Originally published in Fraser's Magazine (James Fraser) vol.4 #21 (Oct 1831).
Whoever has passed the old military road from the Black Mount to Fort William, will remember the deep secret corrai which opens from the extremity of Kinloch-Leven. Surrounded by lofty precipices, it lies like a vast cauldron in the bosom of the hill, and it is only for two or three hours after noon that the sun ever shines upon the little stream which murmurs along its bottom. Before the last century its gloom was deepened by the forest of birch and pine trees which overhung the crags; but, partially covered with short turf and deer's grass, it affords excellent pasture in the summer months. For this and its profound solitude it was formerly the favourite haunt of the great stags at that season when they retire from the herds into the recesses of the mountains. Their passes were well known to the hunters of Lochabyr, and, at the twilight or full moon, the dark figure of a deer-stalker might sometimes be seen watching behind the great stone of Cean-glass, or stealing down the deep hollow of Sloch-dubh.
It was on a bright still morning in February that such a figure appeared, following the bank of the stream which descends from the corrai. Though the sun had risen, the shade was still so deep under the mountain that the green tartans of the Highlander were scarcely visible as they moved through the blue tint of the dewy heath, and at times he could only be distinguished by the motion of his long white purse and the little snowy speck of the cockade in his bonnet. At length his dark figure reached the gorge of the corrai; and as it passed into the sunshine, the light flashed brightly upon the long Spanish matchlock which he carried on his shoulder, and the dirk, pistols, and broadsword, which kept a continual glitter as he moved. The light how discovered the shaggy limbs of a large deer-greyhound which followed at his foot, and sometimes stopped to stretch his nose to the wind, or prick his ear at the forked thorns which shewed their grey half-withered points among the cairns.[1]
They had entered the parks which lie along the side of the lake, and were approaching the little peel-tower which then occupied the site of the present house of Kinloch, when suddenly the dog put his nose to the ground, and, raising his ears, tracked the path with increasing speed, till all at once he bounded forward and disappeared in the winding of the ground. The hunter hastily unslung his matchlock, and, springing forward, glanced his keen eye to every bush and hollow from which the game might start. Without, however, seeing any object, he came to the deep chasm where the stream falls over a lofty crag into a deep black pool overhung by birch-trees and aspins; but as he turned the rock which shuts in the ravine, he at once discovered the object which the dog had tracked.
By the edge of the pool stood a tall dark young man, wrapped in his plaid, and leaning on his deer-gun; his mantle was of the coarse thick tartan worn by a simple deer-stalker, but the broad eagle's wing and tuft of heath in his bonnet were distinctions which could be worn by none but a duine-uasal of the clan Donnel. As he stood musing on the foaming water, he was roused by the dog, which bounded up the path, and, leaping on his breast, whined, howled, and saluted his cheek with his rough dewy nose.
The young man received him with the caresses of an old friend, but, immediately looking round, hastened towards his master with the extended hand, and the exclamation, "Failté, mo chalt fein!"[2]
The hunter returned his salutation with that mixture of affection and respect with which the inferior foster-brother regarded the superior. After the first words,—"I fear, Kinloch, that I keep late tryst, since you are thus early abroad to meet me," said the hunter.
"No, Angus," replied the young laird, "you are before time; but it is I that am impatient to see you, upon an enterprise which will take all our space to concert. I returned last night from Loch Awe —"
"Loch Awe!" exclaimed the hunter, "and did you see the young lady of Fraoch-Elan?"[3]
"No," replied Mac Donnel; "I had enough to escape the Campbells and dubh-gaul, without crossing the laird of Mac Naughton, whose right hand is left unchristened to revenge his father's blood on me and mine. I saw red Duncan, however, who has not forgotten that I spared his life at Inverlochie: from him I learned that Beatrice is confined to the island, and that Alan Dubh Mac Alan has sworn by the holy rood that his daughter shall never cross the shore till she submits to give her hand to the Black Knight of Ardconnel.[4] Mac Lauchlin is unremitting in his endeavours to obtain her favour, but, during his visits to the island, she never leaves her room; at other times she often walks alone upon the narrow beach, and her white figure is seen standing on the little green rock above the water after the twilight has fallen."
"And is there never a bird on the lake would fly over the waves, and whistle a true song from the blue stone?" said Angus.
"I have a 'grey goshawk' fly with 'Lord William's!" replied Kinloch. "Argyll is panic-struck by his defeat at Inverlochy, and, expecting nothing less than to see Montrose at Inverara, has summoned all the chieftains who owe him service to bring their vassals to the castle on St. Valent's day. By the help of Duncan I have concerted a tryst with Beatrice; and on the evening after her father leaves the island, she will wait on the little cladach under the east rock. We must be on the lake an hour after sunset. Duncan will provide the boat, and I trust to you and your brothers to be in my aid."
"We are as the sword in your belt and the gun on your shoulder," answered Angus.
As Kinloch was about to reply, his attention was drawn by the low restless growl of the dog, and, glancing down the ravine, he saw one of his men ascending the path with great haste. In a few minutes he reached the fall, and, without replying to the question of his master, delivered a small billet into his hand. As Kinloch glanced on the seal, his cheek came red as the collar of his crimson doublet, and, tearing open the paper, his eyes ran eagerly over the writing; but all at once his face changed deadly pale, and, turning suddenly to the attendant,—"Cross the larich[5] with all your speed," said he; "warn Eachain Mòr, and Donald Ladir and his brothers, to meet at the ferry of Glen Co an hour before sunset; bid them bring their mail-shirts and two-handed swords, and put balls in their pouches;—I shall wait you at Invercoe."
Angus stood silent amazement while Kinloch gave some further brief instructions to his vassal; but as soon as he had left them, Mac Donnel put the letter into the hand of his foster-brother. "Alan Mac Alan has discovered the tryst," said he; "Ardconnel is at Fraoch-Elan, and the bridal is fixed for to-morrow before vespers, in the convent-church of Inishail."[6]
The clansman ran quickly over the fair but trembling lines, which had been traced by the unsteady hand of Beatrice. "What will you do?" exclaimed he.
"That I know not yet," replied Kinloch, "but there is not a moment to lose. Alan Dubh has not discovered the assistance of Duncan; and while we wait your brothers, we will take farther counsel with the black clerk of Kilmoray, whose silk gown and grey beard are often better than coat of mail and steel winyard."
Angus threw his matchlock over his shoulder, and his brother leading the way, they bounded into the ravine, and fording the brook, were lost under the copse-wood which descended to the tower.
* * * * *
The day began to close within the cloister of Inishail. The stained light faded in the narrow casements, and faintly touched the tall pillars and white figures of the tombs around the chancel. One by one the lamps appeared like twinkling stars through the dim and solitary aisle, and the black figures of the monks glided like shadows across the choir, and vanished at their stalls; but not a sound disturbed the profound stillness, except the faint hum of the water and the slow toll of the vesper-bell, scarce audible within the building.
At length the bell ceased, the light was illuminated about the altar, the dark cowls of the monks appeared motionless in their stalls, and in a few moments the white figure of the abbot, followed by the procession of friars, entered the aisle and passed towards the choir. The priests were scarce seated when the faint sound of pipes pealed through the cloisters, and, as they gradually advanced, continued moving round the church with the wild thrilling clamour of a war-march.
The music stopped all at once, and in the succeeding pause the heavy measured tramp of feet approached through the cloister, and suddenly the black shadows of an armed crowd entered the aisle. As they passed forward, the flutter of female drapery appeared beyond the dark tartans and blue mail; and the veiled figure of Beatrice, attended by a white train of bride-maidens, moved slowly towards the altar. Supported by their arms, the bride advanced like an inanimate shadow through the crowd of gazing monks and warriors. Her face was wholly covered by the veil of her white plaid, but, as she passed, the quick palpitation of her breath was visible on the mantle, and the hand which held it had the cold lifeless whiteness of death. Except from her place in the procession, she had not been distinguished among the rest of the female figures; for her dress had no other ornament than the simplest of her attendants, and the plaids drawn over their heads discovered only the features of a few.
As the train approached the altar, the bride became visibly agitated, and once or twice her head moved as if her eyes glanced round for some object of hope or expectation; but there was none to meet them, except the black still figures of the monks; and as she drew her plaid closer to her face, her slender fingers trembled like a leaf.
At length the crowd gathered before the altar, and the black knight, who had closed the procession with his own followers, advanced to the rail; but the bride never lifted her eyes, nor offered any reply to a few eager words which he whispered at her cheek. The abbot stepped down to the rail and opened the missal, Alan Mac Alan fixed his stern eye upon the bride, and all at once the deep voices of the monks began the chorus of the service. The bridemaids fell on their knees before the rail, but the bride remained fixed and motionless, till Alan Dubh, taking her hand, signed to her to kneel, and she sank slowly down with the empty passiveness of an infant. The service proceeded without interruption, the care cloath was spread over the kneeling couple, the ring was placed on the finger of the bride, and the abbot was about to speak the final benediction, when several armed men rushed into the church, and, regardless of the sacred service, cried the alarm-cry of the Mac Naughtons, and, forcing their way towards the chiefs,—"Alaister Mac Coll-cedach has come down Glen O,[7] with all Montrose's Irish!" cried the foremost, "and is burning the lake-side down to the black wood[8] of Ardtuitle!"
As he spoke, a dusk-red glimmer shone through the east windows of the church, like the glow of the setting sun. The organ and the choir stopped at once, and the whole bridal company and many of the monks rushed towards the door. As soon as they passed the arch, they beheld the lights of burning houses, and pillars of glowing smoke glimmering through the distant darkness like a chain of watch-fires. Some of the conflagrations appeared as near as the crofts of Auchlian, and threw a dusky glimmer across the water, faintly touching the long black barges and confused figures of the armed men who were already hurrying into the boats or launching them from the shore.
Alan Mac Alan and the Black Knight never quitted the hands of the bride, while the vassals and monks hastened the female attendants on board the barges. In the darkness and confusion, one of the bridemaids was separated from her companions, and a group of monks who had been busy with their assistance suddenly hurried her into a small skiff which lay beyond the rest, and before any could follow, leaped into the boat and pulled off from the shore.
For some moments the shallop kept her course with the crowd of barges, but by degrees she edged away till their long black shadows disappeared one by one into the darkness. For a short time the plash of their oars could still be heard, but suddenly the boat changed her course, and, turning her head to the north, pulled straight across the lake. Not a word was spoken. Whether from alarm or ignorance of their direction, the lady made no observation nor inquiry; and as the black figures of the monks pulled at their oars, not a sound passed but the short dash of the strokes and the quick gurgle of the gliding boat.
The night was so still that every star twinkled in the black water, but their light was scarce sufficient to distinguish the pale figure of the bridemaiden in the stern of the boat; and it was only by a momentary shadow that the eye could discern the dark outline of a monk who sat beside her and steered the skiff.
He kept the helm direct for the Lettir-beann, the wide birch-wood which covers the lower half of Cruächan, and in less than an hour the broad red moon rose over Beann Luid, and shewed the dark shadow of the forest and the tall silvery stems of the birch-trees above the shore. The boatmen redoubled their strokes at the sight, and at length the shallop grounded under the deep shadow of the wood. The monks leaped out on the beech, and the steersman, supporting the maiden from her seat, lifted her gently to the sand. As she descended, her plaid loosened from the brotche, and, the breeze blowing back its hood, the faint moonlight glanced upon her face and illuminated the pale features of Beatrice of Fraoch-Elan. It was but a momentary blink, for a little white hand appeared from the fluttering mantle, and, drawing it close over her face, again confined it with the brotche.
The monk who had acted as steersman now gave his arm to assist her from the shore; and as soon as the rest had drawn up the boat, they ascended the steep bank into the wood, and in a few paces reached the path which leads towards Glenurchy. They had not gone a bow-shot when one of the party gave a low whistle, and immediately a boy, mounted on a black Highland garron, rode out from among the bushes. The man who supported Beatrice asked a brief question, in a low voice; and at the reply the monks hastily unbraced their knotted cords, and, throwing off their gowns and hoods, discovered the armed figures of Ranald of Kinloch and his five foster-brothers.
Each had a quilted acton and steel cap, a dirk and pistol at his belt, and the corch, or large black knife, concealed within his sleeve. There was a brief halt while they thrust their friars' weed under the bushes; and Ranald, hastily adjusting the pillion of the garron, lifted Beatrice to the seat. In a few moments they were ready to set forward; the gille beg proceeded in advance, to guide them through the darkness of the wood, and Ranald, walking at the shoulder of the horse, was followed by the formidable guard of his foster-brothers, now completely armed with their match-locks and pistols, and the heavy two-handed swords which they had been obliged to leave for their disguise.
* * * * *
While Mac Donnel pursued his retreat along the north side of Loch Awe, Alaister Mac Coll pressed forward, with fire and sword, towards Inverara. The numbers and valour of his celebrated legion left no thought for opposition, and the only consideration of Alan Dubh and the Black Knight was to remain secure within the walls of Fraoch-Elan. Their alarm, however, was chiefly excited for Beatrice; for though they had little apprehension that the objects of an inroad would incite an attack upon the fortalice, they much doubted lest the active and exasperated Kinloch should avail himself of the opportunity to attempt some enterprise to carry off his mistress. Continually expecting to see boats appear through the darkness, the two chiefs sat on either side of the bride, with their hands on their swords, and never quitted her arms until they led her under the portcullis of Fraoch-Elan.
Ardconnel's heart bounded when he heard the heavy grate fall behind him; but the bridal company had scarce entered the hall, when he was summoned by Alan Dubh to concert preparations against the chance of an assault. Before he left the bride he offered some hasty words of encouragement, which she heard with the same silence in which she had suffered the bridal ceremony; and the bridegroom, drawing back the plaid from her face, to offer a salute of consolation, suddenly started back at uncovering, not the fair pale features of Beatrice, but the round ruddy cheeks of dey[9] Margaret, her foster-sister!
For a moment he gazed upon the apparition, looked to her slender figure, and stood confounded at the resemblance of shape and stature, which had enabled her so well to personate her mistress. But suddenly seizing the wrist of the trembling maiden, he drew her forward after Mac Naughton. "Alan Mac Alan!" cried he, fiercely, "here is a damnable treason! and if with your knowledge, by St. Moray I will give light to your masking shall make the fire of Mac Colla like Friar Rush!"
Alan Dubh turned back, confounded at this address; but when he saw the face of Margaret under the plaid of his daughter, he uttered a shout of malediction which was heard in the gate. Immediately he called for the warder, the irons, and his daughter, in one breath; and the terrified maidens hiding their faces behind each other, he ran from plaid to plaid, till, discovering the entire absence of Beatrice, and the presence but of one bridemaid, the whole plot burst upon the confounded father and bridegroom. For several moments Mac Alan stood without speaking; but suddenly, "Malice!" said he, in a calm voice; "bring my hauberk, and let every man get on his arms."
"Of what use are arms?" cried Ardconnel, contemptuously. "How shall we follow, who know not the road? and besides, she is doubtless fled to yonder sons of Satan, who are setting the fire of hell to your corns and crofts on the Loch side."
"I care not for the road," replied Alan; "wherever it is, it is with Ranald of Kinloch; and where should his road lie, but to his own fortalice? If they have taken the south side of the lake, they must make the round of the Mealach, or Glen Lochie, and we shall cut them off by the Glens,[10] before they have crossed the Black Mount. If they are gone straight for Glen Co, we shall be but half an hour behind them; and it shall be hard but the deer's chourn[11] shall overtake the silk slipper on Beann-Ani."
Ardconnel gave a sullen acquiescence, but the whole tower was instantly filled with the clatter of mail and spear-staves; and in less than half an hour the long black line of barges, filled with glaves, hauberks, and steel bonnets, swept glittering through the moonlight water.
The bell of Caolchairn struck midnight as they passed under the castle, and disembarked upon the level meadows of the Coish, The party was not fifty paces below the path from the Lettir-Beann, and the moon shone so bright that they could have seen the white figure of Beatrice at a bow-shot distant. For a moment the chiefs paused upon the brae, and gazed towards the wood; but immediately the long clinking line of hauberks and glaves filed into the narrow path, and marched rapidly towards Glenurcha.
They had almost reached the ford where the road parts for Clachan Disart and Glen Strae, when they met a herdsman, who, from the general alarm of the inroad, was driving his cattle to join his friends, who had collected their herds under the walls of Castle Caolchairn. He had come by the very path which is the shortest track for Glen Co; and upon being interrogated if he had seen any who bore the description of Beatrice, immediately declared, that, not half an hour before, he had passed a lady, mounted on a black garron, and attended by six armed men, in whose bonnets he distinguished the badge of the Mac Donnels. Supposing them to be a party belonging to Alaister Mac Colla, he had driven his cattle among the bushes at their approach; but had lain concealed so near the path, that he overheard one of the men speak of passing into Glen Co's country, by Glen Eitive and Dalness.
At this intelligence Alan Dubh hurried forward the pursuit, and immediately ascending from the glen followed the path which leads over the range of mountains that separates Glen Strae from Glen Kinglass. As they ascended, the pursuers glanced to each grey stone or white birch that caught the pale moonshine, and more than once deceived them for the glitter of mail and the slender shape of a maiden figure. By degrees, however, the moon became obscured by shifting clouds, and a deep, black, sullen bank rose in the north, and gradually drew over the whole sky. The last light faded from the rocks as the pursuers passed the summit of Larich-Ouran; and as they descended into Glen Kinglass the darkness became so great, that each carnach could scarce discern the man by whom he was preceded.
They reached the narrow strath, forded the water, and followed the glen, without meeting any trace of their pursuit, till they came out beneath the deep woods of Glen Eitive. The night was profoundly still and close; not a breath of wind ruffled the broad lake, but a deep continual roar came from the mountain; and as they reached the bank of Alt-Chapel the black water was running over the largest stones with impetuous fury. The men made a sudden stand upon the brink, but all at once the sound of distant voices came through the thunder of the torrent. "Forward! forward! they are before us!" cried Alan Dubh; and, rushing into the water, the dark line of men locked their arms together, and after a moment's desperate struggle gained the opposite bank.
The voices were now lost; but the pursuers hurried on with unabated speed, though scarce able to distinguish the shadow of the scattered trees, when suddenly a flash of lightning shewed the distant summits of the mountains, and gave a momentary glimmer to their path. It discovered, however, no object but the grey rocks and doddered oaks; and the sound of their steps was lost in the distant but heavy peal of thunder which rolled down the glen. The rising storm seemed to give new energy to Alan Dubh. "Press on!" said he, "they will shelter from the tempest; or if not, there is no maiden may ride the Eitive."
For several hours they continued their march with unabated speed and constant vigilance. All night the thunder rolled before them, and the unceasing lightning played and glimmered about the black ridges of Glen Co, as if the spirits of the storm were engaged in battle on their summits. All at once a terrific explosion of light blazed in the north, and for an instant the whole mountain of Dalness seemed on fire with the white forked lightning, which ran like serpents upon the air. For several moments a deep dark pause succeeded, but suddenly an awful peal of thunder burst in the wind, and the earth and air seemed to tremble beneath the reverberation, which rolled over the mountains, and rebellowed from hill to hill, till it died away into the south.
Alan Mac Alan watched the tempest in silence, but his countenance betrayed no doubt nor fear for the fragile maiden, who was then exposed, unsheltered, to its fury; but after that terrific peal the lightning and the thunder continued to decrease, and the storm could be distinguished receding gradually into the west. As it passed away, a few large heavy drops of rain fell in Glen Eitive, but the close air remained still and breathless, as if it listened to the passing tempest.
The morning began to break as the pursuers approached the water of Eitive; but as soon as they came in sight of the stream they made a sudden halt. No mortal man nor horse could ford the swollen flood; and doubtful if Beatrice and her conductors could have passed before the rising of the water, Alan Dubh and the Black Knight debated whether to cross the river or search the neighbouring wood. At length they decided to leave a party of their followers behind the stream, and with the rest to hasten forward and gain the passes of Glen Co.
Having made the necessary division, the pursuers defiled over the tottering bridge, formed of the trunks of trees,[12] thrown from bank to bank; and having passed the narrow strath beyond, began to climb the steep chainof mountains which closes the extremity of Glen Eitive, and bounds the royal deer-forest of Dalness. The gushing streams and rain-worn rocks now gave evidence that they had reached the tract over which the storm had passed; and as the light advanced and they ascended on the hill, they discovered the grey trunks of the scattered pine-trees, blown over from the crags, and the slopes of the hill torn into deep gullies by the rain. The stream by which they ascended had brought down vast fragments of its rock, and upon one of the heaps of shingle, now deserted by the abating water, lay a little doe, which had been surprised and washed away by the sudden rise of the torrent.
The sun was about to appear as they ascended out of the deep black pass which leads towards Glen Co, and came upon the high naked drim, or back, which lies between Beann-Dubh and Scur-na-Bhouic. It is a wild, unsheltered, lofty ridge, so high above the natural region of vegetation, that it affords no plant but a short cold moss, which barely covers the black spongy soil. No trees have cast a seed so high, and, devoid of any pasture for the deer, it is frequented only by the solitary eagle, or a lonely fox crossing from the cairns. At intervals, a little black heap directs the track of the shepherds from glen to glen; and formerly, on the highest spot, the hunters had built a small hut, for shelter against the storms by which they were sometimes overtaken in passing from the forest.
As they approached this spot, "It should not be unlikely they might rest in the bothy," said an old Highlander, who followed Mac Alan. "There could be no better shelter, and they should never think to be followed into Glen Co's country, and Alaister Mac Colla in Glenurcha."
Mac Naughton made no reply, but his eye glanced eagerly for the hut, and he advanced up the steep with increasing speed. They had nearly reached the summit, when one of the Highlanders observed a bright object glittering on the moss; and as he came to the spot, discovered it to be a fragment of double mail. On lifting it, he immediately recognised the gusset of a hauberk; but several of the links were torn and twisted in an extraordinary manner, and some marked as if partly fused. His companions examined it with surprise; but as they proceeded they picked up the lock of a pistol, the hilt of a dirk, and several small fragments of dress and arms, till, as they came to the summit of the hill, they beheld a sight which froze them with horror.
Scattered over the moss and rocks lay the remnants of arms and garments, blackened, and singed, and torn to shreds. The tatters of actons and plaids were whirled high upon the precipices, and hung fluttering from the points of inaccessible rocks; and below lay a two-handed sword, split and shivered like a lathe, and near it the barrel of a match-lock, twisted and writhed like a hazel withe. No living being, nor any remains of a human body, were visible; but the prints of recent steps were deeply tracked in the moss, and it was easy to trace the short tread of a small horse, and the stride of several men, who appeared to have passed during the storm.
After the first pause of astonishment, the Highlanders looked round for the hut; but it was gone, and nothing appeared against the sky except the smooth naked line of the moss where it had stood. Alan Dubh hastened forward to the spot. The earth was raised, and swept to the bare rock; and in the scattered drift was marked a faint circular trace, like the vortex of a whirlwind. At a considerable distance, rafters and stones were scattered along the hill, and upon one of the beams hung the tatters of a white plaid and a broad fragment of yellow silk, resembling the embroidered breast of an acton.[13]
Mac Alan snatched the fluttering tartan from the tree, and spreading the folds beheld with horror the peculiar pattern of the arisad,[14] worn by the women of Glenurcha. For a long while he stood motionless and speechless, the torn plaid fast clenched in his hands, and his eyes fixed upon the sullied colours. At length he was aroused by the reiterated voice of Ardconnel, who hastily called his attention to the indistinct figure of a man, seated upon a large stone in the glen below. They called, but he did not answer nor turn his head; and the whole company hastily descended the hill towards the spot.
As they approached, they discovered a grey old man sitting on the stone; his bow lay on the grass beside him, and between his feet a large deer-lurcher, apparently dead, and his long hair scorched and stained with blood. Regardless of the clank of the armed steps which advanced towards him, the hunter continued leaning his face on his hand, his eyes fixed on the dog, and his grey head moving with a slow abstracted motion. There was a wild, fearful vacancy in his look; and as the Highlanders stopped and spoke to him, he returned no answer or notice, and continued with his gaze fixed upon the greyhound, till a beam of the rising sun flashing on his face from the bright corslet of Alan Dubh, he suddenly lifted his head. At the sight of the clear light he started up, and, breaking into a laugh of fearful exultation, waved his hand to the red sunshine. "The fire! the fire of heaven!" he exclaimed; "the battle of the spirits amidst the clouds!" and tossing his arms, he broke into a wild Ossianic song:
"They came in the fire of the sky,
Like the terrible spirit of Loda,
When he rides in the roar of a thousand storms,
And scatters battle from his eyes.'
He stopped suddenly, and pointing to the hill, leaned forward and muttered, in a low voice, "The fire ran upon the ground! the rocks were lifted in the wind!— Bran! Bran! Bran!—Where is my dog?"
He looked wildly round, but instantly sitting down, wept over the greyhound, and a momentary gleam of reason seeming to come to his mind, "Mo chu fein!" he whispered; "Bran of the winged foot! The fire and the wind came from the cairn—he was fleet as the great stag of the desert, but he could not fly from them!"
Again he relapsed into silence, while Alan Dubh strove in vain to rouse his abstraction, by an inquiry to ascertain if he had seen his daughter; but at length, as he endeavoured to awake his notice, by describing the nighean gheal (white maiden), and the brautche solas[15] (brotche of light) which she wore, he suddenly lifted his head: "Light! light!" he exclaimed, "it was all light!" And passing from one object to another, with the sudden transition of a maniac, he fell into that deep poetical Gaelic, which solitude, and the frequent recitation of ancient verse, rendered the familiar language of the old deer-stalkers. For a moment he pointed to the pass above.
"The White Lady sat on the stone!" said he, in a low voice;—"the tall warriors were around the hut. Gaul! Ossian of the stately steps—the mighty form of Fion! Their hands were on their great swords—their looks were in the glen!"
He stopped suddenly, and his voice changed to a low, almost inaudible whisper. "She was pale—pale—like the flower in the blast! Her tears fell with the rain: there was no hall—no house, but the cold moss—the wet rock, and the fire, and the wind, and the water, around her!" His voice sunk to an inarticulate murmur; but still he continued that fearful abstracted motion of his grey head; and at times they could distinguish in his muttering the recurrence of the words, "Tha mi trom! trom!—Tha mi trom, mo nighean bhoiach!"[16]
* * * * *
Alan Mac Alan returned to Fraoch-Elan, but Ranald and Beatrice never came to Kinloch. Days and weeks elapsed, and some thought they had gone to France, to King Charles and Glen Garry. But King Charles came to Holyrood, and Mac Mhic Alaister returned to Invergarry; but when the traveller passed Kinloch there was no smoke on the tower, and no light in the casement; and when he asked for Ranald and his foster-brothers, the old warder turned away his face, and shook his head, and gave no answer. But long after in the Glens the hunters said they were seen in the mountain of Dalness, and that the faint cry of a female voice was heard at night amidst the storms.
Months, years, centuries, the hunters and the deer have passed away; but the shepherds say they are still upon the hill, in the same habits as they were seen passing up Glen Eitive on the night that Alaister Mac Colla "burnt Loch Awe." Their appearance always indicates a tempest, and some think that it precedes the death of a Macdonnel. Before astorm, the White Lady is seen standing upon the green heap of cairn-bothan;[17] and more than once, at the twilight, Ian Dubh Drinachan, the last of the old race of deerstalkers, has met on the hill the gigantic figures of ancient-looking men, in the antique habit of the former Highlanders. Some have affected to rally his failing sight; and upon these occasions he generally shook his head, and made no reply: but if questioned "discreetly," he would describe the sharp-pointed bonnets of the unknown hunters, the long Spanish 'spunk' guns on their shoulders, and the gigantic two-handed swords on which they leaned, and seemed to watch the passes of Glen Eitive.
1. Cairn is applied to the natural formation of loose stones on a mountain, as well us to the artificial heap.
2. Welcome, my own foster-brother!
3. A small romantic island in Loch Awe, formerly the residence of the chiefs of the clan Mac Naughton, the ruin of whose castle is yet standing.
4. Ardconnel, on Loch Awe side, was the residence of the chieftain of a very ancient branch of the Mac Lauchlins. The principal seat of this clan was on Loch Fine, but some small families inhabited the braes of Lochabyr; their cean-tigh was standard-bearer to Lochiel.
5. A larich is an opening between the higher ridges of a mountain, through which the paths lead from one glen to another.
6. Inishail is an island in Loch Awe, formerly the seat of a Cistercian convent; a small part of the church and several tombs are yet remaining.
7. The route of this great inroad was from Inverlochie, by Lochleven, Glen Co, Glen Eitive, through Glen O, into Glen Urcha. Alaister Mac Coll-cedach, i.e. Alexander, son of left-handed Coll, was grandson to the Earl of Antrim, and captain of the two thousand auxiliaries which he sent to the aid of Montrose. His name has been turned into Kolkitto by the low-country Scots and English writers.
8. The wood is now destroyed, but the site is still indicated in the name of a farm, called Dubh-choille, the Black Wood.
9. Dey, a term for a milk-maid.
10. That labyrinth of narrow valleys which lies between Glen Eitive and Glen Strae is emphatically called "the Glens."
11. The ancient Highland brogue.
12. Such is still the only bridge in Glen Eitive; it lies over a deep narrow chasm, near the house of Dalness.
13. A destruction by lightning, exactly similar in its circumstances to that above described, took place at the close of the last century in Brae Mar: a party of eight or ten men disappeared, without any other traces of their awful fate than the remnants of arms and dress scattered upon the hill where they were last seen.
14. The white female plaid.
15. Solas, literally light, is a common term to express a bright object.
16. "I am sad! sad!—I am sad, beautiful maiden!"
17. The cairn of the hut.