondering at the constancy of her woman\u2019s heart.\n\nStill more sadly did they listen to her appeals to be carried out from\nthe castle to the edge of the precipice, where the power of the spell\nceased, there to look for, meet and welcome death; but they knew not\nthe story of the spell, and they deemed her mad with grief.\n\nTerrified at last by her appeals to the dead, with whom she seemed\nto hold continual conversation, and who seemed to be present in the\nchamber with them, though unseen, and partly, at length, worn out\nwith her unceasing importunities, and partly to gratify the whim,\nas they considered it, of the sufferer, tremblingly they agreed to\nobey her requests and to carry her forth to the edge of the cliff. A\nfrightened band, they bore the Lady May, lying on her couch, smiling\nwith hope and blessing them for thus consenting. Over the threshold,\nover the drawbridge, her eyes, fixed on the heavens, brightened as they\nproceeded. Hope flushed with hectic glow upon her pale suffering face,\ngrateful thanks broke from her lips. Hastening their steps, they passed\nthrough the gate, wound along the hill side, and as the broad expanse\nof ocean, with the fresh wind curling it into wavelets, burst upon\nthe sight, a flash of rapture beamed on her countenance, a cry of joy\nrushed from her pallid lips\u2014their feeble burden grew heavier; a murmur\nof welcoming delight was uttered to some glorious presence, unseen\nby the maidens, and all became hushed eternally. The Lady May lay on\nher couch a stiffening corpse. The spell of Cadboll had been broken\nat last. A Macleod inhabited it no more, and decay and ruin seized on\nthe hoary pile of which now scarcely a vestige remains to tell of the\nformer extent and feudal strength of Castle Cadboll.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nPRINCE CHARLIE AND MARY MACLEOD.\n\n\nThe fate of the Chevalier and his devoted Highlanders forms one of the\nmost romantic and darkest themes in the history of Scotland, so rich in\nhistorical narrative, song, and tradition\u2014\n\n            Still freshly streaming\n    When pride and pomp have passed away,\n        To mossy tomb and turret grey,\n            Like friendship clinging.\n\nIn the contemplation of their misfortunes, their faults and failings\nare forgotten, and now that the unfortunate Chevalier\u2019s name and memory\nhave become \u201csuch stuff as dreams are made of,\u201d every heart throbs in\nsympathy with the pathetic lyric \u201cOh! wae\u2019s me for Prince Charlie.\u201d\n\nIn the present day, when it is not accounted disloyal to speak kindly\nof the Prince, or of those who espoused his cause\u2014one cannot help\nindulging in admiration of the courage and cheerfulness with which he\nbore trials, dangers, and \u201chairbreadth \u2019scapes by flood and field,\u201d nor\nwonder at the devotedness of the poorer Highlanders; their affection\nto his person; the care with which they watched over him in his\nwanderings; and, above all, the incorruptible fidelity which scorned to\nbetray him, though tempted by what, in their poverty, must have seemed\ninconceivable wealth.\n\nThe history of the rising, and particularly of what followed after\nCulloden, relating to Prince Charlie, although generally minute, gives\nbut little idea of the wonderful dangers he incurred, and the escapes he\nmade. One should, in order to form a moderately correct idea of his\nhardships, have listened to those who had been out with him, as they,\nin the late evening of their days, talked of the past, and of the \u201clad\nthey looed sae dearly,\u201d or heard their descendants, who were proud of\ntheir forbears, having been out in the \u201945, when\u2014\n\n    The story was told, as a legend old,\n      And by withered dame and sire,\n    When they sat secure from the winter\u2019s cold,\n      All around the evening fire.\n\nHis capabilities of enduring cold, hunger, and fatigue prove that his\nconstitution was of a very high order, and not what might have been\nexpected from the descendant of a hundred kings brought up in the\nenervating atmosphere of courts. The magnanimity was surprising with\nwhich he bore up under his adverse lot, and the very trying privations\nto which he was subjected. The buoyancy of spirit with which he\nencountered the toils that hemmed him round, seemed to gather fresh\nenergy from each recurring escape while wandering about, a hunted\nfugitive.\n\nHis appearance when concealed in the cave of Achnacarry as described\nby Dr Cameron, who was for a time a companion of his wanderings, is not suggestive\nof much comfort, but rather of contentedly making the most of\ncircumstances. \u201cHe was then,\u201d says Dr Cameron, \u201cbare footed; he had an\nold black kilt and coat on, a plaid, philabeg, and waistcoat, a dirty\nshirt, and a long red beard, a gun in his hand, a pistol and dirk by\nhis side. He was very cheerful and in good health, and, in my opinion,\nfatter than when he was at Inverness.\u201d His courage and patience during\nhis wandering drew forth even the admiration of his enemies, while\nhis friends regretted that one capable of so much was so wanting in\ndecision of character when it was urgently required by his own affairs,\nand the fortunes and lives of those who had perilled all for his sake.\nHis friends, rich and poor, \u201cfor a\u2019 that had come and gane,\u201d were\nstaunch in his favour to the very death; while his enemies, hounded on\nby a scared and vindictive Government, and earnestly anxious to enrich\nthemselves by obtaining the reward offered for his capture, left no\nmeans untried to secure his person.\n\nAmong the many who signalized themselves in these attempts was one\nFerguson, who, in command of a small squadron, cruised round the coast\nin search of the Prince and his fugitive friends, but in reality\nsparing none on whom it was possible or not dangerous to vent those\nfeelings of oppression and worse, which the cruel Cumberland had\nmade a fashion as regards Highlanders and the Highlands, and a sure\nrecommendation to the notice of Government.\n\nSoon after Culloden, Ferguson appeared off the coast and dropped anchor\nin Loch-Cunnard. A party landed there and proceeded up the strath as\nfar as the residence of Mackenzie of Langwell, who was married to a\nnear relation of Earl George of Cromartie. Mackenzie got out of the\nway, but the lady was obliged to attend some of her children who were\nconfined by small-pox. The house was ransacked, a trunk containing\nvaluable papers, and among these a wadset of Langwell and Inchvennie\nfrom the Earl of Cromartie, was burnt before her eyes, and about fifty\nhead of black cattle were mangled by their swords and driven away to\ntheir ships.\n\nSimilar depredations were committed in the neighbourhood, without\ndiscrimination of friends or enemies. So familiarized were the west\nHighlanders and Islanders with Captain Ferguson, his cutter and crew,\nthat they were in the habit of jeering him and them by calling after\nthem\u2014\u201cTha sinn eolach air a h-uile car a tha na t\u2019eaman\u201d\u2014(We are\nacquainted with every turn in your tail)\u2014a source of great irritation\nto the annoyed commander, who knew well the fugitives were hiding\non the West Coast of Inverness-shire, and consequently resolved to\nadopt every species of decoy to entrap the Prince and his companions.\nTo deceive the inhabitants of this wild and extensive coast,\nFerguson pretended to give over the search and leave for Ireland.\nThe Highlanders, wondering what would be the next move, were not\ndeceived, nor did they relax their watchful precautions. The dwellers\nat Samalaman, the most western point of Moidart, had been especially\nharassed, as it was suspected they were in the confidence of Prince\nCharles. The suspicion was correct, and therefore, although they went\nabout their usual employments they kept many an anxious look towards\nthe ocean\u2014many a lonely watch and walk was taken for the protection of\nthe hunted wanderers.\n\nTo those who are not oppressed by anxiety the look-out from this\nheadland is of surpassing beauty. Few scenes are equal to that\npresented in a midnight walk by moonlight along the sea beach, the\nglossy sea sending from its surface a long stream of dancing and\ndazzling light, no sound to be heard save the small ripple of the idle\nwavelets or the scream of a sea bird watching the fry that swarms along\nthe shores! In the short nights of summer the melancholy song of the\nthrostle has scarcely ceased on the hillside when the merry carol of\nthe lark commences, and the snipe and the plover sound their shrill\npipe. Again, how glorious is the scene which presents itself from the\nsummits of the hills when the great ocean is seen glowing with the last\nsplendour of the setting sun, and the lofty hills of the farther isles\nrear their giant heads amid the purple blaze on the extreme verge of\nthe horizon.\n\nNothing of all this, for they were sights and scenes of continual\nrecurrence, did Mary Macleod feel. Mary was a bold, spirited, handsome\ngirl, who, in company with her father and two brothers forming the\nboat\u2019s crew, knew well all ocean\u2019s moods, and often braved the storms\nso common on that coast, and so fatal to many toilers of the deep.\n\nOn the morning of the fifth day after the departure of Captain\nFerguson, Mary arose as usual to prepare the food for the family, and\nin going outside for a basket of peat fuel was surprised to observe a\nstrange looking little vessel at anchor in a dark creek in the opposite\nisland of Shona which partly occupies the mouth of Loch-Moidart. Time\nwas when a circumstance, so apparently trivial, would have created\nno wonder nor left in the mind any cause for suspicion; but now Mary\ncarefully scanned the low long dark hull of the craft, and her tanned\nand patched sails, which ill agreed with the trimness about her, and\nwhich at once spoke against her being a fishing craft or smuggler.\n\u201cCuilean an t-seann mhadaidh\u201d (cub of the old fox) sighed the girl\nas she returned to the house to communicate the circumstance to the\nrest of the family, each of whom on reconnoitring the vessel confirmed\nher opinion. \u201cWell then,\u201d said Mary, \u201clet us advise the neighbours to\nbetake themselves to their daily employment without seeming to suspect\nthe new comer, and above all let us warn the deer of the mountain that\nthe bloodhounds have appeared.\u201d\n\nAs the Moidart men were about to go to sea they were visited by a\ncouple of miserable looking men from the suspected craft. One of them\nwho spoke in Irish made them understand that they had lately left the\ncoast of France laden with tobacco and spirits, some of which they\nwould gladly exchange for dried fish and other provisions of which they\nwere much in want, having been pursued for the last three days by an\narmed cutter, from which they had escaped with difficulty, and from\nwhich they intended to conceal themselves for some days longer in their\npresent secluded anchorage. The fishermen, pretending to commiserate\ntheir condition, replied that they had no provisions to spare, and\nleft only more convinced that Mary\u2019s suspicions were well founded.\nMatters remained in this state for a few days, the craft lying quietly\nat anchor, and her six hands, being, it was said, the full complement\nof her crew, sneaking about in all directions, in pairs, on pretence\nof searching for provisions. At last, after an unusually fine day the\nsun sank suddenly behind a mountain mass of clouds which for some time\nbefore had been collecting into dense columns, whose tall and fantastic\nshapes threw an obscurity far over the western horizon.\n\nThe coming storm was so apparent that the fishermen of Samalaman\nsecured their boats upon the beach just as some heavy drops, bursting\nfrom the region of the storm clouds, showed that the elemental war had\nbegun.\n\nThe Atlantic rolled its enormous billows upon the coast, dashing them\nwith inconceivable fury upon the headlands, and scouring the sands\nand creeks, which, from the number of shoals and sunken rocks in\nthem, exhibited the magnificent spectacle of breakers white with foam\nextending for miles. The blast howled among the grim and desolate\nrocks. Still greater masses of black clouds advanced from the west,\npouring forth torrents of rain and hail. A sudden flash illuminated\nthe gloom, and was followed by the crash and roar of thunder which\ngradually became fainter until the dash of the waves upon the shore\nprevailed over it.\n\nFar as the eye could reach the ocean boiled and heaved in one wide\nextended field of foam, the spray from the summits of the waves\nsweeping along its surface like drifting snow.\n\nSeaward no sign of life was to be seen, save when a gull, labouring\nhard to bear itself against the breeze, hovered overhead, or shot\nacross the gloom like a meteor. Long ranges of giant waves rushed in\nsuccession to the shore, chasing each other like monsters at play.\nThe thunder of their shock echoed among the crevices and caves, the\nspray mounted along the face of the cliffs in columns, the rocks shook\nas if in terror, and the baffled wave returned to meet its advancing\nsuccessor.\n\nBy-and-bye there came a pause like the sudden closing of a blast\nfurnace, or as if the storm had retired within itself; but now and\nthen, in fitful bursts, proclaiming that its power was but partially\nsmothered. During the conflict of the elements Mary Macleod seemed to\nsuffer the most acute agonies of mind; and no sooner did it abate than,\nwrapping herself in her plaid, she sallied out and proceeded towards\nthe sea shore. There, straining her eyes over the dark and fearful\ndeep, she thought she saw, by a broad flash of lightning, a small speck\non the wild waters, pitching as if in dark uncertainty, about the mouth\nof Loch-Moidart. With the speed of frenzy away flew the maiden to the\nnearest cottage, and grasping a burning peat and a lapful of dried\nbrushwood, she, with equal speed, retraced her steps to the shore. In\nan instant the beacon threw its crackling flame far over the loch,\nand in an instant more the small black craft at Shona had cut from\nher moorings and stood out to the entrance of the bay. Now rose the\nstruggle in Mary\u2019s mind. There stood the maid of Moidart in the shade\nof the lurid beacon, listening to the fitful blast, like the angel of\npity. Something was passing on in the troubled bosom of that dark loch\nover which she often looked, that drew forth all the energies of her\nsoul; but what that something was, was as hidden to her as futurity.\nShe was startled from this state of intense feeling by a momentary\nflash on the water, instantaneously followed by a crash among the rocks\nat her side, and then came booming on her ear a sound as if the island\nof Shona had burst from its centre. \u201cA Dhia nan d\u00f9l bi maile ris\u201d (God\nof the elements be with him) ejaculated Mary as she bent her trembling\nknees on the wet sand, and then, like a spring from life to death, a\nboat rushed ashore, grounding on the shingle at her feet. A band of\narmed men immediately sprung on land, one of whom, gently clasping the\ngirl, pressed her to his heart. \u201cFailte \u2019Phrions\u201d faltered Mary, giving\na momentary scope to the woman in her bosom, but instantly recollecting\nherself, she whispered, \u201cGuide him some of you to the hut of Marsaly\nBuie in the copse of Cul-a-chnaud, and I shall meet you there when the\nsun of the morning shall show me the fate of the pursuer.\u201d By this time\nthe intrepid girl was joined by the villagers, who extinguished all\ntraces of the late fire, and carried the stranger\u2019s boat where none but\na friend could find it. The storm had again broken from its restless\nslumber, and the rain and sickly sun of the following day showed the\npretended smuggler scattered on the beach. She appeared to have been\nwell armed, and the easily recognised body of Captain Ferguson\u2019s first\nmate was one of the twelve who were washed ashore.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nJAMES MACPHERSON, THE FAMOUS MUSICIAN & FREEBOOTER.\n\n\nThe story of James Macpherson is one which has induced much curiosity\nand inquiry, and, short as the time is since he was done to death,\nshows how soon facts may become garbled and altered in complexion. Sir\nWalter Scott, for instance, makes Inverness the closing scene of the\nproceedings. That he was wrong is clearly shown by the records of the\nSheriff Court of Banff.\n\nJames Macpherson was the illegitimate son of Macpherson of Invereshie,\nby a beautiful gipsy girl who attracted his notice at a wedding.\n\nHe acknowledged the child, and reared him in his own house until he\nlost his life in pursuing a hostile clan to recover a spreach of cattle\ntaken from Badenoch.\n\nMacpherson, who had grown in beauty, strength, and stature rarely\nequalled, then took his place in the clan, with the chief\u2019s blood\nflowing in his veins, as a young Highland freebooter, who, in\ndescending from the mountains with his followers, believed he was\nonly asserting the independence of his tribe, and when they harried\nthe Lowlands was only taking a lawful prey. Such acts were not, in\nthe opinion of the \u201cpretty men\u201d of those times, to be confounded with\npitiful thieving and stealing, but considered as deeds of spirit and\nboldness calculated to make a man famous in his country side and among\nhis fellows.\n\nMacpherson excelled in love as in war, and was the best fiddle player\nand the best swordsman of his name. Tradition asserts that, if it must\nbe owned that his prowess was debased by the exploits of a freebooter,\nno act of cruelty, no robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or the\ndistressed, and no murder were ever perpetrated under his command or by\nhis knowledge.\n\nHis sword and shield are still preserved at Duff House, a residence of\nthe Earl of Fife. The sword is one which none but a man of uncommon\nstrength could wield. It is two-handed, six feet in length, and the\nblade nearly as broad as a common scythe. The shield is of wood,\ncovered with bull\u2019s hide, and studded with brass nails, and is both\nhacked and perforated in many places, telling a tale of many a hard\nfought fight. Tradition also asserts that he often gave the spoils of\nthe rich to relieve the poor, and that his followers were restrained\nfrom many atrocities of rapine by the awe of his mighty arm. Indeed, it\nis said that a dispute with a foiled and savage member of his tribe,\nwho wished to rob a gentleman\u2019s house while his wife and two children\nlay on the bier for interment, was the cause of his first being\nbetrayed within the power of the law. From this toil he escaped, to\nthe vexation of the magistrates of Aberdeen, who bribed a girl of that\ncity, of whom Macpherson was very fond, to allure and deliver him again\ninto their hands, under pretence of hearing his wonderful performances\non the violin. No sooner did the frantic girl understand the true state\nof the case than she made known, through a tribe of gipsies, the chief\nof whom was Peter Brown, a notorious vagrant, the capture of Macpherson\nto his comrades, when his cousin, Donald Macpherson, a gentleman of\nherculean powers, came from Badenoch in order to join the gipsy, Brown,\nin liberating the prisoner. On a market day they brought several\nassistants, and swift horses were stationed at convenient distances.\nThere was a platform before the jail covering the door below. Donald\nMacpherson and Peter Brown forced the jail, and while Peter Brown went\nto help the heavily fettered prisoner, James Macpherson, in moving\naway, Donald Macpherson guarded the jail door with a drawn sword. Many\npersons assembled at the market had experienced James Macpherson\u2019s\nhumanity or shared his bounty in the past, and they crowded round the\njail as if in mere curiosity, but, in fact, to obstruct the civil\nauthorities in their attempt to prevent a rescue. A butcher, however,\nwas resolved to detain Macpherson, expecting a large recompense from\nthe magistrates. He sprung up the stairs, and leaped from the platform\nupon Donald Macpherson, whom he dashed to the ground by the force\nand weight of his body. Donald soon resolved to make a desperate\nresistance, and the combatants in their struggle tore off each other\u2019s\nclothes. The butcher got a glimpse of his dog upon the platform, and\ncalled him to his aid, but Macpherson with admirable presence of mind\nsnatched up his own plaid, which lay near, and threw it over the\nbutcher, thus misleading the instinct of his canine adversary. The dog\ndarted with fury upon the plaid and terribly lacerated his master\u2019s\nthigh. In the meantime, James Macpherson had been carried out by Peter\nBrown, and was soon joined by Donald Macpherson, who was quickly\ncovered by some friendly spectators with a bonnet and greatcoat.\nThe magistrates ordered webs from the shops to be drawn across the\nGallowgate, but Donald cut them with his sword, and James, the late\nprisoner, got off on horseback. Some time after he was brought into\nfatal companionship with gipsies, by the same power which led the old Grecian\nhero to change his club for a distaff. The Highlander fell in love with\na gipsy girl, and with one companion, James Gordon, who eventually\npaid the penalty with him, he entered for a time into the roving\ncompany of the gipsy band. The Banffshire gentlemen, whom Macpherson\nhad plundered of old, heard with delight that the most dreaded of their\nenemies had come almost unprotected into their boundaries. According\nto the evidence on the trial, he seems to have joined the gipsies on a\nrioting rather than on a plundering excursion in Keith market, when he\nfell into the hands of his watchful foes, the chief of whom was Duff\nof Braco. He was immediately thrown into prison, and brought to trial\nwith three persons, Peter Brown, Donald Brown, and James Gordon, his\ncompanions, indited by the Procurator-Fiscal as \u201cEgyptians or gipsies,\nand vagabonds; and sorners, and robbers, and known habit and repute\nguilty of theft, masterful bangstree, riot, and oppression.\u201d When\nbrought into Court at Banff the Laird of Grant attempted to rescue them\nfrom the claims of the law, by asserting his right to try them as being\ndwellers within the regality of Grant, over which he had the power of\npit and gallows. The Sheriff, Nicholas Dunbar of Castlefield, however,\nover-ruled the claim, and sustaining himself as judge, ordered a jury\nto try the prisoners on the next day. This was accordingly done, when\nthey were found guilty and condemned, more apparently from a bad name,\nthan from any immediate crimes of which they had been guilty. The\nSheriff passing over the two Browns, the captain of the gipsy band and\nhis brother, sentenced Macpherson and Gordon to death, causing them to\nbe taken from the Court to the Tolbooth of Banff, from which eight days\nafterwards they were to be conveyed to the gallows hill of Banff, and\nhanged by the neck to the death on gibbets erected there. This hurried\nsentence shows the influence which the fear of Macpherson, or private\nenmity, exercised over the minds of Dunbar, the Sheriff, and the\njury, and hints at the influence exercised by Braco Duff upon Sheriff,\njury, and magistrates, especially as the Browns, his companions, were\nnot sentenced; in fact, they lay in jail for a year, and afterwards\nmade their escape from prison. Macpherson was an admirable performer\non the violin, and the ardent love for music was a fit ingredient in\nthe character of one who could so idly risk his life in the pursuit of\nromantic love. His musical talent was evinced long before his capture\nin the composition of a pibroch that goes by his name; and he is said\nalso to have composed the words and music, which, in his last moments,\nhe gave to the world under the name of \u201cMacpherson\u2019s Farewell\u201d\u2014\n\n    My father was a gentleman\n      Of fame and lineage high,\n    Oh! mother, would you ne\u2019er had born\n      A wretch so doomed to die!\n          But dantonly and wantonly\n            And rantonly I\u2019ll gae,\n          I\u2019ll play a tune and dance it roun\u2019\n            Below the gallows tree.\n\n    The Laird o\u2019 Grant with power aboon\n      The royal majesty,\n    He pled fu\u2019 well for Peter Brown\n      But let Macpherson die.\n          But dantonly, &c.\n\n    But Braco Duff, in rage enough,\n      He first laid hands on me;\n    If death did not arrest my course,\n      Avenged I should be.\n          But dantonly, &c.\n\n    I\u2019ve led a life o\u2019 meikle strife,\n      Sweet peace ne\u2019er smiled on me,\n    It grieves me sair that I maun gae\n      An\u2019 na avenged be.\n          But dantonly, &c.\n\n The verses of the song above given represent him as a musician, and as\n determined to display, which he certainly did, a mood of recklessness\n such as the boldest felon seldom evinces when below the fatal tree.\n Burns on his tour through the Highlands, it is very probable learned\n both the air and the tradition connected with it, and it may be\n that while composing, what Lockhart calls a grand lyric, he had\n Macpherson\u2019s words in his mind. Burns has written\u2014\n\n    Sae rantonly, sae wantonly,\n      Sae dauntingly gaed he,\n    He played a spring and danced it round\n      Below the gallows tree.\n\n    I\u2019ve lived a life of sturt and strife\n      I die by treacherie,\n    It burns my heart I must depart\n      And not avenged be.\n\n    Now farewell light thou sunshine bright,\n      And all beneath the sky,\n    May coward shame disdain his name\n      The wretch that dares not die.\n\n    Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,\n      Sae dauntingly gaed he,\n    He played a spring and danced it round\n      Below the gallows tree.\n\nOn the eighth day after his trial he was brought with his companion,\nGordon, to the foot of the fatal tree, several hours before the time\nspecified in the sentence for his execution.\n\nIt is said that his death was hurried on by the Magistrates, and that\nthey also caused the messenger intrusted with a reprieve to be stopped\nby the way, in consequence of which acts of injustice it is alleged\nthe town of Banff was deprived of the power of trying and executing\nmalefactors. When the freebooter came to the foot of the gallows tree\nin presence of the spectators who had come to witness his untimely end,\nhe played with the utmost pathos the fine tune, \u201cMacpherson\u2019s\nFarewell,\u201d which he had previously composed. When he had finished he\nasked if he had any friend in the crowd to whom a last gift of his\nviolin would be acceptable on condition of his playing the same tune\nover his body at his lyke wake. No one had the hardihood to claim\nfriendship with one in whose crimes the acknowledgment might imply\na participation, and the freebooter saying that the instrument had\nbeen his solace in many a gloomy hour, and that it should now perish\nwith him, broke it over his knee, and, scattering the fragments among\nthe crowd, immediately flung himself off the ladder. Thus died James\nMacpherson, who, if he was a freebooter, possessed the heart of an\nerrant knight. Donald Macpherson, his relative and friend, picked up\nthe neck of the violin which is still preserved in the family of Cluny,\nChief of the Macphersons. One thing is certain amid all the traditions\nwhich have come down regarding this bold and singular robber; his\nstrength and stature far exceeded those of common men; and this was\nproved, when his grave was opened some years ago, by the examination of\nhis bones.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST GAUGER IN SKYE.\n\n\nAbout one hundred and fifty years ago, there lived in Dumfries a\nworthy man of the name of Gillespie, who followed the honest, though\nhighly unpopular, occupation of excise officer or gauger. At the time\nmy tale begins, he had just been appointed to a new district in the\nHighlands, and it is while on his journey there that I first make his\nacquaintance. Behold him then, a tall, thin, ungainly figure, with a\nconsequential, self-important air, dressed in a coat of bottle-green\ncloth, with large silver-gilt buttons, a striped yellow waistcoat,\ncorduroy breeches, and top boots. A tall peaked hat, with narrow brim,\na large drab overcoat, and a sword-stick, completed his costume. He was\nmounted on a small shaggy pony or \u201cgearran,\u201d with neither shoes, bit,\nnor saddle, whose head was secured by the taod, or Highland bridle,\nmade of horse hair, and in lieu of a saddle was a housing of straw\nmat, on which was placed a wooden pack-saddle, called a \u201cstrathair,\u201d\nhaving two projections like horns, on which was hung the luggage of\nthe rider. This \u201cstrathair\u201d was kept in position by girths of straw\nrope, and was prevented from going too far forward by an antique kind\nof crupper, consisting of a stick passing under the animal\u2019s tail,\nand braced at each end to the \u201cstrathair.\u201d Having jogged along for a\nconsiderable time through a lonely moor, without meeting any sign of\nhuman habitations, it occurred to Mr Gillespie that he had lost his\nway. While staring about for something to guide him, he was nearly\ndismounted by the sudden starting of his pony, and on pulling up, he\ndiscovered that he had almost ridden over a young red-headed Highlander,\nwho was lying among the heather, indolently supporting his head on\none hand, while with the other he leisurely picked the blaeberries\nthat grew so plentifully around him. On seeing what he considered a\nduine-uasal, the lad started to his feet, and grasping a forelock of\nhis curly hair, made a profound bow.\n\nThe equestrian stared a moment at the bare-legged, bare-footed,\nbare-headed figure who had so suddenly appeared, and after stiffly\nreturning his curtsy, inquired how far it was to Dunvegan? The other,\nshaking his head, replied, \u2018Chan \u2019eil Beurla agam\u2019 (I have no English).\n\nNow this was certainly very awkward, as the stranger did not know\nGaelic, but it is surprising what people will do in desperate\ncircumstances, so with the aid of nods and signs, and a little English\nthat Eachainn had managed to pick up while at school, they made shift\nto understand one another.\n\n\u2018Is it to Dunvegan, then, you\u2019ll want to be going, sir?\u2019 inquired\nEachainn.\n\n\u2018Yes, and I am afraid that I shall not be able to find my way there\nwithout your assistance,\u2019 responded Gillespie.\n\n\u2018And may be you\u2019ll be stopping there for some time?\u2019 proposed the lad,\nscratching one bare knee with his sharp uncut nails as he spoke.\n\n\u2018What does it matter to you, my lad, whether my stay there will be long\nor short? All I want just now is to get there.\u2019\n\n\u2018Is it far you\u2019ll be coming the day, sir?\u2019 inquired the other, with an\nair of respectful deference, strangely inconsistent with the apparent\nbluntness of the question.\n\n\u2018What business is that of yours? Is it necessary for your showing me\nthe road that I should tell you all my history?\u2019\n\n\u2018May be you\u2019ll be coming from the change-house of Loch-Easkin?\u2019 pursued\nEachainn, without appearing to notice the rebuke of the stranger\u2019s\nreply.\n\n\u2018May be I did,\u2019 rejoined the gauger dryly, giving a hard blow to the\npoor gearran.\n\n\u2018Beannachd-leibh\u2019 (Good-bye to you), said the young man, pulling his\nforelock and bowing as before.\n\n\u2018Why are you in such a hurry to be off all at once, before you have\nshown me the way?\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019m no in a hurry, sir; I shust be doing my work, minding my mother\u2019s\ncow and calf,\u2019 answered the lad, lying down again, and commencing to\npick more blaeberries. \u2018But,\u2019 he added, \u2018it was no to offend you I was\nmeaning.\u2019\n\n\u2018Offend me, man! for what? I am sure I have taken no offence.\u2019\n\n\u2018Haven\u2019t you, sir,\u2019 exclaimed the other, jumping up; \u2018I thocht you had,\nfor you didn\u2019t seem pleased when I was asking what could I be doing for\nyou.\u2019\n\n\u2018My good lad,\u2019 answered Gillespie, \u2018I see customs differ, and what\nmay be considered ill manners on the streets of Dumfries is perhaps a\ndifferent thing on a Highland moor, and I shall be very glad of your\ncompany and assistance.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then you must tell me where is it you\u2019ll be wanting to go to.\u2019\n\n\u2018Man alive! Have I not told you already that I want to reach Dunvegan?\u2019\n\n\u2018But I\u2019m no sure if you\u2019re fit to do it before night, if you don\u2019t tell\nme where you came from the day.\u2019\n\n\u2018There is some reason in that,\u2019 said the gauger; \u2018and yet,\u2019 he\nmuttered, \u2018it is a sly way of demonstrating the necessity of his\nendless questions.\u2019\n\nAfter going some distance in silence, Eachainn, thinking himself bound\nto say something, began with, \u2018You\u2019ll be a stranger to this country,\nsir.\u2019\n\n\u2018You may say that, man; but what sort of a place is this Dunvegan?\u2019\n\n\u2018It\u2019s a bonny place eneuch, and no want of what\u2019s right, and the\nuisge-beatha is plenty, and she\u2019s rail goot; but I doubt it\u2019ll no be so\ngoot and so plenty now, for they say that a sgimilear of a gauger is\ncoming to live among us; I hope he may break his neck on the way.\u2019\n\nHere Mr Gillespie appeared suddenly to have seen something amiss with\nthe bridle, which necessitated his bending down for a moment or two,\nand no doubt this accounted for his face being slightly flushed when\nhe raised his head, and, giving the unconscious Eachainn an indignant\nlook, said, \u2018Hem, ahem! what right has a mere lad like you to speak so\ndisrespectfully of one you never saw, and who never harmed you.\u2019\n\n\u2018May his gallows be high and his halter tight!\u2019 was the laconic but\nemphatic reply.\n\n\u2018You young heathen, how dare you say so of a stranger, and without any\nreason either.\u2019\n\n\u2018Reason in plenty. Is he not coming to stop us from making our whusky?\nAnd there is my uncle Donald has a still in Craig-bheatha, and my\nmother helps him to make the malt, and gets a piggie (jar) for herself\nat the New-Year; and there\u2019s Somhairle Dubh, at the change house, has a\nstill in his barnyard near the\u2014\u2014\u2019\n\n\u2018Hush, friend!\u2019 interrupted Gillespie, clapping his hand on the\nHighlander\u2019s mouth, \u2018Dinna betray secrets so.\u2019 He then added with great\ndignity, \u2018Young man, you have abused me, and called me vile names to\nmy face, but for that I forgive you, as it was done in ignorance, but\nyou should be more respectful in referring to His Majesty\u2019s revenue\nservice, for I am that very excise officer, or gauger, as you call me,\nwho am appointed by my king and country to watch over the interests of\nthe revenue in this most outlandish corner of his dominions. Heaven\nhelp me withal! Now friend, understand me, I will do my duty without\nfear, favour, or affection; yes,\u2019 he continued, rising into energy\nas he spoke, and, to Eachainn\u2019s consternation, drawing his sword and\nflourishing it over his head, \u2018yes, I will do so even unto death; but,\u2019\nhe added after a pause, \u2018I am no hunter after unguarded information,\nand God forbid the poor should want their New-Year whisky because I am\nin the parish. But be more discreet in future, for assuredly I must\ndo my duty, and grasp, seize, capture, and retain unlawful liquor and\nimplements of its manufacture, whenever I find them, for I am sworn to\ndo this; but,\u2019 he concluded, with a bow to his pack-saddle, \u2018I will\nalways strive to do my duty like a gentleman.\u2019\n\nEachainn\u2019s emotions during this oration were of a mingled character.\nAt first pure shame was uppermost, for having, as he unwittingly\ndiscovered he had done, insulted a duine-uasal. Accordingly an honest\nblush spread over his sun-freckled face, and he hung down his head.\nThen came concern for having, as he apprehended, betrayed the private\naffairs of his uncle and Somhairle Dubh to the hands of the spoiler.\nWhen the gauger flourished his sword, Eachainn thought it was all over\nwith him; but when he heard the conclusion of the speech, which he\ntried hard to comprehend, it was with a feeling of great respect he\nreplied, repeating his bow, \u2018I thocht you was a duine-uasal from the\nfirst, sir; and I beg your pardon a thousand times for foolish words\nspoke without thinkin\u2019, and I could cut my tongue off for having spoke.\u2019\n\n\u2018Friend, that would not be right; no man has a right to maim himself,\u2019\nsaid the gauger, as he pulled out of an enormous pocket of his\ngreatcoat a box that looked like a large flute case, which he opened,\nand, to the admiration of Eachainn, took out of it, first the stock\nand then the tube of a short single-barrelled fowling-piece, which,\nafter duly joining together, he went through the process of priming\nand loading. These preparations were apparently caused by a curlew\nalighting at a little distance, but which, as if aware that evil was\nnot far away, resumed its flight, and soon disappeared.\n\n\u2018She\u2019s a very pretty gun, indeed, sir,\u2019 began Eachainn, anxious to\nrenew the conversation on a more agreeable topic than the last. \u2018By\nyour leave, may I ask where you got her?\u2019\n\n\u2018Got _her_,\u2019 said the other, \u2018why, I made _it_, man. In my country\nwe think nothing of making a gun before breakfast.\u2019 As this was said\nwith the utmost gravity, Eachainn was considerably staggered by it,\nfor the Highlander, naturally credulous, intending none, he suspected\nno deception; but if a hoax was being played upon him, and he found\nit out, he was sure to repay it with interest, and the biter would be\nkeenly bit.\n\n\u2018One before breakfast, sir! a gun like _her_ made before breakfast!\u2019 he\nrepeated, looking anxiously into the other\u2019s face, \u2018surely the thing is\njust impossible?\u2019\n\n\u2018No, friend,\u2019 replied the other, internally chuckling at finding the\nyouth so ductile, \u2018I tell you, I frequently make one of a morning.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then,\u2019 said the guide, \u2018I suppose, sir, you\u2019ll be come to the\nHighlands to make a big pusness with them!\u2019\n\n\u2018May be, may be, friend. I daresay there are not many such in this\ncountry; but what would still more surprise you is to hear by whom I\nwas taught the art of making them.\u2019\n\n\u2018Who she\u2019ll be, sir?\u2019\n\n\u2018Why, Luno, the son of Leven, who made Fingal\u2019s famous sword, which\nwent by his name, and every stroke of which was mortal.\u2019\n\n\u2018Och! yes, sir,\u2019 exclaimed Eachainn, his eyes sparkling, \u2018ye mean\nMac-an-Luinn,\u2019 and in his excitement he forgot the little English he\nhad, and continued in his own expressive vernacular, \u2018that was the\nsword of swords, and they say that the sound of his anvils is still\nheard in the silence of midnight by the wanderer of Lochlin; and his\nwell-known giant form is at times seen crossing the heath, clad in\nits dark mantle of hide, with apron of the same, and the face of the\napparition as dark as the mantle, and frowning fiercely, while, with\nstaff in hand, he bounds along on one leg, with the fleetness of a roe,\nhis black mantle flap, flapping for an instant, and then vanishing, as,\nwith a few bounds, black Luno enters his unapproachable cave.\u2019\n\n\u2018But are there any hereabouts who know how to use such a thing as\nthis?\u2019 asked the gauger, putting the piece to his eye.\n\n\u2018Och! aye, sir; there\u2019s Duncan Sealgair can hit a fox, an otter, or a\nseal, at a hunderd yards, easy.\u2019\n\n\u2018I am not speaking,\u2019 said the gauger, with an air of sovereign\ncontempt, \u2018of otters, and foxes, and such low vermin; I ask you, man,\nas to shooting of game!\u2019\n\n\u2018Aye, sir, a goot lot of that too. There\u2019s old Kenneth Matheson, she\u2019ll\nbe very goot at killing a buck.\u2019\n\n\u2018Pshaw! man, cannot you get your ideas above coarse four-footed beasts,\ngreat sprawling objects that there is no merit in killing.\u2019\n\nEachainn scratched his head, at a loss what to answer next; but at\nlength, with the air of a man who thinks he has made a discovery,\nexclaimed, \u2018You\u2019ll be meaning the wild goose, sir!\u2019\n\n\u2018You\u2019re a wild goose yourself; I mean no such thing; I am asking ye,\nman, about grouse, red grouse.\u2019\n\nThe guide was as puzzled as if he had heard Hebrew; but just then, as\nif to relieve his embarrassment, there arose a \u2018Ca-ca!\u2019 kind of sound\namong the heather. \u2018She\u2019ll shust be the muir-hens, sir, perhaps you\u2019ll\nlike to have shoot at them.\u2019\n\n\u2018Moor-hens! what\u2019s that, lad?\u2019 but further explanation was unnecessary,\nfor the eye of the traveller caught the very red grouse he had appeared\nso anxious to find. The sight seemed to have a very agitating effect\nupon him, for he instantly stopped, dismounted, and gave his nag to\nthe keeping of his companion; he then crept forward a few paces, his\nheart beating with the greatness of the occasion. At length, getting\ncloser to the birds than most sportsmen would deem quite necessary,\nhe knelt on one knee, and took a most deliberate, rifleman-like aim.\nOn placing his finger on the trigger, his face was turned a little to\none side\u2014perhaps to avoid the expected smoke. He at length pulled\nthe trigger, but, instead of a report, there was merely a snap in the\npan. At this, the eldest, apparently, of the birds gave a \u2018Ca-ca!\u2019 and\npeered about to see what was the matter; and, to avoid being seen, the\nsportsman sunk down among the heather. Tying the gearran to a juniper\nroot, Eachainn now cautiously crept up, and inquired in a whisper, \u2018Has\nshe refused, sir?\u2019\n\n\u2018Hush!\u2019 said the other, shaking his hand for silence; \u2018has who refused?\u2019\n\n\u2018I mean, sir,\u2019 again whispered his guide, \u2018has the musket refused?\u2019\n\n\u2018Which, I suppose,\u2019 responded the other, \u2018is as much as to say, has it\nmissed fire? Yes, certainly it has; did you not hear the snap in the\npan?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, sir, but there was no fire; may be \u2019twas the fault of the flint.\u2019\n\n\u2018Pish, no; there is not a better flint on this side of the Grampians.\u2019\n\n\u2018But the pooder, sir?\u2019\n\n\u2018No better powder in the world, unless it has been damped by your\nhorrid Highland mist.\u2019\n\n\u2018There\u2019s no a mist at all the day, sir,\u2019 answered Eachainn, looking\nquietly down at the gun lock, and discovering, for the first time,\nthat there was no flint at all. He smiled aside, and then turning to\nthe would-be sportsman, who was kneeling for another attempt, pointed\nout the circumstance to him. The latter, on seeing it, stared, and\nthen added, apparently recollecting himself, \u2018Dash it, neither there\nis! I recollect now, here it is, I put it in my waistcoat pocket this\nmorning, while cleaning my gun, and forgot to fix it again.\u2019 So saying,\nhe screwed it tight into its proper place and kneeling as before, gave\na second snap in the pan.\n\n\u2018The primin\u2019 fell oot when she first refused, sir, and you forgot to\nput in another.\u2019\n\n\u2018And ye gowk, couldn\u2019t you tell me that before?\u2019 said the wrathful\ngauger, as he recovered his arms for another attempt. This time,\nhowever, he was successful, for his volley levelled the cock leader and\ntwo of his family, while the remainder took flight.\n\n\u2018I dare say, friend bare-legs, you do not often see such shots as that\nin these quarters?\u2019\n\n\u2018\u2019Deed, sir, I\u2019ll no say I do,\u2019 returned the other with a look and\nmanner somewhat equivocal.\n\n\u2018In sooth, I suppose no one hereabouts knows anything of grouse\nshooting; but for myself, as I have already said, give me but the birds\nwithin tolerable reach, and I am sure to hit them.\u2019\n\n\u2018Na doot, sir, especially if ye always make it a fashion to shoot them\nsittin\u2019.\u2019\n\n\u2018And have you any hereabouts that can shoot them any other gait,\ncallant?\u2019\n\n\u2018May be, sir, the young laird, and the minister\u2019s son, and the major,\nand\u2014\u2014\u2019\n\n\u2018Weel, sir, and pray how does the young laird find out the game? Has he\nany pointers?\u2019\n\n\u2018Pinters, sir, what\u2019s that?\u2019 inquired his companion, affecting\nignorance.\n\n\u2018You fool, and do you not know what a pointer is? Precious country I am\ncome to, and perhaps to lay my bones in\u2014not to know what a pointer is?\u2019\n\n\u2018And d\u2019ye ken, sir, what a bochan is?\u2019\n\n\u2018Not I, friend bare-legs, nor do I care.\u2019\n\n\u2018My name, sir, is Eachainn, and you see there\u2019ll be some things that\nfolks who are very clever don\u2019t know. A bochan, sir, is what you call\nin Beurla a hobgobolin.\u2019\n\n\u2018I see your drift, man, I see your drift, and care not what a bochan\nor a fiddlestick means; but a pointer is a dog of right Spanish breed,\nwhich has such instinct that he smells out the birds without seeing\nthem, so that when he has got one in a covey within reach of his nose,\nhe holds up his leg, and stands stock still, until his master comes up\nand bleezes away at them.\u2019\n\n\u2018Sitting, sir?\u2019 asked Eachainn, with a roguish look.\n\n\u2018Aye, man, sitting or standing, \u2019tis all the same.\u2019\n\n\u2018You\u2019ll maybe be wanting such dogs in the low country, but they\u2019ll no\nbe wanted in the Highlands. Here, sir,\u2019 continued he, remembering the\nhoax about Luno and gunmaking; \u2018here, sir, the people can smell the\ngame as good as your dogs.\u2019\n\n\u2018What\u2019s that you say man? D\u2019ye think of clishmaclavering me with any\nof your big Hielan\u2019 lees?\u2019\n\n\u2018Would you like me to smell out some muir-hens for you, sir?\u2019\n\n\u2018You smell out game! smell out your grandmother! D\u2019ye think to deceive\nme with such havers?\u2019\n\n\u2018Do you s\u2019pose you could hit the poor craters\u2014sittin\u2019 too\u2014if I\nhadn\u2019t smelt them out for you, sir?\u2019\n\n\u2018Faith, friend you\u2019re no blate\u2014smell out indeed! And pray, callant,\ncan you smell out any more of them?\u2019\n\n\u2018I begin to think it\u2019s no a very thankful job.\u2019\n\n\u2018And do you often amuse yourself with nosing it in this way over these\nvile moors, through which I am so heartily tired of trudging?\u2019\n\n\u2018Whenever the laird, sir, goes out after the muir-hens, I go with him\nto smell them out.\u2019\n\n\u2018Weel man, convince me of the bare fact\u2014smell out another covey, and\nthen I\u2019ll no gainsay your gift.\u2019\n\nEachainn, shrugging up his shoulders, scratching his head, and\naffecting to make some difficulty, said the wind had gone down, and\nthat the scent was dull. The sly rascal, however, having an exceedingly\nacute ear, continued walking over bog and heather with long strides,\nuntil at length, at a considerable distance, and a little to one side\nof the track, he thought he heard the \u2018ca-ca\u2019 of a bird. He then turned\nto his companion and said, \u2018If I\u2019ll be smelling out a prasgan for ye,\nsir, will ye let me have a shoot at them?\u2019\n\n\u2018Give you a shot! weel but that passes a\u2019. I dinna ken what you might\nmake with a claymore, as ye ca\u2019 a braidsword; but a gun is another sort\nof thing altogether. What! Donald, could you hit a peat stack, man?\u2019\n\n\u2018My name\u2019s Eachainn, sir; and as to shooting a peatstack, I don\u2019t know,\nbut if ye like I\u2019ll try.\u2019\n\n\u2018Weel, Donald or Eachainn, or whatever your name is, I don\u2019t care if I\nindulge you, so there\u2019s the gun; but mind, when you aim, you turn\nthe barrel away, and the stock to yourself. Now you may bleeze awa\u2019\nat anything but me and the pony.\u2019 The guide, having by this time a\nshrewd guess where the birds were to be found, went on several paces\ncautiously, and pretending to scent something. At length he made a\nstand, cocking one leg, while he beckoned to the stranger, who was some\nlittle distance in the rear, to dismount and come up.\n\nThe latter accordingly did so, and there were the birds sure enough.\nThe stranger, whose less practised eye and ear were not aware of the\ntrick, now not doubting the truth of the Highlander\u2019s gift, uttered his\nadmiration in whispers, \u2018Weel, but yon\u2019s quite extraordinar\u2019; all real\nbirds too, and no glamour; I doot it\u2019s nae canny.\u2019\n\nThe Gael, not being such a desperate pot-hunter as his comrade, gave\na \u2018Hurrah!\u2019 which raised the birds at once, then taking a good aim,\nbrought down two, and wounded one or two more, which flew, quaking,\naway.\n\nThe Highlander, anxious to secure the wounded birds, went bounding in\nthe direction in which they had flown. As he hastily stepped forward he\ndid not perceive that a viper was directly in his path, and, before he\nwas aware of its being near him, the reptile had bitten his bare foot.\nStriking it off with the point of the barrel, he uttered not a word,\nbut giving one glance round, as if looking for something, he took to\nhis heels with a swiftness not unworthy of Luno himself.\n\nThe gauger, seeing his fowling-piece in Eachainn\u2019s possession, who was\nrunning as if a lion were at his heels, naturally concluded that he had\nrun off with it.\n\n\u2018Stop, thief!\u2019 shouted he, at the top of his voice, \u2018stop, ye\nconfounded Hielan\u2019 cateran! How fast the vagabond runs; gude\u2019s me, he\nis already out of sight. Haud there, ye scamp, ye traitorous reever,\nye!\u2019\n\nOut of breath with his own indignant exertions, Gillespie turned to\nmount his gearran. That sagacious beast, however, considered the whole\nthing as an arrangement for his own especial benefit, and whenever\nhis would-be rider approached to mount, would edge off, and trot to a\nlittle distance, and then quietly graze, until poor Gillespie would\nagain get close to him, when the same little performance would be\nrepeated. All this was naturally very provoking, and added intense\nbitterness to the gauger\u2019s other reflections.\n\nHe now eagerly followed Eachainn on foot, but in such a chase he was no\nmatch for the fleet-footed Highlander.\n\nThe day was hot, the moor boggy, and his greatcoat, which he still\nclung to, as if it were a part of his nature, was very heavy. \u2018The\nscoundrel!\u2019 he muttered, as he plodded wearily along, \u2018the bare-legged\nrascal, to rob me of my gun in open day on the King\u2019s highway; but I\u2019ll\nhave him by the heels for it, as sure as there\u2019s letters of horning and\ncaption to be had in Scotland; aye, he shall hang as high as Haman, if\nthere\u2019s a tree in all the island\u2014but I doot there\u2019s nane. It\u2019s ower\nvile for even a tree to make a gallows of to grow in it. Then I doot\nafter a\u2019 if the law can make much of the case, seeing that this canna\nbe said to be the highway. The rascal has not absolutely put me in\nbodily fear either, except fear of losing my gun. No, I doot I canna\nhang him, and to transport him from such a slough of despond, would\nonly be conferring an acceptable obligation on the young thief.\u2019\n\nThus he hurried on, lamenting his loss, until his further progress was\ninterrupted by a stream or burn, that ran gurgling between mossy banks,\nfringed with junipers and dwarf rowans. There the worthy man stood\npanting and blowing for about a minute, when some yards below him, at a\nshallower part of the burn, kneeling at the water\u2019s edge, and gulping\nin the pure element, he beheld the runaway Highlander.\n\nThe gauger\u2019s anger was, however, considerably mollified on seeing no\neffort on the part of Eachainn to continue his flight, and also by\nseeing his gun lying safely on a dried part of the bank. \u2018Ye villain,\u2019\nhe exclaimed, clutching his fowling-piece, \u2018and have I caught you at\nlast!\u2019\n\nThe Highlander, without answering, took another copious draught of the\nlimpid stream, then washed his wounded foot, on which was distinctly\nvisible the marks of the viper\u2019s fangs.\n\nGillespie, too, observed that notwithstanding his warm race, the lad\nlooked deadly pale. The latter, now slowly rising, expressed with\nrueful tone and looks his hope \u2018that he had got to the water before\nher.\u2019\n\n\u2018Before me! faith that ye did; and ye deserve to be hanged for it too,\nye thieving loon. Why did you run awa\u2019 that gait?\u2019\n\n\u2018Och, sir!\u2019 groaned the other, \u2018can you be telling me where the baiste\nis?\u2019\n\n\u2018Beast! what beast, idiot? I ken only one on the moor besides yon brute\nnow feeding up there. I shouldn\u2019t wonder if he took it into his head to\nrun off with the rest of my property.\u2019\n\n\u2018No, no, sir; the nathair! the nathair! we\u2019ll shust be going back to be\nlook for her.\u2019\n\n\u2018Gude\u2019s me, but I begin to think after a\u2019 that the puir chiel\u2019s\ndemented,\u2019 observed the other with a look of pity.\n\nAt length, with an appearance of great anxiety, the lad, accompanied by\nthe exciseman, returned to the spot from which they started, where\nwrithing in the agonies of death, from the blow the former had\ninstinctively, but almost unconsciously, given it, lay the snake or\nnathair. It was only now that the gauger began to comprehend what had\nhappened to his guide. When Eachainn saw the snake on the spot where he\nhad left it, now quite dead, his joy became as great as previously had\nbeen his dejection.\n\n\u2018Ah, sir!\u2019 he said, turning to the other, \u2018it\u2019s all right, and I\u2019m\nshust quite safe.\u2019\n\n\u2018Pray how is that?\u2019 returned the stranger, \u2018I should like to know by\nwhat process of reasoning ye make that out?\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019ll shust be telling you, sir. You see if a body will be stung by a\nnathair, and if they\u2019ll be clever to the water, and drink of it before\nthe nathair (and she\u2019ll be very clever at running herself, too), the\nmans will be quite better, and the nathair will die and burst; but if\nthe nathair will be get to the water first, then the mans will die and\nburst.\u2019\n\n\u2018And do you believe all this nonsense?\u2019\n\n\u2018It\u2019s shust quite true, sir; and I\u2019ll be always believing it; and maybe\nI\u2019ll be forgiven, I hope \u2019twas not for joking you about my smelling oot\nthe birds, that this judgment was coming on me; but as you was mocking\nme about making the guns, I thocht it was no harm to mock you too.\u2019\n\n\u2018And so it was all a sham, about you pointing the birds, was it?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, sir,\u2019 said Eachainn, with an abashed look.\n\n\u2018But ye dinna think I was such a fule as to believe you, eh?\u2019\n\n\u2018I cannot tell that, sir,\u2019 replied the other, a smile stealing over his\nlips, though he tried to prevent it.\n\n\u2018Hout, man!\u2019 said the gauger, but not without a _leetle_ twinge of\nconscience, \u2018I saw through the trick the whole time, but I had a mind\nto humour you, just to see how far you would go. But, friend, was it\nyour belief in havers about vipers bursting, and a\u2019 that sort of stuff,\nthat sent you scouring awa\u2019 to the burn\u2019s side in sic haste?\u2019\n\n\u2018Surely, sir; I\u2019ll be running for my life when the baiste will stung\nme.\u2019\n\n\u2018Hoot, toot, man, but you need not have taken my gun with you; that\nhadna been stung, and wouldna have bursted had the beast, as you call\nit, drank all the water in Coruisg.\u2019\n\n\u2018Och! sir, I was shust forgot the gun, I\u2019ll be so frightened, but the\nrunning saved my life, for the nathair is shust quite dead.\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, man, but it is not bursted.\u2019\n\n\u2018But she\u2019ll burst by and bye, and she\u2019ll be making a noise as big as\nyour gun, so people say, but I\u2019ll never was hearing her myself.\u2019\n\n\u2018Weel, weel, friend, I\u2019ll believe a\u2019 the rest of your story when the\nreptile bursts, but not till then. As for the creature\u2019s death, I daur\nto say you gave it a good clout over the head with the gun, which you\nhad in your hand, for it does not take much, I believe, to kill them.\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019ll not be doing that at all, that I know of,\u2019 said Eachainn, \u2018and\nmay be if I had, it\u2019ll be the worst for me and for you as well.\u2019\n\n\u2018How so, man?\u2019\n\n\u2018\u2019Cause I might shust struck her on the tail instead of her head, and\nthen she\u2019d jump up ever so high, and then she\u2019ll be come down, more\ndeadly than she\u2019ll be before. Ye need not be shaking your head, sir;\nit\u2019s shust quite true; but we must be clever, for we\u2019ll be having a\nlong way to go before we\u2019ll come to Dunvegan. I must do shust one thing\nfirst, if you please,\u2019\n\nSo saying, Eachainn pulled out his core or dirk, and proceeded with\ngreat deliberation to cut off the head of the viper, and then he\ndivided the body into five equal parts.\n\n\u2018I doot,\u2019 muttered the gauger, with a look of disgust, \u2018I doot he is\ngoing to cook it! Ugh, it\u2019s quite awfu\u2019.\u2019\n\nThe honest man\u2019s apprehensions were, however, somewhat premature, for\nafter hewing the reptile to pieces, as described, Eachainn cut with\nhis knife six holes in the turf, into each of which he placed a bit of\nthe snake, and filling up the holes again, stamped down these viperine\ngraves with his heel.\n\n\u2018Indeed, friend, I think you have taken a good deal of unnecessary\ntrouble in giving that reptile Christian burial.\u2019\n\n\u2018No, no,\u2019 answered Eachainn, \u2018I\u2019ll be thinking of the lives of other\npeoples, and their hells too.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what can your hacking away at yon reptile have to do with the\nhealth or lives of others, friend Donald?\u2019\n\n\u2018I tell you again, sir, my name is Eachainn, and no Donald, and I\u2019ll\nno be wondering that you don\u2019t know about this, for the Southern\nduine-uasal, she\u2019ll often not be knowing the things that the poor\nHighlander herself\u2019ll be knowing all aboot.\u2019\n\n\u2018And prythee what good is there in your wasting twenty minutes in\ncutting up and burying a snake?\u2019\n\n\u2018As you\u2019ll be a stranger, sir,\u2019 said Eachainn, after he had succeeded\nin catching the traveller\u2019s nag for him, which the other mounted, and\ntrotted on in the path pointed out to him, \u2018as you\u2019ll be a stranger,\nsir, I must be of good manners, and shust be telling you the things\nyou\u2019ll not know yourself. I may tell you that if you\u2019ll not be cutting\na nathair in five pieces, besides her head, she\u2019ll be sure to come\nalive again, and bigger and more stronger than she\u2019ll was before,\nand if you\u2019ll be leaving the pieces on the ground, they\u2019ll shust be\ncreeping together again and join. Sometimes her head will join where\nher tail was before, and her tail in the place where her head was\nbefore, and then she\u2019ll be shust awful, worst than she\u2019ll be before\ntwenty times. But that\u2019ll not be all we\u2019ll be burying them for. If\nthe bits of the nathair will be left on the ground, in the sun and in\nthe moonlight, they\u2019ll turn into awful bad and great big flies, dark\ngreen and yellow, with spots like the nathair herself, and they\u2019ll be\nso poison that when they touch a mans or a baiste, there will come a\ncancer, which no doctor can cure.\u2019\n\nWhile thus speaking, Eachainn began to grow very pale, his voice\ntrembled, and at last, sitting down on the heather, he groaned aloud.\n\n\u2018Why, my poor fellow, what\u2019s the matter with you?\u2019 kindly inquired the\nexciseman.\n\n\u2018I doot, sir,\u2019 said Eachainn in a feeble tone, \u2018I doot, sir, the sting\nof the nathair has been stronger on me than I\u2019ll be thinking, I\u2019m shust\ncrippled, sir, and my leg is stiff and sore like, and I\u2019m sick, sick at\nmy heart.\u2019 Poor Eachainn, in finishing these words, attempted to rise,\nbut immediately staggered, and fell down insensible.\n\nThe gauger, greatly disconcerted, threw himself from his steed with\nsuch alacrity that he almost overturned the gearran, as well as\nhimself. \u2018What?\u2019 he exclaimed: \u2018Hoot, toot, man, never give way;\n\u2019tis but a dwam, puir fellow! His jaw drops just like Fraser, the\nsupervisor, when Red Chisholm, the smuggler, stuck his dirk into his\ndoup. If the lad should die here, and no one but me with him, why, what\nwould folk say? Gude save us! how swelled his leg is, and all black and\ngreen; \u2019tis fearsome; would to heaven I were weel out o\u2019 the scrape,\nor had never entered the vile country!\u2019 Here, however, a bright idea\nstruck the alarmed traveller, and hastily going to the bundle suspended\nfrom the right horn of the strathair, he hurriedly turned over its\nmiscellaneous contents, until he found his whisky flask, which he\nuncorked, and poured with a trembling hand, for fear of the remedy\nbeing too late, a good portion of the liquor down the throat of the\nunconscious Highlander. The stimulus was powerful. The fainting lad,\nin spite of himself, gave a desperate gulp, which caused some of\nthe spirit to enter his windpipe, consequently the first symptoms\nof returning animation on the part of Eachainn was a succession of\nhideous gaspings. For fully two minutes he choked and coughed, until\nthe bewildered gauger feared he had done for him in earnest. At length,\nto his unspeakable relief, Eachainn opened his eyes, and getting the\nuse of his tongue once more, he most zealously and piously recommended\nthe Southron to the good offices of his majesty, Domhnull Dubh. As he,\nhowever, spoke in his native tongue, Gillespie could not appreciate the\nextent of the kindness intended for him. The first use Eachainn made\nof his hands was, with the left to gently scratch the bitten foot, and\nwith the right he took the flask from the still confused gauger, and\ntaking a good pull at the contents, again attempted to rise, but found\nhe was unable to walk. On perceiving this, the gauger insisted on his\nmounting behind him. The gearran, however, apparently resenting that\nhis consent had not been asked to the new arrangement, gave a sharp\nsmarting neigh, and commenced to back. These hostile demonstrations\non the part of the pony were not at all displeasing to Eachainn, who\nthought that if the gearran continued restive, he might have him all to\nhimself. He accordingly kept giving sly kicks with his uninjured foot\nin the animal\u2019s groin. The consequence was that every moment the pony\nbecame more indignant and unmanageable; but the gauger, recollecting\nthat he was in his Majesty\u2019s service, strove to maintain his position\nwith the dignity due to that office. He pulled hard at the taod, but\nfinding that of no use, he followed the example of honest John Gilpin,\nand grasped the animal\u2019s mane with both hands, receiving, through every\nkick-up of the pony, sore thumps from the strathair, which caused him\nmuch uneasiness. Eachainn, holding on \u2018like grim death,\u2019 continued\nteasing the gearran, at the same time pretending to coax him by saying\n\u2018Sheo! sheo!\u2019 The pony heeded neither that, nor the \u2018Huish! huish!\u2019 of\nthe exciseman, but kept kicking, prancing, and rearing with a zeal and\nenergy worthy of a better cause. The commotion at length ended by the\ngauger tumbling over the animal\u2019s head.\n\nEachainn, beginning to think that he had carried the joke too far,\ndismounted, and seeing the discomfited Southron lying at full length\nwithout signs of life, in his turn became frightened. At this trying\nmoment he bethought him of the specific, which had proved so useful\nin his own case. He had no difficulty in finding the flask, and was\nabout to administer a dose, when the gauger, who had been only a little\nconfused at his sudden fall, got on his feet; but nothing would induce\nhim to remount, so Eachainn rode at his ease, while the annoyed gauger\nstalked along with heavy strides, cordially abusing the country, its\nmoors, its gearrans, and its whisky. The shades of evening began to\nlengthen, the scene gradually changed, our travellers began to leave\nthe heathery moor behind, and enter on arable land, with patches here\nand there under cultivation, chiefly oats and potatoes, while an\noccasional cow grazing, or a horse tethered, showed them that they were\napproaching their journey\u2019s end.\n\nAll at once they heard the peculiar note of the\n\nCORN-CRAIK,\n\nOR TRIAN-RI-TRIAN, as it is called in Gaelic.\n\nThe gauger, always anxious to show off his skill as a marksman,\nbegan to handle his fowling-piece. Eachainn looked on with evident\nuneasiness, and at last said, \u2018Surely, surely, sir, you\u2019ll not be going\nto shoot _her_?\u2019\n\n\u2018And why not, my friend?\u2019\n\n\u2018What, sir! shoot a trian-ri-trian! it\u2019s shust awful to think on.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what is the great harm of shooting such a blethering, craiking\nthing as that?\u2019\n\n\u2018The harm, sir! why, she\u2019ll be a sacred bird; I\u2019d as soon think of\nshooting a cuckoo herself, as to be doing the trian-ri-trian any hurt!\nShe\u2019ll be different to any other bird, and when she\u2019ll cry, she\u2019ll be\nlying on her back, with her feets lifted up to the sky, and the sky\nwould fall down if she\u2019ll not be doing that.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, I must have a shot at him, even if the firmament were to come\nabout our ears in consequence,\u2019 and so saying, our sportsman took his\nusual kneeling shot, and getting a good and near level, fired, when a\nhandful of flying feathers evinced the success of the shot.\n\nThe gauger ran to the spot, and Eachainn on the pony trotted after him,\nbut on coming up they could see no bird, or no evidence of the shot\nhaving taken effect. Eachainn looked suddenly aghast.\n\n\u2018What can the gommeril be staring at now?\u2019 exclaimed the disappointed\ngauger.\n\n\u2018Och! sir,\u2019 groaned Eachainn, in great agitation, \u2018the t\u00e0sg! the t\u00e0sg!\u2019\n\n\u2018The what? you confounded idiot!\u2019\n\n\u2018I\u2019ll tell you, sir,\u2019 replied the Highlander, with great solemnity,\n\u2018the t\u00e0sg, she\u2019ll shust be a death bird, and the warning\u2019ll never fail\nto come true\u2014\u2019tis awful, \u2019tis shust awful!\u2019\n\n\u2018Weel, confound me,\u2019 said Gillespie, who was now tired and heated, and\npanting with his exercise, \u2018confound me if I can make out the creature.\nHe\u2019s no wanting in gumption either, but what havers are these he has\ngot in his noddle?\u2019 Then addressing his companion, he said, \u2018Weel,\nnow, I have listened to all your nonsense, and now you must tell me\nin plain words what you mean by all this blether and talk about your\ntrian-ri-trian and your t\u00e0sg.\u2019\n\nTo this appeal Eachainn did not reply for some minutes, but\ndismounting, he hobbled up the best way he could to the very spot where\nthe bird had stood when shot at, and picking up the few feathers which\nhad been started, stood looking at them with an anxious expression,\namounting almost to horror. Then turning to the gauger, he replied, in\na voice broken with agitation\u2014\u2018I thocht, sir, that everybody know that\nthe t\u00e0sg is a spirit bird, and she\u2019ll always be coming to the mans when\nthey\u2019ll be going to die. She\u2019ll come different to different peoples.\nOld Murdo Urquhart, the fisherman, saw her shust like a grey gull, and\nthat very night he took ill, and died in two or three days. And Barabal\nN\u2019ic\u2019Ivor, she\u2019ll be the bonniest lassie in the place, saw the t\u00e0sg\nshust like a beautiful white dove, and surely poor Barabal she\u2019ll knew\nshe\u2019ll be going to die, so she made her death shift, and indeed it\nwas very soon she was wearing it. The t\u00e0sg\u2019ll always be coming in the\ngloamin\u2019, she\u2019ll fly low and slow like, and she\u2019ll no make any noise\nwith her wings, but if you\u2019ll shoot at her, you\u2019ll shust get nothing\nbut a small handful of feathers.\u2019 Here the guide paused a moment, and\nlooking first at the feathers he held in his hand, and then in the face\nof the gauger, he continued, \u2018I\u2019ll be thinking, sir, that you\u2019ll no be\nliving very long. I am shust afraid the t\u00e0sg will be coming to you like\na trian-ri-trian. Och, sir! indeed I\u2019ll be very sorry for you, surely,\nsurely.\u2019\n\n\u2018Look to yourself, man. You say it is my t\u00e0sg, but I don\u2019t see how you\nmake that out; why shouldn\u2019t it be your own t\u00e0sg as well as mine?\u2019\n\n\u2018Mine, sir?\u2019 exclaimed Eachainn. \u2018No, no; I did not shoot her. If\nyou\u2019ll shoot her, she\u2019ll be your own t\u00e0sg surely, and nobody\u2019s else,\nand she\u2019ll be shust like a duine-uasal\u2019s t\u00e0sg, a long-legged bird, and\nshe\u2019ll shust come like the Southron, at certain times, and then she\u2019ll\nshust speak a craik, craik kind of talk, and that\u2019ll not be Gaelic;\nit\u2019ll be the Gaelic that the mavis and the blackbird will be speaking.\nA lad like me will no get a gran\u2019 t\u00e0sg like her. Oh! no, a crow, or a\nduck, or a sgarbh, is more like what I\u2019ll be getting.\u2019\n\nThe gauger, seeing the anxiety of Eachainn to decline the honour of the\nt\u00e0sg, was commencing to rally him about it, but in the earnestness of\ntheir conversation, they had not observed the change in the appearance\nof the weather which had been gradually taking place; their attention\nwas now, however, called to it by feeling some heavy drops of rain, and\nthey soon saw that a severe storm was looming. They ceased talking, and\nused their breath and energies to better purpose, by hurrying forward\nas fast as they could. In spite of their utmost exertions, the storm\nsoon overtook them, and in half-an-hour they were both drenched to the\nskin. Eachainn took it very philosophically, for to the well-developed,\nhardy \u2018son of the mist,\u2019 an occasional shower-bath was no hardship. He\nwas too well acquainted with Nature in all her changing moods to care\nmuch when she frowned. But the poor, town-bred gauger was in a pitiable\nplight, as he plodded along in a most unenviable state of body and\nmind, vowing he should catch his death of cold. In about an hour and\na-half they arrived, to the intense relief of Gillespie, at the hamlet\nof Dunvegan, and gladly availed themselves of the hospitality of\nSomhairle Dubh, at the hostelrie, or change house of the village.\n\nThe worthy hostess of the\n\nDUNVEGAN HOTEL\n\nmet the gauger at the door, and dropping a curtsy, gave him a hearty\nwelcome, while Somhairle Dubh told Eachainn to lead the pony to the\nstable; but seeing the poor lad hardly able to stand, and having\nbeen told the reason, he immediately helped him into the kitchen,\nand seating him by the fire, called for the whisky bottle\u2014the usual\npanacea in those days for all evils in the Highlands\u2014and giving\nEachainn a good dram, he applied the same remedy to the wounded limb,\nrubbing it in before the fire, while a messenger was dispatched for his\nmother, who was noted for her skill in the use of herbs.\n\nIn the meantime Mr Gillespie had been shown to his bedroom, to change\nhis wet clothes, while his dinner was preparing. Before he began his\nmeal, the landlord brought out his own peculiar bottle\u2014a mixture of\nwhisky, camomile flowers, and coriander seeds\u2014and offered his guest a\nglass as an appetiser, which was gladly accepted, for he was feeling\nfar from well. He ate but little of the good plain dinner provided for\nhim, and soon after went to his bed. Before doing so, however, he asked\nfor Eachainn, wishing to give him a trifle for his guidance, but on\nbeing told that the lad had gone home with his mother, he gave\nSomhairle Dubh a shilling to give to him.\n\nAlthough Gillespie was very tired, he could not sleep. He tossed and\nturned, and only as the day was breaking did he fall asleep, but it\ndid not refresh him, for the incidents of his journey haunted him in\nhis sleep. He was again riding the pony, going at a furious rate,\nwhile Eachainn sat at his back holding him in a grasp of iron. There\narose before him the figure of a snake of gigantic proportions, which,\nwrithing round his neck, was nearly strangling him, but instead of\nhissing, it uttered the \u2018craik,\u2019 \u2018craik,\u2019 of the trian-ri-trian. With\nan effort he awoke, and found himself stiff and feverish, and his\nthroat very sore. In a word, the honest man was in for a bad attack of\nquinsey or inflammation of the throat. After a few days had elapsed,\nhe expressed his surprise that Eachainn had not called to inquire\nfor him; but he was told the lad had gone to a village ten miles off\nto spend his shilling. Somhairle Dubh and his goodwife became very\nconcerned about their guest, and nothing could exceed their kindness\nand attention to him. They sent for the doctor, but he was away some\ndistance and could not come at once. On the fourth day of Gillespie\u2019s\nillness, Somhairle Dubh, seating himself by the sick man, with great\nsolemnity of manner, said, \u2018Sir, we must all die. Now, sir, I am come\nto do to you as I would like to be done by; for sore, sore would it\nbe to me to think that my body should not be put in the grave of my\nfathers in Kilmuir. So, sir, by your leave, where would you choose to\nbe buried?\u2019\n\n\u2018Buried!\u2019 exclaimed the gauger, aghast, sitting up in his bed, and\nstaring at his host. \u2018Buried! surely I am not so bad as that?\u2019\n\nWithout noticing his emotion, the worthy man continued, \u2018Folk have\ndifferent ways in different countries; but you may depend upon it, sir,\nit\u2019s no my father\u2019s son that would suffer the corpse of a duine-uasal\nnot to be treated in every way most honourably. You shall be properly\nwashed and stretched, that you may be sure of; and you shall not want\nfor the dead shirt, for by my faith, and I\u2019ll do as I promise, sir, you\nshall have my own dead shirt, that my wife made with her own hands, of\nreal good linen, and beautifully sewed too. And we\u2019ll keep you, sir,\nfor seven days and seven nights, and I\u2019ll get Ian Saor to make as good\na chest for you as ever he made, with brass-headed nails all round it,\nand with shining handles like silver, and you shall lie in your chest\nlike a duine-uasal should, with two large candles at your head, and two\nat your feet, and a plateful of salt on your breast.\u2019\n\nHere poor Gillespie could contain himself no longer, but groaned aloud\nat this dismal recital of what was to be done to his corpse.\n\n\u2018What, sir? you\u2019re may be thinking the alaire, or death feast, will not\nbe good enough; but ye need not trouble yourself for that, there shall\nbe plenty whisky and plenty meat, and my wife shall make good bannocks.\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, indeed, I will,\u2019 said the good woman, wiping her eyes with her\napron as she sobbed out. \u2018Ochan, ochan! little does his mother know how\nher son is the night.\u2019\n\n\u2018But,\u2019 continued her husband, \u2018think what a comfort it\u2019ll be to her to\nhear of his being buried so decent like; for, sir, you shall be put in\nmy own grandfather\u2019s grave, and that\u2019s what I\u2019d not do to many, but\nI\u2019ll do it to you, for though you are a gauger you\u2019re a stranger far\nfrom your own people, and I\u2019d like to show kindness to you.\u2019\n\nIndeed the worthy man never doubted but he had afforded Gillespie the\ngreatest comfort in thus having settled all the particulars of his\nfuneral; for an intense anxiety about the proper disposal of his\nremains, and the complete fulfilling of all the customary ceremonies of\ndeath, is a characteristic trait of the Highlander.\n\nIt was the seventh day of Mr Gillespie\u2019s illness when Eachainn\nreturned, and he immediately went to see the sick man, who by this time\ncould scarcely speak. He lay pale and languid, with his eyes closed,\nand apparently the dews of death on his brow. The lad was greatly\nshocked. He expected to find him ill, but not so bad as this\u2014not for\ndeath. \u2018Ochan, ochan!\u2019 he exclaimed, and covering his face with his\nhands, he burst into tears. The gauger on opening his eyes and seeing\nhis visitor, smiled faintly and said, \u2018It\u2019s all over with me, Eachainn.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh no, no, sir; don\u2019t say that, I hope you\u2019ll be better soon. And\ndon\u2019t you be thinking of the t\u00e0sg, sir, for she\u2019ll not be for you at\nall, sir, but for the minister\u2019s goodmother, who died last night with\nthe fever, and his children have got it, too, for it\u2019s very smitting;\nbut I\u2019ll no be caring. I\u2019ll just be going up to the manse, and tell the\ndoctor to come to you.\u2019\n\n\u2018Stop,\u2019 said the gauger with difficulty, and then pointing to his\nfowling-piece, which stood in a corner, he continued with a faltering\nvoice, \u2018Keep it for my sake, for I shall never use it again.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh no, sir,\u2019 replied Eachainn in a broken voice. \u2018I\u2019ll be hoping to\nsee you use her many\u2019s the time yet. We\u2019ll be shooting the muir-hens\ntogether some day, but I must be going for the doctor quick.\u2019 So\nsaying, the lad hurried out of the room, for fear he should again break\ndown.\n\nIn about three hours the tramping of a horse announced the arrival of\nthe doctor, who had galloped in from the manse, while Eachainn ran and\npanted all the way at his horse\u2019s side. And while the doctor was\nmaking for the inn, Eachainn ran to his mother\u2019s, and told her to get\nher herbs ready, for perhaps she would be able to do more good than\nthe doctor, after all their hastening back. He was in the sick-room\nas soon as the doctor, who, having examined his patient in silence\nfor a few minutes, began the following harangue with a pompous voice\nand manner\u2014\u2018You see, sir, you are labouring under what is commonly\ncalled a quinsey, but which, professionally, we denominate _Cynanche_,\nto which may be added in your case the adjective noun _maligna_. I\nregret to say that your case is exceedingly desperate. Had I been able\nto have seen you earlier, I should have followed Celsus\u2019 excellent\nadvice in these cases, but I am sorry to say that the Celsian treatment\nis now entirely out of the question. There can be no doubt that the\nopening into the trachea is very nearly closed up by the phlegmon or\ninflammation, when death by asphyxia must ensue. There is here, then,\nbut one course. Here,\u2019 taking a small case of instruments out of his\npocket, \u2018here, you see, is a fine sharp-pointed knife or scalpel,\nwith which an incision being made into your trachea, I shall insert a\nsmall tube so as to keep up the communication between the atmosphere\nand the lungs, to obviate what would otherwise be the fatal closing\nof the glottis.\u2019 With that the doctor arranged his instruments at the\nbedside, and was preparing to operate at once, when a dim sense of his\nintentions began to break in upon the minds of the spectators.\n\n\u2018And where do you mean to cut, sir?\u2019 asked Somhairle Dubh, first\nbreaking silence.\n\n\u2018Here, exactly here,\u2019 replied the doctor, placing his finger on Mr\nGillespie\u2019s throat a little below the chin.\n\n\u2018And have you no other cure but that, doctor?\u2019\n\n\u2018None whatever,\u2019 answered he, shaking his head, and taking up the\nscalpel, at the sight of which the sick man shrank to the other side of\nthe bed with a look of pitiable despair.\n\n\u2018No other cure than to cut the duine-uasal\u2019s throat,\u2019 screamed\nEachainn, coming forward, with a face blanched with horror; \u2018No, no,\nsir,\u2019 he continued, \u2018you\u2019ll shust have to cut my throat first. If\nyou\u2019ll no be doing better than that, I could be doing as good myself\nwith the corran yonder, and not to trouble you to be coming with them\nawful knives, shust enough to frighten a body.\u2019\n\nOn hearing this, the poor gauger smiled gratefully on Eachainn, and\npressed his hand between both his own.\n\n\u2018Sir!\u2019 exclaimed the doctor, hoarse with passion, \u2018what is the meaning\nof this? Am I to perform the operation or not?\u2019\n\n\u2018No, sir,\u2019 replied the sick man in a scarcely articulate voice. \u2018I\nthrow myself upon the mercy of God. I can but die.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then die, sir,\u2019 said the enraged doctor, \u2018and your blood be upon your\nown head;\u2019 and hastily packing up his instruments, he turned to leave\nthe room just as Eachainn\u2019s mother (a descendant of Fearchair Lighiche)\nentered. She gave him a respectful greeting, which, however, was very\nungraciously received, and soon the sound of his horse\u2019s hoofs was\nheard as he galloped away, Eachainn muttering something to himself\nabout the Diabhul going along with him.\n\nEachainn\u2019s mother now took up the case, and having tenderly examined\nthe throat, called for a pot and boiling water, into which she cast\nsome herbs and boiled them over the fire. This decoction she ordered to\nbe applied on flannels, as hot as he could bear it, to the sick man\u2019s\nthroat, while he inhaled the hot steam of the same from the spout of a\nkettle. The good woman then called for a skellet, into which she\nmeasured two or three cups of water; she then threw into the water some\ndried herbs and fresh roots. When the mixture was hot it threw up a\ngreen scum, which she skimmed off. She then poured some of the potion\ninto a tumbler, and approaching the patient, said in Gaelic, \u2018Try, my\ndear, and swallow this; I know it is very painful for you to do it, but\nlife is precious, and for your mother\u2019s sake, if you have one, make the\nattempt.\u2019\n\nOn her wishes being explained to Gillespie, he grasped the tumbler,\nand with a great effort slowly but painfully drained it. In about\nhalf-an-hour after he had taken it, his face became of a ghastly green\nshade; he stretched himself out at full length; his pulse seemed to\nfail; he heaved deep sighs; and at length began to retch violently. It\nnow appeared as if a struggle between life and death, but at length\nthe imposthume burst, and the poor man swooned away. The spectators\nnow thought all was over with the poor gauger, but Eachainn\u2019s mother\nknew better. She held his head with one hand, while with the other\nshe chafed his temples, calling to her son to throw some water in the\npatient\u2019s face, and telling the landlord to bring some red wine, if he\nhad any in the house. Her orders being promptly carried out, the sick\nman soon opened his eyes, and in a little while was able to speak,\nexpressing his gratitude to the worthy woman for the great relief she\nhad afforded him.\n\nFrom this time Gillespie mended fast, but was necessarily obliged to\nkeep his bed for several days, and, finding the time hanging heavy,\nhe would keep Eachainn by him for hours together, as he had taken a\ngreat liking to the lad, besides being under such an obligation to his\nmother, of whose skill and the wonderful cures she had effected, her\nson was never tired of talking about.\n\n\u2018But how did your mother gain all this knowledge?\u2019 asked the gauger.\n\n\u2018Well, sir, you must know my mother is descended from the famous man,\nFearchair Lighiche.\u2019\n\n\u2018And who may he be?\u2019 inquired Gillespie.\n\n\u2018Ah, sir, it was him that was the clever man. He could cure every\ndisease in the shutting of a taibhshear\u2019s eye, and knew every herb and\nplant, every tree and root, every bird and beast. And there\u2019s something\nmore wonderful yet,\u2019 continued Eachainn in an awe-struck tone.\n\n\u2018And what is that?\u2019 asked Gillespie.\n\n\u2018Well, sir, maybe you\u2019ll no be believing it, but it\u2019s true all the\nsame, that Fearchair Lighiche had the gift to know what the birds would\nbe saying to each other.\u2019\n\nThe gauger threw a quick glance at his companion, thinking he was\ntrying to gull him, but seeing that Eachainn spoke in all sincerity,\nand even with a certain amount of awe in his manner, Gillespie did not\ninterrupt him, merely remarking, \u2018That was a gift indeed, if he made\ngood use of it.\u2019\n\n\u2018That he did, sir, for he was a real good man, and a blessing was on\nall he did.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well,\u2019 said the gauger, with an air of incredulity, \u2018tell me now of\nsome instance where this gift was shown by your wonderful relative,\nFarquhar Lick, or whatever his name was?\u2019\n\n\u2018By your leave, sir, his name is not Lick, but Lighiche, and that means\n\u201cHealer.\u201d The people will be calling him that because of the cures he\ndid. But his own right name was Beaton, and I could be telling you lots\nof stories about him. One time, on a beautiful summer morning, he was\nwalking by the sea-side, and he met old Colin Macrae and his two sons\ngoing to their boat to go to Skerry-Rona to cut sea-ware, when they\nspoke to the seer. He looked to the north and to the south, with a face\nfull of trouble, and shust then a raven flew over their heads, and gave\na hollow croaking kind of sound.\u2019\n\n\u2018So do all ravens, man,\u2019 interrupted the gauger.\n\nWithout noticing the interruption, Eachainn continued, \u2018And then, sir,\nwhen Fearchair Lighiche heard the raven, he turned to the old man and\ncommanded him and his sons not to enter the boat or put to sea that\nday, for, said he, \u201cI have it from them that never deceive that evil\nwill come to a boat from Harlosh coast this day.\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018And did they take notice of the warning?\u2019\n\n\u2018The old man, sir, was minded to stay, but the young lads laughed,\nand said they did not care for all the ravens between the Point of\nUishinish and the Coolin Hills, so they set off. But the wise man stood\nlooking after them with a sad face, and then the raven flew past again;\nand when Fearchair heard the croak of the bird, he clasped his hands,\nand looking up he cried out, \u201cLost! lost! lost!\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018And what became of the men?\u2019 inquired Gillespie, interested, in spite\nof his unbelief.\n\n\u2018I\u2019ll shust tell you, sir. About the middle of the day there was a\nthick fog, which covered the sea and the land, and when the night came\non there was a dreadful storm, so that no boat could live. The people\nwill be blaming old Meg Mackintosh, the witch of Glen Dubh, for it, for\nshe met the men that very morning, shust after they\u2019ll be finding a\ndead door-mouse, and that is shust always a sign of death. Well, when\nthe night was come, the house of John Mac John Mac Kenneth was all\ncheerless and dark, for they that went out in the morning never come\nback; and the poor wife sat all her lone, on a three-legged stool, by\nthe side of the fire, crying bitterly for her man and her sons, whose\nthree stools stood empty opposite her on the other side. Her dog\nlied at her feet, and the poor brute kept licking her hand, for he\nknew she was in trouble; and when her sobs became more convulsively\naudible, he would raise a low whine in sympathy. Well, sir, it\u2019ll\nshust be about the middle of the night, when in a distracted state\nthe woman exclaimed, \u201cOh, this fearful suspense! it is worse than\nthe worst reality. Would to heaven I were certain whether they are\ndead or alive.\u201d She had scarcely left off speaking, when she\u2019ll hear\na queer-like sound, and the dog she\u2019ll hear it too, for she\u2019ll growl\nand go close to the wife\u2019s side, and then she\u2019ll see three shivering\nfigures sitting before her on the stools that were empty before, all\nwet, pale, and with the death-look on them. You may be sure she was\nawful frightened. She daren\u2019t speak; but she shust held out her arms to\nembrace them, but she could not lay hold of them, for with a soundless\ntread they glided away and vanished, while she heard pronounced these\nwords, \u201cCha till, cha till, cha till sinn tuille\u201d (We return, return,\nreturn no more). Then she gave a great skirl and fell down, and she was\nfound in the morning shust quite senseless, with the poor beastie of a\ndog watching her.\u2019\n\n\u2018That is certainly a very strange story, Eachainn.\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, sir; and there\u2019s plenty more I could be telling, if you like.\nOnce the laird was taken ill all of a sudden with a bad pain in his\nchest, when he was walking near some rocks where the fairies lived.\nSome say he was struck by an elf-bolt, as one was picked up near the\nspot the next day. So he sent to Fearchair Lighiche to come to heal\nhim. It was a long way to go, and when Fearchair and the man that\nwas fetching him got to about five miles from the laird\u2019s house a\ngobhar-athair flew over them, and when Fearchair heard the cry of the\nbird he stopped, and told the man it was no use to go any further, for\nhis master was dead, and so he turned back. When the man got home, he\nfound that his master had died just at the very time they heard the\ngobhar-athair. Sometimes he would fall into a trance, when he would be\nseeing most beautiful things. One day he was travelling with his nephew\nand his foster-brother, who always carried his herb-box and his Hebrew\nBible, and they came to a place where a great battle was fought long\nago. And there\u2019s a big cairn there over the bones of the men who were\nkilled, and people will be seeing the spirits of them if they go that\nway at night. Fearchair said to his nephew that he was going to lie\ndown and sleep, and that they were to be sure not to wake him, nor even\ntouch him. Well, sir, he went to sleep, and at first he was breathing\nvery hard, and his face was full of trouble, but after a little he did\nnot breathe at all, and his face got as white as snow, and he looked\nshust as if he was dead. His nephew got so frightened when he saw\nhim, that he jumped up to wake him, but the other held him back and\nwhispered, \u201cFor your life, move not, speak not, touch not;\u201d and they\nthen saw coming out of the mouth of the sleeping man a tiny, tiny, wee\nthing like a beautiful butterfly. When the nephew saw it, he made as if\nhe would catch it, but the other man called out, \u201cFor any sake, don\u2019t\ntouch it, for there\u2019s something awful in it,\u201d so they looked and saw it\ngo into the cairn. The night had well nigh fallen before they saw the\nbeautiful wee creature coming out of the cairn and going back into the\nmouth of Fearchair. Then he woke up and sneezed three times, and said,\n\u201c\u2019Tis well; let\u2019s on, let\u2019s on.\u201d He didn\u2019t speak again for a long time,\nbut once they heard him say, like to himself, in Gaelic, \u201cEternal!\neternal! eternal!\u201d\u2019\n\n\u2018And what did the people think of all this?\u2019 asked Gillespie.\n\n\u2018Oh, sir, they say that when he\u2019ll be in a trance his spirit would come\nfrom his body, and go to the spiritual worlds, or anywhere he liked.\nThere was only three men on earth to whom he told what it was that\nhe\u2019ll be seeing at such times, and they dared only each tell it to\none another, their nearest relatives when they arrived at the age of\ntwenty-nine.\u2019\n\nWhen Eachainn had finished the last story, he left Gillespie to\nhimself, who was now fast recovering under the kind treatment of\nSomhairle Dubh and his excellent wife. The host was in the gauger\u2019s\nroom as often as he could, relating such stories as he knew; and thus\nenabled the patient to pass away the time more agreeably. I heard\nseveral of them, but the one about the\n\nEACH UISG, OR WATER HORSE,\n\nis the only one I can at present remember. Somhairle Dubh related it\nthus:\u2014\n\nWhen I was a little boy, I would sit for hours by the kitchen fire,\nlistening to my grandfather, who used to while away the long winter\nevenings by telling us stories about witches and warlocks, ghosts and\nfairies, of which he had an inexhaustible stock. A very favourite one\nwith me was the tale of the each uisg, or the water horse, a fearful\ndemon in the likeness of a big, black horse, who inhabited Loch-Dorch,\nand woe to any one who ventured near the loch after nightfall; for the\neach uisg was always on the watch, and would rise out of the water,\nseize any intruders, and drag them to the bottom, to be devoured by him\nat his leisure. Sometimes he would assume other shapes, and try to lure\npeople away to the water. One Hallowe\u2019en night there was a party of\nyoung people gathered round the fire in the house of Duncan the weaver,\nburning nuts and ducking for apples, when Duncan\u2019s daughter, bonnie\nCatriana, proposed to go and dip her sleeve in the burn, to try if her\nsweetheart was true. None of her companions would go, for fear of the\neach uisg, and tried in vain to dissuade Catriana from her venturesome\npurpose, but laughing at their fears, she threw her plaid over her\nhead, and ran off to the burn.\n\nIn a little they were startled by hearing a loud wailing shriek, and\nfearing some accident had happened to their favourite Catriana, rushed\nout of the house to look after her, but no trace could they find of the\npoor, wilful lassie. Her father and the lads were searching the whole\nnight, and at the dawn of day they found her plaid at the side of the\ndreaded Loch-Dorch, and near it, in the clay, the mark of an unearthly\nhoof, which proved, beyond doubt, that she had fallen a victim to the\nmonster water-horse.\n\nThen there was young Allan Mac Sheumais, who, coming home in the dusk,\nafter spending the day hunting the deer, heard a tramping sound which\nhe soon found to proceed from the water-horse, which he could see\nrapidly galloping up to him. Poor Allan, though in a dreadful fright,\ndid not lose his presence of mind, and knowing full well that ordinary\nshot would have no effect upon the demon, he rapidly loaded his gun\nwith a small, crooked silver sixpence\u2014the blessed metal from a cup of\nwhich the Saviour drank his last draught on earth\u2014and exclaiming, \u201cThe\ncross be betwixt me and thee,\u201d fired with a steady aim, while the cold\nsweat stood on his brow.\n\nThe each uisg gave one yelling neigh, so shrill, so dismal, and\nunearthly, that the cattle which had lain down to rest on the heath\nstarted up in terror; the dogs of the hamlet heard it, and, ceasing\ntheir gambols, ran cowering and trembling to the fireside; the roosted\ncock heard it, and essayed to crow, but could only scream. Never will\nthose who heard that terrific cry forget it; but it had scarcely ceased\nere the demon steed had sprung into the midst of Loch-Dorch, and as the\nwater closed over him, a sound, as of a sarcastic, unearthly laugh, was\nheard from the middle of the loch, and then all was silent.\n\nYet notwithstanding all this, Lachlan Buachaille, the cow-herd, who was\na wild, reckless fellow, would never believe the stories he heard about\nthis dreadful being, and laughingly suggested that Allan had only been\nfrightened by Rorie Mor\u2019s gearran broken loose from his tether; and\nbragged that _he_ had never seen the each uisg, although he had lived\nfor some years near the Raven\u2019s Peak, close to the haunted loch.\n\n\u2018And would ye wish to see him?\u2019 asked old Janet, as he sat by her\nfireside one evening; \u2018would ye really wish to see that fearsome thing,\nLachlan?\u2019\n\n\u2018May I never taste oatcake or whisky again!\u2019 said Lachlan impetuously,\n\u2018but I wish to see the beast, if there\u2019s one in it, and the sooner the\nbetter.\u2019\n\nIt was a gusty, rainy autumn night. Lachlan sat alone in his bothie,\nbusily employed in twisting his oat straw siaman, humming to himself,\nand listening to the sound of the torrent as it dashed over the rocks,\nthe pattering of the heavy rain, and the sheughs of the north-west\nwind, moaning as it passed along, all of which only served to increase\nhis sense of comfort as he drew his three-legged stool nearer to the\nbright peat fire.\n\nHe was just thinking of retiring for the night, when he heard a gentle\nknocking at the door, \u2018Who is there at this time of night?\u2019 asked he,\nto which a feeble voice replied, \u2018I am a poor old woman who lost my\nway this wild night; pray let me in, or I shall perish with cold and\nfatigue.\u2019 Lachlan muttered anything but blessings on the old body\u2019s\nhead for thus disturbing him, for he had a particular objection to old\nwomen. \u2018Bad luck to her; were it a young one, or even an old man, I\nshould not care,\u2019 he grumbled; \u2018but an old hag to come sorning on me,\nas I was about to step into my quiet bed.\u2019 Then raising his voice, he\nsaid, \u2018Wait, wait, carlin, I\u2019ll be with you directly, let me wind up\nmy siaman first; the diabhul take you, have more patience, and don\u2019t\nkeep croaking there with your ill-omened voice;\u2019 and, unfastening the\nlatch, he continued, \u2018There, enter now, and curses on you.\u2019 However,\nwith all his roughness, Lachlan was not a bad-natured fellow, and\nregretted his inhospitality, when he saw stepping in a poor, wretched,\nlittle, old woman, bent double with age and misery. She wore a dun\ncloak drawn tightly round her figure, with a kind of red hood attached\nto it, marked with strange characters, which quite covered her head,\nand shaded her face. She gave no salutation, good or bad, and as she\ncrawled rather than walked up to the fire, it emitted a vivid spark,\nwhich hissed as it fell on the dripping clothes of the old hag; a hen\non the roost crowed discordantly, and a little mouse poked its head\nout of a hole and squeaked loudly. The old woman, noticing this, gave\na queer kind of laugh, so grating in its sound that Lachlan turned\nquickly round and stared at her; but she met his gaze sharply, and with\na peculiarity of expression which Lachlan felt, without knowing why, to\nbe very unpleasant.\n\n\u2018Old grannie,\u2019 said he, \u2018will you take something?\u2019\n\n\u2018No,\u2019 she gruffly replied.\n\n\u2018There\u2019s a little left of the bread and fish I had for supper,\u2019 said\nLachlan.\n\n\u2018I always have plenty of fish,\u2019 answered she, sharply.\n\n\u2018Perhaps you like flesh better, then?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes,\u2019 she replied, in the same uncivil manner, while a strange,\nsneering smile flickered round her lips.\n\n\u2018Will you have anything to drink, then?\u2019 continued Lachlan.\n\n\u2018No,\u2019 abruptly answered the carlin.\n\n\u2018What! woman; nothing to eat or drink! Then I suppose you have had your\nsupper; but it must have been with the fairies, for I warrant you could\nhave got none elsewhere between this and Beinnard, and that is a good\nmany miles off.\u2019\n\n\u2018Perhaps,\u2019 muttered the old hag.\n\n\u2018Perhaps what, cailleach?\u2019 questioned Lachlan; and, after a pause,\nfinding she gave no answer, \u2018Perhaps! I am afraid, you will catch\ncold, unless you throw off those wet clothes; and though I have no\nwoman\u2019s gear, you can have my greatcoat, and I can spare you a blanket\nbesides.\u2019\n\n\u2018I need none of your coats or blankets,\u2019 answered the crone, in the\nsame ungracious tones as before, \u2018for water can never hurt me.\u2019\n\n\u2018Leeze me on the hag,\u2019 muttered Lachlan to himself, \u2018but she is easily\nmaintained at any rate, and yet I would rather have a more expensive\nand social guest.\u2019\n\nThe fire burned down, and Lachlan, as he occasionally glanced at the\nold cailleach, sitting on the opposite side of the hearth, could not\nhelp thinking that there was something altogether repulsive, if not\nuncanny, about her. There was a strange restlessness in her manner; her\nhard, dark eyes seemed to look everywhere and nowhere at the same time;\nwhile she sat rocking backwards and forwards over the ashes, and her\nlong, crooked fingers twitched about her dun cloak in an odd and\nunpleasant manner. Lachlan threw another peat on the fire, and, by the\nreviving light, he thought the carlin\u2019s eye had acquired a wilder and\nsterner expression, while a grim smile played round the corners of her\nugly mouth. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, she seemed to have\nreally grown larger in stature and more erect since he first saw her.\nRousing himself, he kicked off his boots, lay down on his bed, which\nwas only a few steps from the fire, and settled himself down to repose\nfor the night.\n\nLachlan, however, could not sleep, and turned from one side to another,\ncourting in vain the drowsy god. Glancing at his unwelcome visitor,\nhe saw, with a feeling akin to dread, the old creature sitting more\nand more erect; and, rubbing his eyes, as if he felt that he was under\nthe influence of a dream, he was exceedingly startled to find that it\nwas no delusion, but that she was really growing, as it were, rapidly\nlarger and sterner, under his very eyes. \u2018Hout! carlin,\u2019 he exclaimed,\nraising himself on his elbow, \u2018you are waxing large.\u2019\n\nTo which she replied in a hollow voice, \u2018Umph, umph; omhagraich, \u2019s mi\n\u2019g eiridh ris a bhlath\u2019s (Itomies and atomies\u2014expanding to the warmth!)\n\nGetting very drowsy, Lachlan again lay down to sleep, but presently\nwas disturbed by a mouse coming out of a hole in the wall, and running\nsqueaking into and across his bed, almost touching his chin. He again\nraised himself on his elbow, was struck with the increased proportions\nof the strange hag, and again exclaimed, \u2018Hout, carlin! you are getting\nlarger!\u2019\n\nShe again replied, but in a louder and harsher tone than before,\n\u2018Umph, umph; omhagraich, \u2019s mi \u2019g eiridh ris a bhlath\u2019s (Itomies and\natomies\u2014expanding to the warmth!)\n\nThe fire was now nearly out, the light growing gradually less, and\nLachlan became more and more sleepy. At length he began to snore\ngently, when all at once a spark flew out of the fire and alighted\nsmartingly on his face. Irritated by the stinging sensation, he\nstarted, opened his eyes, and became thoroughly roused by again hearing\nthe old hen on the cross beam above him giving a most discordant\ncrow, though the cock uttered not a sound. He sat upright in his bed,\nand, in the gloom, dimly saw the strange figure extended to fearfully\ngigantic proportions, while her eyes no longer retained a trace of\nhuman expression, but glared upon him with preternatural brilliance and\nmalignity.\n\nIt was now with a feeling as if his blood were ice, as if his flesh\nhad been turned into creeping and crawling things, and as if his hair\nall stood on end, that Lachlan, in a tone which fear rendered nearly\ninaudible, said for the third time, \u2018Indeed and indeed, carlin, but you\nhave waxed very large!\u2019\n\n\u2018Umph, umph; omhagraich, \u2019s mi \u2019g eiridh ris a bhlath\u2019s (Itomies and\natomies\u2014expanding to the warmth!) shrieked the demon in a voice\nso terrible that it actually frightened the very ravens in the\nneighbouring rocks, who flew croaking away. \u2018Umph, umph; omhagraich \u2019s\nmi \u2019g eiridh ris a bhlath\u2019s\u2019 (Itomies and atomies\u2014expanding to the\nwarmth); and the fearful creature stood erect. She gave a horrible\nlaugh, a snort, and a neigh of terrific sound, while her features\nunderwent a still more appalling change. The dark-grey locks that had\npeeped from under her red hood, now waved a snaky mane. On the forehead\nof the monster was a star-like mark of bright scarlet, quivering like\nburning fire; the nostrils breathed, as it were, flame, whilst the eyes\nflashed on poor Lachlan like lightning.\n\nHis knees smote together with terror, he saw that his hour was come,\nand that the fearful creature, the idea of whose existence he had\nlaughed to scorn, now stood before him. He felt that at last he did\nindeed behold the each uisg.\n\nQuicker than thought Lachlan had found himself snatched up in the jaws\nof the monster. The door flew open of itself, and at one bound the\nsteed of Ifrinn was on the top of the dizzy precipice\u2014the Raven\u2019s\nPeak. At another he dashed down the torrent fall of Rowan Linn. The\ncold spray of the cascade falling on his face, now for the first\ntime recalled Lachlan to consciousness; and as the demon gave one\ngigantic rear, previous to that spring which would have engulphed\nhim and his victim in the unfathomable depths of Loch-Dorch, Lachlan\nremembered and pronounced aloud the Name of names that was engraved\non the breast-plate of the High Priest of Israel. The shrill clarion\nof the cock was now heard, the demon lost all further power over his\nvictim, and letting him drop with a mighty shudder and a neighing yell,\ninstantly plunged into the loch, the waters of which, for a long time\nafter, boiled and bubbled as if it were a gigantic huntsman\u2019s kettle of\nthe kind in which he dresseth the haunch of the red-deer in the corrie.\n\nSome people passing that way early in the morning, found Lachlan,\nbruised and insensible, on a shelf of the rock, at the bottom of the\nRaven\u2019s Peak, at the very edge of the water. They tried to rouse him,\nand after a short time he opened his eyes, sat up, and said, \u2018Where am\nI?\u2019 and recollecting everything that had passed, he at once exclaimed,\nin broken accents, \u2018Blessed be _His_ name, safe, safe!\u2019\n\nThey carried him to Clachan-nan-cno, where he lived for many years, a\nwiser and a better man, but he never again heard the each uisg mentioned\nwithout devoutly expressing the Name that saved him, and no wonder that\nneither he, nor any one else, has ventured ever since to sleep a night\nin the cottage near Rowan Linn.\n\nThe gauger, in his weakly state, heard the story throughout without\nexpressing any doubt as to its truthfulness, and felt much relieved\nto find that poor Lachlan had escaped from the fearful each uisg. In\nspite of himself, he began to be less sceptical. Indeed, the simple\nmanner in which the stories were related to him, the genuine warmth of\nheart and kind treatment bestowed upon him by the simple Highlanders,\nwho themselves thoroughly believed in them, induced him to think that\nthere must be some foundation after all for these extraordinary things.\nThe continued attentions of Somhairle Dubh and his kind wife brought\nthe gauger rapidly round. We soon find him attending to his duties,\nbut making no great attempts to discover the local still that supplied\nhis kind host with the excellent Mac-na-Braiche which helped not a\nlittle to invigorate and bring Gillespie himself additional strength\nand vigour during the latter weeks of his illness. Somhairle Dubh,\nthe gauger, and Hector became fast friends, nor was there ever any of\nhis cloth who was less capable of doing a mean thing in procuring a\nconviction against his neighbours. He did his duty to his King, without\nbeing unnecessarily harsh with those against whom he was obliged to\nenforce the law. Beannachd leis.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE RAID OF CILLIECHRIOST.\n\n\nThe ancient Chapel of Cilliechriost, in the parish of Urray, in\nRoss-shire, was the scene of one of the bloodiest acts of ferocity and\nrevenge that history has recorded. The original building has long since\ndisappeared, but the lonely and beautifully situated burying-ground is\nstill in use. The tragedy originated in the many quarrels which arose\nbetween two great chiefs of the North Highlands\u2014Mackenzie of Kintail\nand Macdonell of Glengarry. As usual, the dispute was regarding land,\nbut it is difficult to arrive at the degree of blame to which each\nparty was entitled; enough that there was bad blood between these\ntwo paladins of the North. Of course, the quarrel was not allowed\nto go to sleep for lack of action on the part of their friends and\nclansmen. The Macdonells having made several raids on the Mackenzie\ncountry, the Mackenzies retaliated by the spoiling of Morar with a\nlarge, overwhelming force. The Macdonells, taking advantage of Kenneth\nMackenzie\u2019s visit to Mull with the view to influence Maclean to induce\nthe former to peace, once more committed great devastation in the\nMackenzie country, under the leadership of Glengarry\u2019s son, Angus. From\nKintail and Lochalsh the clan Mackenzie gathered fast, but too late to\nprevent Macdonell from escaping to sea with his boats loaded with the\nforay. A portion of the Mackenzies ran to Eileandonan, while another\nportion sped to the narrow strait of the Kyle between Skye and the\nmainland, through which the Macdonells, on their return, of necessity\nmust pass. At Eileandonan Lady Mackenzie furnished them with two boats,\none ten-oared and one four-oared, also with arrows and ammunition.\nThough without their chief, the MacKenzies sallied forth, and rowing\ntowards Kyleakin, lay in wait for the approach of the Macdonells. The\nfirst of the Glengarry boats they allowed to pass unchallenged, but\nthe second, which was the thirty-two-oared galley of the chief, was\nfuriously attacked. The unprepared Macdonells, rushing to the side of\nthe heavily loaded boat, swamped the craft, and were all thrown into\nthe sea, where they were dispatched in large numbers, and those who\nescaped to the land were destroyed \u201cby the Kintail men, who killed them\nlike sealchies.\u201d\n\nTime passed on, Donald Gruamach, the old chief, died ere he could\nmature matters for adequate retaliation of the Kyle tragedy and the\nloss of his son Angus. The chief of the clan was an infant in whom the\nfeelings of revenge could not be worked out by action; but there was\none, his cousin, who was the captain or leader, in whom the bitterest\nthoughts exercised their fullest sway. It seems now impossible that\nsuch acts could have occurred, and it gives one a startling idea of\nthe state of the country, when such a terrible instance of private\nvengeance could have been carried out so recently as the beginning\nof the seventeenth century, without any notice being taken of it,\neven in those days of general blood and rapine. Notwithstanding the\nhideousness of sacrilege and murder, which in magnitude of atrocity was\nscarcely ever equalled, there are many living, even in the immediate\nneighbourhood, who are ignorant of the cause of the act\n\nMacranuil of Lundi, captain of the clan, whose personal prowess was\nonly equalled by his intense ferocity, made many incursions into the\nMackenzie country, sweeping away their cattle and otherwise doing them\nserious injury; but these were but preludes to that sanguinary act on\nwhich his soul gloated, and by which he hoped effectually to avenge\nthe loss of influence and property of which his clan was deprived by\nthe Mackenzies, and more particularly to wash out the records of the\ndeath of his chief and clansman at Kyleakin. In order to form his plans\nmore effectually, he wandered for some time as a mendicant among the\nMackenzies, in order the more successfully to fix on the best means and\nplace for his revenge. A solitary life offered up to expiate the manes\nof his relatives was not sufficient in his estimation, but the life\u2019s\nblood of such a number of his bitterest foemen, and an act at which the\ncountry should stand aghast was absolutely necessary.\n\nReturning home, he gathered together a number of the most desperate of\nhis clan, and by a forced march across the hills arrived at the Church\nof Cilliechriost on a Sunday forenoon, when it was filled by a crowd of\nworshippers of the clan Mackenzie. Without a moment\u2019s delay, without a\nsingle pang of remorse, and while the song of praise ascended to heaven\nfrom fathers, mothers, and children, he surrounded the church with his\nband, and with lighted torches set fire to the roof. The building was\nthatched, and while a gentle breeze from the east fanned the fire,\nthe song of praise mingled with the crackling of the flames, until\nthe imprisoned congregation, becoming conscious of their situation,\nrushed to the doors and windows, where they were met by a double row\nof bristling swords. Now, indeed, arose the wild wail of despair,\nthe shrieks of women, the infuriated cries of men, and the helpless\nscreaming of children; these mingled with the roaring of the flames\nappalled even the Macdonells, but not so Allan Dubh. \u2018Thrust them back\ninto the flames,\u2019 cried he, \u2018for he that suffers aught to escape alive\nfrom Cilliechriost shall be branded as a traitor to his clan;\u2019 and they\nwere thrust back or mercilessly hewn down within the narrow porch,\nuntil the dead bodies, piled upon each other, opposed an unsurmountable\nbarrier to the living. Anxious for the preservation of their young\nchildren, the scorching mothers threw them from the windows in the\nvain hope that the feelings of parents awakened in the breasts of the\nMacdonells would induce them to spare them, but not so. At the command\nof Allan of Lundi they were received on the points of the broadswords\nof men in whose breasts mercy had no place. It was a wild and fearful\nsight, only witnessed by a wild and fearful race. During the tragedy\nthey listened with delight to the piper of the band, who, marching\nround the burning pile, played, to drown the screams of the victims, an\nextempore pibroch, which has ever since been distinguished as the war\ntune of Glengarry, under the title of \u2018Cilliechriost.\u2019 The flaming roof\nfell upon the burning victims; soon the screams ceased to be heard, a\ncolumn of smoke and flame leapt into the air, the pibroch ceased, the\nlast smothering groan of existence ascended into the still sky of that\nSabbath morning, whispering as it died away that the agonies of the\ncongregation were over.\n\nEast, west, north, and south looked Allan Dubh Macranuil. Not a living\nsoul met his eye. The fire he kindled had destroyed, like the spirit\nof desolation. Not a sound met his ear, and his own tiger soul sunk\nwithin him in dismay. The parish of Cilliechriost seemed swept of every\nliving thing. The fearful silence that prevailed, in a quarter lately\nso thickly peopled, struck his followers with dread: for they had given\nin one hour the inhabitants of a whole parish one terrible grave. The\ndesert which they had created filled them with dismay, heightened into\nterror by the howls of the masterless sheep dogs, and they turned to\nfly. Worn out with the suddenness of their long march from Glengarry,\nand with their late fiendish exertions, on their return they sat down\nto rest on the green face of Glenconvinth, which route they took in\norder to reach Lundi through the centre of Glenmoriston by Urquhart.\nBefore they fled from Cilliechriost, Allan divided his party into two,\none passing by Inverness and the other as already mentioned.\n\nThe Macdonells, however, were not allowed to escape, for the terrible\ndeed had roused the Mackenzies as effectually as if the fiery cross\nhad been sent through their territories. A youthful leader, a cadet\nof the family of Seaforth, in an incredibly short time, found himself\nsurrounded by a determined band of Mackenzies eager for the fray; these\nwere also divided into two bodies, one commanded by Murdoch Mackenzie\nof Redcastle, proceeded by Inverness, to follow the pursuit along the\nsouthern side of Loch-Ness. Another, headed by Alexander Mackenzie of\nCoul, struck across the country from Beauly, to follow the party of the\nMacdonells who fled along the northern side of Loch-Ness under their\nleader Allan Dubh Macranuil.\n\nThe party that fled by Inverness were surprised by Redcastle in a\npublic-house at Torbreck, three miles to the west of the town, where\nthey stopped to refresh themselves. The house was set on fire, and they\nall\u2014thirty-seven in number\u2014suffered the death which, in the earlier\npart of the day, they had so wantonly inflicted.\n\nThe Mackenzies, under Coul, after a few hours hard running, came up\nwith the Macdonells as they sought a brief repose on the hills towards\nthe burn of Aultsigh. There the Macdonells maintained an unequal\nconflict; but as guilt only brings faint hearts to its unfortunate\nvotaries, they turned and again fled precipitately to the burn. Many,\nhowever, missed the ford, and the channel being rough and rocky several\nfell under the swords of the victorious Mackenzies. The remainder, with\nall the speed they could make, held on for miles, lighted by a splendid\nand cloudless moon, and when the rays of the morning burst upon them,\nAllan Dubh Macranuil and his party were seen ascending the southern\nridge of Glen-Urquhart, with the Mackenzies close in their rear. Allan,\ncasting an eye behind him and observing the superior numbers and\ndetermination of his pursuers, called upon his band to disperse, in\norder to confuse his pursuers, and so divert the chase from himself.\nThis being done, he again set forward at the height of his speed, and\nafter a long run, drew breath to reconnoitre, when, to his dismay,\nhe found that the avenging Mackenzies were still on his track in one\nunbroken mass. Again he divided his men and bent his flight towards the\nshore of Loch-Ness, but still he saw the foe bearing down upon him with\nredoubled vigour. Becoming fearfully alive to his position, he cried\nto his few remaining companions again to disperse, until they left\nhim, one by one, and he was alone. Allan, who as a mark of superiority\nand as Captain of the Glengarry Macdonells, always wore a red jacket,\nwas thus easily distinguished from the rest of his clansmen, and the\nMackenzies, being anxious for his capture, easily singled him out as\nthe object of their joint and undivided pursuit. Perceiving the sword\nof vengeance ready to descend on his head, he took a resolution as\ndesperate in its conception as it was unequalled in its accomplishment.\nTaking a short course towards the fearful ravine of Aultsigh, he\ndivested himself of his plaid and buckler, and turning to the leader of\nthe Mackenzies, who had nearly come up to him, beckoned him to follow,\nthen, with a few yards of a run, he sprang over the yawning chasm,\nnever before contemplated without a shudder. The agitation of his mind\nat the moment completely overshadowed the danger of the attempt, and\nbeing of an athletic frame, he succeeded in clearing the desperate\nleap. The young and reckless Mackenzie, full of ardour and determined\nat all hazards to capture the murderer, followed; but, being a stranger\nto the real width of the chasm, perhaps of less nerve than his\nadversary, and certainly not stimulated with the same feelings, he only\ntouched the opposite brink with his toes, and slipping downwards, he\nclung by a slender shoot of hazel which grew over the tremendous abyss.\nAllan Dubh, looking round on his pursuer and observing the agitation of\nthe hazel bush, immediately guessed the cause, and returning with the\nferocity of a demon who had succeeded in getting his victim into his\nfangs, hoarsely whispered, \u2018I have given much to your race this day, I\nshall give them this also; surely now the debt is paid;\u2019 then cutting\nthe hazel twig with his sword, the intrepid youth was dashed from crag\nto crag until he reached the stream below, a bloody and misshapen mass.\n\nMacranuil again commenced his flight, but one of the Mackenzies, who\nby this time had come up, sent a musket shot after him, by which he\nwas wounded, and obliged to slacken his pace. None of his pursuers,\nhowever, on coming up to Aultsigh, dared or dreamt of taking a leap\nwhich had been so fatal to their youthful leader, and were therefore\nunder the necessity of taking a circuitous route to gain the other\nside. This circumstance enabled Macranuil to increase the distance\nbetween him and his pursuers, but the loss of blood, occasioned by\nhis wound, so weakened him that very soon he found his determined\nenemies were fast gaining on him. Like an infuriated wolf he hesitated\nwhether to await the undivided attack of the Mackenzies or plunge into\nLoch-Ness and attempt to swim across its waters. The shouts of his\napproaching enemies soon decided him, and he sprung into its deep and\ndark wave. Refreshed by its invigorating coolness he soon swam beyond\nthe reach of their muskets; but in his weak and wounded state it is\nmore than probable he would have sunk ere he had crossed half the\nbreadth had not the firing and the shouts of his enemies proved the\nmeans of saving his life. Fraser of Foyers seeing a numerous band of\narmed men standing on the opposite bank of Loch-Ness, and observing\na single swimmer struggling in the water, ordered his boat to be\nlaunched, and pulling hard to the individual, discovered him to be his\nfriend Allan Dubh, with whose family Fraser was on terms of friendship.\nMacranuil, thus rescued, remained at the house of Foyers until he\nwas cured of his wound. The influence and the Clan of the Macdonells\nsubsequently declined, while that of the Mackenzies surely and steadily\nincreased.\n\nThe heavy ridge between the vale of Urquhart and Aultsigh, where\nAllan Dubh Macranuil so often divided his men, is to this day called\nMonadh-an-leumanaich, or \u2018the Moor of the Leaper.\u2019\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nLACHLAN OG MACKINNON AND THE SKYE FACTOR.\n\n\nIt is happy for the present age that the ancient manners and customs,\nwhich were practised in the Highlands and Islands under the feudal\nsystem, have long since fallen into oblivion. It would fill volumes\nto relate the numerous practices which were then resorted to by the\nfeudal lords, many of which were cruel in themselves, and entailed\ngreat hardships on their submissive vassals, who were bound to obey. As\nthe chiefs had full power over the life and death of their retainers,\nsuch of them as betrayed any disobedience or opposition to the stern\ndemands of their superiors, rendered themselves liable to the severest\npunishment, and frequently to nothing less than the penalty of death.\nThe national laws of Kings and Queens had then but little influence in\nchecking or counteracting the peremptory enactments of feudalism.\n\nThe following striking instance of the remarkable practices alluded to\nwill furnish a specimen to the reader of what took place in Skye, not\nmuch more than a century and a-half ago.\n\nNo sooner did the death of a tenant take place than the event\nwas announced to the laird of the soil. The land-steward, or\nground-officer, incurred the displeasure of his master unless that\nannouncement were made no later than three days after it had occurred.\nImmediately after the deceased farmer had been consigned to the grave,\nthe disconsolate widow, if he had left one, was waited upon by a\nmessenger from the landlord, to deliver up to him the best horse on\nthe farm, such being reckoned then the legal property of the owner\nof the soil. This rule was as unalterable as the laws of the Medes\nand Persians. On large and extensive farms the demand was submitted\nto without much complaint, by the widow, children, or heirs of the\ndeceased, but it pressed hard upon the occupiers of small tenements of\nland, and particularly so on helpless widows. But whoever refused, or\nattempted to evade this heartless enactment, forfeited every right to\ntheir farms in future, and became liable to have all their goods and\nchattels confiscated to the laird. It frequently happened that a poor\nfarmer had but one horse, yet even this circumstance did not mitigate\nthe cruelty of the practice; for the solitary animal was taken away,\nand frequently so to the great distress of the younger branches of the\norphan family, who mourned bitterly, and often shed tears for the loss\nof their favourite animal.\n\nA circumstance took place in the parish of Strath, which was, it is\nsaid, the means of abolishing this abominable rule. About the beginning\nof the seventeenth century a farmer of the name of Mackinnon was\ngathered to his fathers in the parish, and after his interment the\nlaird\u2019s messenger visited the afflicted widow, and, as usual, demanded\nthe best horse on her little farm. Her husband having been a kinsman\nof the laird, and expecting, in her distress, to receive some sympathy\nfrom her chief, and at all events some relaxation of that rule which\nhad been all along so resistlessly put in force, she showed much\nreluctance to part with the animal. Seeing this, the officer became\nmore and more determined to have it. The widow, in the same manner,\nbecame more and more determined in her refusal, and appealed to him in\nvain to submit the case to the decision of her chief. The officer was\ninexorable, and becoming incensed at the woman\u2019s pertinacity he turned\nfrom words to blows, and inflicted some severe wounds on the helpless\nfemale to the effusion of blood. She, however, retaliated, and through\ndesperation, assuming more courage, addressed her little son, a boy\nof four, that stood weeping by her side, and said to him in her own\nemphatic vernacular:\u2014\n\n   \u201cCha mhac mar an t-athair thu, a\u2019 Lachlainn Oig,\n    Mar diol thu le fuil droch caithreamh do mh\u00e0thar;\n    \u2019S mar sm\u00e0il thu gu b\u00e0s, le di\u00f2ghaltas air ch\u00f2ir,\n    Am borb-fhear fiadhaich so, am m\u00f2rtair gu\u2019n n\u00e0r!\u201d\n\n             _Literally translated_:\u2014\n\n   \u201cThou art not a son like the father, my young Lachlan,\n    Unless thou requite with blood the ill-treatment of thy mother;\n    And unless thou dash to death, with due revenge,\n    This fierce and savage fellow\u2014this barefaced murderer!\u201d\n\nThe mother\u2019s charge to her boy cannot be said to be tempered with much\nChristian feeling or principle, yet it was according to the generally\ncherished practices of the system under which she lived. Then it\nwas that might was right, and revenge bravery. But to return to the\nsubject\u2014the widow\u2019s cries and tears, excitement and eloquence, were\nall in vain. The officer made off with the horse, and delivered it to\nhis chief.\n\nMatters went on in this way, in various quarters, for a considerable\ntime, until at length, and about twenty years thereafter, the same\nofficer appeared on the same errand at a neighbouring widow\u2019s door, and\ndeprived her as usual of her best horse. The circumstance was brought\nunder the notice of Lachlan Og, and having been, no doubt, frequently\nreminded of the cruelty inflicted by that official on his mother, he\ndetermined to embrace the present befitting occasion for displaying\nhis dire revenge. It may be stated that young Lachlan was noted in the\ndistrict for his great agility and muscular strength. He made no delay\nin pursuing the officer, and having come up to him at a distance of\nsome miles, he seized him by the neck and sternly demanded the widow\u2019s\nhorse, reminding him, at the same time, of the treatment inflicted by\nhim on his mother twenty years before. The officer stood petrified with\nfear, seeing fierceness and revenge depicted so very unmistakably in\nyoung Mackinnon\u2019s face. Yet still he grasped the animal by the halter,\nand would not permit his youthful assailant to intermeddle with it.\nThe strife commenced, and that in right earnest, but in a few moments\nthe officer fell lifeless on the ground. Mackinnon, seizing his dirk,\ndissevered the head from the body, and washed it in a fountain by the\nwayside, which is still pointed out to the traveller as \u2018Tobar a\u2019\nchinn,\u2019 or \u2018The Well of the Head.\u2019 He then, at once, mounted the horse,\nand galloped off to the residence of his chief, carrying the bloody\nhead in his left hand on the point of his dirk. His appearance at the\nmain entrance, with the ghastly trophy still bleeding in his hand,\ngreatly alarmed the menials of the mansion. Without dismounting, he\ninquired if Mackinnon was at home, and being told that he was, he said,\n\u2018Go and tell my chief that I have arrived to present him with the head\nof his officer \u201cDonnachadh Mor,\u201d in case that he might wish to embalm\nit and hang it up in his baronial hall as a trophy of heartlessness and\ncruelty.\u2019 The message was instantly delivered to the laird, who could\nnot believe that such a diabolical deed could be perpetrated by any of\nhis clan, but still he came out to see. On his appearance in the court,\nLachlan Og dismounted, did obeisance to his chief, and prominently\nexhibited the dripping head by lifting it up on his dirk. \u2018What is\nthis, Lachlan; what murder is this?\u2019 asked the excited chief. Lachlan\nexplained the whole in full detail, and related the circumstances of\nthe present transaction, as well as of the inhuman treatment which\nhis mother had received when he was a child. The chieftain pondered,\npaused, and declared that these cruelties had been practised unknown to\nhim. He granted a free pardon to Lachlan Og, appointed him his officer\nin room of Donnachadh Mor, and issued an edict over all his estate that\nthereafter neither widow nor orphan, heir, nor kindred, would ever be\ndeprived by him of their horse, or of any other part of their property.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nJAMES GRANT OF CARRON.\n\n\nSeumas-an-Tuim, _alias_ James Grant of Carron, in Strathspey, is one of\nthose Highland notabilities who have made themselves famous for deeds\nof lawlessness and rapine. Seumas is the subject of the well-known\nsong:\u2014\n\n    A mhnathan a ghlinne,       \u2502 Ye women of the glen,\n    A mhnathan a ghlinne,       \u2502 Ye women of the glen,\n    A mhnathan a ghlinne,       \u2502 Ye women of the glen,\n    Nach mithich dhuibh eiridh, \u2502 Is it not time for you to rise,\n    \u2019Seumas-an-Tuim \u2019ag iomain  \u2502 And James-an-Tuim driving\n              na spr\u00e9idhe,      \u2502       away your cattle.\n\nThe melody of this song is a beautiful one, and has been adapted to\nthe great Highland bagpipe, in the shape of a well-known pibroch\u2014\u2018The\nBreadalbane Gathering,\u2019 or \u2018Bodaich na\u2019m briogais,\u2019 and associated with\na victory, which John Glas, first Earl of Breadalbane, gained over the\nSinclairs of Caithness, at Allt-nam-mearlach. This was towards the\nclose of the seventeenth century. But the air belongs to an earlier\nperiod. Seumas-an-Tuim flourished at the beginning of that century.\n\nThe wild career of this man seems to have originated in accident.\nUnintentionally he slew his cousin, one of the Ballindalloch family.\nThe consequence was a fierce feud between the Grants of Ballindalloch\nand the Grants of Carron, and James, finding his enemies implacable,\nbecame lawless and desperate. In retaliation for his deeds of\nspoliation, Ballindalloch, hearing that John Grant of Carron, James\u2019s\nbrother, with a party of his men, was cutting timber in the forest\nof Abernethy, set upon them and slew the Laird of Carron, on the\npresumption that he aided the outlaw. The Earl of Murray, then Lord\nLieutenant of the county, interposing to protect Ballindalloch,\nSeumas-an-Tuim vowed that he would avenge himself by his own hand.\nOn the 3rd of December 1630, he came with a number of followers\nto Pitchas, the residence of Ballindalloch, burned his corn-yard,\nhis barns, byres, and stables, with the cattle, horses, and sheep,\ndriving away such as escaped the flames. Then he went with his men\nto Tulchin, the residence of old Ballindalloch, where he did in like\nmanner, driving away as many of his cattle and horses as escaped the\nconflagration. Notwithstanding all this, he succeeded in eluding\nevery attempt on the part of the Earl of Murray to capture him; who\nhaving failed in every effort to do so by force, had recourse to\nstratagem. Acting in accordance with the proverb of \u2018setting a thief\nto catch a thief,\u2019 he employed three \u2018broken men,\u2019 with whom he made\na compact, offering handsome rewards should they succeed in bringing\nSeumas-an-Tuim into his hands dead or alive. The principal man of the\nthree\u2014a curious comment on the social condition of those times\u2014was\na brother of the Chief of the Clan Mackintosh. For a time they were\nunable to effect their purpose either by force or by stealth; such\nwas the prowess, as well as the vigilance of Grant and his men. At\nlength they managed to surprise him in a house at Achnakill, in\nStrathaven, where he happened to be, along with a party of ten men.\nNot expecting danger, and unprepared for resistance, James and his men\nbetook themselves to flight. Mackintosh pursued him, slew four of his\nfollowers, and wounded James himself with arrows, inflicting eleven\nwounds. He was captured along with six of his men. The men were hanged.\nAnd as soon as his own wounds were cured he was conducted under safe\nguard to the Castle of Edinburgh; being, says Spalding in his quaint\nstyle, \u201cadmired and looked upon as a man of great vassalage.\u201d\n\nHere James remained a prisoner for a period of two years. It is related\nthat an old neighbour of his, Grant of Tomavoulin, happened to pass\none day under his prison window. James saw him, and asked, \u201cWhat news\nfrom Speyside?\u201d \u201cNone very particular,\u201d was the answer; \u201cthe best news\nI have is, that the country is rid of you.\u201d \u201cPerhaps,\u201d said James,\n\u201cwe shall meet again.\u201d During his imprisonment he was permitted to\nsee friends occasionally, who supplied him with something better than\nordinary prison fare; and in a small cask, covered over with butter,\nhis wife succeeded, on one of these occasions, in furnishing him\nwith cord sufficient to enable him to effect his escape through his\nprison window. This was in October 1632. His son waited for him, and\naccompanied him in his flight; but for which he would have died by the\nway. In consequence of his confinement and other hardships, he lay for\nnine days in a wood near Denny, and thence made his way to his old\nhaunts, where he lay concealed and inactive for a year. Meantime the\nPrivy Council was greatly exasperated at his escape, and offered large\nrewards for his apprehension.\n\nBut the restless and daring man could not be idle; and now that his\nhealth was recovered and the vigilance of his enemies allayed, he again\nbetook himself to his old schemes of revenge and depredation\u2014\u2018partly\ntravelling through the country, sometimes on Speyside, sometimes here,\nsometimes there, without fear or dread,\u2019 but always having a sharp eye\non his old enemy Ballindalloch. Ballindalloch, in self-defence, was\nobliged once more to attempt to set bounds to the attacks of James; and\naccordingly he hired a band of the outlawed Macgregors to do this job\nfor him. These men were under the leadership of Patrick Dubh Gearr, a\nman little less famous for his exploits than Seumas-an-Tuim himself.\nJames being at Carron one night with his son and an only servant, the\nMacgregors surrounded the house, while some of the party ascended the\nroof to uncover it and get at their victim. Grant hearing the noise,\nand finding himself beset by his enemies, resolved to defend the door,\naided by his son and servant; and meantime made such good use of his\narrows through the windows that the Macgregors were kept at bay.\nPatrick Gearr, bolder than his followers, venturing forward to force\nthe door, Grant took aim at him with his gun and shot him through both\nlegs, and in the confusion which followed the fall of their leader,\nJames escaped through the roof and was once more beyond the reach of\nhis pursuers. Gearr, it appears, died of his wounds, and Grant was\nlauded as a public benefactor. \u2018Patrick Gearr was a notable thief,\nrobber, and briganer, oppressing the people wherever he came,\u2019 and\ntherefore they rejoiced at his death.\n\nSeumas-an-Tuim now resolved to fight Ballindalloch single-handed with\nhis own weapons. Accordingly, while the latter was sitting quietly\nand unsuspiciously in his own house, on a dark December night, a\nmessenger came to the door and told his servant that a well-known\nfriend was waiting outside to speak to him. Ballindalloch at once\nresponded and sallied forth to meet his friend (?). But no sooner was\nhe outside than he was suddenly smothered in plaids by a party of\nunknown men\u2014Seumas-an-Tuim and his followers\u2014and hurried away in this\nhelpless condition, over moss and moor, he knew not whither. They\ncarried him in this miserable plight, all the way to the neighbourhood\nof Elgin, where they confined him in an old kiln, for three weeks,\nalmost in a state of starvation. Eventually, and with great difficulty,\nBallindalloch made his escape by the aid of one of his guards, whom\nhe bribed to effect his release. Meantime, the Macgregors desolated\nthe country with fire and sword in revenge for the death of their\nredoubtable leader Patrick Gearr. It was at this time that the famous\noutlaw Gilderoy, the well-known hero of tradition and song, came to the\nfront. He succeeded to the leadership which became vacant by the death\nof Patrick.\n\nThe man who taunted Seumas-an-Tuim when imprisoned in Edinburgh\nCastle, was one Thomas Grant, a Speyside man. Nothing daunted by\nprevious failures to capture James, he volunteered, at the request of\nBallindalloch, to bring him dead or alive into his hands. This came to\nthe ear of James. He went to Grant\u2019s house at once, and not finding\nhim, he gratified his revenge by killing sixteen of his cattle. Finding\nhim shortly thereafter at the house of a friend, and in bed, he dragged\nhim naked out of the house and dispatched him with many wounds, and so\nfulfilled his own prison vaticinations\u2014\u201cPerhaps we shall meet again.\u201d\n\nNotwithstanding the wild and lawless career of this man, living as he\ndid in open defiance of law and order, and in the commission of all\nkinds of atrocities, he managed somehow to elude every effort made to\nbring him to justice. He even succeeded in obtaining a public remission\nof his crimes, and survived to take an active part in the troubles\nin which the country was involved during the Commonwealth. James,\nwe suppose more from policy than principle, attached himself to the\nwinning side, and had his services rewarded by receiving immunity for\nall his misdeeds.\n\nWhat a contrast those times are to the times in which we live? It\nseems hardly credible that such lawless and atrocious deeds could be\nperformed in the face of day, within so comparatively recent a period\nand amid scenes where peace and prosperity now reign paramount. Yet so\nit is; and with blood upon his hands, enough to have hanged scores of\nother men, Seumas-an-Tuim lived to a green old age, and died peaceably\nand quietly in his bed\u2014the theme of story and song.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nJOHN MACKAY.\n\n\nDonald Mackay of Farr, a firm ally of, and related to, the Gordons,\nEarls of Sutherland, was through them brought under the notice of, and\nknighted by, James VI. in 1616. Afterwards, having raised, by licence\nof the King, a regiment of 3000 men, who left Cromarty in 1624, to\nassist Count Mansfield in his campaign in Germany, he was created a\nbaronet.\n\nNext year he was raised to the peerage, under the title of Lord Reay,\nwhen, with a number of other gentlemen from Ross, Sutherland, and\nCaithness, he served under Gustavus Adolphus in his campaigns for\nProtestantism. Lord Reay afterwards showed his attachment to royalty\nby taking up arms in defence of Charles I., for whose cause he brought\nfrom Denmark arms, ships, and a large sum of money.\n\nTaken prisoner at Newcastle, he was confined in Edinburgh until after\nthe battle of Kilsyth, when he was released, and shortly after he\nembarked from Thurso for Denmark, where he died.\n\nHe was succeeded by his second son John, who was married to a\ndaughter of Scourie, said to have been a woman of great beauty, and\nof singularly fascinating manners. Brought up in the principles and\nopinions of his Royalist father, it was little to be wondered at that\nLord Reay joined Glencairn in his rising for the King in 1654. When the\nEarl of Middleton took the command at Dornoch of the Royalist\ntroops, by virtue of a commission from Charles II., thus superseding\nGlencairn, Lord Reay continued to serve under the new General till he\nwas taken prisoner at Balveny, and conveyed to Edinburgh Tolbooth,\nwhere he remained during a lengthened period of the troubles of the\nCommonwealth, but at length effected his escape in the following\nmanner:\u2014\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne autumn afternoon might be seen emerging from the gloomy doors\nof the Heart of Mid-Lothian\u2014as the Tolbooth of Edinburgh was\ndesignated\u2014two very remarkable forms. A lady, young and of wondrous\nbeauty, her hair of that shade of which the poets of our land have so\nloved to sing\u2014\u201ca gowden yellow\u201d\u2014as seen by a few stray ringlets from\nbeneath the plaid drawn over her head; her eyes, brilliantly blue,\nflashed in their glances of anxiety; her figure, straight and lithe as\nthe lily stalk, and as she walked seemed to exhibit the very poetry of\nmotion. Her attendant, a man of gigantic size, and stout in proportion,\nof fierce aspect, save when his glance fell upon his mistress, bore\nthe Lochaber-axe, dirk, and sgian dubh\u2014his arms, which he had just\nreceived back from the sentries or guards as he stepped into the\nstreet, and which he had left outside in order that he might be\nadmitted to the prison. The contrast between the two was most marked,\nas was also the conversation. The lady was the wife of the Lord John\nReay, the prisoner in the jail from which they had just stepped forth.\nThe man was their trusty henchman, John Mackay, the favourite of his\nnoble master and mistress, as much for his courage as for his fidelity\nand gentleness, and their pride in him as a clansman of enormous size\nand strength.\n\nIf Lady Reay was anxious, John was equally so\u2014his eyes seemed to\nfollow every glance of hers, like an attached hound seeking to\nanticipate the owner\u2019s wish.\n\nLooking round to John, who followed a few steps behind, while she\nseemed to hesitate in her progress, she said, as if half communing with\nherself, \u2018I will go, and God be with me.\u2019 \u2018Surely, my lady, but where\nto?\u2019 \u2018I will see Cromwell\u2014will entreat him, he may listen to me.\u2019\n\u2018Surely, my lady, and what for no?\u2019\n\nAnd away went Lady Reay to endeavour to obtain an interview with Oliver\nCromwell, then in Edinburgh at the head of the Parliamentary troops.\n\nAccess to Cromwell was a difficult matter, but Lady Reay was fortunate\nin obtaining an introduction through an intimate friend. As she was\npresented, Cromwell, in his usual abrupt manner, was in the act of\nturning away, when her ladyship fell on her knees at his feet, and,\ncatching the skirts of his coat, poured forth in heart-breaking,\nagonised supplications her entreaties for her husband\u2019s release.\nStruck by her deportment, her beauty, and her language, he listened,\nand finally, overcome by her supplication, said he would willingly do\nall in his power to serve her, and restore her husband to her; but as\nLord Reay was a State prisoner, the Committee of Estates could alone\ndischarge him from custody.\n\nOn hearing his decision, she became so affected that Cromwell at\nlast declared to her that if she could by any means get her husband\nout of ward, he would grant him a protection to prevent his further\nmolestation. This protection he wrote and handed to her ladyship, who\nretired with heightened hopes, springing she knew not what from.\n\nWhen she left the lodgings of Cromwell, she glanced hastily round for\nher henchman, who in an instant was by her side. \u2018Aweel, my lady,\u2019 said\nJohn, \u2018what will the bodach do?\u2019 \u2018He will do nothing, John; but he has\ngiven me this pass, which would be all that would be required if we\nonly could get his lordship outside the prison walls, and that, I fear,\nis impossible.\u2019\n\n\u2018Prut, my lady, ilka thing is possible.\u2019\n\n\u2018But how will it be done, John?\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah, it\u2019s easy durkin\u2019 the turnkey body inside, and the twa sentries at\nthe door.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah, John, John, we must have no blood, and still less murder, whatever\nhappen; besides, you yourself would suffer death.\u2019\n\n\u2018Aweel, that\u2019s little for Mackay\u2019s sake.\u2019\n\n\u2018Promise me, John, that not a hair of these men\u2019s heads shall be hurt,\nwhatever we attempt; remember they are only doing their duty. Promise\nme.\u2019 And John promised.\n\nLady Reay and her servant had free access to his lordship at all times.\nOutside the prison door was a wicket, guarded within by a turnkey, who\ngenerally lolled against it, or rested himself upon a form beside.\n\nOutside the main door were two sentries placed as guards, who either\ncrossed each other in their steady walk, or stood at ease, one on each\nside of the doorway. As Lady Reay was a favourite with the turnkey,\non account of the politeness which she daily showed him, he did not\nthink it necessary to lock his lordship\u2019s cell during the time of\nher ladyship\u2019s visit, and at last got into the habit of allowing his\nlordship to accompany Lady Reay till she passed through the wicket, on\nher leaving for the night.\n\nOn the day following her visit to Cromwell, Lord Reay, as usual,\naccompanied her ladyship, and while she was stepping beyond the wicket,\nhe suddenly laid hold of the turnkey, and, laying him down in the\npassage, placed the form above him, seized his keys, and passing\nthrough the wicket locked him in. The lady having effected her part so\nfar, of which John was perfectly aware by sound, though he could not\nturn round to see, he at once seized the sentries, one in each hand,\nand laying one down, placed the other above him, kicking their arms\nto a distance, while Lord Reay sprang over them and rushed down the\nstreet. Addressing the soldiers, who had ceased to struggle in the grip\nof their powerful opponent, he said\u2014\u2018Now, lads, you will just be good\nand be quiet, or if you no be quiet, I will just have to shake your\npickle brains out of their pans, and so you\u2019ll see what you shall see;\nbut if you are good, I\u2019ll give myself quietly up to be put into the\njail instead of his lordship.\u2019\n\nJohn accordingly surrendered himself, and, loaded with irons, was\nlodged in the Tolbooth.\n\nIn due time he was brought to trial for aiding the escape of a State\nprisoner, and Cromwell was present as President. Said he\u2014\u2018There is no\ndoubt that the servant has duly forfeited his life, but his conduct\nand fidelity, which went to release his master, and perhaps have saved\nhis life, were of so high a character, and so heroic, that if this man\nwere put to death for qualities so valuable and so commendable, and\nparticularly seeing that nothing hurtful resulted to the State from his\ndoings, it would discourage every faithful servant from doing his duty.\nI therefore propose that, for the sake of justice, John Mackay, the\nprisoner at the bar, shall be condemned to death; but that, under the\ncircumstances of the case, the punishment shall be remitted, and Mackay\nshall leave the bar a free man.\u2019\n\nDuring the time that John Mackay was digesting the speech of Cromwell,\nthe latter was taking a steady look of the former, when he exclaimed to\nthose around him, while he remarked Mackay\u2019s fierce aspect and athletic\nform\u2014\u2018May I ever be kept from the devil\u2019s and that man\u2019s grasp.\u2019 On\nthe other hand, John\u2019s remark on Cromwell, whom he had as carefully\nnoticed, was\u2014\u2018The deil\u2019s no sae doure as he\u2019s ca\u2019ed.\u2019\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CUMMINGS OF BADENOCH.\n\n\nThe Cummings were always a turbulent and haughty race, who for many\ngenerations inhabited the wilds of Strathspey and Badenoch. One of them\nupon a time claimed the throne of Scotland; and the deceitful wretch,\nwho, after having entered into a mutual bond with Robert the Bruce\n(the great deliverer of Scotland from English oppression and tyranny,\nand who for ever established the independence of his country), for the\ndeliverance of their common country, betrayed him to Edward. Bruce,\nhowever, managed to get away from the English court, and meeting the\ndeceitful Cumming in the church of the Grey Friars in Dumfries, on the\n10th of February 1305, a warm altercation took place, in the course\nof which Bruce charged the Comyn, as he was called, with treachery to\nhimself and his country. The Comyn returned an insulting answer, when\nBruce instantly stabbed him with his dagger on the steps of the high\naltar. The Cummings and the Shaws were always at feud with each other,\nthe latter, being the weaker, at least in point of numbers, always\ngetting the worst of it; and on one occasion their chief was murdered\nby their inveterate enemies and oppressors, the Cummings. A general\nslaughter took place at this particular period; but Shaw\u2019s only child,\na boy of only a few months old, escaped, he having fallen into the\nhands of a devoted female dependent of the family, who, to secure him\nfrom danger and to avoid the general carnage, made off across hills\nand mountains, through moors and forests, to the residence of the\nlaird of Strathardale in the Highlands of Perthshire, whom she knew as\nan old and trusted friend of her late chief. She arrived, after much\nfatigue and many hardships, at the \u2018Baron\u2019s\u2019 residence; informed him\nof the cruel fate of her late master, and the flower of his clan; how\nshe escaped with her precious charge, and entreated Strathardale, for\nthe love he bore the late Rothiemurchus, and the long and intimate\nfriendship which had existed between them, to take charge of his\nyouthful son, and save him from the savage clutches of the Cummings.\nMatters were soon arranged to the satisfaction of both parties, and\nthe faithful woman went home quite satisfied that the youth would be\nwell attended to, and brought up among Strathardale\u2019s own children, as\nbefitted the rightful and youthful heir of Rothiemurchus.\n\nShe returned to her own country in due time, found all her old\nacquaintances and friends slaughtered or trampled upon, and scourged by\nthe blood-thirsty and cruel Cummings; all the ancient possessions of the\nShaws ruled by and, apparently, in the everlasting possession of the\ninveterate enemies of her kith and kin. Years and days passed away, and\nthose days and years added growth and vigour to the young heir, who,\nuntil he attained to years of discretion, was carefully kept in the\ndark as to the real and true nature of his birthright. When at last it\nwas revealed to him, his whole soul seemed to have been roused, and he\ndetermined to spend his whole time and all the energies of his body and\nmind to prepare and carry out a scheme for the recovery of his ancient\npatrimony, to contest his claim with the proud and haughty house of\nCumming, and avenge the cruel murder of his father and kinsmen.\n\nIn due time young Shaw decided upon paying a visit to his native\ndistrict to ascertain the real state of matters, and if possible to\nwrench from his enemies the heritage which they had so long and so\nunjustly possessed. Arriving at Rothiemurchus, after a most perilous\njourney and escorted by a strong body of followers, he lost no time in\ncalling upon his benefactor, Janet Shaw, whose history, antecedents,\nand devoted conduct to himself in his early days he had learnt from his\nPerthshire protector. He was directed to her lonely cottage, the door\nof which he found strongly bolted from the inside. He at once announced\nhimself and begged to be admitted, but his voice was quite strange\nto Janet\u2019s ear. No amount of entreaty or persuasion would induce her\nto unbolt the door until she had satisfactory proof that she was not\nbeing deceived; for poor Janet had good reason to have little faith in\nher surroundings. She could not bring herself to believe that her old\nprot\u00e9g\u00e9 could be so foolhardy as to appear in the district among the\nsworn enemies of his race. Shaw, however, continued to insist upon his\nindividuality, and at last Janet told him to exhale his breath through\nthe keyhole and she would thus soon satisfy herself as to his identity.\nDoubting this singular and delicate mode of recognition on the part of\nJanet, Shaw requested one of his attendants to supply his place in the\nfirst experiment. This done Janet at once firmly and sternly resented\nthe attempt made to deceive her by one who, she said, must be an\nenemy trying to secure an entrance to her place of abode with no good\nintention, and told him \u2018Bi falbh, bi falbh, a chealgaire, cha\u2019n eil\ngaoth t\u2019ainealach ach fuaraidh an aite anail mhilis, bhlasda leanaban\nmo ghaoil\u2019 (Be off, be off, deceitful wretch, the odour of your breath\nis but cold in comparison with the sweet and savoury breath of my own\nbeloved child). Shaw could no longer trifle with the feelings of one\nwhom he discovered had still continued to take such an interest in him,\nand he felt vexed that he had acted in, what might be construed by\nJanet, such a heartless manner. He asked her to give him another chance\nto meet her in her own way, explained the hoax to her, breathed through\nthe keyhole himself, satisfied the devoted Janet that he was really\n\u2018her own beloved child,\u2019 when, with an exclamation of joy, she unbolted\nand threw open the door, warmly saluted and received him in her arms,\nand bedewed him with tears of affection. For the moment his manhood\nfailed him, and the two wept\u2014it is difficult to decide whether most\nin consequence of the vivid recollections brought up of misfortune and\nmisery in the past, or from a spontaneous outburst of joy in meeting\none another in such peculiar circumstances, after such a long, and as\nJanet believed, permanent separation.\n\nYoung Shaw, however, soon recovered himself, and after mutual\ncongratulations and various references and inquiries as to the past\nlives and adventures of each other, he learnt from Janet that all the\nmale Cummings were away on a foraging expedition in the south, and that\nthey were expected to return with the creach on the following day. This\nwas considered a most favourable and opportune circumstance, and one\nwhich must be taken advantage of without hesitation or delay. Shaw at\nonce decided to intercept them on their way home and extinguish them\nroot and branch or perish in the attempt. He and his trusted followers\npassed a sleepless night in Janet\u2019s cottage. To satisfy their hunger\nshe insisted upon having her only cow slaughtered at once. This was\ndone, and it was soon roasted before a blazing fire of peat and moss\nfir. No effort was spared on Janet\u2019s part to make them as comfortable\nas possible, no doubt naturally feeling that if her favourite was\nsuccessful in his desperate enterprise she would be well provided for\nduring the remainder of her days.\n\nThe rest of the night was spent by Shaw and his plucky companions\nsorting their arms and arranging their dispositions for the following\nmorning. They started before the break of day, and took a secluded\nposition on the Callort Hill, at the eastern extremity of Rothiemurchus,\nsituated between two roads leading from Strathspey. They exultingly\nfelt that they had the Cummings in the immediate grasp of their\ninveterate vengeance, and sure of their ability to complete their utter\ndestruction and annihilation. Old Janet, who accompanied Shaw and his\nfriends, recommended this as the best and most convenient spot from\nwhich to attack the enemy, as they were sure to return by that route,\nand she was determined to take a part in the fortunes of war herself;\nfor, she said, if the day went against them, it was certain death for\nher, whether she followed them and shared their danger or stopped at\nhome in her lonely cottage. She then ascended a neighbouring hill,\nwhich commanded a good view of the two roads, by one of which the\nCummings must return. Janet was soon on the top, and after a period\nof watchful suspense, descried the enemy slowly advancing straight\nupon the very spot where Shaw and his followers lay in ambush. She\nimmediately gave the alarm by a pre-arranged signal, the watchword\nbeing\u2014\u2018Tha na gobhair anns a Challort\u2019 (The goats are in the Callort).\nShaw and his companions immediately prepared for the mortal combat,\nin which he was to secure the patrimony of his race or die in the\nattempt. Like a horde of hungry wolves falling on their innocent and\ndefenceless prey, Shaw and his companions fell on the first batch of\ntheir astonished and unprepared victims, and felled them to the ground\nlike mown grass. They were travelling in detached companies, each party\ndriving a separate lot of cattle lifted from the Southron, and as each\nparty came up, ignorant of the fate of the preceding one, they were\nsoon dispatched by the infuriated and successful Shaws; not a Cumming\nwas allowed to escape. They were all buried on the spot, which is to\nthis day called Lag-nan-Cuimeanach, or the Hollow of the Cummings.\n\u2018The green grassy mounds which, after the lapse of centuries, overtop\nthe heather at this scene of blood-thirsty vengeance, mark the resting\nplace and commemorate the overthrow of one of the most savage races\nthat ever existed in the Highlands of Scotland.\u2019\n\nAfter this desperate and successful encounter with the Cummings\nno serious difficulties presented themselves against Shaw taking\npossession of the estate and property of his predecessors. His kinsmen\nand friends, who so long writhed under the oppressive yoke of the\nhated enemy, now rallied round their young and rightful chief with\nalacrity and unmistakable signs of delight. It was not long, however,\nbefore matters took another and an ugly turn. Shaw\u2019s mother survived\nthe general massacre and ruin of the clan when the Cummings took\npossession, and matters had so far prospered with her, still residing\nin the district, that during the minority and absence of her son she\nagain entered the matrimonial state with a \u201cSouthron,\u201d whose name was\nDallas. Young Shaw had so far condoned this step on his mother\u2019s part,\nconsidering the straitened circumstances in which she was left, that\nhe not only forgave her, but invited herself and her husband to reside\nwith him in his mansion of Doune. Matters continued pleasantly and\nsmoothly for a time, but, as usual in such cases, after a while some\ndisagreeable and discordant elements began to manifest themselves, and\nthe youth was too proud and haughty in spirit to conceal his increasing\nill-will and animosity towards his stepfather. On a certain occasion,\namong a large company of their friends, this disagreeable feeling\nfound vent, when unpleasant remarks were given expression to on both\nsides. Shaw looked daggers, but held his hand until on his way home,\nat a lonely and secluded spot, he suddenly drew forth his dagger, and\nwith little or no preliminary ceremonial dispatched his stepfather\nby stabbing him to the heart. The place is known to this day as\nLag-an-Dalaisich. Not satisfied with this brutal and murderous deed, he\nsevered the head from the body, and carrying the bloody trophy to his\nmother, stuck on the point of his dagger, on arriving at home, he threw\nit at her, tauntingly exclaiming, \u201cThere it is for you, take it, the\nhead of your blackguard and detested husband.\u201d\n\nThe state of the poor woman\u2019s feelings at the sight of such a horrid\nspectacle, brought about by the hand of her own offspring, cannot be\ndescribed. She cursed him loudly for the unnatural part he had acted.\nThe keenest resentment was aroused in her breast, and she determined\nto use every means in her power to have him punished for his cruel and\ndetestable conduct. She urged upon every one whom she could influence,\nand who had any influence in the district, to stir up and rouse the\nvigilance of the law, feeble as it then was in such an out-of-the-way\nplace. She unceasingly impressed upon everyone the detestable nature\nand enormity of the crime her son had been guilty of, and the great\ninjustice he had inflicted upon herself. The result was that young Shaw\nwas soon proclaimed an outlaw, and his whole property, rights, and\npossessions reverted to the Crown. He soon after died broken-hearted,\ndespised by friends and foes alike; and his heritage has continued\nsince to be the property of the \u2018Lairds of Grant,\u2019 who, for a mere\nnominal sum, bought the forfeiture from the Crown.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nGLENGARRY AND HIS FAVOURITE.\n\n\nMany ages ago, when a powerful but capricious chief of Glengarry was\nerecting the venerable and stern mansion, whose ruins still arrest\nthe stranger\u2019s eye, he very injudiciously chose his companion and\nfavourite from the humblest class of his retainers; and this one, like\nthe generality of favourites once corrupted by a superior\u2019s improper\nfamiliarity, soon forgot prudence and propriety. One day, when the\ncastle\u2019s infant walls had just upreared their massy front over their\nfoundation, and while their warlike founder, in company with another\nchief, was superintending and admiring the progress of the building,\nup came the favourite with the greatest air of confidence, and without\neven saluting, as was then customary, his lord and chief, the dread\npossessor of unlimited feudal power, accosted him thus, in the presence\nof a recently conciliated rival\u2014\u2018Alas! poor chief, know ye what the\nM\u2019Bhethains say? They call you miser, and inquire, how comes it that\nyou could not spare a little silver and gold to be placed in thy\ncastle\u2019s foundation, as is customary with other chiefs? Your present\ncompanion, they say,\u2019 alluding to the chief already noticed, \u2018has as\nmuch silver in the foundation of his castle as would buy yours.\u2019 At\nthis the stranger sneered with fiendish pleasure, seeing him whose\nfriendship fear, not love, prompted him to court, but whom he fervently\nhated at heart, so much insulted by his own vassal. The chief himself\nwas too severely stung\u2014his rage was too gigantic\u2014to stoop to\ninstantaneous revenge: besides, it was derogatory for a chief to\ninflict personal chastisement on a vassal, and impracticable to do so\nin presence of another chief; but his brow was clouded, and his face\nwas darkened as he spoke, until, recollecting himself, he smothered up\nhis rage, and, endeavouring to assume an appearance of cheerfulness,\nhe exclaimed\u2014\u2018You are right Raonuil, I have quite omitted to do what\nyou remind me of, I therefore thank you for the hint, and, believe\nme, I allow you more merit, from a conviction that I am not directly\nor indirectly beholden to those you mention for the suggestion, as it\nis not their own custom to do the like; however, it should be done,\nand, with your assistance, we will correct the omission to-night.\u2019\nThe vassal retired chuckling, at what he considered the effect of his\ninfluence. It is impossible to discover the cause which had prompted\nhim to talk so insultingly to his lord and master: some attribute\nit to the disappointment of dishonest expectations, supposing that\nhe intended to abstract any jewellery which might be deposited as a\nmemento in the foundation; while others imagine that his chief must\nhave previously offended him, and that the insult was intended; but\nmore probably his main object was to ingratiate himself with the\nstranger.\n\nM\u2019Raonuil lived in a small solitary cottage, a considerable distance\nfrom the residence of his chief, and, late on the night in question, he\nwas startled in his slumbers by a loud knocking at his door; he arose\ntrembling, with a secret dread of something unknown, and shuddered\ninvoluntarily as he opened his door to discover the cause of this\ndisturbance. He opened it, and lo! there stood his chief, alone, with\na naked dagger in one hand, and a dark lantern in the other, frowning\nlike a spirit of vengeance. The frightened vassal at this terrific\nsight quickly sank on his bended knee to implore his chieftain\u2019s grace\nand mercy, his heart bursting with remorse and sorrow, but the ear of\nvengeance would not listen to the importunities of remorse, nor to the\nsupplicating sighs of fear. \u2018Come,\u2019 said the stern and angry chief,\n\u2018arise, shake off that ague fit and follow me, for I require your\nservice!\u2019 To disobey the chief was a crime unknown and unheard of in\nthose days, and his peremptory command and determined appearance showed\nthe vassal that remonstrance or question was vain and futile; so with\na tremulous hand he arrayed himself in his best apparel, and with a\nbursting and yearning heart\u2014\n\n    He bade his wife and children dear,\n    A long, a last adieu,\n\nand mournfully prepared to follow his chief. They sallied forth in\nsilence and in gloom, the doomed man (for he knew his fate was sealed),\nmarched sullenly behind. Neither seemed inclined to disturb the drowsy\nstillness which reigned around them; and as they marched along, the\nowl\u2019s screech voice assailed the vassal\u2019s ear, proclaiming the ominous\nwords, \u2018man prepare to die,\u2019 and ever and anon, when the glare of the\nchief\u2019s dim lantern gleamed upon him, it exhibited to the unhappy\nvictim the diabolical smile which grinned on his chief\u2019s countenance\nat the proximity of such a feast of vengeance. At length they reached\nthe castle, in the deep silence of midnight! where the chief, pointing\nto a gloomy excavation which he had caused that night to be made in\nits foundation, desired his vassal to enter, which, without the least\nhesitation, he did, mourning as he went, and wringing his hands in\nutter grief. As soon as he entered he saw the muscular chief with great\ndifficulty roll a ponderous stone over the mouth of his dim and\ndreary sepulchre, and heard him chanting to himself, as in mockery,\nthe M\u2019Raonuil\u2019s dirge; but these cheerless sounds soon grew faint and\nultimately died away.\n\nThe chief now quitted the castle, intending to drown all thoughts of\nits forlorn captive, amidst the riot and luxurious turbulence which\na chieftain\u2019s life afforded, but he found himself mistaken. The foul\ndeed he had that night performed made a deep and indelible impression\non his mind, and go where he would he wandered like a forlorn outcast,\nchanged, dejected, and thoughtful.\n\nWherever he roamed his weeping captive came trembling to his mind. If\nawake, it was of him, and him only, that he thought, and if asleep,\nhe dreamed only of him, and, often in the deep stillness of night,\na sullen voice whispered in his ear\u2014\u2018the heavy punishment you have\ninflicted on your clansman is too severe for the venal crime he\ncommitted, therefore you cannot expect to fight victoriously under such\na load of guilt.\u2019\n\nIt happened that at this time the chief was about to enter into a\nstruggle with an aggressive and powerful neighbour, and on the result\nof this combat depended his own and clansmen\u2019s lives. Their antagonists\nwere far superior in point of number, and were warriors renowned for\ntheir wonderful exploits\u2014for fearlessness, daring, and courage; but\nthey were a ruthless and relentless enemy, and whatever they vanquished\nthey utterly destroyed. They seemed to fight not for any chivalrous\nhonour, but rather from the devilish pleasure they had in reducing to\nashes that which other men took months and years to build. In short,\nthese spoilers took great umbrage at the chief of Glengarry, which\nmeant certain destruction, unless he could defeat them in arms, and so\nhe, in desperation, determined, as his only chance of safety, to hazard\na battle. Yes! he would have a struggle, a fierce and furious struggle,\nere he sank beneath the iron hand of a despotic rival: and if he did\nfall, he, like the dying lion, would wound the earth in his throes. He\nwould not bleed like the bleating lamb, nor would he imitate the timid\nhind, and seek safety by flight! No! he had fangs like the wolf, and\nwith these he would tear the flesh from the bones of his oppressor.\n\nOn the tenth day after the captivity of his late favourite, he had\nhis clan marshalled and under arms, awaiting the approach of the foe\nwhom he had challenged to meet him there, to settle their dispute by\nopen combat. His warriors were all burning for distinction in the\nfield, but none more ardently than himself, and as he glanced proudly\nalong their line he smiled on hearing them curse the lazy foe, who\nlagged so tardily on their way to meet him. This was in the vicinity\nof the rising castle, and as he wished to enter the fight as guiltless\nas possible, it struck him that he had better relieve himself, if\npossible, from the guilt of his prisoner\u2019s undeserved misery, and to\neffect this purpose, he stole unperceived to the vault, and with the\nassistance of a common plank, used as a lever, he soon raised up the\nhuge stone, and having placed a sufficient counterpoise to preserve the\nentrance, he entered, but scarcely had he done so when snap went the\nlever, and down came the stone with a tremendous force. In an instant\nhe perceived the fearful calamity which had befallen him. He knew that\nall was now over, for it was impossible to remove the stone, from the\ninterior of the vault; and, in terrible despair, he sat, or threw\nhimself down, writhing with extreme mental agony. To make his misery\ngreater he heard (or thought he heard) his trusty clansmen expressing\ntheir amazement at his unexpected and cowardly desertion, and heard (or\nthought he heard) the sentinels, whom he himself had placed, proclaim\nwith extended lungs\u2014\u2018The foe! they come! they come!\u2019 Then he heard the\ndin of war on the heath, and the shock of battle sound, \u2018like a crash\nof echoing thunder,\u2019 and then the shout triumphant of his foes\u2014and oh!\nhe would have given his very soul\u2019s redemption for power to arise from\nthat murky dungeon and stalk to the midst of the combat like an angel\nof death\u2014\n\n    And perish if it must be so,\n    At bay destroying many a foe.\n\nWhen the sounds of strife and every hope had died away, the shout\ntriumphant, and the dying yells, he thought on the lone sharer of his\ncaptivity, whom he could discover was still alive, and he wondered\nthat the soul, ever eager as an iron bound prisoner to escape, should\nbe enticed by such misery to linger\u2014for his part he would rather\nflutter like the butterfly through its sweet though short career, than\nlive, like the toad, a thousand years prisoner to a marble block. As\nhe mused thus in painful silence his deliverers arrived. They were\nhis victorious foes\u2014and those of his own clan who had survived the\nfield of battle\u2014the little remnant who had but now given his little\nband like chaff to the four warring winds of the earth. They came in\nquest of riches, which they supposed had been deposited in the vault.\nThe stone was rolled away, and one by one they dropped into the vault,\nbut each as he entered, fell a victim to the fury of its angry and\nexasperated inmate, who shortly afterwards, with the aid of his old\nfavourite vassal, quitted its gloomy precincts, leaving his enemy and\nhis laurels there to wither and to die.\n\n\n\n\nCASTLE URQUHART AND THE FUGITIVE LOVERS.\n\n\nGlen-Urquhart, where Castle Urquhart is situated, is one of the\nmost beautiful of our Highland valleys, distant from Inverness some\nfourteen miles, and expands first from the waters of Loch-Ness into a\nsemi-circular plain, divided into fields by hedgerows, and having its\nhill-sides beautifully diversified by woods and cultivated grounds.\nThe valley then runs upwards some ten miles to Corriemonie, through\na tract of haugh-land beautifully cultivated, and leading to a rocky\npass or gorge half-way upwards or thereabouts, which, on turning, an\ninland valley, as it were, is attained, almost circular, and containing\nLoch-Meiglie, a beautiful small sheet of water, the edges of which\nare studded with houses, green lawns, and cultivated grounds. Over a\nheathy ridge beyond these, two or three miles, we reach the flat of\nCorriemonie, adorned by some very large ash and beech trees, where the\nland is highly cultivated, at an elevation of eight or nine hundred\nfeet above, and twenty-five miles distant from, the sea. At the base\nof Mealfourvonie, a small circular lake, of a few acres in extent,\nexists, which was once thought to be unfathomable, and to have a\nsubterranean communication with Loch-Ness. From it flows the Aultsigh\nBurn, a streamlet which, tumbling down a rocky channel, at the base\nof one of the grandest frontlets of rock in the Highlands, nearly\nfifteen hundred feet high, empties itself into Loch-Ness within three\nmiles of Glenmoriston. Besides the magnificent and rocky scenery to\nbe seen in the course of this burn, it displays, at its mouth, an\nunusually beautiful waterfall, and another about two miles further up,\nshaded with foliage of the richest colour. A tributary of the Coiltie,\ncalled the Dhivach, amid beautiful and dense groves of birch, displays\na waterfall as high and picturesque as that of Foyers; and near the\nsource of the Enneric River, which flows from Corriemonie into the\nstill waters of Loch-Meiglie, another small, though highly picturesque\ncascade, called the Fall of Moral, is to be seen. Near it is a cave\nlarge enough to receive sixteen or twenty persons. Several of the\nprincipal gentlemen of the district concealed themselves here from the\nHanoverian troops during the troubles of the \u201945.\n\nOn the southern promontory of Urquhart Bay are the ruins of the Castle,\nrising over the dark waters of the Loch, which, off this point, is\n125 fathoms in depth. The castle has the appearance of having been a\nstrong and extensive building. The mouldings of the corbel table which\nremain are as sharp as on the day they were first carved, and indicate\na date about the beginning of the 14th century. The antiquary will\nnotice a peculiar arrangement in the windows, for pouring molten lead\non the heads of the assailants. It overhangs the lake, and is built on\na detached rock separated from the adjoining hill, at the base of which\nit lies, by a moat of about twenty-five feet deep and sixteen feet\nbroad. The rock is crowned by the remains of a high wall or curtain,\nsurrounding the building, the principal part of which, a strong square\nkeep of three storeys, is still standing, surmounted by four square\nhanging turrets. This outward wall encloses a spacious yard, and is in\nsome places terraced. In the angles were platforms for the convenience\nof the defending soldiery. The entrance was by a spacious gateway\nbetween two guard rooms, projected beyond the general line of the\nwalls, and was guarded by more than one massive portal and huge\nportcullis to make security doubly sure. These entrance towers were\nmuch in the style of architecture peculiar to the Castles of Edward\nI. of England, and in front of them lay the drawbridge across the\nouter moat. The whole works were extensive and strong, and the masonry\nwas better finished than is common in the generality of Scottish\nstrongholds.\n\nThe first siege Urquhart Castle is known to have sustained was in the\nyear 1303, when it was taken by the officers of Edward I. who were sent\nforward by him, to subdue the country, from Kildrummie, near Nairn,\nbeyond which he did not advance in person, and of all the strongholds\nin the North, it was that which longest resisted his arms.\n\nAlexander de Bois, the brave governor, and his garrison, were put to\nthe sword. Sir Robert Lauder of Quarrelwood, in Morayshire, governor\nof the Castle in A.D. 1332, maintained it against the Baliol\nfaction. His daughter, marrying the Earl of Strathglass, the offspring\nof their union, Sir Robert Chisholm of that Ilk, became Laird of\nQuarrelwood in right of his grandfather. After this period it is known\nto have been a Royal fort or garrison; but it is very likely it was so\nalso at the commencement of the 14th century, and existed as such in\nthe reigns of the Alexanders and other Scottish sovereigns, and formed\none of a chain of fortresses erected for national defence, and for\ninsuring internal peace. In 1359 the barony and the Castle of Urquhart\nwere disponed by David II. to William, Earl of Sutherland, and his son\nJohn. In 1509 it fell into the hands of the chief of the Clan Grant,\nand in that family\u2019s possession it has continued to this day.\n\nHow it came into the possession of John Grant, the 10th Laird, surnamed\nthe \u2018Bard,\u2019 is not known; but it was not won by the broadsword, from\nHuntly, the Lieutenant-General of the King. It has been the boast\nof the chiefs of the Clan Grant that no dark deeds of rapine and\nblood have been transmitted to posterity by any of their race. Their\nhistory is unique among Highland clans, in that, down to the period\nof the disarming after Culloden, the broadswords of the Grants were\nas spotless as a lady\u2019s bodkin. True it is, there were some dark\ndeeds enacted between the Grants of Carron and Ballindalloch, and at\nthe battles of Cromdale and Culloden the Grants of Glenmoriston were\npresent; but far otherwise was the boast of the Grants of Strathspey\u2014a\ngifted ancestry seemed to transmit hereditary virtues, and each\nsuccessive scion of the house seemed to emulate the peaceful habits of\nhis predecessor. That this amiable life did not conceal craven hearts\nis abundantly evident from the history of our country. There is a\ncontinual record of gallant deeds and noble bearing in their records\ndown to the present time, and there are few families whose names,\nlike the Napiers and the Grants, are more conspicuous in our military\nannals. But their rise into a powerful clan was due to the more\npeaceful gifts, of \u2018fortunate alliances\u2019 and \u2018royal bounties.\u2019\n\nIt is much to be regretted that so little has been transmitted to\nposterity of the history of this splendid ruin of Castle Urquhart.\n\nThe probability is that it is connected with many a dark event over\nwhich the turbulence of the intervening period and the obscurity of its\nsituation have cast a shade of oblivion.\n\nThe most prominent part of the present mass, the fine square tower\nat the north-eastern extremity of the building, is supposed to have\nbeen the keep, and is still pretty entire. From this point, the view\nis superb. It commands Loch-Ness from one end to the other, and is an\nobject on which the traveller fixes an admiring gaze as the steamer\npaddles her merry way along the mountain-shadowed water. On a calm day\nthe dashing echo of the Fall of Foyers bursts fitfully across the Loch,\nand when the meridian sun lights up the green earth after a midsummer\nshower, a glimpse of the distant cataract may be occasionally caught,\nslipping like a gloriously spangled avalanche to the dark depths below.\nThe story in which the castle was the principal scene of action is\nquite characteristic of the times referred to. A gentleman of rank, who\nhad been out with the Prince and had been wounded at Culloden, found\nhimself on the evening of that disastrous day on the banks of the River\nFarigaig, opposite Urquhart Castle. He had been helped so far by two\nfaithful retainers, one of whom, a fox-hunter, was a native of the vale\nof Urquhart. This man, perceiving the gentleman was unable to proceed\nfurther, and seeing a boat moored to the shore, proposed that they\nshould cross to the old Castle, in a vault of which, known only to a\nfew of the country people, they might remain secure from all pursuit.\nThe hint was readily complied with, and in less than a couple of hours\nthey found themselves entombed in the ruins of Urquhart Castle, where\nsleep shortly over-powered them, and the sun was high in the heavens\nnext day ere any of them awoke. The gentleman\u2019s wound having been\npartially dressed, the fox-hunter\u2019s comrade yawningly observed \u2018that a\nbit of something to eat would be a Godsend.\u2019 \u2018By my troth it would,\u2019\nsaid the fox-hunter, \u2018and if my little Mary knew aught of poor Eoghainn\nBrocair\u2019s (Ewan the fox-hunter) plight, she would endeavour to relieve\nhim though Sassenach bullets were flying about her ears.\u2019 \u2018By heaven!\nour lurking-place is discovered!\u2019 whispered the gentleman, \u2018do you\nnot observe a shadow hovering about the entrance.\u2019 \u2019Tis the shadow\nof a friend,\u2019 replied the Brocair; and in an instant a long-bodied,\nshort-legged Highland terrier sprung into the vault. \u2018Craicean, a\ndhuine bhochd,\u2019 said the overjoyed fox-hunter, hugging the faithful\nanimal to his bosom, \u2018this is the kindest visit you ever paid me.\u2019 As\nsoon as the shades of evening had darkened their retreat, Eoghainn\nuntied his garter, and binding it round the dog\u2019s neck, caressed him,\nand pointing up the Glen, bade him go and bring the Brocair some food.\nThe poor terrier looked wistfully in his face, and with a shake of\nhis tail, quietly took his departure. In about four hours \u2018Craicean\u2019\nreappeared, and endeavoured by every imaginable sign to make Eoghainn\nfollow him outside. With this the Brocair complied, but in a few\nseconds he re-entered, accompanied by another person. Eoghainn having\ncovered the only entrance to the cave with their plaids, struck a light\nand introduced to his astonished friends his betrothed, young Mary\nMaclauchlan. The poor girl had understood by the garter which bound\nthe terrier\u2019s neck, and which she herself had woven, that her Eoghainn\nwas in the neighbourhood, and hastened to his relief with all the\nready provisions she could procure; and not least, in the estimation\nof at least two of the fugitives, the feeling maiden had brought them\na sip of unblemished whisky. In this manner they had been supplied\nwith aliment for some time, when one night their fair visitor failed\nto come as usual. This, though it created no immediate alarm, somewhat\nastonished them; but when the second night came and neither Mary nor\nher shaggy companion appeared, Eoghainn\u2019s uneasiness on Mary\u2019s account\novercame every other feeling, and, in spite of all remonstrance, he\nventured forth to ascertain the cause of her delay. The night was dark\nand squally, and Eoghainn was proceeding up his native glen like one\nwho felt that the very sound of his tread might betray him to death.\nWith a beating heart he had walked upwards of two miles, when his ears\nwere saluted with the distant report of a musket. Springing aside,\nhe concealed himself in a thicket which overhung the river. Here he\nremained but a very short time when he was joined by the Craicean\ndragging after him a cord several yards in length. This circumstance\nbrought the cold sweat from the brow of the Brocair. He knew that their\nenemies were in pursuit of them, that the cord had been affixed to the\ndog\u2019s neck in order that he might lead to their place of concealment;\nand alas! Eoghainn feared much that his betrothed was at the mercy of\nhis pursuers. What was to be done? The moment was big with fate, but he\nwas determined to meet it like a man. Cutting the cord and whispering\nto the terrier, \u201ccul mo chois\u201d (back of my heel) he again ventured to\nthe road and moved warily onward. On arriving at an old wicker-wrought\nbarn, he saw a light streaming from it, when creeping towards it, he\nobserved a party of the enemy surrounding poor Mary Maclauchlan, who\nwas, at the moment, undergoing a close examination by their officer.\n\u2018Come girl,\u2019 said he \u2018though that blind rascal has let your dog, who\nwould certainly have introduced us to the rebels, escape, you will\nsurely consult your own safety by guiding me to the spot; nay, I know\nyou will, here is my purse in token of my future friendship, and in\norder to conceal your share in the transaction you and I shall walk\ntogether to a place where you may point me out the lurking place of\nthese fellows, and leave the rest to me; and do you,\u2019 continued he,\nturning to his party, \u2018remain all ready until you hear a whistle,\nwhen instantly make for the spot.\u2019 The Brocair crouched, as many a\ntime he did, but never before did his heart beat at such a rate. As\nthe officer and his passive guide took the road to the old Castle,\nEoghainn followed close in their wake, and, when they had proceeded\nabout a mile from the barn, they came upon the old hill road when Mary\nmade a dead halt, as if quite at a loss how to act. \u2018Proceed, girl,\u2019\nthundered the officer, \u2018I care not one farthing for my own life, and if\nyou do not instantly conduct me to the spot where the bloody rebels are\nconcealed, this weapon,\u2019 drawing his sword, \u2018shall within two minutes\npenetrate your cunning heart.\u2019 The poor girl trembled and staggered as\nthe officer pointed the sword at her bosom, when the voice of Eoghainn\nfell on his ear like the knell of death, \u2018Turn your weapon this way,\nbrave sir\u2019, said the Brocair, \u2018Turn it this way,\u2019 and in a moment the\nofficer and his shivered sword lay at his feet. \u2018Oh, for heaven\u2019s\nsake,\u2019 screamed the fainting girl, \u2018meddle not with his life.\u2019 \u2018No,\nno, Mary; I shall not dirty my hands in his blood. I have only given\nhim the weight of my oak sapling, so that he may sleep soundly till\nwe are safe from the fangs of his bloodhounds.\u2019 That very night the\nfugitives left Urquhart Castle and got safe to the forests of Badenoch,\nwhere they skulked about with Lochiel and his few followers until the\ngentleman escaped to France, when Eoghainn Brocair and his companion\nventured once more, as they themselves expressed it, \u2018to the communion\nof Christians.\u2019 The offspring of the Brocair and Mary Maclauchlan are\nstill in Lochaber.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRIES AND DONALD DUAGHAL MACKAY.\n\n\nMankind in all ages have been prone to superstitious beliefs and\nhero-worship. The most enlightened nations of ancient or modern times\nhave not been more exempt from them than the most ignorant. The ancient\nChaldeans, Babylonians, and Egyptians were grossly superstitious,\nbelieving in magic, omens, and dreams. The Jews possessing intimate\nknowledge of a Supreme Being, universally ruling, were not free from\nsimilar practices acquired during their four hundred years contact with\nthe Egyptians while sojourning on the banks of the Nile. The Greeks and\nRomans were not a whit better; they deified their heroes, put faith in\noracles, divinations and dreams. They imagined that bees, ants, and\nvarious birds, beasts, and reptiles had the power of giving omens of\ngood or bad fortune. They had gods celestial and gods terrestrial, and\nsubterranean gods. The appearance of eclipses and comets were to them\nominous of public disasters. The Scandinavians had their own fanciful\nmythology, their Odens, their Thors, their Balders, their Niords,\ntheir Triggas, and their Treyas, and a vast dread of the Elfin, Dwarf,\nand Great tribes. The Anglo-Saxon, in common with the Scandinavian,\nbelieved in these deities, and in others peculiar to the Goths. They\nhad idols emblematical of the sun, moon, earth, and the various\nseasons. The Easter festivals of the Christian Church are supposed to\nhave been derived from the name of the Anglo-Saxon goddess Eastre, to\nwhom they made sacrifices in the month of April. The burning of the\nlog of wood in December was a sacrifice to the sun, as an emblem of\nreturning light, the days then beginning to lengthen; and from this\nancient practice may be traced the custom of burning the yule log at\nChristmas, a practice still common, I believe, in parts of England.\nThey had also their beliefs in giants, elfs, and dwarfs, which haunted\nthe fields, woods, mountains, rivers, and lakes, alike in character\nto the demi-gods and other imaginary spirits of the Grecian and Roman\nsuperstitions; but worse still, to the Anglo-Saxon is ascribed the\nintroduction to England and Scotland of the more dangerous doctrine of\nwitchcraft and divinations, before which the reasoning power of the\npeople quailed, and all intellectual advancement was impeded.\n\nThe Celts are credited with originating the fairy superstition, though\nit is unknown from what cause. In Scotland and other countries in\nwhich Celtic traditions predominate, the fairies were regarded on the\nwhole as little given to malevolence; on the contrary, ready to help\nmankind at times, though when offended they exhibited an admixture of\nthe malignant spirit of the elf and the dwarf of the Scandinavian,\nwho introduced the belief in them to the Celts. Most spirits were\nsupposed to have the attribute of enlarging or contracting their bulk\nat will; the fairy alone was regarded as essentially diminutive in\nsize, the miniature of a human being, perfect in form, clad in pure\ngreen, brilliant and rich beyond conception, inhabiting subterranean\npalaces of indescribable splendour, and innumerable in numbers. They\nwere represented as continually feasting, dancing, and making merry, or\nmoving in procession amongst the shady green grass and verdant lawns of\nearth, entertained with the most harmonious and melodious music that\nmortal ear ever listened to, observant of the doings of mankind, and\nnot unwilling to help them to overcome such unusual or extraordinary\ndifficulties, if called upon, as my story tells.\n\nDonald Duaghal having returned from the wars in Germany to his own\ncountry, where his fame preceded him, was a great hero, in the\nestimation of his retainers. His extraordinary valour, his feats of\ndaring, his fearless conduct, his escaping comparatively scathless of\nwounds out of all the skirmishes, sieges, and battles in which he took\na leading share; all this, magnified by the stories related of him by\nthe few retainers who survived and returned home with him into the\nReay country, threw around the man a halo of romance that gave rise\nto the belief that he must have had a charmed life, and, it might be,\nsome occult relations with the \u2018Droch Spiorad\u2019 and the \u2018Black art\u2019 in\nhis travels abroad. \u2018Nach robh e san Edailt for an d\u2019iunnsaich e an\nsgoil dubh?\u2019\u2014Italy being the country above all others in which the\n\u2018black art\u2019 was to be acquired. But Donald was never in Italy. It did\nnot matter to Clann Mhic Aoidh. They did not trouble themselves much\nabout correct geography; their chief was abroad; he might have been in\nItaly; and that was sufficient for the unsophisticated and unlettered\npeople surrounding their beloved chief who had seen much in his travels\nand campaigns in Norway, Sweden, Germany, and Poland. He had crossed\nrivers and estuaries, and transported his soldiers over them by bridges\nof boats constructed by Swedish and Danish military engineers in very\nlittle time, even while his soldiers were taking a hasty meal, Donald\nhimself urging on the work and lending a hand\u2014all this was related in\nTongue, much to the astonishment of the natives around, who could not\nbelieve it. They could not understand how an estuary like the Kyle of\nTongue could be bridged in half-an-hour. The feat was too marvellous\nto be true, and if true there must have been some supernatural\nassistance. But could he not do anything? Did he not learn the \u2018black\nart\u2019 in Italy? Rumour went and was magnified, till in the long run it\nwas believed that nothing was impossible to Donald. It was rumoured\nthat he intended to throw a bridge over the estuary from Tongue to\nMelness. This report got wings and was believed. The knowing ones were\nincredulous, but the credulous had no doubt he could and would do it.\nHas he not the \u2018black art?\u2019 besides, can he not send to the \u2018Cailleach\nMhor\u2019 in Dornoch? get her to send him the fairies, and the bridge will\nbe built before morning. This was so much talked about that it became\na received opinion that Donald Duaghal was supposed to have actually\nattempted the feat. He sent his Gille to Dornoch to the Cailleach\nrequesting her as a special favour to send him fairies to construct\na bridge across the Kyle of Tongue. The Cailleach Mhor consulted the\nfairy queen, and she, willing to do anything for so brave a man as\nDonald Duaghal, gave the Cailleach a box to be conveyed to Donald.\nThe Cailleach gave the box to the Gille with strict and peremptory\ninjunctions not to open it till he had delivered it into his master\u2019s\nhands. Alas! for weak humanity, always prying into secrets, always\ndoing the forbidden\u2014the greater the restriction, the greater the\ntemptation to disobey. In an unlucky moment, going over the Crask, he\nopened the box, when lo! in an instant, around him and about him on all\nsides were myriads of tiny creatures, hammer in hand, shrilly\nclamouring \u2018Obair, obair, obair\u2019 (Work, work, work). Nonplused with\nthe extraordinary sight, confounded for a moment with the effect of\nhis disobedience of orders, Mackay\u2019s man was equal to the occasion.\nRapidly recovering his presence of mind and appreciating his position,\nhe ordered his importunate companions to set to work and pluck up the\nheather off the whole hillside upon which they were. No sooner ordered\nthan it was done, and the same clamour was resumed of \u2018Obair, obair,\nobair.\u2019 Driven by this almost to desperation he ordered his little\ncompanions to fly away to Dornoch Firth opposite Tain, and there build\na bridge for the accommodation of the lieges of Dornoch and Baile\nDhuthaich. Instantly they went, and commenced operations, throwing up\nthe sand in clouds to form an embankment, but as ill-luck would have\nit, some person passing the way about cock-crowing time, hearing the\nnoise and uproar exclaimed \u2018Dhia beannaich mis, ciod e an obair tha\u2019n\nso\u2019(God bless me, what work is this). Work was instantly suspended\nnever to be resumed, in consequence of God\u2019s name being mentioned,\nand a blessing asked on the work; and well would it have been, had it\nnever been commenced, for the sand accumulated by the fairies in that\nnight\u2019s work forms the dangerous shoals between Dornoch and Tain to\nthis day, the sea roaring over them at every tide, and the noise of the\nwaves heard at the distance of many a mile, portends to the natives the\nadvent of foul weather. To this day the place is called Drochaid na\nh\u2019Aogh, or the Elfin Bridge.\n\nIt is lamentable to contemplate how such vain imaginations as these\nshould have so long weighed upon the intelligence and perception of the\npeople; but it may be asked, were they not fostered in a great measure\nafter the introduction of Christianity? when, through persecution,\nreligion assumed the garb of gloom and fanaticism, when belief in the\npersonal appearance of the devil was universal, and continued till\nwithin recent years in the vulgar mind?\n\nIgnorance is justly termed the mother of superstition. Wherever mankind\nare least accustomed to trace events to natural causes superstitious\nnotions flourish most luxuriantly. When the mind once allows that\nmatters of ordinary and natural occurrence may take place by the\ninterference of the supernatural, there is obviously no limit to the\nactions they are supposed to perform. In the present age of comparative\nintelligence it is difficult to comprehend how human beings could be\nso deplorably ignorant of natural causes and effects as to entertain\nfor a moment such gross notions of the supernatural, and yet, in\nthis nineteenth century, we can observe similar forces at work even\nin the most respectable ranks of society\u2014Mormonism, Southcotism,\nspirit-rapping, table-turning. The Saxon of modern days has more\nsuperstitious notions in his composition than the Celt, notwithstanding\nhis boastful superiority and pride in being more enlightened and freer\nfrom prejudice than any other. He calls his superstitions \u2018customs,\u2019\nand so reconciles himself to them. Does he like to sit down the\nthirteenth person at the table or festive board? Does he believe in\nlucky and unlucky days? Does he believe in the appearance, as a good\nor evil omen, of two or three magpies when setting out upon a journey?\nDoes he like a hare to cross his path? or the upsetting of salt on the\ntable? the howling of dogs, the cracking of furniture, the tickling\nnoise of an insect in old furniture, the putting on the left shoe\nfirst? When he relinquishes these he may hurl his stone of scorn at the\nCelt for his belief in the Sithichean.\n\n\n\n\nYOUNG GLENGARRY, THE BLACK RAVEN\n\n\nOnce upon a time Old Glengarry was very unpopular with all the\nnorthern chiefs, in consequence of his many raids and creachs among\nthe surrounding tribes, but although he was now advanced in years and\nunable to lead his clan in person, none of the neighbouring chiefs\ncould muster courage to beard him in his den single-handed. There was\nnever much love lost between him and the chief of the Mackenzies, and\nabout this time some special offence was given to the latter by the\nMacdonells, which the chief of Eileandonan swore would have to be\nrevenged; and the insult must be wiped out at whatever cost. His clan\nwas at that time very much subdivided, and he felt himself quite unable\nto cope with Glengarry in arms. Mackenzie, however, far excelled his\nenemy in ready invention, and possessed a degree of subtlety which\nusually more than made up for his enemy\u2019s superior physical power.\n\n\u2018Kintail\u2019 managed to impress his neighbouring chiefs with the belief\nthat Glengarry proposed, and was making arrangements, to take them\nall by surprise and annihilate them by one fell swoop, and that in\nthese circumstances it was imperative, for their mutual safety, to\nmake arrangements forthwith by which the danger would be obviated and\nthe hateful author of such a diabolical scheme extinguished root and\nbranch. By this means he managed to produce the most bitter prejudice\nagainst Glengarry and his clan; but all of them being convinced of the\nfolly and futility of meeting the \u2018Black Raven,\u2019 as he was called,\nman to man and clan to clan, Mackenzie invited them to meet him at a\ngreat council in Eileandonan Castle, the following week, to discuss\nthe best means of protecting their mutual interests, and to enter into\na solemn league, and swear on the \u2018raven\u2019s cross\u2019 to exterminate the\nhated Glengarry and his race, and to raze, burn, and plunder everything\nbelonging to them.\n\nOld Glengarry, whom the ravages of war had already reduced to one\nson out of several, and he only a youth of immature years, heard of\nthe confederacy formed against him with great and serious concern.\nHe well knew the impossibility of holding out against the combined\ninfluence and power of the Western Chiefs. His whole affections were\nconcentrated on his only surviving son, and on realizing the common\ndanger, he bedewed him with tears, and strongly urged upon him the\ndire necessity of fleeing from the land of his fathers to some foreign\nland until the danger had passed away. He, at the same time, called\nhis clan together, absolved them from their allegiance, and implored\nthem also to save themselves by flight; and to their honour be it\nsaid, one and all spurned the idea of leaving their chief in his old\nage alone to his fate, exclaiming\u2014\u2018that death itself was preferable\nto shame and dishonour.\u2019 To the surprise of all, however, the son,\ndressed in his best garb, and armed to the teeth, after taking a formal\nand affectionate farewell of his father, took to the hills amidst the\ncontemptuous sneers of his brave retainers. But he was no sooner out of\nsight than he directed his course to Lochduich, determined to attend\nthe great council at Eileandonan Castle, at which his father\u2019s fate\nwas to be sealed. He arrived in the district on the appointed day,\nand carefully habilitating himself in a fine Mackenzie tartan plaid,\nwith which he had provided himself, he made for the stronghold and\npassed the outer gate with the usual salutation\u2014\u2018Who is welcome here?\u2019\nand passed by unheeded, the guard replying in the most unsuspicious\nmanner\u2014\u2018Any, any but a Macdonell.\u2019 On being admitted to the great\nhall he carefully scanned the brilliant assembly. The Mackenzie plaid\nhad put the company completely off their guard; for in those days no\none would ever dream of wearing the tartan of any but that of his own\nleader. The chiefs had already, as they entered the great hall, drawn\ntheir dirks and stuck them in the tables before them as an earnest of\ntheir unswerving resolution to rid the world of their hated enemy. The\nbrave and intrepid stranger coolly walked up to the head of the table,\nwhere the Chief of Kintail presided over the great council, threw off\nhis disguise, seized Mackenzie by the throat, drew out his glittering\ndagger, held it against his enemy\u2019s heart, and exclaimed with a voice\nand a determination which struck terror into every breast\u2014\u2018Mackenzie,\nif you or any of your assembled guests make the slightest movement,\nas I live, by the great Creator of the universe, I will instantly\npierce you to the heart.\u2019 Mackenzie well knew by the appearance of the\nyouth, and the commanding tone of his voice, that the threat would\nbe instantly executed if any movement was made, and he tremulously\nexclaimed\u2014\u2018My friends, for the love of God, stir not, lest I perish at\nthe hands of my inveterate foe at my own table.\u2019 The appeal was hardly\nnecessary, for all were terror-stricken and confused, sitting with open\nmouths, gazing vacantly, at each other. \u2018Now,\u2019 said the young hero,\n\u2018lift up your hands to heaven and swear by the Long, am Bradan, agus\nan Lamh Dhearg (the ship, the salmon, and the bloody hand), that you\nwill never again molest my father or any of his clan.\u2019 \u2018I do now swear\nas you request\u2019 answered the confused chief. \u2018Swear now,\u2019 continued\nthe dauntless youth, \u2018you, and all ye round this table, that I will\ndepart from here and be permitted to go home unmolested by you or any\nof your retainers.\u2019 All, with uplifted hands, repeated the oath. Young\nGlengarry released his hold on Mackenzie\u2019s throat sheathed his dirk and\nprepared to take his departure, but was, curious to relate, prevailed\nupon to remain at the feast and spend the night with the sworn enemies\nof his race and kindred, and the following morning they parted the\nbest of friends. And thus, by the daring of a stripling, was Glengarry\nsaved the fearful doom that awaited him. The youth ultimately became\nfamous as one of the most courageous warriors of his race. He fought\nmany a single combat with powerful combatants, and invariably came\noff victorious. He invaded and laid waste Glenmoriston, Urquhart, and\nCaithness. His life had been one scene of varied havoc, victory, ruin,\nand bloodshed. He entered into a fierce encounter with one of the\nMunros of Fowlis, but ultimately met the same fate at the hands of the\n\u2018grim tyrant\u2019 as the greatest coward in the land, and his body lies\nburied in the churchyard of Tuiteam-tarbhach.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCAWDOR CASTLE.\n\n\nOn the banks of a Highland burn, which falls into the River Nairn\nsome five miles from the town of Nairn, and fifteen from Inverness,\nstands Castle Cawdor, perhaps the best specimen extant of the baronial\ncastle of the olden time. Its central tower is the oldest portion of\nthe structure. On its east side, commanded by loop holes, is a small\ncourt, through which the visitor is ushered by an old drawbridge across\na moat. The drawbridge, raised by chains attached to beams resting\non the court wall, gives ingress through gateways secured by wooden\nbars. The staircase, the iron gate\u2014brought from Lochindorb\u2014the great\nbaronial kitchen, partly hewn out of the rock, the massive tower walls,\nthe ample stone mantlepieces, carved with quaint devices, the old\nfurniture, and particularly the old mirrors and tapestry, carry one\nback many a long year into the social life of the past. Of the building\nof the castle there is a traditionary tale. In the dungeon of the\ncastle there is the stem of a hawthorn tree, and tradition says that\nthe noble builder was decided as to the position of his intended home\nby turning adrift an ass loaded with a chest full of gold, and noting\nthe spot on which the animal rested, which was the third hawthorn tree\nfrom which he started. That tree is still in the dungeon, the chest\nitself is a part of the castle relics, and when friends wish prosperity\nto the family, they do so in the words \u2018Freshness to the hawthorn tree\nof Cawdor.\u2019 The tapestry on the walls was purchased in Arras in 1682,\nand brought by ship from Bruges to Dysart and Leith, and thence to\nFindhorn. It is curious to note that one of the grotesque figures on\nthe mantlepiece, dated 1510, is that of a fox smoking, and that, too, a\nveritable cutty pipe, while the introduction of tobacco by Sir Walter\nRaleigh did not occur till 1585. After the battle of Culloden, the\nfamous Lord Lovat was concealed in the roof of the castle, but finding\nhis enemies becoming too numerous within the building, he let himself\ndown over the wall by a rope, when he escaped, only to be taken in a\nhollow tree in an island (in Loch-Morar), was thereafter carried to\nLondon, tried, condemned, and beheaded on Tower Hill, on the 9th of\nApril 1747, in the 80th year of his age.\n\nShakspeare\u2019s imperishable tragedy of Macbeth, founded upon a fictitious\nnarrative which Hollinshed copied from Boece, has immortalized the name\nof Cawdor. Local tradition insisted on showing, until lately, the room\nin which the grooms were laid\u2014\n\n   \u201cThose of his chamber, as it seem\u2019d had done\u2019t\n    Their hands and faces were all badged with blood,\n    So were their daggers, which unwiped we found\n    Upon their pillows.\u201d\n\nThe very blood-marks upon the woodwork were also shown as evidence of\nDuncan\u2019s assassination by Macbeth, and this, too, in the face of the\nfact that the licence was granted by James II. to erect the tower in\nwhich the tragedy was supposed to have taken place.\n\nThe myth has now disappeared locally, a fire having taken place a few\nyears ago, which destroyed the woodwork.\n\nIt is now an accredited piece of history that neither in Cawdor nor\nin Macbeth\u2019s Castle of Inverness, which once stood on the height\ncalled the Crown, but at Bothgowanan, near Elgin, the tragedy was\naccomplished. Macbeth by birth was Maormor of Ross, and\u2014through his\nmarriage with Lady Gruoch, grand-daughter of Kenneth\u2014the fourth Thane\nof Cawdor. Her grandfather had been dethroned by Malcolm the Second,\nwho also burned her first husband, murdered her brother, and slew\nthe father of Macbeth. All these wrongs were avenged on Duncan, the\ngrandson of Malcolm, whose presence in this part of the country was in\norder to compel his cousin, who had revolted, to pay tribute.\n\nThe castle was built by William, Thane of Cawdor, whose son, John,\nmarried Isabel Rose, the daughter of Hugh Rose of Kilravock. This John\nwas a second son, and on him and his heirs was entailed the estate,\nbecause his elder brother, William, was lame, and inclined to enter the\nChurch. John died in 1498, leaving two daughters, Janet and Muriel,\nborn after his death. Janet died while an infant, and Muriel succeeded\nto the estate in virtue of the above-mentioned entail. The Laird of\nKilravock designed the heiress for her own cousin, his grandson, but\nhaving joined with Mackintosh in a foray in the lands of Urquhart of\nCromarty, he was pursued in a criminal process for robbery. Argyle, the\nthen Justice General and Second Earl, had also his intentions regarding\nMuriel, and having made matters easy for Kilravock, in the matter of\nthe law proceedings, induced the King, with her grandfather\u2019s consent,\nto award her in marriage to whomsoever he pleased.\n\nUnder pretence of sending the child to school, Campbell of Inverliver,\nin 1499, was sent with a party of sixty men to Kilravock to convey the\nchild to Inveraray to be educated there in the family of Argyle.\n\nThe old lady of Kilravock, who did not quite approve of this mode\nof disposing of the hand of her grandchild, to which the pretended\neducation tended, took good care to prevent the child being changed,\na common trick of the times, by marking her on the hip with the key\nof her coffer, made red hot. That there was a necessity for this, may\nbe imagined from the reply of Campbell of Auchinbeck, who, when asked\nwhat was to be done should the child die before she was marriageable.\n\u2018She can never die,\u2019 said he, \u2018as long as a red-haired lassie can be\nfound on either side of Loch-Awe.\u2019 The child was, however, delivered to\nCampbell of Inverliver and his escort, but on arriving at Daltulich, in\nStrathnairn, he became aware that he was pursued by Alexander and Hugh\nCalder, the uncles of Muriel, who by no means agreed to the proceeding.\n\nInverliver faced about, with the largest portion of his party, to\nreceive the Calders, and, to deceive them, kept one of his men in the\nrear, having a sheaf of oats wrapped in a plaid, as if it were the\nchild, who, however, had been previously sent off with a smaller escort\nunder charge of one of his sons, with strict instructions to proceed to\nArgyle\u2019s castle with all speed.\n\nThe conflict was a severe one, and many fell on both sides. It is said\nthat in the heat of the skirmish, in his extremity, Inverliver gave\nutterance to the saying which has since passed into a proverb, \u2018\u2019S fada\nglaodh o Loch-Ou, \u2019s fada cabhair o\u2019 Clann Dhuine\u2019 (\u2019Tis a far cry\nto Loch-Awe, and a distant help to Clan Duine), signifying immediate\ndanger and distant relief. When Macliver imagined she was safe, and at\na considerable distance, he retreated, and, following her, conducted\nher to Inveraray, where she was educated, and, in 1510, married to Sir\nJohn Campbell, the third son of the Earl of Argyle. For his conduct in\nthe affair, Macliver was rewarded by a gift of the twenty pound land of\nInverliver.\n\nIt was a sister of this Sir John Campbell who married Maclean of\nDuart, and who was exposed on a low rock between the islands of Mull\nand Lismore, that she might be drowned by the rising tide. The rock\nis still known by the name of the Lady\u2019s Rock. From this perilous\nsituation she was rescued by a boat accidentally passing, and conveyed\nto her brother\u2019s house. Her relations, although much exasperated,\nsmothered their resentment for a time, but only to break out afterwards\nwith greater violence. Maclean of Duart, happening to be in Edinburgh,\nwas surprised when in bed, and assassinated by Muriel\u2019s husband. Sir\nJohn Campbell died in 1546, but Muriel survived him until 1575.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF INVERSHIN.\n\n\nLong ages ago there stood in the vicinity of Invershin a strong massive\ncastle, built and inhabited by a foreign knight\u2014a stern, haughty\nman\u2014of whose antecedents nothing could be learned with certainty,\nalthough there were plenty of rumours concerning him; the most\ngenerally received one being that he had fled from his own country on\naccount of treason, or some other crime. Be that as it may, he had\nplenty of wealth, built a splendid castle, and kept a great number of\nretainers. He was extremely fond of fishing, and spent the greater part\nof his time in the pursuit of the gentle craft. He invented a peculiar\nkind of cruive, so ingeniously constructed that the salmon on entering\nit set in motion some springs to which bells were attached: thus they\nliterally tolled their own funeral knell. He was accompanied in his\nexile by his daughter Bona, and his niece Oykel, both alike beautiful\nin face and figure, but very dissimilar in disposition. Bona was a\nfair, gentle being, who seemed formed to love and be loved. Oykel was a\ndark beauty, handsome, proud, and vindictive.\n\nAmong their numerous household there was one who, without being a\nrelative, seemed on terms of intimacy and equality. He was called\nPrince Shin of Norway, and was supposed to have retired to this\nnorthern part of the kingdom for the same reason as his host. He was\nyoung, handsome, and brave, and, as a matter of course, the two young\nladies fell violently in love with him. For a while he wavered between\nthe two, but at last he fixed his affections upon the gentle Bona, and\nsought her hand in marriage. The old knight gave his consent, and the\nfuture looked bright and full of happiness for the young lovers.\n\nThe proud Oykel was deeply mortified at the prince for choosing her\ncousin in preference to herself, and the daily sight of their mutual\nattachment drove her into a perfect frenzy of jealousy and wounded\npride, until at length nothing would satisfy her but the death of her\nrival. She accordingly bribed one of her uncle\u2019s unscrupulous retainers\nto murder her cousin Bona, vainly hoping that in time the prince would\ntransfer his love to herself. The ruffian carried out his cruel order,\nand concealed the body in a disused dungeon of the castle.\n\nGreat was the consternation and dismay caused by the sudden and\nmysterious disappearance of the lovely Bona; hill and dale, mountain\nand strath, corrie and burn, were searched in vain; river and loch\nwere dragged to no purpose. Prince Shin was inconsolable; he exerted\nhimself to the utmost in the fruitless search, then, wearied in mind\nand body, he wandered listless and sad through the flowery fields\nof Inveran until he reached the birchen groves of Achany, the quiet\nsolitude of which suited better his desolate state. Here, with no\nprying eyes to see his misery, nor babbling tongues to repeat his sighs\nand exclamations, he gave himself up for a while to the luxury of\ngrief. Then arose in the breast of the father the agonizing suspicion\nof foul play; but upon whom could his suspicions fall? Who could have\nthe slightest reason or incentive to injure the kind and gentle Bona?\nHe pondered and mused in gloomy solitude until the terrible idea grew\nin his mind that it must have been her lover and affianced husband who\nhad thus so cruelly betrayed her trustful love. \u2018Yes,\u2019 he muttered,\n\u2018it must be Prince Shin who has committed this diabolical crime;\nhe has tired of her, and took this way to release himself from his\nsolemn contract with her and me, but the villain shall not escape; his\npunishment shall be as sudden and as great as his crime.\u2019\n\nHaving thus settled his conviction of the Prince\u2019s guilt, he caused\nhim to be seized during the night, and thrown into the same dungeon in\nwhich, unknown to him, lay the body of his beloved daughter.\n\nThe accusation and his seizure was so sudden and unexpected, that\nfor a time Shin lay in his dungeon totally overwhelmed with grief\nand indignation\u2014grief at the loss of his bride, and indignation at\nthe suspicion and treatment of himself. He was at length aroused and\nstartled by hearing a faint moan somewhere near him, as if from some\none in great pain. He strained his eyes to pierce the gloomy darkness\nthat surrounded him; at last, guided by the sound being repeated, he\ndiscovered at the other end of the dungeon a recumbent figure, so\nstill and motionless, that it might have been lifeless, but for the\noccasional faint, unconscious moan. \u2018Alas!\u2019 exclaimed he, \u2018this is\nanother victim of treachery and cruelty, who is even worse off than\nI, but who can it be? I have missed no one from the castle, except\nmy adored and lamented Bona.\u2019 While thus speaking, he knelt down to\nexamine the figure more closely, and as he began to get used to the\ngloom, he could see a little better, when to his inexpressible horror,\ndismay, and astonishment, he discovered it to be no other than his lost\nbride, whose young life was fast ebbing away through a frightful stab\nin her snow-white bosom.\n\nNearly frantic with grief, he strove with trembling hand to staunch\nthe blood and bind up the wound, at the same time calling her by every\nendearing name that love could suggest. Again and again he kissed her\ncold lips, and pressed her tenderly to his heart, trying in vain to\ninfuse life and warmth to the inanimate form of her he loved so well.\nHe was interrupted in his melancholy task by the heavy door of the\ndungeon creaking on its rusty hinges, as it slowly opened to admit a\nman-at-arms, whom Shin recognised as one of the foreign retainers of\nthe old knight.\n\n\u2018Ah! Randolph, is it thou they have sent to murder me? Well, do thy\nwork quickly, death has lost its terrors for me, now that it has seized\non my Bona; but yet I would that another hand than thine should strike\nthe fatal blow, for I remember, tho\u2019 perhaps thou forgettest, the day\nwhen stricken down in the battle-field thou wert a dead man, had not\nI interposed my shield, and saved thy life at the risk of my own.\u2019 So\nsaying, he looked the man calmly but sadly in the face.\n\nRandolph had, on first entering, seemed thunder-struck at seeing the\nprince, and looked, during the delivery of his speech, more like a\nvictim than an executioner; he changed colour, trembled, and finally,\nthrowing himself at the feet of the prince, faltered out with broken\nvoice, \u2018Oh! my lord; indeed, indeed, you do me wrong. I knew not that\nyou were here; never would I raise an arm to injure you, my benefactor,\nmy preserver? No, I came to\u2014to\u2014\u2014.\u2019 Then glancing from the prince to\nthe lady Bona, he hid his face in his hands and groaned out, \u2018I knew\nnot you loved her, or I would rather have died than\u2014\u2014.\u2019\n\nA sudden light broke in on the mind of Shin, he sprang like a tiger at\nthe trembling man, and seizing him by the throat, thundered out,\n\u2018Accursed villain, is it thou who hast done this foul deed? thy life\nshall be the forfeit.\u2019 Then changing his mind, he loosened his deadly\ngrasp, and flinging the man from him as though he were a dog, muttered\nbetween his close-set-teeth, \u2018I will not soil my hands with the blood\nof such a dastard, he is only the base tool of another.\u2019 Then raising\nhis voice, he continued, \u2018Tell me, thou double-dyed traitor, who set\nthee on to do this most horrible deed? and for what reason? See that\nthou tellest me the truth, villain, or by the bones of my father, I\nwill dash thy brains out on the stones beneath our feet.\u2019\n\nThe trembling Randolph then explained how he, being absent from the\ncastle on a foraging expedition, knew nothing of the betrothal of\nPrince Shin and the lady Bona, that on his return he was sent for by\nOykel, who, in a private interview, told him she was engaged to the\nprince, and that Bona, through jealousy, was trying all she could to\nset the old knight against Shin, and had even laid a plot to poison\nboth her and the prince, and that he (Randolph), believing this\nspecious story, and being greatly attached to the prince, was easily\nprevailed upon by Oykel to murder her cousin; that he had temporarily\nhidden her body in the dungeon, and was now come to remove it, and was\nastonished and horrified to find she was still alive. He then went on\nto say, that he thought he saw a way to undo some of the mischief he\nhad been the means of doing, and that was to assist Shin to escape,\nand to carry the lady Bona to a place of safety, until it was seen\nwhether she would recover, and what turn affairs might take at the\ncastle. The prince gladly availed himself of his assistance. They made\ntheir escape, and remained in concealment for some time until Bona had\nsomewhat recovered her strength.\n\nIn the meantime Oykel, driven to distraction at the disappearance of\nShin, seeing the utter fruitlessness of her crime, stung by remorse,\nand rendered reckless by the pangs of unrequited love, threw herself\ninto the river, which has ever since been called by her name, and\nwhich, it is said, is still haunted by her restless, weary spirit. Bona\nis commemorated in Bonar.\n\nPrince Shin and Bona now came from their concealment, and being fully\nreconciled to the old knight, were married with great pomp, and shortly\nafterwards sailed away to Norway, where they lived long and died happy.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BONNIE EARL OF MORAY.\n\n\nThe Monadh-liath mountains are an elongated group of lofty and rugged\nheights, running in a line parallel to Gleann Mor na h-Albainn, in the\ncentre of the southern division of Inverness-shire.\n\nThey rest on a dreary heathy moor, are comparatively flowing in their\noutlines, unbroken in their declivities, and free from very rugged and\njagged precipices. They embosom extensive glens, the feeding places\nfor shaggy cattle; there are great slopes on which flocks of sheep\npasture, and they contain dreary solitudes where only the grouse and\nthe ptarmigan, the roe and the red deer, are to be found.\n\nFar, far and high upon those mountains, on the side of one of its vast\nslopes, in a hollow more green than brown, a little burnie commences\nits existence in a spongy bit of brown ground, covered over with plants\nbearing white flowers\u2014the Cannach of similar scenes. At first, says\none of the best of word painters of his day, you can see nothing of a\nrill\u2014it is only a slyke. But a little way onward the slyke begins to\nassume the form and movements of a rill, and you may see it stealing\nalong under the covering grass, in a thread so slender that the fairies\nmight step over it at night and never know it was there.\n\nIt is indeed a wild solitude, and few signs of living things are to be\nseen therein, save perhaps a hoody crow or two that come here now and\nthen to have a little quiet conversation with their neighbours on the\nsubject-matter of braxy, dead lambs, and such-like windfalls. A very\ninfant is the burnie as yet, and very much more like a sleeping than a\nwaking infant; you might lay your ear down to it without hearing sounds\ngreater than the murmurings through the roots of the grass, like the\nbreathings of a baby in the cradle, and, like the baby, also giving an\noccasional flashing glance at the sun-ray which steals down to see how\nit is getting on.\n\nBy-and-bye, however, it begins to grow, and first crows in audible\nmurmurs, then becomes more noisy and more active, and leaps over the\nlittle pebbles that lie in its way, as if it had acquired a taste for\nfun, and was determined to indulge it.\n\nAs it increases in strength, it increases its antics, but all this time\nit is enjoying itself its \u2019leefie lane,\u2019 like many other baby born\nand brought up in the wee cot house of its shepherd parents, under\nthe shadow of some great mountain, or on the banks of some lonely\nlake\u2014far, far away from human ken. There is not a soul at hand to\nwitness its pranks; the very rushes that grow by the little stream get\nleave to grow as long as they will, nor are they tortured and plaited\ninto rashen whips, and caps, and buckies\u2014there is not a bairn within\nten miles to pull them.\n\nOur burnie flows on in solitude till it has formed its little stream\npath and has reached the base of a knoll on which was once a herd\u2019s\nhouse\u2014a green and sheltered spot. People lived in it for years, and\nwere well acquainted with our burnie at this stage of its course; but\nthey have long since left the place, some of them and their descendants\ncrossed the ocean, and have made a home for themselves in other lands,\nand the seniors lie in the green graveyard far down the valley.\n\nRegardless of these changes, the burnie goes on in many windings and\nturnings among the hills, quite happy in its companionless journey,\nhopping and jumping as it goes, and occasionally breaking out into\na little song, though there is not a single bird to reply by an\nanswering carrol\u2014for we are yet far above the regions of birds and\nbushes\u2014shining bright in the sunshine; there is not a single speck to\ndim its purity\u2014the very pebbles are purely clean along its margin.\nHow well happiness and purity go together. Such is the infancy of our\nburnie.\n\nBut infancy is but a passing stage with burnies as well as bairns, and\nour burnie must leave these Alpine solitudes and come into society,\nalthough at the expense of its purity and innocence. Bushes begin to\nappear along its banks, and one of the first is an old thorn, with the\nearth worn away from its roots by the sheep rubbing themselves against\nits bark. The ferns grow more luxuriantly round the little green\nhaughs, and where the braes are rather steep for the sheep to feed and\nlie upon, the primroses star the spots with bright bunches, and the\nlittle green meadows are spangled with gowans.\n\nTurning the corner, behold a herd\u2019s house. It is the eldest hope of the\nfamily who is laving the waters of the burnie upon the clothes that\nare bleaching on the grass, and thus putting a portion of its watery\ntreasure to their first economic use; two younger children, a little\nfurther down, have cut a side channel through which flows a tiny rill,\non which they are busy erecting a toy mill wheel.\n\nThe house\u2014a wee, wee cot house\u2014has one little window in the end\ndirected to the burn, and therein sits a cat, winking with listless\nsatisfaction under the glow of the summer scene. There, too, sits a\ncurched grandame working her stocking, rejoicing in the genial warmth\nwhich seldom comes so far up the glen, thinking, it may be, of the days\nwhen she was full of young life, or of the trials she has undergone\nsince then, or the sad memories of family years which she has since\nthen laid in the auld kirk-yard.\n\nWhisking blithely past this outpost of civilisation, the burnie\nsuddenly falls into a deep ravine, where it gets into a dreadful\npassion at finding itself confined between steep banks. It kicks, and\nflings, and fumes, and splutters, and gets into a dreadful fury, first\ndashing up one side with a splash, and then on the other with a whish,\nthen hits some big stone with a hiss and then another, jumps madly over\nthe heads of some, and goes poking under the ribs of others that are\ntoo big to be so dealt with. In fact, it is like many another scene of\nyouthful violence, while it lasts, which fortunately is not very long;\nfor, by-and-bye, it steals calmly out in an open rivulet between green\nbanks, as gently as if nothing had happened, and were rather ashamed\nof its pranks. It has now come to the place where farm steadings and\nplantations begin looking onward in its course. Thatched roofs are seen\nat different points in the surrounding landscape; old-fashioned country\nwives begin to put it to use in bleaching their clothes on its banks,\nand there are some nice haughs on which, dotting them, are numerous\ncocks of meadow hay, and now and then, skipping the stream, a follower\nof Isaac Walton, when our burnie is now not merely a burn, but is known\nas the \u2018Findhorn\u2019 river, with a very bad character for rising in great\nfloods occasionally, carrying off haycocks, bleachings, and whatever\nother trifle it can lay hold of. It has begun to show symptoms\nof earning for itself, by capricious changes of its channel, the\ncharacter, which it afterwards fully bears out, of being a river not to\nbe trusted to, and being a great friend to the lawyers, by shifting the\nboundaries of litigious lairds\u2014lairds who have more money than brains,\nor at least not as many brains as would make them understand to give\nand take peacefully.\n\nIn its journey to the lower country, it runs to a considerable extent\nparallel with the river and strath of Nairn. Struggling on through many\nopposing barriers of granite rock, it rushes through narrow gorges with\nboiling and tumultuous currents, now reposing its still waters in some\nround sweeping dark pool, and anon patiently, but assiduously, wearing\nits way through the dark red sandstone cliffs which jut out from its\nchannel, or range in layer above layer, forming high barriers on its\nbanks, while plants and shrubs, and lofty trees, crown and encompass\nthe steep heights, and finely contrast their variegated green with the\ndeep red of the cliffs on which they grow. Here, in some overshadowed\ndells, the sun with difficulty penetrates and finds the solitary eyries\nof the eagle, or the falcon, with the dwellings of the congregated\nheron, thickly perched among the trees, while the ascending salmon rest\nby dozens during the summer\u2019s noon-day heat in the deep dark pools\nbeneath. As the stream winds towards the sea, its course becomes less\ninterrupted and boisterous. It now sweeps along fertile meadows and\nwooded copses, till at last, all opposition giving way, it flows out\ninto a broad, still, placid sheet of water, meeting the tides of the\nocean half way up the smooth and sandy bay of \u2018Findhorn.\u2019\n\nOn its romantic banks are situated a succession of gentlemen\u2019s seats,\namong many others, Altyre, Logie, Relugas, Dunphail, Kincorth,\nTannachy, and Darnaway, or Tarnaway, the ancient sylvan retreat and\nhunting hall of the famous Randolph, Earl of Moray, and now the\nnorthern seat of his noble descendants. South of the Brodie station\non the Highland Railway, in the lower fringe of the Darnaway oak and\npine forest, which extends for many miles inland, and is the remains\nof the old Caledonian forest, concealed from view, though not two\nmiles distant, is the Castle of Darnaway, famous in the history of the\ncountry and in the traditions of the neighbourhood as the home of a\nfamily, almost the kings of the district of Moray, and occupying at\none time a most important position in the historical records of the\ncountry. Had it fortuned to an Englishman, twenty-five or thirty years\nago, to visit the county of Elgin, he could not have failed to hear of\nthe Earl of Moray\u2019s forest of Tarnaway, which then stretched for miles\nalong the banks of this grand Highland stream\u2014the Findhorn\u2014in all\nthe untrimmed luxuriance which he could have expected in going to wait\non the Duke of Arden. He would have been further surprised to hear of\ntwo brothers entirely realizing the old ballad ideas of gallant young\nhuntsmen\u2014superb figures attired in the ancient dress of the country,\nand full of chivalric feeling\u2014who, giving up the common pursuits of\nthe world, spent most of their days in following the deer through this\npathless wild. Men of an old time they seemed to be; of frames more\nrobust than what belongs to men now-a-days, and with a hardihood which\nappeared to make them superior to all personal exposure and fatigue. At\nthe same time they possessed cultivated minds, and no small skill in\nmany of the most elegant accomplishments. This is their description of\nthe locality:\u2014\n\n\u2018Few knew what Tarnaway was in those days\u2014almost untrodden, except by\nthe deer, the roe, the fox, and the pine-martin. Its green dells filled\nwith lilies of the valley, its banks covered with wild hyacinths,\nprimroses, and pyrolas, and its deep thickets clothed with every\nspecies of woodland luxuriance, in blossoms, grass, moss, and timber of\nevery kind, growing with the magnificence and solitude of an aboriginal\nwilderness, a world of unknown beauty and silent loneliness, broken\nonly by the sough of the pines, the hum of the water, the hoarse bell\nof the buck, the long wild cry of the fox, the shriek of the heron,\nor the strange, mysterious tap of the northern wood-pecker. For ten\nyears we knew every dell, and bank, and thicket, and, excepting the\nforesters and keepers, during the early part of that time, we can only\nremember to have met two or three old wives, who came to crack sticks\nor shear grass, and one old man to cut hazels for making baskets. If a\nnew forester ventured in to the deep bosom of the wood alone, it was\na chance that, like one of King Arthur\u2019s errant-knights, he took a\ntree as his host for that night, unless he might hear the roar of the\nFindhorn, and, on reaching the banks, could follow its course out of\nthe woods before the fail of light. One old wife, who had wandered for\na day and night, we discovered at the foot of a tree, where at last she\nhad sat down in despair, like poor old Jenny Mackintosh, who, venturing\ninto the forest of Rothiemurchus to gather pine cones, never came out\nagain. Three years afterwards she was found sitting at the foot of a\ngreat pine, on the skirt of the Braeriach, her wasted hands resting on\nher knees, and her head bent down on her withered fingers. The tatters\nof her dress still clung to the dry bones, like the lichen upon the old\ntrees, except some shreds of her plaid, which were in the raven\u2019s nest\non Craigdhubh, and a lock of her grey hair that was under the young\neagles in the eyrie of Loch-an-Eilean.\u2019\n\nThe grounds themselves are well worthy of examination, but the castle\nhall, 90 feet in length, and 35 feet broad, is inferior to none in\nScotland, and resembles much the Parliament House of Edinburgh; the\nwalls rise to a height of 35 feet, and a carved roof of solid black\noak, divided by compartments, forms the arched ceiling; a suitable\nfire-place, that would roast a stalled ox; an enormous table, and some\ncarved chairs, still garnish this hall, though the modern apartments\nin front of it ill correspond with its Gothic character. Here Mary,\nQueen of Scots, held her court in 1564. Among the pictures is one\nof the Bonnie Earl of Moray, and also a portrait of Queen Mary,\ndisguised, by way of a frolic, in boy\u2019s clothes, in long scarlet\nstockings, black velvet coat, black kilt, white sleeves, and a high\nruff. The present hall was preceded by a hunting lodge, erected in\nthe fourteenth century, by Randolph, first Earl of Moray, the nephew,\nfriend, and companion of Robert the Bruce, and Regent of Scotland\nduring the minority of David II., but it was not the Earl\u2019s chief\ncountry residence, as in the charter of erection of the earldom, the\nCastle of Elgin, \u2018Manerium de Elgyn,\u2019 is appointed \u2018pro capitali\nmansione comitatus Moravi\u0153.\u2019 It appears from the charter of Robert\nIII. to Thomas le Graunt, son of Jno. le Graunt, dated 1390 (Regist.\nNo. 22, p. 473), that there was an older royal Castle of Tarnaway,\nwhich was previously in the keeping of the Cummings, and afterwards\nof the Grants, and, in fact, the Cumming family\u2014Earls of March\u2014seem\nto have been introduced from Forfarshire as the great instrument for\nexterminating, or at least suppressing, the early insurrections of\nthe Clan Chattan, who were thus in all probability the aboriginal\ninhabitants of Moray. The lately published work on the \u2018Name of Cawdor\u2019\nshows likewise that the present magnificent hall was erected under the\nauspices, if not at the cost, of King James II. of Scotland. After the\nsuppression of the Douglas rebellion, the King turned his attention\nto establishing order and authority in the North, especially in the\nEarldom of Moray. He took up his residence sometimes at Inverness,\nsometimes at Elgin, held Justice Courts, and transacted state business.\nHe felt also the fascination of the country, and took means to enjoy\nit. Mr Innes, the editor of the \u2018Cawdor Annual,\u2019 says \u2018The Castle of\nLochindorbh, a formidable Norman fortress, in a woodland loch, which\nhad been fortified against his authority by Douglas, King James doomed\nto destruction, and employed the Thane of Cawdor to demolish it. But\nhe chose Darnaway for his own hunting seat, as old Thomas Randolph had\ndone a century before, and completed the extensive repairs and new\nerections which the Earl had begun. The massive beams of oak and solid\nstructure of the roof described in those accounts are still in part\nrecognisable in the great hall of Darnaway, which popular tradition,\never leaning towards a fabulous antiquity, ascribes to Earl Randolph,\nbut which is certainly of this period. Here, for two years, the King\nenjoyed the sports of the chase; great territories, on both sides of\nthe river, were thrown out of cultivation for the sport, and tenants\nsat free of rent while their lands were waste. What was the manner of\nthe hunting we are not informed. The sport of hawking, indeed, might\nwell be enjoyed on the river bank at Darnaway, but hawking could not\nrequire a whole district to be laid waste. The fox was not of old\nesteemed a beast of chase in Scotland, nor perhaps, so early, in\nEngland. There is no doubt the King\u2019s chief game was the red-deer, the\nnatives of those hills, and it is probable that the hart was shot with\narrows, and hunted down with the old rough greyhound, still known among\nus as the deerhound, and until lately in Ireland as the wolf dog, with\nsuch help of slower dogs of surer scent, as the country could afford,\nfor the English hound was hardly known in old Scotland. But riding up\nto hounds, or riding at all, must have been very partially used among\nthe peat mosses and rocks of the upper valley of the Findhorn.\u2019\n\nThe Earldom of Moray was conferred by King Robert the Bruce upon Sir\nThomas Randolph, son of Lady Isabel Bruce, the eldest daughter of\nRobert, Earl of Carrick, by Thomas Randolph, Lord of Strathnith. This\nEarldom, along with many goodly heritages, lands, and baronies, was\nthe guerdon of the services so gallantly performed by Randolph in the\nservice of his uncle, King Robert the Bruce, and it remained in the\nRandolph family until 1455, when the then Earl of Moray was attainted\n\u2018for fortifying the Castles of Lochindore and Tarnau (Lochindorbh and\nTarnaway) against the King, and for other acts of treason, by which\nattainder the Earldom of Moray became vested in the Crown.\u2019\n\nThe next possessor of the Earldom was James Stewart, natural son of\nKing James IV., by Janet, daughter of John, Lord Kennedy. It was\nconferred upon him when he was but two years old, by charter dated the\n15th June 1501, and his son dying without issue male, 14th June 1544,\nthe Earldom reverted to the Crown, and was conferred on George, the\nfourth Earl of Huntly, 15th February 1549, but the grant was recalled\nin 1554. The Earldom was next bestowed in 1562 by Queen Mary upon her\nhalf-brother, Lord James Stuart, natural son of King James V., and\nafterwards Regent of Scotland. From real or imaginary contradictions\nin his titles, great perplexity was occasioned respecting their\ninheritance, and several charters were granted to the Regent more or\nless confusing each other. He married Lady Anne Keith, daughter of the\nfourth Earl Marshal, afterwards Countess of Argyll, and by her he had\ntwo daughters\u2014Elizabeth, Countess of Moray, and Margaret, afterwards\nCountess of Errol. In 1580, the youngest son of Lord Doune James Stuart\n(as the name was generally spelt after Queen Mary\u2019s return) received\nfrom James VI. the ward and marriage of the two daughters of the Regent\nMoray, and a few days thereafter he married the elder, Lady Elizabeth,\nand assumed the title of the Earl of Moray. As this claim to the\nEarldom was doubtful, a charter was given to him in 1592, by James VI.,\nand the Scottish estates ratifying to him and to his son all that had\nbeen granted to the Regent and the Lady Elizabeth, and since then the\nEarldom has remained in the uninterrupted possession of his descendants.\n\nThe Earl of Moray, whose personal appearance and high accomplishments\nin the learning and manners of the day acquired for him the title of\nthe \u2018Bonnie Earl;\u2019 and as son-in-law of the good Regent Moray, and\nthe inheritor of his estates, he naturally possessed a high degree of\nconsideration in the State, particularly with the Presbyterian party,\nof which the Regent had been so long one of the chief supporters and\nthe acknowledged leader. The Earl\u2019s character, independent of his\npossessions, was such as to win him universal esteem. To the attractive\nbeauty of his countenance and form he added a most amiable disposition,\nand perfect skill in all the chivalric accomplishments of the age. It\nis, therefore, scarcely to be wondered at that he should have been one\nof the most popular noblemen of the day, especially as the nation\nin general had by that time attached itself to the religious party\nof which he was a leading member. To this party also King James VI.\nbelonged, though he was under the necessity of holding the balance\nequally between the Presbyterians and that still numerous party of\nCatholics to which many of his most powerful noblemen belonged, and\nwere active adherents. Among the Catholic peers, the Earl of Huntly\nwas the chief\u2014a man of determination, and at heart ambitious and\nvindictive, and who for years had nursed a feud between his own family\nand that of the Earl of Moray. The real grounds of the feud consisted\nin the claims of the Gordon family to the possessions and Earldom of\nMoray, of which they had been deprived when it was bestowed by Queen\nMary upon her illegitimate brother the Regent. This deep-seated cause\nof animosity had been long gathering strength from many and various\ndisagreements arising out of it, and was particularly aggravated by\nan act of the Earl of Moray against the legal power of Huntly. In his\ncapacity as the King\u2019s Justiciary, the Earl of Huntly endeavoured\nto bring to justice persons against whom he had obtained a Royal\nCommission, and who having fled to the Earl of Moray, were protected by\nhim against the Earl of Huntly, on some grounds or for some reason not\nknown. Huntly, thus defied, was highly displeased against Moray, and\nproceeded with a large party, principally of his clansmen, to Darnaway\nCastle, for the purpose of getting possession of the felons\u2019 persons.\nThe expedition unfortunately terminated in widening the breach between\nthe noblemen, for in the attempt to enter the castle, John Gordon, a\nbrother of Gordon of Cluny, who was in the expedition in attendance on\nthe Earl of Huntly, was killed by a shot from the castle. Whether\nthe shot was fired by the Earl of Moray or not was not known, but\nfrom that hour the hostility between the families became of a more\ndecided character, was participated in by almost every member of the\nGordon clan, and revenge became a study in Huntly\u2019s mind. This event\ntook place a short time previous to the year 1591, but it was not\nimmediately followed by any decided act of retaliation.\n\nIn the meantime, Campbell of Cawdor, a friend of Moray, became an\nobject of hostility to many of the principal men of the Clan Campbell\nbecause he had been appointed tutor to the young Earl of Argyll.\n\nUniting with these men, Huntly formed a concerted scheme, in which,\nstrange to say, the Chancellor of the Kingdom, Lord Thirlstan,\nconcurred, for taking off Moray and Campbell by one act of vengeance.\nIn order to give a colour to their deeds, they persuaded the King that\nMoray had been concerned in the conspiracy of the turbulent Earl of\nBothwell, his cousin, and Huntly obtained a commission to apprehend\nMoray, and bring him to Edinburgh for trial.\n\nOn the afternoon of the 8th of February 1592, Huntly, attended by\na strong body of horse, set out from the house of the Provost of\nEdinburgh where the King then lodged for security. The object of his\njourney Huntly gave out to be to attend a horserace at Leith, instead\nof which he directed his course across the Queen\u2019s Ferry to Donibristle\nHouse, where the Earl of Moray had taken up his residence for a time\nwith his mother. About midnight, Huntly reached his destination,\nsurrounded the house with his men, and summoned Moray to surrender.\nEven if this had been complied with immediately, the same consequences,\nit is clear, would have ensued, Huntly\u2019s determination being fixed.\nMoray\u2019s enemies and that of his house knocking at his gates at the dead\nof night, encompassing the walls with vindictive retainers, was not an\nevent from which the young Earl would expect moderation or justice to\nfollow. He therefore resolved to defend the house to the death. A gun\nfired from within severely wounded one of the Gordons, and excited the\npassions of the assailants and their leaders to the highest pitch. To\nforce an entrance they set fire to the doors, and the house seemed on\nthe point of being enveloped in flames. In this emergency Moray took\ncouncil with his friend Dunbar, Sheriff of the county, who chanced to\nbe with him that night. \u2018Let us not stay,\u2019 said Dunbar, \u2018to be buried\nin the flaming house. I will go out first, and the Gordons, taking\nme for your Lordship, will kill me, while you will escape in the\nconfusion.\u2019 After giving utterance to this noble offer, the generous\nDunbar did not hesitate an instant, but threw himself among the\nassailants, and fell immediately, as he had anticipated, beneath their\nswords. At first this act of heroic devotion seemed as if it would have\naccomplished its purpose. The young Earl had passed out immediately\nafter his friend, and had the fortune to escape through the ranks of\nthe Gordons. He directed his flight to the rocks of the neighbouring\nbeach, and most probably would have got off in the darkness had not his\npath been pointed out to his foes by the silken tassels of his helmet,\nwhich had caught fire as he passed through the flames of the house. A\nrevengeful cadet of the Huntly family, Gordon of Buckie, was the first\nwho overtook the flying Earl, and wounded him mortally. While Moray lay\nin the throes of death at the feet of his ruthless murderer, Huntly\nhimself came up to the spot, when Buckie exclaiming, \u2018By Heaven, my\nLord, you shall be as deep as I,\u2019 forced his chief to strike the\ndying man. Huntly, with a wavering hand, struck the expiring Earl in\nthe face, who, mindful of his superior beauty even at that moment of\nparting life, stammered out the dying words \u2018You have spoiled a better\nface than your own.\u2019\n\nThe perpetrators of this barbarous act hurried from the scene, leaving\nthe corpse of the Earl lying on the beach, and the house of Donibristle\nin flames. Huntly did not choose to go to Edinburgh, and so be the\nnarrator of what had occurred, but he chose, strange to say, as the\nmessenger for this purpose the most guilty of the assassins, Gordon of\nBuckie. This bold man hesitated not to fulfil his Chief\u2019s commands. He\nrode post to the King\u2019s presence, and informed his Majesty of all that\nhad occurred. Finding, however, that the night work was not likely to\nacquire for its doers any great credit, he hurriedly left the city. By\nsome it is supposed that he never saw the King, for James, apparently\nunconscious of what had occurred, followed his sport for several hours\nin the early part of the day. On his return to the city, his Majesty\nfound the streets filled with lamentations for the murder of Moray, and\nstrong suspicions entertained that he himself had authorised Huntly to\nperpetrate the deed. Donibristle House being visible from the grounds\nof Inverleith and Wardie, where the King was hunting, it was alleged\nhe must have seen the smoking ruins; nay, that he had chosen that\nquarter on that day for his sport in order to gratify his eye with the\nspectacle. The popularity of the late Earl, on account of his personal\nqualities and as a leading Presbyterian, rendered the people very\nsevere against James, although they had but little known cause for\nsupposing him accessory to the guilt of the Gordons. There is, however,\none circumstance narrated in traditionary ballad lore which says that\n\u2018Moray was the Queen\u2019s luve.\u2019 A traditional anecdote is the only\nsupport which the ballad receives for a circumstance utterly\ndiscredited by history. James, says the story, found the Earl of Moray\nsleeping in an arbour one day with a ribbon about his neck which his\nMajesty had given to the Queen. On seeking her Majesty\u2019s presence, the\nKing found the ribbon round her neck, and was convinced he had mistaken\none ribbon for another; but, continues the story, the ribbon worn by\nMoray was indeed the Queen\u2019s, and had only been restored to her in time\nto blind his Majesty by the agency of a friend of the Queen\u2019s who had\nwitnessed the King\u2019s jealous observation of Moray asleep.\n\nTo return, however, from tradition to history, the ferment caused in\nEdinburgh by the news of Moray\u2019s death was aggravated ten-fold when\non the same day Lady Doune, mother of the ill-fated nobleman, arrived\nat Leith in a boat, carrying with her the bodies of her son and his\ndevoted friend Dunbar. The mournful lady took this step in order to\nstimulate the vengeance of the laws against the murderers. When the\nnews reached the King that Lady Doune was about to expose the mangled\nbodies to the public gaze, he forbade them to be brought into the city,\nconceiving justly that the spectacle was an unseemly one, and that the\npopulace were excited enough already. Defeated in her first wish, Lady\nDoune caused a picture to be drawn of her son\u2019s remains, and enclosing\nit in a lawn cloth, brought it to the King, uncovered it before him,\nand with vehement lamentations cried for justice on the slayers. She\nthen took out three bullets, found in Moray\u2019s body while being prepared\nfor embalming, one of which she gave to the King, another to one of his\nnobles, and the third she reserved to herself \u2018to be bestowed on him\nwho should hinder justice\u2019 (Annals, p. 232, vol. 1, Captain John\nGordon, one of the King\u2019s friends). The Earl himself had fled to the\nnorth, where he was much more powerful than James, King of Scotland\nthough he was. After some time, however, to recover the royal favour,\nwhich James withheld until some atonement was made, Huntly surrendered\nhimself, and was confined for a time in Blackness Castle. He was never\nbrought to trial, and was liberated on bail. Gordon of Buckie, the true\nmurderer, lived for nearly fifty years after Moray\u2019s death, and in his\nlatter days expressed great contrition for the act of which he had been\nguilty. From punishment at the hands of man, the power of his family,\nthe unsettled state of society, and the laws succeeded in screening\nhim. The melancholy fate of the Earl of Moray, which we have just been\nrelating, has been embalmed in his country\u2019s verse in a ballad deeply\naffecting in its pathos:\u2014\n\n    Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,\n      Oh, where have ye been?\n    They hae slain the Earl of Moray,\n      And laid him on the green.\n\n    Now wae be to you, Huntly,\n      And wherefore did ye say,\n    I bad you bring him wi\u2019 you,\n      But forbade you him to slay.\n\n    He was a braw gallant,\n      And he rode at the ring,\n    And the bonnie Earl of Moray,\n      Oh, he micht hae been a king.\n\n    He was a braw gallant,\n      And he rode at the gluve,\n    And the bonnie Earl of Moray,\n      Oh! he was the Queen\u2019s luve.\n\n    Oh, lang will his lady\n      Look o\u2019er the Castle Doune,\n    E\u2019er she see the Earl of Moray\n      Come sounding through the toun.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROUT OF MOY.\n\n\nThe River Findhorn, which rises in the Monadh-liath Mountains, flows\nthrough the glen of Strathdearn. Its scenery passes from Alpine to\nLowland, exhibits almost every variety of the picturesque, strikes the\neye with force or delight all the way from the source to the sea, and\nis not excelled in aggregate richness by the scenery of any river or\nstream north of the Tay.\n\nThe river is remarkable for the rapidity with which it rises and\nfalls, and for its swift torrent, which, when in flood, often takes a\nstraight course at the cost of much injury to life and property. In\n1829 Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, with powerful dramatic effect, told the\nstory of the floods which then ravaged Morayshire along the courses of\nthe rivers descending from the Monadh-liath and Cairngorm Mountains,\nnotably the Findhorn and Spey, both of which rose to an unexampled\nheight, in some parts of their course to fifty feet above their natural\nlevel.\n\nThe valley of Strathdearn will amply repay a visit. The Findhorn begins\nat the very head of the valley, and first issues forth through a\nremarkable rent in the rock called Clach Sgoilte, or the cloven stone.\nAs it passes onwards it is joined by various small streams, proceeding\nfrom minor glens called shealings, into which the Highlanders were in\nthe habit of driving their cattle to feed on abundance of the richest\nnatural grass, sheltered from the scorching heat of the summer sun.\nThere are, indeed, many lovely spots along the course of the river,\nand by the little rills among the hills, unknown now, save to the\nshepherd and the gamekeeper, servants of the sportsman who rents the\ndistrict. There are the natural wood trees, \u2018the oak and the ash, and\nthe bonnie elm tree,\u2019 the alder and the birch, the lady of the wood,\nand then the rivulets which drop from pool to pool, and anon hiding\nthemselves among sandstone ledges deeply bedded in dark sedge and\nbroad, bright burdoch leaves, and tall angelica, and tufts of king and\ncrown and lady fern. Up the glens there are bits of boggy moor, all\nfragrant with the gold-tipped gale, and the turf is enamelled with the\nhectic marsh violet and the pink pimpernel, and the pale yellow-leaf\nstars of the butterwort, and the blue bells and green threads of the\nivy-leaved campanula. And then to stop a few minutes and look around\non the earth, like one great emerald, set round with heathery amethyst\nroofed with sapphire, in the distance the blue sea and blue mountains,\nand covering all the bright blue sky overhead; and under foot the\nwayside fringed with the purple vetch, the golden bed-straw, and the\nfragrant meadow-queen, while at intervals the wild rasp bushes, adorned\nwith their crimson berries, offer a tempting refreshment to the passing\nbird, and the bare footed boy and girl ramblers. The time of the wild\nrose is past, but the hips and haws will soon put on their red, red\ncoats, the coral beads are even now in cluster on the rowan tree, while\nthe bramble trails over every ditch with its delicious load of juicy,\npurpling fruit. \u2018Eheu fugaces labuntur anni!\u2019 Well does the schoolboy\nlove the rough skinned bramble, and often in the sunny days of boyhood\ndo his fingers and lips know the stains of its luscious blobs:\u2014\n\n    \u2018The bramble berries were our food,\n      The water was our wine,\n    And the linnet in the self same bush,\n      Came after us to dine.\n    And grow it in the woods sae green,\n      Or grow it on the brae,\n    We like to meet the bramble bush,\n      Where\u2019er our footsteps gae.\u2019\n\nAs the ramble proceeds, the surrounding country becomes highly\npicturesque. Now we have a crag robed in lichen cropping upwards, and\ncrowned with heather and tangled foliage; now we have a little runlet\njinking among the seggans, and singing a sweet undersong as it steals\ndown its tiny glen; and now a landscape all yellow with \u2018golden shields\nflung down from the sun,\u2019 in the foreground, and the glorious hills\nbacking all behind. Verily, Strathdearn is a lovely glen.\n\nAbout a mile from the church of Moy there is a singular hollow, called\n\u2018Ciste craig an eoin,\u2019 (the Chest of the craig of the bird), surrounded\nby high rocks, and accessible only through one narrow entrance.\nSituated close to the Pass called \u2018Starsach nan Gael\u2019\u2014the Doorstep\nof the Highlanders\u2014it was used as a place of concealment for their\nwives and children by the Highlanders during their absence on predatory\nexcursions into the low country. This is the scene of one of those\nromantic achievements which so marked the rebellion of \u201945.\n\nPrevious to the battle of Culloden, Prince Charlie was for some days at\nMoyhall, the guest of Colonel Ann, as Lady Mackintosh was called. The\nChief himself, with a prudence to be commended, took the Royalist side,\nleaving what in this case was hardly the weaker vessel to espouse the\ncause of the Prince, for whom the distant clans were arming. Mackintosh\nhimself was absent in Ross-shire, in the King\u2019s service, but his wife,\nwho was a daughter of Farquharson of Invercauld, entertained the\nPrince, and was so enthusiastic in his cause that she afterwards raised\na regiment of 400 of her husband\u2019s clan and followers to support him.\n\nWith these she joined Lord Strathallan, who had been left by\nPrince Charles at Perth, to collect troops and military stores,\nand these Mackintoshes afterwards fought at Culloden. Her ladyship\nwas no favourer of half measures. At times she rode at the head\nof her regiment, with a man\u2019s hat on her head and pistols at her\nsaddle-bow\u2014hence her soubriquet of Colonel Ann.\n\nThat Prince Charles was at Moyhall, the guest of Lady Mackintosh, was\nwell known to the Earl of Loudon, whose detachment of Royalist troops\nthen occupied Inverness, about twelve miles distant. At breakfast\nhis lordship, discussing his information with his officers, suddenly\nformed the decision to move on Moyhall in order to surprise the young\nChevalier, gain the offered reward, and save the country from further\nbloodshed. A Highland lassie who waited at table in the \u2018Horns\u2019\noverheard their plans, and at once, bare-footed and bare-headed, ran on\nto Moyhall to tell of the danger.\n\nThe tidings produced consternation and confusion, for there were no\ntroops to defend the House of Moy, nor meet the coming foe. But Colonel\nAnn and the council of war she assembled were equal to the occasion.\nDonald Fraser, the Chief\u2019s blacksmith, afterwards known as \u2018Caiptin nan\nCuignear,\u2019 the Captain of the Five, at once left his forge, and taking\nalong with him five men whom she named, hurried off with sword and\nmusket to repel the 1500 invading troops.\n\nIt was in the dusk of the evening when they reached the narrow pass of\nCraig an Eoin, two miles from the Hall, and there they waited the\napproach of the foe. There was a quantity of turf divots and peats set\nup to dry in small hillocks or stacks, and Donald and his men, in order\nthe better to watch the motions of the troops, placed themselves a few\nhundred yards asunder among these heaps, concealed by the shadows of\nthe hills rising on either side.\n\nThey were hardly in ambush when they became aware of the approach\nof the soldiers. It was the dusk of the evening. Now was the time\nfor action. Fraser waited until the army was within 100 yards, when,\nstarting up, the command was passed from Donald, and then from man\nto man, in a loud voice, along a distance of nearly a quarter of a\nmile\u2014\u2018The Mackintoshes, the Macgillivrays, the Macbeans to form\ninstantly the centre; the Macdonalds on the right, and the Frasers on\nthe left.\u2019 All this in the hearing of the commander-in-chief of the\nRoyal army, accompanied by the firing of the muskets of the concealed\nparty. Macrimmon, the piper in the advanced guard of the Macleods,\nfell, and this, coupled with the fear that masses of Highlanders were\nready to surround them, and cut them to pieces, caused the troops\nto flee back precipitately to Inverness, where Lord Loudon, not\nconsidering himself safe, continued his route to Sutherlandshire, a\ndistance of seventy miles, where he took up his quarters.\n\nFraser returned quietly with the dirk of the fallen piper, and was\nlocally promoted to the rank of captain. He fought afterwards bravely\nat Culloden, and his sword is still kept, with many another piece of\nrusty armour, at Tomatin House.\n\nThus ended what has been humorously called the Rout of Moy.\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF LOCH-MAREE.\n\n\nOf all the many beautiful places in Scotland, none can surpass\nLoch-Maree (Loch-ma-righ, or the King\u2019s Loch), so called from the\nincidents related in the following legend:\u2014Some centuries ago there\nlived near the loch an old woman and her son. Her husband and three\nelder sons had been slain, their humble home burnt, and their cattle\ndriven off, during one of the fierce clan feuds which were only too\ncommon in those days. The poor woman had fled with her youngest son to\nthis lonely secluded spot, where they found shelter, and after a while\nlived comfortably enough; for Kenneth grew a fine active lad and keen\nsportsman, and with his bow and arrow and fishing-rod supplied plenty\nfood. They also possessed a small herd of goats, which rambled at will\namong the mountains surrounding the loch, returning to the widow\u2019s\ncottage at milking-time. Among them was a very beautiful dun coloured\none, which gave more milk than any of the others. This, together with\nher docile habits, made her a great favourite with the widow. One\nevening Kenneth, returning home laden with the spoils of the chase, met\nhis mother at the cottage door. The good woman was carrying the milk\nshe had just taken from the goats, wearing a very dissatisfied look on\nher usually placid countenance. On her son asking what was the matter,\nshe replied tartly, \u2018Matter enough; see the small quantity of milk I\nhave got to-night; the dun goat, who used to give more than any of the\nothers, hardly gave a spoonful, and it has been the same the last two\nnights. I can\u2019t make out what ails the creature.\u2019 Kenneth, tired after\na long day\u2019s sport, answered lightly, that perhaps the goat was ill,\nor that she had not received food enough. His mother made no reply;\nshe, however, gave the goat a double allowance of food that night, and\nsaw that she took it well; but the next evening not a drop of milk did\nshe give\u2014indeed, it was evident she had been newly milked. The old\nwoman was at her wits end; and directly her son came in, she began to\ncomplain loudly. \u2018We must do something about that dun goat, Kenneth;\nnot a drop of milk did she give again to-night; I am sure the fairies\nsuck her, and if we don\u2019t stop it, I shant be able to make a single\ncheese to put by for the winter. You really must help me to find out\nall about it. Kenneth, who began to miss his usual allowance of milk\nat supper-time, professed his willingness to assist his mother. \u2018But,\u2019\nsaid he, \u2018What can I do to prevent it? Would it not be better to tie\nthe goat up?\u2019 \u2018No, no, that would never do,\u2019 replied his mother, \u2018she\nhas never been tethered, and would not stand it. The best thing for\nyou to do will be to follow her to-morrow, and see where she goes.\u2019 To\nthis proposal Kenneth agreed, and early next morning started off after\nthe dun goat, who soon separated herself from the rest of the herd,\nand made straight for a pass between two high rocks, bleating as she\nwent. \u2018Oh, oh!\u2019 said Kenneth to himself, \u2018I shouldn\u2019t wonder if she has\npicked up some motherless fawn, which she suckles, for I have heard\nof such things before, and that is more likely than the fairies that\nmother talks about.\u2019 He found it, however, no easy matter to keep the\ngoat in sight, and her colour being so peculiar, it was nearly\nimpossible to see her at a little distance. Kenneth persevered\nmanfully, springing from rock to rock almost as nimbly as the goat\nherself; but at last a sudden turn hid her for a minute from his sight,\nand try as he would, he could not again catch sight of her. So he had\nto own himself beaten; but he determined to wait until the usual time\nfor milking, thinking he would be sure to see where she came from, so\nhe waited patiently, but to no purpose. Not a glimpse did he get of\nher until he arrived at home, and saw her taking her food among the\nrest. His mother was anything but pleased at his non-success, more\nespecially as she again did not get a single spoonful of milk from\nher. Terribly chagrined, Kenneth vowed he would solve the mystery if\nit took him a week to do so. Rising with the sun next morning, and\ntaking some provisions and his bow and arrows with him, he started off\nin the same direction the goat had led him the day before. When he\ncame to the place at which he lost sight of her, he concealed himself\nand waited. Before long he saw her pass, and immediately followed her,\nbut the sagacious animal seemed to know that she was being traced, and\nredoubled her speed; so, in spite of Kenneth\u2019s utmost exertions, he\nagain lost sight of her.\n\nHeated and vexed, he threw himself on the ground, and exclaimed,\n\u2018Confound the beast, I believe mother is right after all in saying the\nfairies have something to do with her. I\u2019ll give her up for this day.\u2019\nHaving rested a while and taken some food, he strung his bow, for, said\nhe, \u2018\u2019Twill never do to go home empty handed a second day.\u2019 He spent\nthe day among the hills with fair success, and was turning towards\nhome, when endeavouring to recover a bird he had shot, he scrambled on\nto a small grass-covered platform in front of a natural cave in the\nrock, and much was his astonishment to see his lost goat standing at\nthe entrance of the cave. He called her, and held out his hand, but\ninstead of running to him and licking his hand as usual, she stamped\nwith her feet, and, lowering her head, stood in a state of defence.\nConvinced there was something in the cave, Kenneth tried to enter,\nbut the goat stood firm, giving him some hard knocks with her horns.\nFinding she was so resolute, and not wishing to hurt her, he desisted\nfor the present, marking the place well so as to find it easily again.\nThe goat was again home before him, but not a drop of milk did she\ngive. His mother was pleased he had discovered so much, and said,\n\u2018To-morrow I will go with you, and surely between us we shall manage\nto get a sight of the inside of the cave.\u2019 Next morning the old woman\nand her son started, taking a rope with them to secure the goat if she\nshould prove unmanageable. When they arrived at the cave, the goat was\nstanding at the entrance, evidently angry, and determined to oppose\nthem. In vain the widow called her pet names, and held out sweet herbs;\nthe stubborn animal would not budge an inch for all their entreaties\nor threats. \u2018Well,\u2019 said Kenneth, \u2018its no use standing here all day;\nI\u2019ll throw the rope over her, and drag her from the cave, and you shall\ngo in mother, and see what she is hiding inside.\u2019 No sooner said than\ndone, and the poor goat was struggling on the ground, bleating loudly.\nAs if in answer to her piteous cries, there issued from the cave,\ncrawling on all fours, a beautiful boy about a year old, who scrambled\nat once to the goat, and putting his little arms round the animal\u2019s\nneck, laid his face against its shaggy coat. She appeared delighted at\nthe caress, and licked the hands and face of the child with evident\naffection.\n\nAt this unexpected sight, Kenneth and his mother were lost in\nastonishment and admiration. He at once satisfied himself, from the\nfairness and beauty of the child, and its being dressed in green, that\nit was indeed a veritable fairy, and his admiration for the goat was\nsomewhat damped by a feeling of superstitious awe at being brought\nin such close proximity to one of \u2018the good people.\u2019 But the warm,\nmotherly heart of the widow at once opened to the helpless infant,\nand, forgetting her natural fear of the supernatural, as well as her\nannoyance at the loss of her milk supply, she rushed forward, and\ncatching the child in her arms, covered it with kisses, mingled with\nblessings on its beauty, and pity for its forlorn condition, vowing she\nwould take it home, and cherish it as her own child.\n\nKenneth did not altogether approve of this proceeding, and exclaimed\nwith some heat, \u2018Mother! mother! what are you saying; don\u2019t you\nsee it is a fairy? Put it down, put it down, or perhaps you will\nget bewitched, and changed into some animal or other. How could a\nchild like that, unless it was a fairy, live alone among these wild\nmountains, with no one to see after it? and where did it come from?\nNo, no! mother; it is nothing but a fairy, and we had better leave it\nalone, and the goat too, for she is also, no doubt, bewitched, and we\nshall only get ourselves into mischief by meddling with her; or, if you\nmust needs have the goat, just hold the rope while I throw the fairy\ncreature down the face of the rock, out of the animal\u2019s sight.\u2019\n\nBefore, however, Kenneth could lay hold of the child, he was arrested,\nand startled, by hearing a voice from the interior of the cave\nexclaiming, \u2018Touch him if you dare! he is no fairy, but far better\nflesh and blood than you are.\u2019 The next instant there rushed from the\ncave a young woman, scarcely out of her girlhood; fair enough, but with\nprivation written in every feature of her face, while her torn dress\nand dishevelled hair told a tale of want and exposure. Withal, there\nwas a certain dignity about her that made Kenneth and his mother give\nway when she approached to take possession of the child, who clung to\nher with every mark of affection.\n\nWith an air of respect, mingled with astonishment, the widow asked who\nshe was? and how she came there?\n\nThe stranger explained how she had been menaced with great danger in\nher own country, and had fled with her child for concealment to this\nsecluded spot, and should have perished from absolute want if it had\nnot been for the good-natured goat, whom she had enticed to the cave,\nand on whose milk she and the child had subsisted for several days.\n\nThe kind-hearted widow at once offered them shelter and protection at\nher cottage, adding that she knew from sad experience what it was to be\nhunted from her own country like a wild animal.\n\nStrange to say, Kenneth offered not the slightest objection to his\nmother\u2019s kind invitation. His dread of, and dislike to the fairies\nseemed to evaporate at the sight of a good-looking young girl. He\noffered no objection this time to the exercise of his mother\u2019s\nhospitality, which Flora gladly accepted, and they all wended their way\nto the widow\u2019s cottage, followed by the sagacious goat, who seemed to\nperfectly understand how matters stood.\n\nThus they for a time lived happily and safely, and the widow found her\nvisitors no encumbrance; for Kenneth exerted himself with such good\nwill in hunting and fishing that he supplied more than sufficient for\nthem all. The boy grew a strong, sturdy fellow; and Flora, by good\nnourishment and mind at ease as to the safety of herself and charge,\nexpanded into a most lovely woman, as amiable as she was beautiful, and\nassisted the widow in all her household duties, although it was very\nevident she belonged to a far higher class than that of her protectors.\n\nKenneth was the only one of the small circle who was not perfectly\nat ease. He who used to be one of the most happy and careless of\nmortals, with no higher ambition than to be a good sportsman, now\nbecame dissatisfied with himself and discontented with his lot in life.\nWhen out on the hills alone he would fall into moods of abstraction,\nbuilding castles in the air, wishing he were a soldier\u2014ah! if so,\nwhat wonderful feats of valour would he not perform; he would surpass\nall comrades in courage and dexterity; he would be rewarded with\nknighthood; and then he would have the right to mingle with the best\nand noblest of the land; and then\u2014then there would flash across his\nmind a vision of a brave knight fighting to assert the lawful claims of\na fair lady, of his being successful, of his being rewarded by the hand\nand heart of the beautiful heroine; and then\u2014then poor Kenneth would\nfind his fine castle crumbling away, and standing alone with empty\ngame-bag. So, with a sigh, he would wake to the commonplace world, and\nhasten to redeem the idle time already wasted; and besides, did not\nFlora prefer one sort of game, which he must get, and did she not also\nadmire a wild flower he had taken home yesterday, and he must scale the\nhighest rocks to find more for her to-day. On his return home he would\npresent the flowers shyly, blushing and stammering at the graceful\nthanks he received for them. He would scarcely taste his food, but sit\nquietly, following with his eyes every movement of the bewitching\nFlora, until little MacGabhar\u2014for so they named the boy\u2014would come\nand challenge him to a game of romps.\n\nOne day, when alone with his mother, Kenneth suddenly asked her \u2018if\nshe thought Flora was really the mother of the boy?\u2019 \u2018Foolish boy,\u2019\nanswered she, \u2018do you think I have lived all these years and not know a\nmaid from a wife? No, no; Flora is no more his mother than I am. And,\nson Kenneth, I wish to give you some advice: don\u2019t you go and fall\nin love with Flora\u2014you might as well fall in love with the moon or\nthe stars. Don\u2019t you see she is some great lady, perhaps a princess,\nalthough now obliged to live in concealment. I expect little MacGabhar\nis her brother, and heir to some great lord. What we must do is to\ntreat her with respect and kindness, and perhaps some day, if she gets\nher rights, you may be her servant, if she will accept your services.\nThough she never told me who she was, she showed me a very handsome\nsword and a beautiful scarlet velvet mantle trimmed with fur, which she\nsaid belonged to the boy\u2019s father, and she was keeping them to prove\nhis birth some day.\u2019\n\nThis sensible, though unpalatable, advice fell like lead upon Kenneth\u2019s\nheart, but still, thought he, \u2018it will be something to be even her\nservant. I shall at least see her, and hear her voice.\u2019\n\nMatters went on thus at the cottage for some time, until one day\nKenneth came home hastily with the news that the Lord of Castle Donain,\nthe chief of that part of the country, was come on a grand hunting\nexpedition to the neighbourhood, and would probably call at the\ncottage, as he had done on former occasions. For themselves Kenneth had\nno fear, for although they did not belong to the chief\u2019s clan, he knew\nof their living on his estate, and had never offered any objection. It\nwas only on Flora\u2019s account that he had hastened with the news. She,\npoor girl, seemed dreadfully agitated, and said, \u2018that Lord Castle\nDonain was one of the last men she wished to know of her whereabouts,\u2019\nand suggested that she and MacGabhar should again take refuge in the\ncave until the danger was past; but, alas, it was too late. Already\nsome of the foremost clansmen were in sight. In another minute the\nchief himself appeared, calling out to Kenneth to come as their guide,\nas he knew the ground so well. Kenneth hurried out, closing the door of\nthe cottage after him. This, Lord Castle Donain noticed, as also the\nuneasiness of the young man\u2019s manner. \u2018How now, Kenneth,\u2019 he exclaimed,\neyeing him suspiciously, \u2018what have you in hiding there? where is your\nmother? and why do you not ask me in to take a drink of milk as you\nused to do?\u2019 Kenneth confusedly muttered something about his mother not\nbeing well, and offered to fetch some milk for his lordship. The chief\nwas now convinced that there was a secret, and determined to find it\nout. He entered the cottage without ceremony, exclaiming angrily, \u2018What\nis the meaning of this, old dame? Do you not know you are only living\non my estate on sufferance, and if you don\u2019t render me proper respect\nas your chief, I will soon pack you and your son off again.\u2019 Then\nperceiving Flora, and being struck with her exceeding loveliness, he\ninvoluntarily altered his tone, and continued in a more gentle voice,\n\u2018Ah! I now see the cause; you have a stranger with you. Who is she,\nKenneth?\u2019\n\nNow this was a very puzzling question for poor Kenneth to answer, as he\ndid not know himself, and being fearful of saying anything that might\ninjure Flora. However, he answered as boldly as he could that she was\nhis wife. \u2018Your wife, Kenneth?\u2019 said the Chief, \u2018impossible, where did\nyou get her from? I am sure she does not belong to this part of the\ncountry, or I should have noticed her before; however, I must claim the\nprivileges of a chief, and give her a salute.\u2019 But when he approached\nFlora, she waved him off with conscious dignity, saying \u2018he must excuse\nher, as it was not the custom in her country to kiss strangers.\u2019 Her\nvoice and manner, so different to what he expected from one in her\nseeming position, more than ever convinced the chief there was a\nmystery in the case, and when in answer to his inquiries she told him\nher name was Flora, he exclaimed, \u2018Kenneth, I am sure you are deceiving\nme, she is not your wife; her voice, her manner, and, above all, her\nname, convince me that she is of high birth, and most probably of some\nhostile clan, consequently she must return with me to Castle Donain\nuntil I fathom the mystery surrounding her, and you may think yourself\nlucky that I do not order you to be strung up on the nearest tree for a\ntraitor.\u2019\n\nThis speech threw them all into the greatest consternation. In vain\nFlora pleaded to be left alone with her husband and child; in vain\nthe widow and Kenneth asserted their innocence of wishing harm to the\nchief; he remained inexorable. To Castle Donain she must and should go.\nThe widow, in the extremity of her grief, caught up the child, to whom\nshe was greatly attached, and exclaimed, \u2018Oh! little MacGabhar, what\nwill become of you?\u2019\n\nOn hearing this, Lord Castle Donain started as if an adder had stung\nhim, and with agitated voice cried out, \u201cMacGabhar! whence got he that\nname, for it is a fatal one to my family. Hundreds of years ago it was\nprophesied that\u2014\n\n  \u201cThe son of the goat shall triumphantly bear\n    The mountain in flame; and the horns of the deer\u2014\n    From forest of Loyne to the hill of Ben-Croshen\u2014\n    From mountain to vale, and from ocean to ocean.\u201d\n\nSo, little blue-eyed MacGabhar, you must come with me too, for I am\nsure you are a prize worth having.\u2019\n\nAgain poor Flora pleaded hard to be allowed to remain in her humble\nhome; urging, what a disgrace it would be for him to tear her and her\nchild away from her husband and home; but all vain. The chief refused\nto believe the story of her being the wife of Kenneth, and insisted in\nno very measured terms on her at once accompanying him to the Castle of\nIslandonain.\n\nFinding all her appeals and supplications of no avail, Flora began to\ngrow desperate. Drawing the child to her, she faced the chief with a\nlook as haughty as his own, and producing a small, richly ornamented\ndirk, which she had concealed about her dress, vowed she would rather\nkill herself and the boy, too, than that they should be taken prisoners.\n\nThis bold mien and determined speech of Flora somewhat confused the\nchief, as he was far from wishing to offer any violence to one whom he\nwas convinced was of high birth. It was consequently with a gentler\nvoice and more respectful manner that he now addressed her, saying,\n\u2018I do not wish to use any force towards you, and will therefore\nwaive the question of you leaving your seclusion at present, but as\nI am thoroughly convinced there is a mystery about you, I will, as\na precaution for my own safety, require to know more of your future\nmovements.\u2019 He accordingly directed one of his clansmen, Hector Dubh\nMackenzie, to remain meantime as her guard; and then, to the great\nrelief of the whole of the inmates, he retired from the cottage.\n\nThough left unmolested for a time, poor Flora knew well that she was in\nthe power of the Lord of Castle Donain, and her distress and perplexity\nof mind was extreme. She had the wit, however, to hide it from Hector,\nwho was now a constant and unwelcome visitor at the cottage,\u2014and\nchatted and laughed with him and Kenneth, when they came home in the\nevening, as though she was quite careless and contented. Hers was not\na nature to sit down quietly under danger. No, the greater the danger,\nthe higher her courage seemed to rise, and she determined to effect\nher escape. She arranged with the widow that they should pack up a few\nnecessaries, take the boy and the goat, and again have recourse to\nthe cave for a present refuge. Unfortunately, however, she could find\nno opportunity to confide her plans to Kenneth, for the vigilance of\nHector was so great that neither she nor his mother ever had a chance\nof speaking to him alone even for a moment. She was anxious to give\nhim a clue, however slight, to their intended movements, so on the\nmorning of the day they had fixed upon for the attempt, before the men\nwent out, she carelessly said to him, \u2018Oh Kenneth, I wish you would\ntry to get me some more of these flowers, they are so beautiful,\u2019 at\nthe same time exhibiting a bit of a plant which Kenneth and herself\nwell knew grew only in the neighbourhood of the cave, \u2018but,\u2019 she\ncontinued, \u2018you need not trouble about it to-day, as you are going\nfishing; to-morrow, when you go to the hills, will be quite soon\nenough.\u2019 These simple words, so frankly spoken, caused no suspicion\nto cross the mind of Hector, but to Kenneth, accompanied as they were\nwith a quick expressive glance of her beautiful eyes, they were fraught\nwith meaning, and he felt assured that she wished him to go to the\nneighbourhood of the cave on the morrow, though for what reason he\ncould not surmise. As he promised to endeavour to procure the flowers,\nhe gave her a look, intelligent as her own, which at once convinced her\nthat he understood some plot was hatching.\n\nThat evening, when Kenneth and Hector returned from their day\u2019s\nfishing, they found no fire on the hearth, no supper ready, no voice\nto welcome them. Kenneth, from the hint he had received, was somewhat\nprepared for this unusual state of matters, but at the same time he\nechoed his companion\u2019s exclamations of astonishment; he tried to\naccount for it to the satisfaction of his companion by suggesting that\nthe women were out milking the goats, but, as if to contradict him,\nthey heard a bleating outside the cottage, and, going out to ascertain\nthe cause, they found the goats, tired of waiting, had actually come\nto the door themselves to be relieved of their milky treasure. Kenneth\nsaid nothing, but his quick eye at once detected the absence of the\ndun-coloured favourite which had nursed the boy. Hector, terribly\nchagrined and annoyed at finding himself thus outwitted, questioned\nand cross-questioned poor Kenneth until they both lost their temper,\nbut failed to obtain any satisfactory information. They both passed\na sleepless night, and at dawn of day Hector started, accompanied by\nKenneth, in pursuit of the fugitives, feeling sure they could not have\ngone far in such a wild and rocky country. He kept a strict watch on\nKenneth, who, notwithstanding, managed in the course of the day to\nget near the cave, and unseen by his companion gave a signal, which\nhe was delighted to see answered. He now knew that his friends were\nsafely lodged, and had no fear of their discovery by Hector, but how to\ncommunicate with them he could not imagine, for Hector kept the most\njealous eye on his slightest movements.\n\nThe day was nearly spent; the men, fagged and wearied with their long\nand toilsome search among the mountains, lay down on the heather.\nHector, sulky, and deeply mortified at the trick played upon him,\nlay thinking of what excuse he could make to his chief, and how that\nhigh-spirited gentleman was likely to receive the news of Flora\u2019s\nescape. One thing was certain, he must at once acquaint his lord with\nthe circumstances, whatever the consequences might be to himself; but\nthe difficulty was, how to do so. He first thought of securing Kenneth,\nand taking him a prisoner along with him, but glancing at the well-knit\nhardy figure and determined eyes of the young Highlander, he concluded\nit would be no easy task to secure him single-handed; and Hector, who,\nthough brave, was also very prudent, saw no benefit likely to accrue\nfrom a combat between himself and Kenneth, which would probably end\nin the death of one, perhaps of both of them. At last he decided that\nthe best plan for him would be to go off quickly and quietly, give\ninformation to his chief, and return with a sufficient number to trace\nand secure Kenneth and the runaways. The idea was no sooner conceived\nthan executed. Seeing that Kenneth lay with his face covered, buried in\nthought, Hector rose and ran through the hills with the fleetness of a\ndeer.\n\nKenneth lay for some time, revolving scheme after scheme, when,\nwondering at his companion\u2019s unwonted silence, he raised his head,\nand was astonished to find him gone. He jumped to his feet and looked\neagerly around; at last he espied him at a distance, running as if for\nhis life. This conduct somewhat puzzled him, and for a moment he was\ntempted to send an arrow after him, but recollecting he was now too far\naway, he dismissed the idea from his mind, and began to reflect how\nbest to turn Hector\u2019s absence to his own benefit. The first thing he\ndid was to hasten to the cave to inform its inmates of the strange and\nabrupt departure. Flora, with her usual intelligence, soon defined the\nreason, and a consultation was at once held as to what they had better\ndo in the perplexing situation in which they now found themselves.\n\nThey could not stay in the cave for any length of time for want of\nprovisions; the small stock they had brought with them would soon be\nexhausted; the goat\u2019s milk would not even be sufficient for little\nMacGabhar himself, and it would be unsafe for Kenneth to venture out\nto procure food for fear of their retreat being discovered, and they\ndreaded this might be the case even as it was, for if their enemies\nbrought their slot hounds they would soon be tracked. Under all these\ncircumstances, in about a week they concluded upon going down to the\nsea-shore, trusting fortune might favour them by sending a boat or\nvessel that way, in which they might make good their escape. This they\ndid, taking the goat (which would not part from the boy) and their\nbaggage along with them. As if in answer to their wishes, they no\nsooner arrived at the shore than they saw a large ship sailing towards\nthem, and casting anchor at Poolewe. Shortly after they saw one of the\nship\u2019s boats, with five or six men, rowing in their direction. Kenneth\nand Flora hastened forward to hail it, and see if the men would take\nthem on board. In their eagerness, they were nearly at the water\u2019s edge\nbefore they discovered that the principal figure in the boat was none\nother than Hector Dubh himself. With a scream of terror the affrighted\nFlora turned and fled, followed by Kenneth, back towards the child, for\nwhose safety she had undergone so many hardships; but, alas, she was\ndestined never to reach him, for in her haste she stumbled and fell.\nKenneth stopped to raise her, the next moment they were surrounded,\ntaken prisoners, and hurried to the boat.\n\nFlora\u2019s anguish of mind at being thus cruelly separated from the boy\nwas painful to witness. She prayed and entreated the men to return for\nhim, promising that she would go quietly along with them if she only\nhad the child. But all in vain, the men turned a deaf ear to her most\nvehement and impressive appeals, Hector saying, \u2018No, no, my pretty\nmadam, you have cheated me once already; I\u2019ll take care you shan\u2019t do\nit a second time. We can easily return for the boy if our lord desires\nus to do so, but we will make sure of you and Kenneth at any rate.\u2019 So,\nin spite of Flora\u2019s tears and sobs, and the more violent expressions of\nKenneth\u2019s anger (who was deeply grieved at leaving his mother in such\na critical situation), the boat speedily bore them from the shore, and\nshortly after Hector had the satisfaction of handing them over to the\ncustody of his chief.\n\nThe Lord of Castle Donain was very much put out at losing the boy,\nwhose fate he felt was strangely interwoven with his own, and in\nproportion to his dread of what that fate might be was his anxiety\nto gain possession of MacGabhar. Many a long and fruitless search\nhe caused to be made for him, many a sleepless night he passed in\nendeavouring to unravel the mystic meaning of the prophecy, and many an\nhour he spent in consulting his aged bard, who possessed the gift of\nsecond sight; but they could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion, save\nthat MacGabhar should surely in the end become the possessor of the\nvast estates of Castle Donain, but whether it would be accomplished by\nvictory in war, or by more peaceful means, whether in the lifetime of\nthe present lord, or in that of his successors, was at present hidden\nfrom their vision.\n\nFlora, who was kept in a kind of honourable captivity, would not afford\nhim the slightest clue to her own identity, or the parentage of the\nboy, for whose loss she never ceased to grieve. On being perfectly\nsatisfied that Kenneth was as ignorant as himself regarding Flora\u2019s\nantecedents, and being assured by her of Kenneth\u2019s absolute innocence\nof any design against him, the chief allowed the young man to go free.\n\nKenneth, however, was too devoted to the fair Flora to leave the place,\nwhile she was unwillingly detained there. He accordingly lingered\nabout at a safe distance until a favourable opportunity occurred which\nenabled him to effect her escape, and of safely conducting her to\nanother part of the country, out of the reach of the Lord of Castle\nDonain. Flora, finding herself alone and desolate, afraid of returning\nto her own country, and being deeply touched by Kenneth\u2019s unfailing\ndevotion, at length consented to become his wife, a decision she never\nhad cause to rue, but realized more every day the fact that\n\n    The rank is but the guinea stamp,\n    The man\u2019s the gold for a\u2019 that.\n\nAfter this they wandered about in many places, where it is unnecessary\nto follow them, searching for the widow and the boy; but at length\ngave up their efforts as useless. They then went south, and Kenneth\njoined the army of the king, in which he speedily found favour, rose\nstep by step, until the summit of his youthful ambition was attained,\nbeing knighted by the king for his distinguished gallantry on the\nbattle-field.\n\nWhen the poor widow saw her son and Flora so suddenly torn from her\nside, and herself and the child left desolate on the shore, she knew\nnot what to do, nor where to turn for shelter. It was no use returning\nto the cave, for how could they subsist there? her cottage was not\nbetter now that Kenneth was gone. She, alone, would be totally unable\nto provide a livelihood. She had now only the one supreme idea of\ndiscovering and, if possible, rejoining her beloved and only son.\n\nThe kind and hospitable people of Poolewe supported her and her charge\nfor several days, till at last they secured a passage for her on board\na ship, the crew of which promised to take her to Castle Donain. The\nwidow, like most old women, was rather garrulous; she told the captain\nall her troubles, and the strange story of the boy she found among\nthe rocks of Loch-Maree sucking her favourite goat, showing him at\nthe same time the velvet mantle and sword of state which belonged to\nlittle MacGabhar\u2019s father, to corroborate her statements. The captain,\ninterested in the touching narrative, listened patiently, and condoled\nwith the poor woman in her misfortunes; but, at the same time, feeling\nsure that the boy belonged to some family of note, he determined,\ninstead of carrying them to the desired destination, taking his\npassengers to his own chief, Colin Gillespick, or Colin More, as he was\ngenerally called, a noted, brave, though rather unscrupulous chieftain.\n\nGillespick, on their arrival, was very glad to obtain possession of the\nboy, and on hearing the whole story, he decided on taking MacGabhar\ninto his own family and bringing him up as one of his own sons. He\nalso provided the widow with a small cottage near his castle, and\nallowed her enough to live upon very comfortably. She had liberty to\nsee MacGabhar as often as she wished, and as she was very much attached\nto him, she would have been quite happy but for her grief at the loss\nof her son, which almost obliterated every other feeling. The boy was\nnever tired of listening to her while she told and retold him all the\nincidents of his discovery in the cave with Flora, of their subsequent\nhappy days at the cottage, and of their sad and sudden termination.\nAs MacGabhar grew up, he became intensely anxious respecting his\nparentage, and many a pleasant converse he had with the old widow,\nwho always maintained and taught him to believe that he came of noble\nblood. He would gaze on the mantle and sword by the hour together,\ntrying to imagine what his father had been. The time thus spent was\nnot altogether wasted, for these reveries made him feel that, if he\nwas well born, it was necessary for him to conduct himself like a\nnobleman, which he accordingly strove to do, and soon excelled all his\ncompanions, as much by his skill and dexterity in the warlike games and\nmanly accomplishments of the times, as in his fine athletic figure,\nhandsome features, and dignified bearing.\n\nWhen MacGabhar was about eighteen, his adopted father told him that\nhe would now give him an opportunity of showing his prowess on the\nbattle-field, as he had resolved to gather all his clan and retainers,\nand make a grand raid into a neighbouring territory, of which the\npeople were at the time in a state of anarchy and confusion, which\ncircumstance he had no doubt would greatly aid him in his intended\nproject of subjugation. This was welcome news to the fiery youth,\nlonging \u2018to flesh his maiden sword,\u2019 and he exerted himself with right\ngood will in making the necessary preparations for the forthcoming\nforay.\n\nWhen Flora married Kenneth, she, like a true wife, concealed no secret\nfrom him, but told him all her history\u2014a strange and romantic one. She\nwas of high birth, but, being an orphan, lived with her only sister,\nwho had married and become the queen of the chief or king of a powerful\nneighbouring kingdom. They had an only child, a boy, named Ewen, to\nwhom Flora was devotedly attached, being his companion and nurse by day\nand by night. When the child was about a year old, a revolt broke out\nin his domains, led by a natural brother of the king, who, being the\nelder, thought he had a better right. The rebels seized and murdered\nEwen\u2019s father, their lawful sovereign, and took the queen prisoner.\n\nKenneth\u2019s blood ran cold as his wife continued, in graphic terms, to\nrelate the horrors of that period; how the rebels, not satisfied with\nthe death of their king, plotted to murder herself and the young heir\nduring the night. Even in this trying emergency she did not lose her\npresence of mind, but courageously determined to defeat their wicked\npurpose by a counter-plot. She accordingly concealed her agitation\nduring the day, and on some pretext persuaded the wife and child of one\nof the conspirators to change bedrooms with her; the latter were slain,\nwhile she made good her escape with her darling Ewen, but in such haste\nthat she could make no preparations for her flight beyond carrying\naway the sword and mantle of the murdered king, as evidence, if ever\nopportunity occurred, to prove Ewen\u2019s high lineage and birth. After\ndays of painful travel, she at last reached Loch-Maree, where she was\nhappily found in the cave, succoured by the goat, by Kenneth and his\ndevoted mother.\n\nAfter Kenneth had been made a knight, and stood high in favour at\ncourt, his wife accidentally heard from a wandering minstrel that\ngreat changes had taken place in her native country. The usurper was\ndead, leaving no successor, and the people were divided and in a state\nof discord, some wishing to have the queen of the late rightful king\nrestored, while others wished for a male ruler. Flora, on hearing this,\nat once expressed her desire once more to visit her sister, of whom she\nhad heard nothing for so many years, and suggested to her husband that\nhe might possibly help the queen to resume her rightful position. Sir\nKenneth, ever ready for adventure, consented, provided he could get the\nking\u2019s consent for a time to withdraw from his service.\n\nThe kingdom being now at peace, the king readily granted him leave of\nabsence, and also permission to take his immediate retainers along with\nhim. They all started in high spirits, and arrived at their journey\u2019s\nend in safety, when Flora was overjoyed to find her sister alive and\nwell. The queen, on meeting her, was no less delighted to find her long\nlost sister, and to hear of the wonderful preservation of her beloved\nson, though their joy was damped by the uncertainty of his fate since\nFlora was separated from him. With the valuable assistance of Sir\nKenneth and his brave men-at-arms, the queen was soon reinstated in\nher proper position. But no sooner was this accomplished than she was\nthreatened with an immediate attack from the formidable and dreaded\nColin More. Her subjects, however, rallied round her, and, forgetting\ntheir mutual quarrels, stood well together, and led on by the brave\nSir Kenneth, they rushed to meet the advancing foe with irresistible\nforce, and gained a complete victory over him, taking several important\nprisoners, among whom were three of Gillespick\u2019s sons, and his adopted\nson Ewen MacGabhar.\n\nColin More\u2019s raid being so unjust, for there was no reason for it but\nthe desire for plunder, it was decided that his punishment should be\nsevere, consequently all the prisoners of any pretension to rank were\nordered the morning after the battle to be publicly executed, beginning\nwith the youngest. This happened to be Ewen MacGabhar, who determined\nto meet his fate without flinching, and as befitted his birth, which he\nalways felt was of noble origin. He accordingly dressed himself with\ncare, and threw over all the scarlet velvet mantle he had preserved for\nso many years, and girded on the sword, with a sigh to think that he\nshould never know the secret of his birth.\n\nAt the time appointed, the prisoners were brought out for execution\nbefore the queen and her court, according to the barbarous custom of\nthe time. MacGabhar walked at their head with a stately step, his fine\nfigure as erect, his fair head held as lofty, and his bright blue\neye as fearless, as if he were a conqueror and not a captive. As he\napproached nearer where the queen sat, surrounded by her ladies, her\nsister Flora started violently, and seizing her husband by the arm,\nexclaimed, \u2018Oh Kenneth, see! see! that mantle, that sword; look at\nhis fair hair, his blue eyes\u2014it must, it must be he.\u2019 Then rushing\ntoward Ewen, she cried out, \u2018Your name, your name, young man; where\ndid you get that sword and mantle? Speak, speak\u2014I adjure you by all\nyou hold sacred to tell the truth.\u2019 Young Ewen, considerably surprised\nby this impassioned appeal, drew himself up, and answered firmly and\nrespectfully, \u2018Madam, these articles belong to my father, whom I never\nknew, and the name I am known by is Ewen MacGabhar, but I know not\nwhether it is my right name or not.\u2019 This answer, far from allaying the\nlady\u2019s agitation, only served to increase it, and, with an hysterical\nlaugh, she screamed out, \u2018MacGabhar! yes, yes, I was sure of it.\nSister! husband! see, see, our lost darling\u2014my own dear MacGabhar.\u2019\nThen, in the excess of her emotion, she threw her arms around him, and\nswooned away.\n\nAll was now confusion and perplexity. Sir Kenneth hastened to his\nwife\u2019s assistance. The queen rose and stood with an agitated face and\nout-stretched hands, looking earnestly at Ewen. The older chieftains\nwho remembered his father, began to remark the extraordinary likeness\nEwen bore to the late king; clansmen caught up the excitement and began\nto shout \u2018A MacCoinnich M\u00f2r! A MacCoinnich M\u00f2r!\u2019\n\nAfter a while, when the Lady Flora had regained consciousness, and\nsome degree of order was restored, the queen began to closely question\nher sister as to the identity of Ewen; \u2018For,\u2019 she sagely remarked,\n\u2018although that mantle and sword did indeed belong to my husband, that\ndoes not prove its present possessor to be his heir, and further,\nthough I admit I perceive a great resemblance in that young man to\nthe late king, yet he might be his son without being mine, and until\nI am persuaded that he is indeed my own lawful son, I will not yield\nup this honoured seat to him.\u2019 This spirited speech was received with\napproval by the nobles, but still the common people kept up the cry of\n\u2018A MacCoinnich M\u00f2r! A MacCoinnich M\u00f2r!\u2019\n\n\u2018Stay, stay,\u2019 exclaimed Kenneth, \u2018I think I shall be able to decide if\nhe is indeed MacGabhar; do you remember, Flora, the day when little\nEwen was playing with my hunting knife and inflicted a severe cut on\nhis arm? Now, if this young man has the mark of that wound, it will be\nconclusive. Approach then, and bare your left arm, MacGabhar.\u2019\n\nEwen stood forward, and amid the anxious, breathless attention of all,\nbared his muscular arm, when there plainly appeared a large cicatrice,\nevidently of many years standing.\n\nAll doubt was now removed; the queen embraced him and owned him her\nson. The chieftains crowded round to offer their congratulations, and\nthe clansmen shouted loud and long.\n\nMacGabhar bore himself throughout this strange and exciting scene with\na dignity and composure of manner which greatly raised him in the\nestimation of his new found friends. His first act was to beg the\nlives and liberty of his late fellow-prisoners, which was readily\ngranted; and when he had explained to his mother how indebted he was\nto Gillespick for his kindness in bringing him up, and had also told\nSir Kenneth how well treated his mother had been, their indignant\nfeelings towards Gillespick gave way to more kindly emotions, and a\nfirm and lasting peace was concluded between the two clans. Sir Kenneth\nhastened to fetch his mother, whose joy at being thus re-united to her\nbeloved son, after so many years of separation and anxiety, was almost\noverpowering to the now aged woman. Sir Kenneth took up his abode\nin his wife\u2019s native country, and by his wise and sagacious council\ngreatly assisted Ewen in the management of his kingdom, the queen,\nhis mother, resigning all her authority in his favour. He ruled his\npeople firmly and well, and by his courage in the field and wisdom in\nthe council, he so raised the strength and increased the dimensions\nof his kingdom that it became the most prosperous and powerful in the\nHighlands. He married the only daughter of the Lord of Castle Donain,\nand by her inherited all that vast estate, in this way fulfilling the\nold prophecy which had caused so much uneasiness for years to his\nfuture father-in-law.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nALLAN DONN AND ANNIE CAMPBELL.\n\n\nDonald Campbell of Scalpay, Harris\u2014whose name is on record in\nconnection with Prince Charles, when a refugee in the Western Isles\nafter his defeat at Culloden\u2014had a very beautiful daughter, who\nwas so modest, pleasant, and affectionate, that she had few equals\nin the Isles. The charming Annie was for some considerable time,\nprevious to the year 1768, loved by Allan Morrison, son of Roderick\nMorrison, of Stornoway, a ship captain. Being a gallant, and withal a\ncomely young man, his affection was reciprocated by the fair Annie.\nCaptain Allan\u2014he was seldom called Morrison\u2014traded with his vessel\nprincipally between Stornoway and the Isle of Man, but he frequently\nwent to Spain. Like many other lovers, Captain Allan, when he returned\nfrom abroad, presented the object of his affections with small presents\nof silk and linen\u2014rare articles in the Highlands in those days. The\nmore Allan saw of his Annie, the more he loved her, and he ardently\nlonged for the day when they should be united in wedlock. This day was\nat length fixed; but before the happy event could take place, a voyage\nto the Isle of Man and back had to be accomplished. It was arranged,\nhowever, that the preliminary ceremony\u2014the \u2018contract\u2019\u2014should be gone\nthrough prior to setting out on the voyage, on the evening before\nsetting sail. For this purpose, one afternoon in the spring of 1768,\nCaptain Allan left Stornoway for Scalpay with his vessel. Besides\nhaving a select number of relatives on board, who were to be present\nat the ceremony, he was accompanied by another ship, commanded by his\nbrother, Captain Roderick. It was a fine day, with a nice breeze of\nfair wind, when they set sail. They did not proceed far, however, when\nthe wind, which veered round to the south, rose suddenly to a perfect\nhurricane. To make matters worse, a blinding sleet shortly afterwards\nset in. Nobly, but in vain, did both the ships strive to bear up\nagainst the furious onsets of the rolling Minch; but notwithstanding\ntheir brave efforts to reach Scalpay before nightfall, they had barely\ngot as far as the Shiant Isles when it was pitch dark, and thus their\nalready dangerous situation became more perilous still. That each\nvessel might know the position of the other, a red light, in addition\nto the usual white one, was exhibited on the masts of both, and the\nbrothers, being determined to arrive at their destination that night,\nif possible, continued to battle against the mighty billows, which now\ndashed themselves with fearful force against the creaking planks of\nthe vessels, and anon broke over them with a deafening noise. This did\nnot continue long when it became apparent that they could not possibly\nhold out much longer together. This was at least part of Captain\nRoderick\u2019s surmises, when he suddenly heard loud cries proceeding from\nhis brother\u2019s ship. Being slightly in advance of Captain Allan at the\ntime, and supposing that the shouts were intended as a sign for him to\nkeep up his courage, he paid very little attention to the matter, for\nunder the circumstances there was no possibility of rendering the least\naid, should such be required. Above the sound of the raging tempest,\nthe shouts from Allan\u2019s ship continued to be distinctly heard for a\nfew seconds, when lo! all of a sudden, the screaming ceased, and the\nlights on the mast suddenly disappeared. It was then, and only then,\nthat Captain Roderick understood the real meaning of the shouts which\ncame from his brother\u2019s crew, whose ship had been sinking, and had now\nevidently gone to the bottom. Although there was but little hope of his\nbeing able much longer to keep his own ship afloat, Captain Roderick,\nlike a brave sailor and an affectionate brother, directly made for the\nspot where the lights of his brother\u2019s ship were last observed, but\nnothing, alas! was seen or heard of the ship or crew. The deep wail\nwhich now rose from Captain Roderick\u2019s crew was truly heart-rending.\nFrom that day till now nothing has been seen of Captain Allan\u2019s crew or\nhis ship.\n\nSoon after the foundering of the gallant ship the gale moderated\nso much that Captain Roderick was able to reach the north harbour\nof Scalpay early next morning. Being expected there the previous\nnight, none of the Campbells\u2014who were, as might be supposed, greatly\nconcerned for Captain Allan\u2019s safety, knowing, as they did, that his\nnon-arrival arose from the furious tempest\u2014went to bed that night.\nThey were, therefore, by early dawn on the top of the hill which\nflanked their house, which is still standing, and from which they\nsecured a view of the Minch in all directions. From this position\nthey early descried Captain Roderick\u2019s ship making for the island. As\nthe brave vessel passed up through the narrow Sound of Scalpay, the\nCampbells, and chief among them the fair Annie, some relatives and\nfriends, stood on the north-east point of the island, and, thinking\nit was Captain Allan\u2019s ship, welcomed her with waving handkerchiefs.\nBut their gay signs of joy were but of short duration, for presently a\nsmall flag was observed half-mast-high, and the next moment a sharp\nscream burst from the lovely Annie, exclaiming that Allan Donn was\ngone! Captain Roderick\u2019s ship soon cast anchor; in a few minutes he\nlanded, and conveyed the sad tidings of his brother\u2019s and relatives\u2019\nuntimely end, as above described.\n\nWe will not attempt to describe the effect which this melancholy\nintelligence had upon the fair Annie, whose grief at that moment knew\nno bounds\u2014her heart broke for him whom she would never see again.\nRefusing to be comforted, she might be seen at early dawn, mid-day,\nand twilight, wandering sorrowfully on the shore, looking for her\n\u2018dear Allan\u2019s body,\u2019 and crying \u2018Allain Duinn Shiubhlainn leat.\u2019 She\ncontinued thus while she lived, which was only a few days, her heart\nhaving, it is said, literally burst. It is even asserted that her pure\nwhite breast wasted to that extent that an aperture was formed opposite\nher heart. She composed a song or lament for her devoted lover each day\nafterwards while she lived.\n\nThe song composed by Annie Campbell on the day she received the tidings\nof her beloved\u2019s death, is entitled, \u2018Allain Duinn, Shiubhlainn leat.\u2019\nIt has a peculiarly touching air, and is still sung by many people\non the Island of Harris, and it is now published in Part II. of Mr\nSinclair\u2019s \u201cOranaiche.\u201d\n\nIt was an oft expressed wish of the broken-hearted maiden that her body\nshould be buried in the sea, that she might share her \u2018dear Allan\u2019s\ngrave.\u2019 But whether her friends promised compliance with her request\nis not said. It is worthy of note, however, that his name was the last\nword she uttered. Surrounded by a crowded chamber of weeping friends,\nher gentle spirit took its flight to that brighter region which lies\nbeyond the grave; and, though grief had wasted her body to a mere\nshadow, the same pleasant features which graced her in life continued\nto adorn her even when embraced in the cold arms of death. Her demise\nexcited universal regret in the whole Outer Hebrides.\n\nThe respect and admiration in which Annie Campbell was held by her\nacquaintances in life were fully demonstrated at her death, for during\nthe week in which her body lay in state at Scalpay, scores of people\nwho could not, on account of the throng, obtain admission to the house\nof mourning, although kept open day and night, might be seen, with sad\ncountenances and sorrowful hearts, standing around it from morn to\neve, and eve to morn, and the respectful silence which prevailed among\nthem was such that \u2018the fall of a pin might be heard.\u2019 Some people\nmay be disposed to say that to devote a whole week to the ceremony\ncalled the \u2018leekwake,\u2019 was a needless waste of time. But, considering\nthe great preparations which had to be made for the deceased lady\u2019s\nfuneral, it must be confessed that it was short enough. Fifteen gallons\nof whisky, two or three large creelfuls of beef, mutton, and fowl,\nand a corresponding supply of newly-baked oaten cake, and cheese,\nwere generally required at the interment of a common person in the\nHighlands in the olden times; and although they had neither pastry nor\nconfections from Edinburgh, nor brandy from Cognac, at Annie\u2019s funeral,\nthe expenditure was, nevertheless, most profuse. There was gin from\nSchiedam, wine from Oporto, and whisky from Berneray, in unlimited\nquantities; and as to the supply of oat and barley meal cakes, cheese,\nbeef, mutton, and fowl, it was simply enormous.\n\nRodel, the place of interment, was only twelve miles from the island\nof Scalpay, but, on account of the large number of people which was to\ntake part in the proceedings at Cille Chliaran (Rodel churchyard),\nwhich is supposed to have been built in the tenth century, and was\ndedicated to St Clement, three large galleys, or boats, were required\nfor the funeral procession. One of the boats, which was manned by a\nselect crew, was intended for the coffin and chief mourners; another\nwas for the deceased\u2019s kinsfolk and friends, and the third for carrying\nthe provisions. The day fixed for the funeral arrived\u2014it was a\nSaturday in the year 1768\u2014a day which will be remembered in Harris\nwhile a Highlander breathes on its soil. On the morning of that day,\nthe three boats left Scalpay for Rodel. In the foremost boat, Am Bata\nCaol Cannach, was the coffin, and the chief mourners were Kenneth\nCampbell, deceased\u2019s brother; Campbell of Marrig, Campbell of Strond,\nMacleod of Hushinish, Macleod of Luskintyre, and two or three other\nleading Harris-men. It also contained several casks of rum, gin, &c.\nThe morning was so calm and pleasant, that the surface of the Minch\nseemed like a huge sheet of glass, so that the sails, which seamen\ndepend so much upon, were useless; but, stripped to the shirts, the\nstalwart oarsmen pulled their respective galleys through the briny\nwater with great speed. The little procession had hardly passed Rudha\nReibinish when a smart head-wind began to blow. The horizon was soon\nafterwards darkened by a sheet of black clouds that betokened the\napproaching storm, which almost immediately set in. It soon blew a\nperfect hurricane, against which oars could make little headway. At the\noutset of the rising wind, the Bata Caol Cannach set sail, was thus\ncarried far out to sea, and was in mid-channel when the tempest was at\nits height. The sails were torn to shreds, and the snow, which began to\nfall thick and fast, hid the land from view. They were now in a most\ncritical position, for it was impossible for any boat to live long\nin such an awful sea, and the boat was half full of water. They gave\nup all hope of surviving many moments longer, and each began to pray\nearnestly for his soul\u2019s salvation, when to their still greater horror,\nthe form of a female\u2014Annie\u2019s phantom\u2014was observed quite near them,\nfollowing in the wake of their boat. This extraordinary circumstance\nwas at once laid down as one of the direst omens. Nor need we wonder\nmuch if it did, when we consider the peculiar circumstances under\nwhich the figure appeared, and the superstitious beliefs which then,\nand to a certain extent still, prevail in the Highlands. Each time the\nphantom, which seemed to scowl angrily upon them, appeared, the Bata\nCaol Cannach shipped fearful seas. Life being sweet, the poor fellows\nused every means in their power to keep their vessel afloat. They used\nthe wine and gin ankers, out of which they knocked the ends, spilling\nthe liquor among the salt water, for bailing the boat. The phantom\nstill followed, and was coming closer and closer to the boat\u2019s stern,\nwhen they recalled to mind Annie\u2019s oft expressed desire to be buried in\nthe sea, that she might share Allan\u2019s grave; and they at once concluded\nthat her spirit followed them, first in the storm, and now in visible\nshape, to enforce compliance with her last request. Some of them,\ntherefore, advised that the coffin should be immediately committed\nto the deep; but to this proposal Kenneth Campbell, the deceased\u2019s\nbrother, would not consent. He was sitting in the stern of the boat,\nand his late sister\u2019s spirit drew so near to him that she could put her\nhand on his shoulder. He chanced to have a bunch of keys in his pocket,\nto which some fabulous charm was attached, and he threw them to the\nphantom to appease her, but without effect. By this time some of the\ncrew lay helplessly in the bottom of the boat, when one of the most\ncourageous proposed that, to lighten the craft, the \u2018knocked up\u2019 men\nshould be thrown overboard. \u2018Not one,\u2019 replied an elderly man, \u2018of\nthe living shall be put out, till the dead is put out first.\u2019 He had\nhardly finished speaking, when a huge sea rolled over the boat, which\nalmost swamped her, and the coffin, which was then floating in the\nboat, striking Kenneth Campbell on the chest, had almost pitched him\noverboard. He, thereupon, immediately ordered it to be thrown out,\nan order which, we need hardly say, was directly obeyed; but another\ntremendous sea again threw it into the water-logged boat. They managed,\nhowever, with great difficulty to unship it again, and knocking one of\nthe ends out of it with their oars, all that remained of the fair Annie\nsank in a twinkling to the bottom of the sea, and the angry spirit\nimmediately disappeared.\n\nMeanwhile, the other two boats, which had never raised their sails at\nall, went ashore at Manish. Having landed, the men proceeded at once\nby land to Rodel, where they communicated the manner of their parting\nwith the Bata Caol Cannach, as above described. All agreed that she\nhad foundered, \u2018for it was impossible,\u2019 they said, \u2018for any open,\nor other boat, to live in the Minch that day.\u2019 This was a terrible\ncircumstance\u2014a calamity which plunged the whole country into an\noverwhelming grief. The deaths of Annie Campbell and Allan Donn were\nwholly absorbed by this extraordinary affair\u2014an affair which seemed,\nto all appearance, to be nothing less than a judgment from God; for the\nflower of all the Harris gentlemen shared in one hour the same watery\ngrave. The sorrow caused by this sad occurrence was so universal that a\ndry eye could not be found that evening from one end of Harris to the\nother; and this general grief continued for days and nights together,\nfor all sympathised with the bereaved.\n\nBut to return to the Bata Caol Cannach, which we left water-logged,\nand about to sink in the middle of the Minch. It was a remarkable\ncoincidence, that as soon as the cold clay of the fair maiden sank in\nthe sea, the furious storm immediately abated, and the raging billows\nceased their wild commotion. The Bata Caol Cannach was then bailed as\nquickly as possible, and one of the men\u2014Malcolm Macleod\u2014happening to\nhave his plaid along with him, it was hoisted before the wind instead\nof a sail. The boat\u2019s stern was turned to the wind which drove it\nforward at a considerable rate, but, being pitch dark, none of them\nknew whither they were going. A new danger now began to alarm them\u2014the\ndanger of the boat being dashed to pieces on some shore. This fresh\nevil had only presented itself when the Bata Caol Cannach\u2019s keel struck\nthe ground. The gratitude to an all-ruling Providence that filled their\nhearts at that moment none but those similarly situated can tell.\nThey immediately leaped ashore, leaving the boat in the spot where it\nstruck; and after wandering about for some time, stumbled upon a house,\nwhere they were kindly received and cared for. On entering this house,\nthey discovered that one of their number was amissing, and, hungry and\nexhausted though they were, they immediately went to search for him,\nand found him lying insensible in the bows of the boat. He was at once\ncarried to the house which they had just left, and with much care and\nattention he soon recovered. The place where the Bata Caol Cannach went\nashore, and where the men were so hospitably entertained, was Snizort,\nin the Isle of Skye. It was some time before the Harris-men had\nthoroughly recovered from the hardships they underwent; but, as soon as\nthey were able to undertake the journey, they returned home.\n\nKenneth Campbell, Annie\u2019s brother, was afterwards also drowned. He\ncommanded a vessel, and being met by a French pirate, his ship, after\nbeing robbed, was sent to the bottom, every soul on board perishing.\nThere are many other anecdotes connected with the men who composed the\ncrew of the Bata Caol Cannach on the occasion referred to, but I must\nconclude, merely mentioning that the body of the unfortunate Allan Donn\nwas found at the Shiant Isles shortly after the death of his sorrowing\nlover Annie, and was interred with befitting solemnities in the family\nsepulchre in Lewis. As an extraordinary coincidence, the body of the\nfair Annie Campbell was soon after Di-Sathairn an Fhuadaich also found\nat the Shiant Isle, and in the very spot where the body of her lover\nhad been recovered. Whether it was placed in the same grave as Allan\ntradition does not record.\n\nMalcolm Macleod, grandson of Malcolm Macleod, whose plaid was used as a\nsail in the Bata Caol Cannach, an elder in the Free Church at Tarbert,\nHarris, who only died about two years ago, repeatedly told me the above\nstory. The Bata Caol Cannach was so called on account of having been\npurchased by the Campbells from a man in the island of Canna.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nMARY MACLEOD AND HER LOVER.\n\n\nMarrig House stands on a gentle declivity near the upper end of\nLoch-Seaforth, a bay some miles in length, in the Outer Hebrides. It\nwas in olden times a structure of the most primitive description. Its\nwalls, some six feet in thickness, and about four feet in height, were\nbuilt of sods, earth, and mountain boulders; and its roof of pieces of\nwreckage found on the sea-shore, covered over with sods, ferns, and\nrushes. It had neither window or chimney, save a rude opening at the\ntop of the wall, and an old creel stuck into the ridge, which served\nthe double purpose of admitting light and emitting the dense volumes\nof smoke which invariably darkened the interior. The fire was in the\ncentre of the clay-made floor. The cooking utensils were suspended from\nthe rafters by a heather rope. The partitions, made of boards, pieces\nof wreckage, and old sails, did not extend higher than the level of the\nwalls.\n\nBeing on a portion of the estate of Harris\u2014which was from time\nimmemorial possessed by the branch of the Macleods known as Siol\nThormaid\u2014Marrig House was occupied by a Macleod; and not unfrequently\ndid it afford temporary shelter and entertainment to the Chief of Siol\nThormaid himself, when following the chase in the adjoining forests. It\nwas from this house that Sir Rory Mor Macleod of Dunvegan and Harris,\nwhile laid up with a bad leg, wrote, on the 2nd of September 1596, a\nletter to King James, acknowledging receipt of the King\u2019s charge, of\nthe 18th of August, commanding him to be at Islay with all his forces\non the second day thereafter, under pain of treason, and explaining\nthat it was impossible to comply with His Majesty\u2019s orders, even\n\u2018althocht my hail force haid beine togidder, and wund and widder serued\none at eiverir airt.\u2019 But the house which was then at Marrig has long\nsince disappeared, and a more substantial and modern one now stands in\nits place. The tenant of Marrig was locally called \u2018Fear Mharig,\u2019 or\nthe good man of Marrig, a term which was and still is applied in the\nHighlands to large tenants.\n\nMarrig at the time of which we write was tenanted by a near relation of\nthe Chief of Siol Thormaid, a brave, prudent, and upright man. He had\nan only daughter, his heiress, upon whom Nature had bestowed no small\nshare of her favours; she was as modest and tender-hearted as she was\nbeautiful. She was courted and sought after by all the young gentlemen\nof the island; but being devotedly attached to her father, whom she\nidolized, and on whose advice and counsel she invariably acted, their\nproffered suits were always rejected, until circumstances which took\nplace in the neighbourhood of Glasgow at that time brought a new and\nmore successful suitor on the scene.\n\nIt happened, while a son of the then Earl of Argyll was prosecuting\nhis studies in the University of Glasgow, that a dispute arose between\nhim and one of his fellow-students regarding the superiority of their\nrespective clans. The quarrel ultimately assumed such proportions, that\nit was resolved to decide it by an appeal to arms. The weapons chosen\nwere the broadsword and target, these being the common weapons of war\nin those days. At the proper time the combatants, with their seconds,\nappeared at the appointed place. A desperate combat immediately began,\nand continued with unabated fury for some time; and so well were the\nwarriors matched that it became doubtful latterly which of them would\ncarry the day. Campbell, however, ultimately made a clever and skilful\nstroke, which secured him the victory\u2014having split his adversary\u2019s\nhead almost in two. Campbell was thus, according to law, guilty of\nmanslaughter, and being \u2018wanted\u2019 for that offence, he and his second,\na son of Macleod of Dunvegan and Harris, fled to the latter island for\nrefuge.\n\nCampbell was not long in the island when he became acquainted with\nMary Macleod, the fair heiress of Marrig, and became deeply enamoured\nof her; and being a handsome man of prepossessing appearance, refined\naddress, winning manners, and withal of an illustrious family, his\nlove was soon warmly returned, and with the full concurrence of the\nyoung lady\u2019s father the day of their marriage was fixed for an early\ndate. But it happened soon afterwards that the old gentleman casually\nreceived a full account of the reason which brought his daughter\u2019s\naffianced to Harris, and, his whole nature revolting at the idea of\nmarrying his daughter to a man guilty of manslaughter, he at once\nresolved to break off the alliance. He well knew that this could not be\naccomplished without encountering some serious difficulty, possibly a\nbitter and deadly feud. Not that he apprehended any serious opposition\non the part of his daughter, who, he was sure, would sacrifice almost\nanything to please him; but her suitor was a very different person.\nHe was proud and easily irritated, and that he was of a violent\ndisposition was sufficiently demonstrated from the fact that he had\nalready fought a duel and had slain his opponent for the honour of\nhis name. He belonged to a powerful family, whose chief might feign\noffence at his son\u2019s proffered suit and engagement being thus summarily\nrejected and violated, and who might come to make reprisals, or,\nperadventure, declare open war with the Siol Thormaid, the result of\nwhich might be disastrous. Carefully considering all these questions\nwhich operated strongly on his feelings, the good man of Marrig called\nhis daughter to his presence, and told her in an affectionate and\nfeeling manner what he had discovered of the history of her lover, and\nthen, in a tone sufficiently firm to manifest that he meant what he\nsaid, he made known his resolution. \u2018You must not,\u2019 he said, \u2018have any\nfurther communication with Campbell. Sorry, indeed, am I to be under\nthe necessity of thwarting my dear Mary\u2019s affections, but ten times\nmore would it pain me to see her wedded to a man whose past conduct\nmy soul loathes. My darling Mary is still very young. Let her trust\nin Providence, and she will yet get a husband, in whom she may safely\nrepose her trust, and whom her aged father can love as he loves his\ndaughter.\u2019\n\n\u2018Never have I attempted to go against my father\u2019s commands,\u2019 answered\nshe, weeping bitterly, \u2018nor shall I do so now; but as my heart bleeds\nfor my beloved, I trust you have authentic information before you can\nact so harshly. Shall I, Oh! shall I be permitted to see him once more?\u2019\n\n\u2018I have no reason to doubt the correctness of my information,\u2019 replied\nhe, \u2018for I received it from young Macleod, who witnessed the duel. You\nmay see Campbell once more, but once for all.\u2019\n\nA meeting had previously been arranged between the lovers for the very\nevening of the day on which the above conversation took place between\nMary Macleod and her father; and with buoyant spirits, and a step\nso light that it scarcely bent the purple heather, Campbell walked\nfrom Rodel to Marrig that day\u2014a distance of between twenty-five and\nthirty miles\u2014to meet his affianced Mary. Little, alas! did he think,\nwhile performing his journey, that she would greet him with such\nheart-rending words to both as \u2018My dear, I must see you no more.\u2019 The\nlovers embraced each other when they met. \u2018How happy am I to meet you\nand see you, my darling Mary, once more,\u2019 said Campbell, who was the\nfirst to speak; \u2018but, thank God, we shall soon meet to part no more\nwhile we live.\u2019\n\n\u2018Happy, thrice happy would I be,\u2019 sobbed the maiden, \u2018if that were so;\nbut, alas! it cannot be.\u2019 And in broken accents she recapitulated all\nthat her father said to her, adding with a groan, \u2018I must never see you\nagain.\u2019\n\n\u2018What?\u2019 exclaimed Campbell in great excitement, \u2018must I never see my\ndear, my own Mary again? It cannot be. The very thought would kill me.\nI will not part with my own, my darling Mary.\u2019\n\nThey both burst into tears, and continued to weep and sob for a time;\nbut the young lady, who, on the whole, considering the trying nature\nof it, bore the ordeal with remarkable fortitude, remarked that as her\nfather\u2019s word was inexorable as the laws of the Medes and Persians\nwhich altered not, they must be reconciled to their fate.\n\n\u2018If it must be so, then,\u2019 Campbell replied, \u2018I shall try to submit to\nit. But the island of Harris will henceforth have no attraction for me.\nI shall depart from it at once, and go to the seas, where I can muse in\nmelancholy silence on the maid who first stole my heart and afterwards\nrejected me.\u2019\n\n\u2018Restrain thy plaint, my dear Archy,\u2019 rejoined the maiden, as she\nproceeded to assure him that the step she had taken was entirely in\nobedience to the wishes of her father, without whose consent she would\nnever marry while he lived; but she would faithfully promise that if\nhe would wait for her until her father had paid the debt of nature she\nwould be only too happy to fulfil her engagement and become his wife.\n\u2018And,\u2019 she continued, \u2018I shall never marry another while you live.\u2019\n\nCampbell replied that since he found that her love to him was still\nunaltered, he would become more reconciled to his hard fate; that\nher kind and loving words had infused him with fresh hopes; that her\nfather, in the natural course of things, before many years had passed\naway, would go to his fathers, and that till that event took place he\nwould patiently wait for his loving Mary. He then handed her the ring\nwhich he intended to place on her finger on the day of her nuptials,\nsaying, \u2018Take this and keep it till we meet again.\u2019\n\nShe took the ring with mingled feelings of joy and sorrow\u2014of joy,\nbecause she could look at it as a memento of their engagement; of\nsorrow, because it would remind her of an absent lover. After looking\nintensely at it for some time she carefully placed it in her bosom,\nsaying, \u2018I, too, will give you a pledge of our betrothal, it was\nintended to be worn on your breast at our wedding,\u2019 and she then\nhanded him a knot of blue ribbon, made by herself, and having both\ntheir initials wrought in it with golden silk thread. Taking a parting\nembrace of each other, they wept long and bitterly, and with heavy\nhearts separated, it might be, for ever.\n\nDuring this conversation they sat on the south side of an elevated spot\noverlooking Loch-Seaforth, and when they parted she went direct to\nMarrig House, while he went in the direction of Stornoway, with the\nview of procuring employment as a seaman on board some vessel. Many\na look did he give towards Marrig, between Athline, at the head of\nLoch-Seaforth, and Araidh Bhruthaich, the Shealing of the Ascent, in\nLochs, made famous in local tradition as the place where the Irish\nplunderers lifted Donald Cam Macaulay\u2019s cattle in his absence while he\nwas away on business at the Flannel Isles, and for which act they paid\nwith their lives; for Donald overtook them at Loch-Seaforth, and slew\nevery one of them.\n\nStornoway is twenty-six miles north of Marrig; and though the evening\nwas far advanced ere Campbell left, he arrived at the capital of the\nLews before many of the good citizens had retired for the night. One\nwould have thought that, after travelling upwards of fifty miles that\nday, he would have slept pretty soundly; but such was not the case. The\nthought of what had occurred at Marrig disquieted his mind so much,\nthat it almost became unhinged. Sleep, usually the sweet and refreshing\nbalm to the weary traveller, left him to writhe on a sleepless pillow.\nNo wonder, then, that the first peep of daylight found him in the\nneighbourhood of the old castle of Stornoway\u2014then the seat and\nstronghold of the once famous Chief of Siol Thorcuil\u2014sauntering on the\nsandy beach, and peering out into the placid blue water of the bay, in\nthe hope of descrying some ship to take him away from the scene of his\npresent sorrow. He did not long look in vain, for he soon noticed a\nvessel lying some distance off; and presently a small boat coming for a\nsupply of water left her for the shore. The ship, which had shortened\nher cable before the boat had put off, he found, was bound for Holland.\n\n\u2018Short of men?\u2019 exclaimed Campbell, as the boat touched the beach.\n\n\u2018Would ship one good hand,\u2019 one of the sailors replied.\n\n\u2018All right; here he is,\u2019 responded Campbell, who, as soon as the casks\nwere full, accompanied the sailors to the vessel. He was engaged at\nonce; the ship weighed anchor, and proceeded to sea. Campbell having\nnow left the Hebrides, we shall return to Harris and note affairs at\nMarrig.\n\nSeveral years had passed away before Mary Macleod thoroughly recovered\nfrom the effects of the shock produced by her bitter disappointment.\nShe mourned long and sorrowfully for her absent lover, and feared she\nwould never see him more. Her lamentations were so pitiful, she grew\nso terribly thin and wan, that her father was sorely grieved that he\ncould not undo what he had done. \u2018Woe to me,\u2019 he often exclaimed, \u2018for\nkilling my daughter. She is rapidly sinking to an untimely grave.\u2019\nAlthough some of Mary\u2019s former admirers returned with the full ardour\nof their love as soon as Campbell had left the island, and pressed\ntheir suits with renewed zeal, she politely but firmly rejected their\nproposals, with the saying, \u2018I am not yet a widow.\u2019\n\nFive years had now almost passed away since Mary Macleod and Archie\nCampbell parted, and still no tidings reached her of his whereabouts.\nShe knew not whether he was dead or alive. At that time some of the\nsailors belonging to a large ship which came into Loch-Seaforth\nfor shelter called one evening for milk at Marrig House; and in\nconversation with them it transpired that their vessel, then in\nLoch-Seaforth, was the identical ship in which Campbell sailed from\nStornoway five years before; that he never left her until he was\naccidentally drowned in the Bay of Biscay four years afterwards; that,\nby his kind and obliging manner, he became a general favourite with all\nhis comrades, all of whom deeply lamented his loss. This unexpected\nintelligence acted upon the forlorn and broken-hearted maiden as if\nstruck by lightning. She uttered a wild and piercing scream, and fell\nfainting on the floor. During the excitement that followed the sailors\nmade their exit, and proceeded to their ship, which weighed anchor next\nmorning and disappeared; so that the fair maiden had now lost further\nopportunity of obtaining any additional information she might desire\nabout her lover. Sad and melancholy as she had been hitherto, she was\nnow depressed and cheerless in the extreme. Refusing to be comforted,\nshe moaned and sighed day and night for weeks and months together.\nNothing apparently could rouse her spirits from the deep melancholy\nwhich had taken possession of her. She continued thus for nearly two\nyears, during which time she was all but a hermit. She was often\nvisited, it is true, during those solitary years by many admirers, who\nused all the fair words at their command to press their suit upon her,\nbut she invariably answered that she \u2018did not yet tire of her widow\u2019s\nweeds.\u2019 Eventually, however, she became gradually more cheerful, and\ntook some pleasure in society; and ultimately went and sang and danced\nat local balls and other fashionable gatherings as in days long gone by.\n\nOf all Mary Macleod\u2019s admirers Macleod of Hushinish was her greatest\nfavourite; and some three years after she obtained intelligence of\nCampbell\u2019s death, she consented to become his wife, with the full\nconsent of the father and other relations, and the day of their\nespousal was fixed. The preparations for the wedding, which was to be\non a grand scale, were necessarily extensive. The liquors consisted of\nwhisky, rum, gin, and brandy. The marriage ceremony was, according to\nthe usual custom, to be performed in her father\u2019s house, whither the\nofficiating clergyman had been invited several days previously. For\nsome days prior to the marriage a strong gale of wind blew from the\nsouth, and the barometer gave every indication of its continuance. This\nproved a fortunate circumstance for the bride\u2019s father, whose stock of\ngin and brandy had become somewhat limited at the very time when it\nwas most required; for, two days previous to that of the marriage, a\nforeign vessel had put into Loch-Seaforth to shelter from the storm,\nand from this ship he procured an addition to the necessary supply of\nspirits. On account of the liberal terms on which the captain supplied\nhim, Fear Mharig invited him and the first mate to the wedding. The\ncaptain\u2014a middle-aged burly man, with a well tanned face\u2014was, as\nbecame his position, dressed in a suit corresponding to his rank;\nbut the mate, who seemed about thirty years of age, with brown, but\nwell-fared face, of ordinary height and handsome figure, was dressed in\nthe garb of an ordinary seaman.\n\nThe number of people collected at Marrig House was so large that the\nmarriage ceremony had to be performed in the large barn, where as many\nas it could contain were requested to go and witness the proceedings.\nIn the general rush the captain and his mate were left outside. But\nbeing the greatest strangers, and anxious that they should see the\nritual, some of the leading Harris men gave up their own seats in\nfavour of the sailors, who thus received front positions. They had\nscarcely occupied them when the bride and her maids entered, followed\nalmost immediately by the bridegroom and his party. The bride, attired\nin her magnificent marriage robes, looking beautiful, and spotless\nas an angel, was greeted with vociferous cheering. This enthusiastic\nwelcome over, and just when the minister was about to commence the\nservice, the mate, who chanced to be exactly opposite to the bride,\ninterrupted the proceedings by saying in the blunt but pointed manner\npeculiar to sailors, \u2018I presume that all the ladies and gentlemen\npresent have already presented the bride with their presents. I\nhaven\u2019t yet had a proper opportunity of giving mine; and although it\nis but small, and apparently trifling, I trust the young lady will,\nnevertheless, accept and appreciate it as a token of my constant\nlove and devoted affection.\u2019 He then handed to the bride a neatly\nfolded paper parcel, about the size of a small-sized envelope. She\nnervously tore it open, and on examining the contents, she, to the\ngreat astonishment of the assembly, exclaimed, \u2018Archy, Archy, my dear!\nmy long absent Archy,\u2019 and springing forward she embraced him again\nand again. It is almost needless to say that the sailor\u2019s gift was\nthe identical knot of blue ribbon given by Mary Macleod to Archibald\nCampbell some eight years before. Mary and her betrothed, Archibald\nCampbell (for it was he), were for several minutes locked fast in\neach other\u2019s embrace, and she, after the commotion produced by this\nunexpected meeting had somewhat subsided, said, in an audible tone,\nthat she was now ready to fulfil her original engagement to her first\nlove, and that her father, she was quite sure, would now offer no\nobjections to their marriage. Fear Mharig at once replied that he had\nalready suffered quite enough of harrowed remorse for the part he had\npreviously taken in their separation to offer any further objection.\nHe would therefore give his full consent, for the whole matter seemed\nto him to have been arranged by Providence. Young Macleod of Harris,\nCampbell\u2019s University companion, now stepped forward, and shook the\nsailor warmly by the hand, giving him a thousand welcomes, and\ncongratulating him on coming so opportunely to claim the hand of Mary\nMacleod; and Fear Mharig suggested that, as all the arrangements were\nready, and the clergyman standing there, the marriage ceremony had\nbetter be proceeded with; which proposal was acted upon, and Archibald\nCampbell and Mary Macleod were there and then made man and wife. During\nthe proceedings, young Hushinish, the disappointed bridegroom, stood a\nsilent spectator and quite dumbfounded.\n\nThe marriage ceremony over, Campbell entertained the company, relating\nhis travels and all the peculiar incidents which occurred during the\neight years that elapsed since he left Harris, one of which was how his\nship came to Loch-Seaforth three years before, as already noticed, how\nthat he himself formed one of the party of sailors who then called at\nMarrig House for milk, and personally reported that he had been drowned\nin the Bay of Biscay. His object in making this untrue statement\nwas to test his Mary\u2019s affection; for finding that her father was\nstill alive, he deemed it prudent not to make himself known. He then\nsolemnly assured them, corroborated by his Captain, that his coming\nto Loch-Seaforth two days ago, driven by the storm, was by the merest\naccident.\n\nIt need hardly be said that the vessel left Loch-Seaforth minus the\nfirst mate, who was from his marriage-day henceforth called Fear\nMharig. From Mary Macleod and Archibald Campbell, descended all the\nCampbells in Harris, Lews, Uist, and Skye many of whom became famous in\ntheir day and generation.\n\n\nAN DEIREADH.","title":"Historical Tales and Legends of the Highlands","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":63082}