Chapter 13
Still we may remark the ruined chapel almost smothered by the overturned yew trees that were planted, less, perhaps, to mark the "route" of the Mass carried in procession (hence "routine," corrupted into "Rotten Row,") than to furnish the twanging bow for these martial spirits. That great boulder-stone at the north-eastern end of the magnificent avenue opposite is, most likely, a Roman landmark, though it is customary to declare that the Earn once flowed past it. Colonel Campbell of Lawers was not only a sincere reformer, but John Knox's history tells us how he commanded a regiment raised to make good the cause of religious faith and freedom. His second successor was a yet more staunch and eminent Scotsman, knighted in 1620, and created Earl of Loudon in 1633. He proved himself a stout opponent of the arbitrary measures of Charles I. and Laud; was one of the most prominent actors in the Glasgow Assembly of 1638, and nominated to represent the Church of Scotland in the Westminster Assembly of Divines. He narrowly escaped being beheaded in the Tower of London, in spite of a safe conduct and without trial; but the fiat of the insensate monarch was recalled, and the warrant torn up by Charles a single day before the axe was doomed to fall, from fear of the odium and vengeance his death would have called forth. Not to remain Chancellor of Scotland (as he was for ten years) would he imperil the interests of religious liberty and national independence, just then threatened by Stuart absolutism; and yet he was a man of the type of the great Montrose, as loyal to the King as he was true to Church and people. Few deserve better to rank among "The Scots Worthies." He disponed Lawers estate to his brother, who, fighting against Cromwell at Inverkeithing, was badly beaten, and had his lands on the north of Loch Earn taken from him by an oppressive exaction put in force against him by the same Stuart dynasty, whose cause he had so faithfully championed.
A thrilling tale introduces the next laird of Lawers, son of the last named. He executed a punitive commission against his uncanny neighbours, the Macgregors, who determined on revenge. They surprised him at Lawers in bed, and threatened instant death, even in his wife's presence. He urged for time to pray, and that it might be for quietness in the chapel hard by, which request they granted. On the way thither he so played on their cupidity, offering them 10,000 merks if they would spare his life, that at last he prevailed. Faithful to his engagement, he raised this immense sum, much of it being gathered in halfpence, and carried on horseback to the appointed trysting-place. But Lawers was better than his word, for soldiers surrounded the house, and made the Macgregors prisoners. The game ended with checkmate, when the duped freebooters paid the death penalty in Edinburgh. Colonel David R. Williamson, the present laird of Lawers, has been long noted for his public spirit and eminent services to agriculture.
Tomachastel, the central wooded height of the parish, now surmounted by the monument, erected by his widow, in 1832, to the memory of General Sir David Baird of Ferntower, is marked out beyond all reasonable doubt as the site of the ancient Castle of Earn, for long the fortress dwelling of the great and powerful Earls of Strathearn. The title is now merged in the names of Royalty, like the Dukedoms of Rothesay and Albany. Our own beloved Queen's father was the Duke of Kent and Strathearn, as her third son is Duke of Connaught and Strathearn. No situation within the wide strath can compare with it in fair and far-reaching prospect, combined with facilities for defence; and the lighting of its beacon fire would be so universally observed over a wide domain that a personal summons, like that of the fiery cross, would scarcely be needed. Romance and gruesome horror are strangely blended here; for was it not from the walks in close proximity to the castle that the fair Lady Mary Graham, only daughter of stout old Malise, Earl of Strathearn, espied her future husband, John Moray of Drumshergart, fishing in the well-stocked pools below? And did he not find her society more engrossing than any (whole or half) scaly inhabitant of the mermaid's pool? The Morays of Abercairny estate (the fair lady's marriage portion) and many another territorial family claim descent from the union of these happy lovers. The rough hospitality, and swift, if not always impartial, administration of feudal justice are themes inviting to historic imagination; nor is the religious element wanting, for the Earls of Strathearn, besides founding Inchaffray Abbey, endowed the Bishopric of Dunblane with one-third of their domains. A sad and shameful story links the castle with the good King Robert the Bruce, and probably brought about its destruction. Joanna, only child of the seventh Earl, was Countess in her own right, and married to John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, and English Governor of Scotland. The husband and wife had different minds and purposes. The lady was found guilty of conspiracy, with Lord Soulis of Hermitage Castle and others, against the life of the good King Robert. She confessed her offence, and was condemned to perpetual imprisonment within her own castle. Constant tradition affirms that it was set on fire and burnt to the ground, whether as the result of accident or a successful siege. One story tells how the Earl tried to save his wife, but failed from the irresistible power of the flames. The castle became a ruin, and was never re-built. Actual observation, after more than 500 years, has confirmed the truth, in this case stranger than fiction. Sir David Baird, the hero of the Nile, Cape of Good Hope, Corunna, and Seringapatam (remembered by the oldest folk for hunting with hawks, attended by a native Indian), having died at Ferntower in 1832, was first buried in Monzievaird Churchyard, and old people still recall the extraordinary storm of thunder and rain which signalised his funeral day. His widow prepared the massive monumental obelisk of granite, said to be exactly similar to Cleopatra's Needle, since struck by lightning in 1878, and badly rent, but now restored. It required foundations broad and deep. Most of the stones of the old castle had gone to form dykes in the neighbourhood. The workmen, thinking they had to deal with solid rock, proceeded to blast it, when to their amazement the charge of gunpowder, instead of only throwing stones and debris into the air, operated downward and revealed a dungeon cut in the solid rock. There lay all that remained of the proud and daring Joanna, Countess of Strathearn and Princess of the Orkneys. A few gold and silver bracelets and ornaments, belonging to a lady's dress, were found among the black rubbish with another trinket, teaching the old, old lesson, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."
It only remains to describe the antiquities of Strowan. There was a Thane of "Struin" in Strathearn, in very early times, when Thanes were servants of the King, holding their land in fee-farm for a certain "census," or feu-duty. Strowan, like Monzievaird, had a Celtic saint for founder--St. Ronan. He is not to be identified with the saint of that name, of whom the venerable Bede records that he championed the later Roman method of calculating the time of the Easter festival against Bishop Finan of Lindisfarne, who stoutly held the Columban rule. Rather may we count him the same with the Abbot of Kingarth, in Bute (died 737 A.D.), and founder of Kilmaronog, on Loch Etive, the parish of similar name in Dumbartonshire, and the Parish Church of Iona, called after him "Tempul Ronain." St. Ronan's name is to this day associated with his well, the pool that never failed to supply him with fish on Fridays; the ruins of the old church or chapel, and St. Ronan's bell. Tradition says that the Cross of Crieff was taken from Strowan to Crieff upwards of 200 years ago. The market cross of Strowan now stands on a small mound west from the old kirk and near the mansion-house. A fine old lime tree which shaded it succumbed to the unprecedented storm of November, 1893; and all who know the venerable Laird of Strowan hope that he may live to see the young lime sapling with which he lately replaced it grow up to cast its shade over the cross once more. The latter is Maltese in form; and has on it, besides the initials of the Latin inscription on the Saviour's cross, I.N.R.I., the Moray star, and other symbols. It was probably taken from the churchyard. The arches of the bridge, with its narrow roadway and parapet, and little cities of refuge for foot-passengers, are not of a hoary antiquity; but the pillars, on which at one time planks used to be laid for crossing, are much older. The Kirk-Session records contain many entries of sums paid to the boatman for ferrying parishioners from the north side to Strowan Church. Picturesque ruin though the church is, it is not 230 years old in any part, and public worship on alternate Sundays was performed there till the beginning of this century. In 1669 the previous church was still standing, and in such repair that an application was made to the Synod to require the lairds of Monzievaird, Ochtertyre, Fordie, Clathick, &c., to attend the Church of Strowan in consequence of Monzievaird Church having become ruinous and past repair. The Commissioners of Teinds had ordered one church to be built near the present site, but the heritors of each of the united parishes did their best to evade complying. Two graves are deserving of special mention. One is the resting-place of "fair Helen of Ardoch"; the other marks the place of repose of the eldest son of the House of Strowan, who laid down his life on the sands of Tel-el-Kebir, bravely advancing to the charge against the Egyptian lines.
St. Ronan's Bell is preserved at Strowan House. It is small, circular, and looks as if it had been made to be grasped by the hand. Tradition says it was rung under the bell-man's gown when mass was said in Romish times. The tongue is wanting. Some say it never had one, but was meant to be struck from without. It never could have been heard afar off. Close scrutiny proves it to be slightly cracked. But worthless for music, it is excellent for law! It is the symbol of tenure of Ballindewar or Dewarland. (Dewar is from the Gaelic for keeper). The Dewars were the hereditary beadles of Strowan, and keepers of St. Ronan's bell. They held their croft free of all cess, stipend, or public burden, as it still remains. When the present Laird of Strowan negotiated at a high price the purchase of this piece of land, he received with "the bellman's pendicle" the bell itself as the charter of the feu lands, and as custodier of all rights of the same.
The saddest feature in making this short survey of the united parish is the great and continuous decline of the population. In 1755 there were 1460 people; in 1793 there were 1025; in 1891 the number had sunk to 490. No doubt the livelier prospects of town life allure many. No doubt many have profited by the fact of removal. The agricultural outlook appears gloomier than ever, which tends to restrict the area under cultivation. But it cannot be gainsaid that many have had to remove from the mistaken policy of adding land to land and field to field. It is breaking down when viewed in the sole interest of the proprietor; how much more is it found wanting when viewed from the standpoint of the wider interests and welfare of our common country?
The minister of Monzievaird and Strowan most likely to achieve immortality is the Rev. William Robertson, the gifted versifier and author of Hymns 3--"Thee God we praise, Thee Lord confess," the Monzievaird _Te Deum_, and 311--"A little child the Saviour came," the first baptismal hymn, in the Scottish Hymnal. To him the account now given, incomplete as it is, owes more than to any other. He has also cast into verse that seems worth preserving his parish musings in the following lines:--
A shady knoll o'erlooks a dale Where Earn meanders down the vale; A knoll enwreathed in oak and fern, The sweetest nook in all Strathearn. The morn there breaks with earliest ray, Here latest shines the lingering day, There summer reigns supremely fair, And winter ev'n is lovely there. Its eastern prospect looks entire Along the glades of Ochtertyre; Its south, a mountain forest shade By dark blue pine and larches made; While lone Glenartney in the west Lies cradled like a turtle's nest, And huge Benvoirlich crown'd with snow Defends the smiling glens below. Dear shady knoll, whose varied view Enfolds green field and mountain blue, How oft at morn and eventide I've strolled around thy stony side And listened to the artless song That swell'd the glorious vale along! Mark'd where the sunbeams kindliest fell On rocky ridge and heathery dell, And yielded all my soul to share The teachings of a scene so fair! In storm or calm, thy grateful shade My fond retreat was ever made. There have I marked the thunder cloud Invest all heaven with sable shroud; There heard the peal arouse again The echoes of the Turret glen, While Auchingarroch from afar Rolled back the elemental war; There have I watched wing'd lightning play Adown Glenartney's rugged way, Or gild each flinty summit hoar From Callander to far Ken More; There seen the Ruchill deluge foam, And o'er the strath in eddies roam, Sweeping beyond the power to save A golden harvest on its wave.
* * * * *
High on my left, unstained by storm, An obelisk uprears its form; Commemorates in fitting style Heroic deeds upon the Nile, When he who conquered in Mysore To Afric's sands his legions bore, And showed the trembling prince and slave The gentleness of one that's brave. Yet on that monumental stone More feats of high renown are shown, Where he a prisoner and enchained, At last his noblest laurels gained: Lived to avenge each treacherous wrong, And triumph when he suffered long. There, too, his brilliant tasks to cope, 'Tis told he seized the Cape of Hope; And sad Corunna's bloody shore But added to his fame the more. A widow's love the warrior praised, A widow's love the column raised; And yet that column tall and bold, Traced in the lines of Egypt old, Arises as a new cut stone Amid the dust of ages gone; For while it tells of yesterday, It stands upon the summit grey Where stately tower and donjon stern Were keep and tomb of fair Strathearn; Where Wallace oft his prowess tried, And royal Bruce in valour vied. Talk we of Bruce? By yon dark wood The Comyn's ancient fortress stood-- That traitor whose unhappy fate Still on the monarch's conscience sate, And urged him in a zeal divine To send his heart to Palestine.
See where the waters dash aside, And swiftly round the thicket glide, Where mossy crag and fan-like bough Inshade the torrent far below. Within a towery wilderness Of nature's wildest gorgeousness, There rose in architecture quaint The cell of Strowan's valiant saint-- A soldier-priest whose claymore long Was more persuasive than his tongue; Here stands his cross, there flows his well, Here still is seen his holy hell; Here, ivy-mantled, still remain The ruins of the ancient fane, Where once to heaven the anthem rose, And silent now the loved repose.
On every side each scene has store Of song and legendary lore; Each stream has still its story true, Each height some bloody conflict knew; Each crag must give its meed to fame, And consecrate a hero's name. High o'er the rest, all bleak and dern, Moulders the royal Kenneth's cairn, Who for his crown his good sword bared, And fell in fight at Monzievaird. Even in their church, the doom of fire Consumed the clan of Ochtertyre; And in his home across the plain, Old Drummond-Ernoch was slain; Sons of the mist avenged their dead, And bore away his grisly head.
Old tales like these, old legends true, Spring up where'er I turn my view-- From Turret's glen and brawling wave, From Tosach's keep and fairy grave, From Ochtertyre's unfading bower, From Comyn's lone and moated tower, From where our chief with skilful eye Watched wonders in the midnight sky, From Tomachastel's haunted brow, From cell for Ronan's prayer and vow, From lordly Drummond's forest wall, From Lochlane's grim empannelled hall, From stately Turleum clothed in pine, And every height surrounding mine. 'Twere idle then each tale to tell, Of ancient feat by stream or dell, From Benychonzie's snow-clad breast To green Glenartney in the west, Or round by sweet Dunira's den, Where "bonnie Kilmanie gaed up the glen." No need I ween of distant view My sauntering footsteps hence to woo; No need of song or knightly feat To add new charm to my retreat. Its own associations claim Far better meed than modern fame, With books and scenes and neighbours sage, I commune with a former age.
BETWEEN STRATHALLAN AND STRATHEARN
By Rev. JAMES MACGIBBON, B.D., Blackford.
The name Blackford was given, according to tradition, by an ancient king of Caledonia, whose experience in passing the River Allan at this point was of the saddest. The stream spread itself out in those days, says the story, so as to be more lake than stream. When the king came to it with his queen and suite the waters were deep and the current strong. It must have been at night surely, if we are to have any faith in the tale, for the poor queen was carried away beyond help and hope. They drained the strath dry to recover the body; and a solitary knoll on the Allan's bank some way below the present village marks the place where they found and buried the remains of fair Queen Helen. Hence the name Blackford. In the days of the Roman occupation the legionaries frequented this upper part of Strathallan, and have left traces of their presence. Many of them, indeed, must have quartered near; for at the Loaninghead, about two miles east of the village, there is an undeniable Roman camp, an outpost of the great camp at Ardoch.
But the earliest historical reference to Blackford is in Blind Harry's "Acts and Deeds of Sir William Wallace." After taking the peel of Gargunnock, Wallace and his men passed up Strathallan on the way to Methven, and at Blackford met a party of the English, whom they slew, and threw their bodies into the Allan.
"At yai Blackfurd, as at yai suld pass our,[1] A squeir come, and with hym bernys four. Till Doun suld ryd and wend at yai had beyne All Inglismen, at he befor had seyne. Tithings to sper he howid yaim amang. Wallace yarwith swyth with a suerd outswang. Apon ye hede he straik with so great ire, Throw bayne and brayne in sondyr schar ye swyr. Ye tothir four in hands sone wer hynt, Derfly to dede stekyt or yai wald stynt. Yar horss yai tuk, and quhat yaim likit best, Spoilzied yaim bar, syne in the brook yaim kest."
Further on in the same story, we learn that Wallace after slaying Fawdoune, and seeing his ghost at Gask Hall, rode south, hotly pursued by the English. He forded the Earn at Dalreoch, and crossed the Muir of Auchterarder. "Ye horss was gud," but the forced pace sorely taxed its strength; so "at ye Blackfurd" he alighted and walked. After he had gone a mile his pursuers overtook and harassed him. They had great advantage, being on horse, while he was on foot; yet Wallace beat back the foremost of them, recovered his seat, and fled towards Sheriffmuir.
"Quhil yat he cum ye myrkest mur amang,[2] His horss gaiff our and wald no furthyr gang."
Then, rather than let the steed fall into the hands of the enemy,
"His houch sennownnis he cuttyt all at anys, And left hym yus besyde ye standand stanys. For Southrone men no guid suld off hym wyn. In heith haddyr Wallace and yai can twyn."
In the year 1488, according to the Lord Treasurer's accounts, King James IV., returning from his coronation at Scone, halted at Blackford for refreshment:--"Item--Quhen the King cum forth to Sanct Johniston for a barrel of Ayll at the Blackfurd, xijs." Again, on November 7, 1496, on a journey from Methven to Stirling:--"Item--That samyn day at the Blackfurd quhaire the King baytit for corn to the horss, ii.s."; and the same year, on the way to Perth, March 12th--"Item--Giffen at the Blackfurde quhair the King drank as he raid by, xiiii.d." In 1498 there is the curious entry:--"Item--xxv March, to ane woman of the Blackfurde that brocht coppis to the King and at the Kingis command, xiij.s. iiii.d." These "coppis," probably wooden drinking cups or quaichs, were evidently of some value according to the reckoning of that day. A more quaint and artistic record of this monarch's doings was made later in Tullibardine. Pitscottie tells that in 1511 King James IV. built "ane very great monstrous schip," called "The Micheall." Nearly all the woods of Fife were cut down to provide the necessary timber, in addition to that brought from Norway. A year was spent in the building, and the cost to the King was L40,000. When complete she was manned by 300 sailors, 120 gunners, and 1000 "men of warre," besides officers. The dimensions of this leviathan were 240 feet long, 36 feet broad, and the sides 10 feet thick, "so that no cannon could doe at hir"; "and if any man believes that this schip was not as we have schowin, latt him pas to the place of Tullibardyne quhair he will find the breadth and length of hir sett with hawthorne."[3] Three of these thorn trees were standing in 1837; none of them exist now. A farmer, to improve his field, rooted them out, and did his best to fill up the hollow representing the hull; but spite of these obliterations, the plan of the great ship may be traced yet.
At what date the historic ford was superseded or assisted by a bridge we cannot tell. Some kind of primitive structure evidently existed about the year 1700; for in 1703 the Kirk-Session Records minute that Mr Archibald Moncrieff, the minister, caused his elders to make a collection throughout the parish, "being that when there came rain that did raise the waters a great many people were stopt from coming to ye kirk, and such as came behoved to wead if they wanted horse, which was very discouraging." Thereafter one James Waddel is commissioned "to repair the bridge upon Allan, and he is to bring hom some great trees from ye wood for helping ye same, and over each of ye two streams of ye water there is to be put four trees, at least three of greater size, and they are to be covered with fells and sand."
In 1715, being uncomfortably near the Sheriffmuir, Blackford was seriously disturbed. For four Sundays, between October 23d and November 27th, the church was closed, and again for eight Sundays between December 3rd, 1715, and February 5th, 1716. In the latter interval, as we learn from an account preserved by the Maitland Club, Blackford was burned to the ground by a party of Highlanders. The minister "had stayed at home, preached and prayed for King George and success to his arms, till he was threatened, and parties sent to seize him from the garrisons of Tullibardine and Braco, upon which he was forced to retire and shelter himself with some of his well affected friends." His wife remained, however, and had the presence of mind, so soon as she learned what had happened, to call for "a trusty servant, and by force of money and promises prevailed with him to go to Stirling ... to give ane account to the General and other officers there what was done and acted at Blackfoord." Such is the last eventful incident in the secular history of the parish.
II.