Chapter XVI: A Legend of Montrose

Dalgetty--Dugald Dalgetty; Ritt-master Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket; learned graduate of the Mareschal College, Aberdeen; stalwart soldier; cavalier of fortune; lieutenant under that invincible monarch, the bulwark of the Protestant faith, the Lion of the North, the terror of Austria, Gustavus Adolphus; Captain Dalgetty; and finally Sir Dugald Dalgetty--stalks with egregious effrontery through the pages of this novel, from start to finish, dragging his good horse Gustavus along with him. He is a bore,--undeniably so. Yet we can laugh at his eccentricities in spite of their tediousness, especially when reading the novel a second time after the desire to know the outcome of the story has been satisfied. As an original character he stands by the side of Bailie Nicol Jarvie, although he does not arouse the same subtle feeling of delightful satisfaction. The Bailie is always welcome, but Dalgetty is everlastingly in the way. And yet we could not possibly get along without him. We can forgive his pedantry and overlook his interminable lectures on military strategy in view of the loyalty and courage with which he faces Argyle in the dungeon, compels that nobleman to furnish a means of escape and rescues Ranald of the Mist. Nor can we help admiring the very effrontery of the man, when he uses it to such excellent advantage in cajoling the Presbyterian chaplain, thereby causing {225} that worthy man to furnish the one thing needed to facilitate his safe retreat. The story might well have been called, as it is in the Italian and Portuguese versions, 'A Soldier of Fortune,' for Dalgetty, rather than Montrose, is the real hero. In this connection it is curious to note that, in so far as its chief incidents concern Montrose, the tale is not a legend, but history. The two important words of the title are both, therefore, slightly misleading.

The journey into the Highlands of the Marquis of Montrose, in disguise and attended by only two gentlemen, is a matter of history. It was in 1644, during the Civil War, when the forces of Charles I were being menaced by an army of twenty thousand men under the Scotch Covenanter, General Leslie. Montrose urged Charles to make a counter-demonstration in the North and to draw Leslie back to the defence of Scotland by uniting the Highlanders with a strong force of ten thousand Irish Catholics. At length, armed with extraordinary powers, as the representative of the King, he was permitted to set out with a small army of about one thousand men. These became dissatisfied, however, and most of them deserted. In despair Montrose now resolved upon the bold stroke which proved to be the beginning of his brilliant military record. Disguised as a groom and attended only by Sir William Rollo and Colonel Sibbald, he made his way to the Perthshire Highlands, where he was joined by Lord Kilpont, son of the Earl of Airth and Menteith, with about five hundred men. The Irish troops, after being in danger of complete extermination by the Marquis of Argyle, finally arrived, but mustered only twelve hundred men instead of ten thousand. They were ordered to march {226} to Blair Atholl, where Montrose met the Highland chiefs and sent out the call to arms. The 'fiery cross,' no doubt very much as described in 'The Lady of the Lake,' went out from house to house and from clan to clan, and Montrose soon had an army of three thousand men. He marched toward Perth, and at Tippermuir, four miles west of that city, defeated the Covenanters on the 1st day of September, 1644. Marching rapidly towards Aberdeen, he won another victory at the Bridge of Dee on the 12th of the same month.

With the swift movements which characterized his generalship, Montrose won many a battle. Meanwhile the Marquis of Argyle, whom most of the clans hated for his unscrupulous aggressions, was gathering a strong force on the shores of Loch Linnhe. In midwinter, with snow upon the ground, Montrose crossed the mountains with his army, a feat hitherto regarded as impossible, but quite within the compass of that leader's remarkable genius. He met Argyle at Inverlochy and defeated him with a loss of fifteen hundred men, his own losses being only one officer and three privates. Argyle's forces scattered in every direction and were pursued for many miles. The Marquis himself, regarding discretion as the better part of valour, turned over the command of his forces to his cousin and watched the battle from his ship--an act that was severely condemned as cowardice, even by his own friends. In extenuation it can only be said that Argyle, while an able politician and statesman, was never a soldier.

While Scott based his story upon these historical events, he departed from the facts in some of the less important details, to serve the purposes of his romance. {227} The most conspicuous of these variations is in the part played by Lord Kilpont, as the Earl of Menteith. According to the novel, the Earl is a young man who falls in love with Annot Lyle, a pretty little maiden living in the household of the McAulays and supposed to be a rescued waif of the hated and greatly feared tribe, known as the 'Children of the Mist.' Annot is also beloved by the half-crazy Highlander, Allan McAulay. Lord Menteith, so long as the girl's antecedents are supposed to be so lowly, can entertain no thought of marriage and so informs Allan. When it is discovered, however, that she is really the daughter of Sir Duncan Campbell, and the heiress of Ardenvohr, a family as honourable as his own, Menteith no longer hesitates, and as Annot has long reciprocated his affection, the marriage is easily arranged. Allan does not consent so readily, but hastily encounters the Earl and fiercely challenges him. Convinced that the man is insane, the Earl hesitates a moment, when Allan suddenly draws his dirk and with terrific force plunges it into the Earl's bosom. A steel corslet saves the latter's life, though a severe wound is inflicted, and in a few weeks he is well enough to be married and the ceremony takes place in Sir Duncan's castle. Allan meanwhile appears suddenly before the Marquis of Argyle at Inverary, throws a bloody dirk upon the table, makes a brief explanation, and disappears forever. The novel closes in the conventional way. The Earl of Menteith, adding his bride's large estate to his own, 'lived long, happy alike in public regard and in domestic affection, and died at a good old age.'

The Earl, Lord Kilpont, was not so fortunate. He was {228} suddenly stabbed by James Stewart of Ardvoirlich, a supposed friend with whom he was on terms of the closest intimacy. This event, which was immediately fatal, took place a few days after the battle of Tippermuir and not after Inverlochy. There was no question of jealous rivalry in love. Kilpont had been married about twelve years and left a family of several children. The most probable explanation is that Stewart, who had a streak of insanity owing to the frightful circumstances of his birth,[1] quarrelled with his friend at a time when he was heated with drink and killed him under some sudden mad impulse. He immediately deserted Montrose and was subsequently made a major in one of the regiments of Argyle, a fact which gave colour to the suspicion that he had sought Lord Kilpont's assistance in a conspiracy to assassinate Montrose, for which Argyle would have paid a rich reward, but upon meeting with an indignant refusal, struck his friend with a dirk as the readiest means of avoiding the betrayal of his plans.

Stewart, like McAulay, is described as 'uncommonly tall, strong, and active, with such power in the grasp of his hand as could force the blood from beneath the nails of the persons who contended with him in this feat of strength. His temper was moody, fierce, and irascible.' There was good reason for this savage disposition and for his implacable hostility toward the 'Children of the Mist,' his father and mother having been the victims of one of the most fiendish outrages which ever disgraced the history of the Highlanders.

The scenery of 'A Legend of Montrose' brings us back {229} to the people and the country which Scott described with so much enthusiasm in 'The Lady of the Lake' and again in 'Waverley' and 'Rob Roy.' To catch something of the spirit of it we drove westward from Callander and paused for a short time at the beautiful Falls of Leny, where the river of that name forms the outlet of Loch Lubnaig and the head waters of the river Teith. Here we may suppose Lord Menteith and 'Anderson,' the disguised earl, to be passing on their way to the north when they fell in with the garrulous Captain Dalgetty. Darnlinvarich, where the clans gathered, is wholly fictitious, the real meeting having taken place near Blair Atholl. One of the incidents which happened there is, however, based upon fact.

An Englishman, Sir Miles Musgrave, it will be remembered, had made a wager with Angus McAulay which threatened to embarrass that gentleman. When on a visit to the house of the former, Angus had seen six solid silver candlesticks put on the table. The Englishman rallied Angus a little, knowing that the sight was a novelty to the Scotchman, and the latter promptly swore that he had more and better candlesticks in his own castle. A wager was immediately offered and accepted that the Scotch laird could not produce them, the amount being so large that its payment would have embarrassed either party, but more particularly the Scotchman. The Englishman appeared with a friend at Darnlinvarich, just at the time of the arrival of the Earl of Menteith and his party, and there was great anxiety over the apparently certain loss of the wager. But Allan, the brother of Angus, was equal to the emergency. Dinner was announced and the company marched in. A large {230} oaken table, spread with substantial joints of meat, was set for eight guests, and behind each chair stood a gigantic Highlander, in full native costume, holding in his right hand a drawn broadsword, the point turned downward, and in his left a blazing pine torch. Then Allan stepped forth, and pointing to the torch-bearers, said in a deep and stern voice: 'Behold, gentlemen cavaliers, the chandeliers of my brother's house, the ancient fashion of our ancient name; not one of these men knows any law but their Chief's command. Would you dare to compare to _them_ in value the richest ore that ever was dug out of the mine? How say you, cavaliers?--is your wager won or lost?' 'Lost, lost,' said Musgrave, gaily; 'my own silver candlesticks are all melted and riding on horseback by this time, and I wish the fellows that enlisted were half as trusty as these.'

The meeting of the clans was interrupted by an unwelcome guest, Sir Duncan Campbell, who came with a message from Argyle. Captain Dalgetty was appointed to return with him, under a flag of truce, and together they journeyed to the Castle of Ardenvohr, the residence of Sir Duncan.

The ancient Celtic fortress here described is the ruined castle of Dunstaffnage, reached by a short drive north from Oban. Its origin is unknown. According to one tradition, it was founded by a Pictish monarch, contemporary with Julius Cæsar. In its present shape the building probably dates from about 1250. It fell into the hands of Robert Bruce in 1308. The castle is a heavy structure of stone, standing on a solid rock, and protected by the waters of Loch Linnhe on three sides. It was originally accessible only by a drawbridge. It is {231} about one hundred and forty feet long and one hundred feet wide. The walls are ten feet thick and sixty feet high.

This ancient castle is the place where the Scottish princes were once crowned. They sat on the same stone that was used at the recent coronation of King George V, and of a long line of his predecessors,--the famous Stone of Scone. This ancient relic was carried from Ireland to the Island of Iona, and thence to Dunstaffnage, where it remained many years. Kenneth MacAlpine, in the ninth century, removed it to the palace of Scone, near Perth, where it remained five centuries. It was finally seized by Edward I and carried to London, where it has remained for the last six centuries.

A knoll on the south of the castle curiously suggests the Drumsnab of the novel, which Dalgetty insisted should be fortified according to his own military ideas. The castle of Inverary, on the shore of Loch Fyne, has been replaced by a magnificent modern mansion, the seat of the present Duke of Argyle. The secret passage to the dungeon, under the old castle, through which the novelist supposes the Marquis to have visited his prisoners, was suggested by a similar arrangement in the castle of Naworth, to which I have previously referred.[2] A private stairway leads from the apartment of Lord William Howard to the dungeon, by which the experiment of Argyle might have been and doubtless was practised.

A sail of less than four hours, from Oban, north through the picturesque channels of Loch Linnhe, brought us to Fort William. From this point we walked about two miles to the battle-field of Inverlochy and the {232} ruins of the old castle of that name, which we found to be in a sadly neglected state, far different from its neighbour, Dunstaffnage. The four walls of the enclosure may still be seen, but everything is in a ruinous condition. An antiquated horse with large protruding hip-bones was grazing in what was once the moat, and before taking a picture I was about to ask a boy to chase him away. But on second thought I let him stay, because he harmonized so perfectly with the surroundings.

The courtyard is about one hundred feet square. The walls are nine feet thick and of varying height. Like Dunstaffnage the castle is so old that its early history is shrouded in mystery. Tradition ascribes its origin to the Comyns, near the end of the thirteenth century. The view in every direction is charming. Across the river Lochy, a small stream which joins the Caledonian Canal to the waters of Loch Linnhe, may be seen the town of Banavie, and in the distance the highlands of Inverness-shire. In the opposite direction we could barely see the peaks of Ben Nevis, peeping through the mists that hung over the mountains. To the north are the heights of Lochaber over which the Marquis of Montrose made his famous march of thirty miles by an unfrequented route, during a heavy fall of snow, and suddenly confronted his enemy in the night, when they supposed him to be far away in another part of the country.

I think this novel must have been inspired by Scott's admiration of the 'Great Marquis,' whose brief but brilliant campaign in the Highlands appealed to his imagination just as the longer career of Rob Roy had done. It took him back among the picturesque people whom he loved to describe, and amidst scenery where {233} he had roamed with never-failing delight. The one possession in the remarkable antiquarian collection at Abbotsford which Scott cherished more than any other--more even than Rob Roy's gun--was the sword of Montrose, presented to the Marquis by Charles I and formerly the property of the monarch's father, King James. Sir Walter thought a dialogue between this sword and Rob Roy's gun might be composed with good effect. It seems a pity he did not undertake it. The sword bears on both sides the royal arms of Great Britain. The blade is handsomely ornamented, the hilt is finished in open scrollwork of silver gilt, and the grip is bound with chains of silver, alternating with bands of gold.

Scott did not follow the fortunes of his hero beyond the battle of Inverlochy, where he left him in triumph. Montrose continued his success until, on the 15th of August, 1645, he reached his climax in the decisive victory of Kilsyth. He was now the master of Scotland, but, unfortunately, fate deprived him of the fruits of his genius. Summoned to England to meet the exigencies which threatened the King, and unable to hold his Highlanders for an invasion of the South, he was attacked at Philiphaugh by Leslie, who easily overcame the small opposing force. Montrose escaped to the Highlands, but was never again able to organize an army. After spending the next few years abroad, he returned to Scotland in 1650, where, after failing again to summon the clans, he was betrayed and carried a prisoner to the Tolbooth in Edinburgh. On the 21st of May, when only thirty-eight years old, he was hanged in the Grassmarket and bravely met his death.

[1] The story is related at length in the Introduction to _A Legend of Montrose_.

[2] Pages 20 and 43.

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