|
THE estate of Glenlyon did not long remain in
possession of the Athole family. The Marquess during the short time
he had it, projected, and partly completed, several improvements. He
repaired the roads, built bridges, and commenced working the lead
mine called "Meall-htaidhe" on the hill of Kerrumore, an
undertaking that would probably be now highly remunerative, but
which failed then on account of the difficulty of carriage. He,
moreover, gets credit traditionally for having been the first to
introduce the larch tree to Glenlyon; but in this matter tradition
errs. It was Crowner Menzies' grandson who first brought larches
from the Tyrol. The larches behind the garden of Meggernie, were the
first planted in Scotland.
After being held by the Marquess for seven years,
he sold the estate to Colonel James Menzies of Culdares, better
known by the name of "Crunnair Ruadh nan cearc" i.e. "Crowner
Roy of the Hens." The history of this man is very curious, but the
hearsay version may not be very accurate. The dramatic cast given it
by tradition may be an embellishment of the truth; but, unluckily,
having no means of testing the matter, I can merely give as I find.
About the year 1620, a boy, known by the name of
James Roy of the Hens, was to be found among the hangers-on of the
Knight of Weem, the chief of the Menzieses, He was an
orphan, and claimed some distant cousinship with the family of
Menzies. The chief, pitying the poor orphan, extended to him his
patronage and protection, and made free to him the hospitality of
his kitchen. The boy's ostensible duty was, to look after the
poultry, from which he acquired his cognomen "of the Hens." But
everybody was the boy's master, and for each little delinquency the
butler deprived him of his dinner. In such a straight, the lad
usually made his moan to a comfortable childless couple who kept the
neighbouring "tigh-osda," or public. There he was always welcome,
his wants supplied, and his hardship sympathised with. Meantime he
was growing up such a sharp, intelligent, comely lad, as to give
occasion to his kind protectress, the hostess of the inn, to remark,
"Many a pretty man would like to have James Roy for his son."
The era of which we are speaking was fraught with
great events which immediately concerned the welfare of Germany but
prospectively the universal freedom of mind. From the day that
Luther ended his memorable defence before the Emperor Charles and
his nobles at Worms with the words, "Unless I shall be convinced by
the words of the Bible, or by open, clear, and convincing reasoning,
I neither can nor will recant; for it is neither safe nor advisable
to do anything against one's conscience. Here I stand: I cannot act
otherwise; may God help me, Amen," the two parties of Catholic and
Protestant stood out openly and professedly each other's foes. The
defensive alliance entered into by the Protestant Princes at
Schmalkalden in 1531, as long as the confederates remained true to
their religion and one another, stemmed the combined attack of the
Pope and the Emperor.
The chronic struggle, calmed for the time by the
pacification of Passau (1552), which secured to the Protestants
liberty of conscience, broke out anew with double fierceness, when,
fifty years afterwards, the Catholics, with the unworthy help, it
must be owned, of the Lutherans, attempted to shut out the
Calvinists from the benefits of the Concordat. Matters reached their
height at the death of Mathias, 1619. The Bohemians, who had in vain
protested against the election of Ferdinand, broke into open revolt,
and chose Frederick, Elector Palatine, for their King. He was a
Protestant and a Calvinist. James I. of England, his father-in-law,
did not give the expected aid, but the British people burned to rush
to the rescue, and were ready to risk every hazard for their German
brethren in the faith, and their leader, the husband of the Princess
Elizabeth. The banner of Protestantism, struck from the hand of
Frederick on the battle field of Prague, and reared anew by
Christian IV. of Denmark, was grasped at
length by the heroic Gustavus Adolphus, and borne in unintermitted
triumph, until it finally fluttered above his body on the plain of
Leutzen. Gustavus fell amidst his triumphs, but his spirit survived
in his Swedish Generals, and the peace of Munster confirmed to the
Protestants of the Lutheran and Reformed churches an equality of
civil and religious rights and privileges with their Catholic
fellow-subjects of the empire.
While the recovery of the Palatinate formed for
James the subject of endless intrigues and negotiations, at the same
time anxiously evading the necessity of war with Austria or Spain,
his subjects, both English and Scotch— the latter especially—sent
numberless volunteers into the ranks of the Protestant League of
Germany. Many were induced to go from motives of religious duty and
predilections, and their love of civil liberty; but the great
majority were young men allured by the love of fame and adventure,
for which Britain afforded no field since the union of the crowns.
Of the latter class of adventurous restless spirits was our hero,
James Roy. When or how he found his way to Germany nobody knows, and
what were his fortunes there are almost equally obscure. Some years
of absence, during which nothing was heard of him, made his name
forgotten by all who formerly knew him, except the innkeeper of Weem
and his wife. When war with King Charles broke out in 1639, the
Scottish officers serving abroad were invited home by the Tables.
Among the rest James Roy returned. His gallantry and talents had, it
appeared, raised him from the ranks in the service of Sweden; and
Leslie, his old commander, was now his general also.
After the pacification of that year the Scottish
forces were for a short time disbanded. During this period, a
gentleman on horseback arrived late in the day at the small inn of
Weem. His dress and arms were strange to the inhabitants, who seldom
saw anything but Highland lairds riding about in those days, and
they, when they came had always their "tail on," and left no one in
doubt as to name, station, and business. The stranger, without
satisfying inquiries, saw his horse stabled and entered the house.
He seemed struck at the appearance of his host, and asked what had
become of such a person, naming his predecessor in the public. His
host, astonished to find the seeming foreigner acquainted with the
inhabitants of Weem, told him reverses had come upon the old couple,
and that they had been obliged to give up the inn some years before,
and were now living in a hut, which he pointed out, very poor and
helpless. The stranger muttered an exclamation, and without saying
more walked to the hut in question. The old couple were making ready
their supper, which consisted of "cauld kail made hot again," and a
piece of bread, when they were suddenly disturbed by a loud rap at
the door. The wife opened it, and the strange gentleman entering
without farther ado, asked in good Gaelic, could they give him bed
and supper for the night? Much wondering who he was, both replied in
a breath they were sorry they could not, they were too poor to have
anything suitable for a gentleman like him. "Never mind appearance,"
says he, striking imperiously with his riding whip the table on
which their poor supper was placed: "I have supped off that
ere now, and I shall do so to-night. You fed me in my need, and let
it be my care to feed, support and honour you in poverty and age. I
am James Roy of the Hens—bid we welcome." He was as good as his
word, and treated them like father and mother as long as they lived.
Roy fought with great gallantry throughout the
whole civil war. While serving in Ireland, he had a romantic
intrigue with an Irish lady endowed with the second sight, and a
knowledge of magic, arts in which she is said to have also
indoctrinated her lover. James Roy, however, for all her gifts,
abandoned his Irish lady-love, and when she followed him afterwards
to Scotland with their infant son, he refused to see her, and she
and the child returned to Ireland. This was about 1646, and the
cause of his treachery may be found in his being at the time
matrimonially contracted to Sophia, daughter of the Baronet of Glen-orchy
and an aunt of "Pale John." The Irish lady's curse followed their
nuptials. When the bridal feasting and rejoicings were going on at
Finlarig, a hasty messenger announced to the Campbells that four
hundred of the Lochaber men had broken in upon Glendochart, and were
now driving the creach over Stronchlachane, the hill above
Killin. Flushed with wine, the Campbells insisted upon being led
against the foe. The bridegroom, who saw the Catherans' advantages
of position, as having sun, wind, and ground in their favour,
remonstrated against an immediate attack, and proposed a plan by
which the robbers could be taken at unawares, and the creach safely
recovered. One of the Campbells, for this prudent advice, retorted
upon Menzies with the charge of cowardice, calling him the "Meinarach
Bog," i.e. soft Menzies. The soldier of Gustavus, who owed
all to his sword, was not the man—in presence of his highborn bride
and new kinsmen, who were ready to find every fault with him on
account of plebeian birth—for a moment to bear patiently such an
affront. "Each man's blood be on his own head," says he; "charge the
foe in God's name ; we shall see before night who is soft and
who is not." In the murderous affray which followed, Menzies
attacked hand-to-hand the leader of the Lochaber men, and slew him,
while taunting him with his nickname of the "Hens." The head of the
Lochaber man was cut off with such quickness and dexterity, that it
is said, as it rolled down the hillside separated from the body, the
tongue for some seconds continued to articulate "Cearc, Cearc." As
foreseen by Menzies, the day went against the Campbells, great
numbers were slain, and no fewer than eighteen youths of gentle
blood, in the nearest degrees of kindred to the house of Breadalbane,
were buried at Finlarig next day. Menzies, who performed that day
feats of the greatest personal prowess, when matters became
desperate rallied the discomfited and broken Campbells, and
retreated in firm order. The Lochaber men pursued them to the very
gates of Finlarig Castle. Menzies, who was in armour of proof,
received nine arrows in his back during the retreat, one when
entering the gate.
On the return of the Covenanting army from
England, January, 1647, the Marquess of Huntly and Sir Alexander
M'Donald were at the head of some Highland and Irish forces for King
Charles in the north. General David Leslie took the castles
belonging to the Marquess, ravaged his estates, and pursued himself
into Lochaber, but failed to capture him. The Marquess was finally
taken by our hero, now a Lieutenant-Colonel, in Strathdon, December,
1647. History says he was taken in the house at Dalnabo when going
to bed, but this is the version of tradition. After several vain
attempts both by Leslie and Middleton, Menzies was sent in pursuit.
His men searched the house at Dalnabo, and discovered no trace of
the Marquess. Col. Menzies, without troubling himself about the
search, stood with his horse against a peat stack, near the house.
When his men gave up the search, "It is cold," says he; "set the
peat stack on fire; we shall have a Christmas blaze." On this, the
Marquess, who was hidden in the stack, came out and was made
prisoner. The wizard lore Menzies learned in Ireland was supposed to
have helped the discovery. A reward of ,£1,000 sterling had been
promised to any one capturing Huntly, and Lieutenant-Colonel James
Menzies had an order to that amount on the Scotch exchequer, granted
by the Committee of Estates. The spoil of the Gordons falling to his
share was also very considerable. After the battle of Dunbar,
Charles II.—the King of the Scots, as he
was then called—endeavoured to shake himself free of Argyle and the
Covenanters, and to form a royal party—a party devoted blindly to
hereditary right, and passive obedience—a party hating, as he
himself hated, the Solemn League and Covenant. For this purpose he
entered into negotiations with the Highland chiefs, Huntly, Moray,
and Athole being the foremost. These noblemen were to assemble their
men, and the King was to escape from Perth when he heard they were
ready, and join them in the mountains. By the information, it is
said, of Buckingham, Argyle was put on his guard, and the Athole
men, much to their surprise, found the Fords of Lyon strongly
guarded by the Campbells under the command of our hero Menzies and
his brother-in-law, John Campbell, younger of Glenorchy. By some
cast of clever diplomacy, of which Campbell and Menzies were both
masters the Earl of Athole and his brother were lured across the
Lyon, and then snugly shut up in durance vile in Menzies's castle of
Comrie. The Athole men, attacked in Glengowlandie without their
leaders, dispersed. The King had simultaneously escaped from Perth,
but was taken at Clova, and brought back by Montgomery. The incident
is known by the name of "The Start." An act of indemnity was
passed in favour of the Athole men for their share in the matter on
the 12th of October, 1650, and the word rebellion, at the
request of the Earl, was expunged from the pardon, and a more
favourable term substituted, Colonel Menzies had an eye
always to the main chance, but was generous to his friends and
relatives. About 1650 he is found possessing the property of
Culdares, called also "Moncrieff's Land," in the dale of Fortingall.
Bold and enterprising, he matched in prudence, if not in duplicity,
his brother-in-law, Breadalbane. When the King "came to his own
again," the covenanting officer quietly made the best of affairs,
set himself to acquire property, increased his capital by lending
money out at an exorbitant rate of interest, and never afterwards
took any active part in the politics of the period. He wished to buy
the property of Glenlyon when Robert Campbell got so entangled in
debt as to be unable to keep it longer. Robert's jealousy of
Breadalbane precipitated matters; and the Earl, who wished Glenlyon
to fall to the Crowner, was for the time fairly baffled. From the
following letter it would appear Menzies himself was one of Robert's
debtors :—
Edr. 13th Febby,
1680.
Sir—I wrote laitlie
wt Jon M'Nab showing you how I stood wt Sir Patrick Thriepland, who
is pntly in town waiting for that moey that I am cautione for you to
him ; and seeing that I am upon penaltie to pay him before I leave
the town, therefore I again entreat you to send it heir wt all
speed; and I shall see it delyvered and get up your bond and a
discharge of that soume. S.o expecting to hear from you, imdatly
that this comes to your hand, I refer the news to the E. of Caithnes'
letters, who has written to you I understand.—Yor very humble srt.
Ja. Menzas.
After a few years'
possession of it by the Athole family, the estate of Glenlyon was
again in the market. Duncan Campbell of Duneaves, a near relative of
the late Glenlyon, wished to obtain it, and entered into terms with
Athole for that purpose. Colonel Menzies was his next neighbour and
when Duneaves told him the sum offered by him to Athole, "Ah," said
he, "he is cheating you. Let me go to Blair in your place, and I
will finish the bargain on easier terms." Menzies did go, and bought
the property for himself. Duneaves, suspecting treachery when too
late, went to Blair after Menzies. The Marquess was so enraged at
the treachery displayed in the transaction, that he compelled
Menzies, under threats of corporal punishment, to dispose to
Duneaves on the spot his original estate of Culdares. How much of
this is true, how much is false, I cannot say—there is no authority
but tradition.
From the same respectable authority—tradition,
namely —it would appear the Crowner had his full revenge. Menzies'
eldest daughter was married to the Laird of Balleid; the second
daughter, Agnes, to Stewart of Cardney. —He had no sons. The eldest
daughter had only one child a daughter, who was brought up by the
Crowner, her grandfather, and declared heiress to all his property.
This lady was sought in marriage by Lord James Murray of Garth, son
of the Marquess of Athole. The Crowner offered no opposition, and
the day of betrothal was fixed. As for the girl, her feelings were
not in the first instance consulted; but when her grandfather found,
to his great surprise, she had already given her maiden heart to a
squire of low degree, he gave up his own plans for the sake of
making her happy. The happy man was Captain Archibald Menzies, the
Crowner's own nephew, a brave and generous youth, but quite
penniless, and dependent for everything on his uncle's kindness. The
astute and rather unscrupulous Crowner had strange corners for soft
feelings in his soldier heart, and unknown to the noble wooer,
unknown even to the girl's father, he readily gave in
to the love romance of the youthful pair, and abetted and directed
their schemes. Without any suspicion, the Marquess and his son came
to the betrothal on the destined day. The hospitable board was
spread, and the Crowner's welcome was worthy of his guests. But at
the end of the repast, when the destined bride was expected, in her
place enters a servant bearing a letter addressed to the Crowner.
The latter reads, starts up, and exclaims to the astonishment of the
company, "The bird has fled! We are all cheated, my lord! Here's my
grand-daughter's letter, begging to announce she loved my nephew
better than your noble son and has fled with him—fled with him, she
says, for he sits on a pillion behind her. Well, the girl is
self-willed, and has always had her own way. Lord James you are
happy in having escaped riding behind her." Lord James was not
disposed to swallow his mortification, and would have had recourse
to violent measures, but he saw there was no use. His father on the
other hand, who had before matched his wit against the Crowner's and
had been befooled more than once, treated the matter as a practical
joke, and quaffed a cup to the happiness of the runaways, and the
continued success of his host's intriguing schemes.
The Crowner died, when very old, at Comrie, about
the year 1695. Captain Archibald and his grand-daughter succeeded to
the property belonging to him. |
