Part 29

If you will be pleased to remember, gentlemen, I already told you, that previous to the fourteenth century the whole of Strathspey was subjeck to that great clan or nation the Cumins. It was about that period, as I informed you, that the Grants, from Glen Urquhart, were, by royal favour, enabled to possess themselves of Freuchie,--a place of strength, so called from a certain heathery hillock near to which it stood. The Cumin's tower was probably part of that original building which, in the course of generations, has grown up into that great baronial pile which we now behold yonder. It is natural to imagine that the Cumins could not possibly regard this alienation of the property of their clan without its begetting their hatred against those who benefited by it, though they dared not always to show it by open deeds of violence. Their submission, however, was by no means owing to their weakness, for, notwithstanding that the Grants thus got a footing in this country, so powerful did the Cumins continue for a while, that many were the strangers that came from other clans to reside among them for protection, as was not uncommon in that olden time of trouble; these fugitives changed their own names for that of the people among whom they had thus found a safe retreat. But they were never admitted to a full participation in all the rights of the clan Cuminich, without submitting to undergo a very odd sort of an irreverential baptism, altogether worthy of the iron age in which it was practeesed.

Gilbert Cumin, Lord of Glenchearnich, as that country, watered by the river Dulnan, was denominated, was usually called Gibbon More, from his enormous size and strength. His chief residence was at Kincherdie, on the north-western bank of the Spey, on the brink of the river, just where there is now a ferry across to Gartenmore, the vurra place, sir, where, as you have recorded in your book of "The Floods," the worthy Mrs. Cameron made her miraculous voyage upon a brander. The old chronicler tells us, that the house stood on a green moat, fenced by a ditch, the vestiges of which are yet to be seen. A current tradition beareth, that at night a salmon net was cast into the pool below the wall of the house, and a small rope tied to the net, and brought in at the window, had a bell hung at it, which rung when a salmon came in and shook the net, so that the beast was quickly transferred from the river to the pot. What think ye of that, Mr. Clifford?

Clifford.--Very ingenious! but foul poaching.

Well, whilst Gibbon More Cumin flourished, the ceremony of Cumin-making was always performed by his own hands. At the door of his castle there stood a huge stone, which I have often myself seen when I was a boy, and which, for ought I know, may be still in existence. It was hollowed out in the middle like an ancient baptismal font, and, indeed, it is by no means unlikely that it had been originally formed as such. Be this as it may, however, Gibbon More had it always filled with water for the refreshment of his fowls. But, besides its uniform devotion to the truly ignoble purposes of his poultry, it was also employed by him in the unseemly rites to which I have referred. When any of the strangers of whom I have spoken had a desire to be metamorphosed into a Cumin, he was brought incontinently to Kincherdie. There the gigantic Lord of Glenchearnich, with the observance of very great and decorous form, lifted him up, and having slowly and solemnly reversed the natural perpendicular position of the poor sinner, he held him up by the heels, as Thetis did her infant boy Achilles, and having dipped his head three times amid the pollutory potation, as I may call the hen's water that filled the hollow stone, he set him, gasping and gaunting, upright on his legs again, telling him, in a stately tone, henceforward to live and do like a Cumin as he now was. But, notwithstanding this cantrip of Gibbon More's, there was a marked distinction still preserved between those who were Cumins by blood and those who were thus manufactured by him by virtue of the chuckies' water, for these children of adoption and their descendants had always the degrading addition given to them of Cuminich clach-nan-cearc, or Cumins of the hen-trough.

It happened, about the time I am speaking of, that young Sir John Grant, son and heir of Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock, now the Laird of Freuchie, did one evening thus hold converse with a curious misformed waggish boy, who had no father, and who went by the familiar name of Archy Abhach, or Archy the Dwarf. Kicked and cuffed as the youth had been about the castle, Sir John had taken compassion on him, and had made him his page; and the boy's gratitude and attachment were consequently great.

"Why look ye so sad, sir?" demanded the boy, gently approaching his master, as he sat one evening on the battlement of the bartizan, looking towards the setting sun, with his head resting on the basket-hilt of his claymore, and his legs swinging about, as if he cared not whether he should swing himself over the wall or not. "Can poor Archy do nothing to rid thee of thy melancholy mood?"

"Nay, boy," said the knight, kindly taking his hand, "I doubt thy powers can scarcely reach my malady."

"As yet thou knowest not the extent of my powers," said the boy gravely, "nor can I show thee my remedy till thou makest me to know thy disease. Yet, methinks, my skill is such that I might dare shrewdly to guess at it. Hast thou not ta'en a heart-wound from a pair of bright eyes?"

"So far I must needs say, that, judging from this first effort of thine, thy skill in divining is not to be questioned," said the knight.

"I will adventure further then, and say, that the slanting beams of yonder declining sun are now gilding the casement of thy lady-love," said the boy Archy.

"O Archy, Archy!" cried the knight, giving full way to his feelings, "I have never enjoyed a moment's peace since I beheld her at Whitsuntide at the church of Inverallan. She is an angel."

"Granting that she be so," said the boy, "for such they tell me must, reason or none, be yielded to all lovers--yea though the fair cause of their madness should be little less than a devil--granting, I say, that she be an angel, surely that should be no reason why thou shouldst thus mope and pine, Sir Knight."

"Thou forgettest, boy, that the hatred naturally born between a Cumin and a Grant forbids all hope on my part," said Sir John despondingly.

"Methinks I could bring thee an instance where this hatred hath been exchanged for love," said the boy.

"Where? when? with whom?" cried the knight eagerly.

"Here--now--and with Sir John Grant towards Matilda or Bigla Cumin, as she is called in the country here, daughter and heiress of the big Lord of Glenchearnich," replied the boy laughing.

"Pshaw!" cried the knight, with a disappointed air.

"Nay, dear master," said the boy; "and if thou hast been able to get over this natural-born antipathy, why may not Bigla Cumin have been equally blessed by Heaven?"

"Ah!" cried the knight again, "would it might be so!"

"Wilt thou but give me leave to go to try what may be done?" demanded the boy. "Be assured I shall be better than most mediciners, for if I do no good, I shall take especial care to do no harm."

"Kind boy, thou mayest e'en do thy best," said the knight. "I well know thy zeal for thy master's good; but were thy powers somewhat more equal to thy zeal, I should count more on the success of thine efforts."

"Such as my poor powers may be, they shall be used to the utmost in thy service, Sir Knight," said the boy. "Good night, then, so please thee; and farewell, it may be for some time, for I go on mine errand by to-morrow's dawn, and the better I prosper, the longer, perchance, may be mine absence."

"Go, and may the Blessed Virgin guide thee and give thee luck," said the knight. "But see, boy, that thou bringest thine own person into no peril."

"Trust me for that," said Archy, as he disappeared from the bartizan.

The sun of next morning had scarcely well risen, and Gibbon More had just issued from his door to take a look at its face, that he might judge of the coming weather, when he descried an ill-formed dwarfish youth approaching, whose countenance, though ill-favoured, had a certain prepossessing expression in it.

"Whence comest thou, little man?" demanded the Lord of Glenchearnich.

"I come from the east," said the boy readily; "my name is Archy--other name have I none--and I would fain be a Cumin."

"Ha! ha! ha!--a Cumin, wouldst thou?" said Gibbon laughing. "By St. Mary, but our clan will be invincible when it shall be strengthened by such a powerful graff as thou! Tell me, what wouldst thou be good for, boy?"

"I could draw a bow at a pinch," said the boy. "But I must needs confess that I were better for the service of some gentle lady's bower. I'd willingly be thy fair daughter the Lady Matilda's page; and I'd serve her right faithfully."

"If Bigla should fancy thy ugly face, I care not if she should have thee," said Gibbon More, "for though thy countenance be homely, it would seem to be honest."

"Make me a Cumin, and the lady shall have no cause to complain of me," replied the boy.

"Thou shalt have thy wish then, boy, without further delay," said Gibbon More; and he straightway lifted up the youth, and, with more than ordinary gentleness, he performed the ceremony of the threefold ablution on him.

Archy Abhach, now converted into Archy Cumin, was speedily installed in his new office as page to the Lady Bigla, and, in his very first interview, he contrived to establish himself very firmly in the good graces of his fair mistress. But what might have been considered more wonderful, he made a no less favourable impression upon her handmaiden, a matter which jealousy might have rendered more difficult with any attendant of a less amiable disposition than the attached Agnes possessed.

"There is something more than usually interesting about that poor friendless boy," said the lady to Agnes, after her new page had been dismissed from her presence for a short time.

"A most interesting youth, notwithstanding the niggardly way in which dame Nature seems to have treated him," said Agnes archly; "but as to his being friendless, I shrewdly suspect that he is a rogue for making that pretence."

"What mean you, Agnes?" demanded Bigla.

"I mean that the varlet had no need to have come to Kincherdie to look for protection, seeing that he hath long been the favourite of one of the bravest young knights in all the country round," said Agnes.

"Of whom do you speak?" demanded Bigla.

"Of a certain Sir John Grant, son and heir of old Sir Patrick Grant of Freuchie," replied Agnes, with an air of mock gravity; "but, perhaps, you have never seen nor heard of the man."

"O Agnes!" cried Bigla, energetically clasping her hands, and throwing down her eyes and blushing deeply.

"You have heard of him, then, lady?" said Agnes.

"A truce to your raillery," said Bigla seriously, "and tell me quickly all you know or guess of this matter."

"Why, all I know of the matter is simply this," said Agnes, in the same tone, "last Whitsuntide the Lady Bigla Cumin saw, for the first time, the handsome young knight, Sir John Grant of Freuchie, at the church of Inverallan. The knight, with becoming gallantry, stepped gracefully forward and lifted the lady to her saddle, sighing deeply as he resigned the precious load to her prancing palfrey. The lady's bower damsel, the quick-sighted Agnes Cumin, soon perceived that the said knight and lady had made a mutual impression on each other. With her wonted acuteness and ingenuity, the said damsel soon extracted the truth from the said lady; and seeing that a misformed imp of a page, then in attendance on the said knight, hath now, without any apparent cause, left so good a master in order to undergo the ceremony of being baptized as a Cumin in the nauseous hen-trough, the said acute damsel ventures readily to pronounce that the flame burns as brightly and warmly at Freuchie as it does in my lady's bower at Kincherdie--that is all."

"But what can Sir John Grant mean by all this?" demanded Bigla, blushing more deeply than ever.

"To seek and secure an interview to be sure," replied Agnes; "but I shall soon know what he would be at," continued she. "I shall soon be at the bottom of it all."

Without giving the Lady Bigla time to reply, the prompt and decided Agnes hurried away to hold converse with the page. Meeting, as they did, like two sharp flints, they were not long in striking fire enough to throw light upon the matter. Having mutually made one another fully aware of the position of affairs on both sides, they, without further hesitation, proceeded, like two able plenipotentiaries, to arrange plans for the future; and it was finally agreed between them, without further ceremony, that the high contracting parties should meet in person, on the ensuing evening, in the bourtree bower, at the lower end of the garden, beyond the rampart, and the page was forthwith despatched on a secret mission to the knight to inform him immediately of this so happy an arrangement.

"Blessed Virgin, what hast thou done, Agnes!" cried Bigla Cumin, ere she had well heard her maid to an end; and hiding her crimsoned face with both her hands, "What will Sir John Grant think of me?"

"He will call you an angel, as Archy tells me he has already done," said Agnes coolly.

"Nay, nay, but this must not be!" said Bigla, starting from her chair. "Run, Agnes, and stop the boy from going on this most foolish and imprudent errand."

"Stop him," said Agnes. "You might as well ask me to stop Black Peter's arrow after it has left his bowstring. The boy is half way to Freuchie by this time. He knows too well how warmly his news will be received to allow the grass to grow at his heels."

"What will my father say to this strange arrangement, if it should come to his knowledge?" cried Bigla, "to meet as a lover the son of the head of the very house with which we have ever held so great enmity."

"In the first place, your father, good man, must know nothing about this meeting," said Agnes. "It concerns him not; secondly, if there hath been ill blood for so long between the two clans, the sooner peace and friendship is re-established the better, especially after two of the principal persons have met together in a Christian church, as you and Sir John have done."

"Agnes, Agnes!" cried the lady, with emotions of vexation not altogether unmingled, it must be confessed, with certain tinglings of a more agreeable nature, "Agnes, Agnes! thy precipitation in this matter hath brought me into a most distressing state of perplexity. I know not what to do."

But before the morning's sun had well risen, the page appeared in the lady's presence, with a perfumed billet, sealed with a flame-coloured silk ribbon, and filled with such professions of love on the part of Sir John Grant, as brought tenfold blushes into the lovely face of Bigla; and so touched her young heart as to leave her without a chance of withstanding the powerful arguments of her handmaiden Agnes, backed up as they were by the warm descriptions of his master's sufferings, and the earnest solicitations for her compassion on him, which were so eloquently urged by the clever page. The result was, that, attended by Agnes, she did go tremblingly to the trysting place at the appointed hour--listened with a pleasure she had never felt before to all the knight's fervent vows; and both were made so happy by their mutual confessions, that the prudential suggestions of Agnes and Archy were repeatedly required ere the tender separation could be effected. So well, however, was that and several other interviews of a similar nature planned and brought about by the two able auxiliaries, that for a long time the easy Gibbon More had no suspicion that anything of the sort was going on. But at length it did happen, that as Sir John Grant was returning from one of these meeting, he was rather unluckily encountered, not far from the house of Kincherdie, by Hector, the confidential servant of Gibbon More. The man's suspicions were so awakened by the circumstance of the knight being on foot, that he scrupled not to follow him at a distance, until he saw him join an attendant who held a couple of horses in a grove about a mile off. Full of his discovery, Hector went directly to Gibbon More; and there is no saying what the consequences might have been had not the Lord of Glenchearnich been a person of a temperament almost miraculously apathetical. So wonderful was his disposition in this respect, indeed, that it was only after his patience had been assailed and battered, as it were, by repeated and most provoking attacks, that he ever could be excited at all. But then, indeed, when he was once roused, he became on the sudden like a raging lion, and his enormous strength and fearless courage being brought tremendously into action by his fury, the effects were quite terrific.

"So you think, Hector, that the young Stratherrock stripling has been here to look after Bigla," said Gibbon, after hearing his man's story to an end. "Hum,--ha! I did perceive that the maiden caught his eye at the church of Inverallan on Whitsuntide. Ha, ha, ha!--to think of a Grant being mated with her is too ridiculous. But, for all that, I cannot blame the boy for bowing before the shrine of my daughter's beauty. I'll warrant the young goose came over here to try to get another peep, were it only of her robe as it might chance to sweep by her casement. Wiser folks than he have done as foolish things; I've done as much myself in my youth. But Bigla can know nought of this, so there is no harm done."

Whether Hector's renewed cautions did or did not succeed in making his master think something more of this matter than he was thus at first disposed to do, I cannot say; but certain it is, that the Lord of Glenchearnich was somewhat suddenly seized with the resolution of going some weeks earlier than he was wont, to spend the summer months on his hill-grazing property of Delnahaitnich, near the source of the river Dulnan. This was a most untoward event for the lovers, not only because the distance between them was thus immensely increased, but because Gibbon More's residence there was a small cottage, which might be called little better than a mere shealing, [5] in or about which it would be next to impossible for them to meet without observation. And accordingly after this move was made, some weeks were vainly expended in fruitless attempts on the part of Archy Abhach to procure for his master Sir John, even the gratification of such a distant view of the Lady Bigla's robe as her father described in his conversation with Hector. Yet Sir John often hovered about the place, and lay for many a night wrapped up in his plaid among the heather of the neighbouring forest with no other shelter but a projecting rock and the thick foliage of the firs that grew over it. Archy Abhach was almost as much disappointed as Sir John himself at being so baulked. His ingenuity was put to the very rack, but all without effect; because it somehow or other happened that Gibbon More never went from home, and so his daughter was never left for one moment out of his sight. The knight had thus no comfort but in the frequent letters and messages which Archy contrived to carry between the lovers, and which they were fain to employ for want of those more interesting interviews, of which they were now altogether deprived.

It happened that Archy Abhach was one night sent with one of those letters towards the place where his master Sir John Grant was lying hid in the upper part of the forest of Dulnan, which then spread much higher over the hills than it now does. The moon was not yet risen, and the dense foliage overhead very much increased the darkness and the difficulty of his way. As he was scrambling along past the narrow mouth of a small ravine that opened on the course of the stream he was following, he came suddenly upon two men who were seated beside the dying embers of a fire which they seemed to have used for some purpose of rude and hasty cookery. Curiosity led him involuntarily to stop for a moment to observe them; but becoming instantly aware of his imprudence in doing so, he moved quickly away, and began to run as hard as he could. But the consequences which he dreaded were already incurred, and he had not gone many paces when he heard footsteps hurrying after him. He fled as fast as his legs could carry him, but the darkness was such that he tripped and fell, and his neck was instantly in the grasp of a powerful hand.

"I have him fast," said a rough voice in Gaelic; "it is but a very small boy after all. Shall I whittle his craig with my skian-dhu?"

"Not for thy life," replied another voice in the same language. "Bring him along with thee, that we may see what he is. Why wouldst thou hurt the creature till we know something more about him?"

The man who had seized Archy now threw him over his shoulder as he would have done a dead hare, and groped his way back with him to the ravine, where a blaze being produced by a dry bush of heather, the boy was set down between them for examination. Archy on his part was not slow in using his eyes also, and in a much less time than I can tell it to you, he ran them over the bulky rough figure of the individual who had seized him, and then as hastily surveyed the compact well put-together active-looking person, and intelligent countenance of the other, who seemed in every respect to be the superior. This last was by no means strange to him, and, to the surprise of the man himself, he immediately addressed him by his name.

"Corrie MacDonald!" said he, "sure I am that thou wilt never hurt any man belonging to Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock."

But I must now tell you that this same Corrie MacDonald was a certain hero who flourished in those days in Lochaber, and who made himself dreaded all through Moray-land and its neighbouring districts by the periodical visits of plunder which he paid to them. Amongst other tracts of country, Strathspey and its tributary valleys were wont to be a prominent object of his attention. He had always a large band of followers at his command, who were equally expert in driving away herds of cattle, and brave in beating off the owners when they pursued with the hope of recovering them. Corrie was a reaver of no ordinary character; for, robber though he was, he had a natural fund of liberality and generosity about him; and he had so great a stock of native humour in him, that he was ever ready to indulge his waggish disposition at any expense; and no predatory expedition had ever half so great a relish for him, as that in which he could contrive to mix up a bit of a frolic. Many a cow and ox had Corrie MacDonald carried away from the extensive possessions of the Lord of Glenchearnich. But these trifling depredations never disturbed the good temper or overcame the patience of that most extraordinary man, the effect of whose unparalleled forbearance was to awaken in the inquiring mind of Corrie MacDonald a certain philosophic curiosity to ascertain by experiment to what extent it was capable of being stretched; and he had long panted for a favourable opportunity of bringing this investigation to a fair trial.

"Corrie MacDonald," cried Archy Abhach, in a whining tone, "sure I am that thou who hast never had quarrel with Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock wilt never hurt any man belonging to him."

"Thou art right," replied Corrie. "Not only shall I respect the safety of every man belonging to Sir Patrick Grant, but I will even respect thee, who art but a mannikin, if thou canst prove thyself to be his. I have had peaceable passage to and fro through his grounds on Loch Ness side for too many years to do otherwise."