THE scenery of Loch Awe is
deservedly held in remembrance by the tourist who has once witnessed its
beauty. It is not easy to select from amongst the Scottish lakes that
sheet of water which most fully exhibits the characteristics of Highland
landscape; but it will be found that those travellers whose experience of
Scotland’s lochs and hills is widest are inclined to ascribe a very high
position to Loch Awe in comparison with wilder and more northern scenes.
Embosomed amid "Heaven-kissing hills," and dotted with many islets crowned
with verdure, this vast inland loch washes a shore-line which presents
many varied aspects to the beholder. The glen in which it lies is formed
by the overhanging hills of Argyllshire which rise precipitously all
around, sometimes attaining so extreme an altitude that the extent of the
loch is dwarfed beside them. Although nearly thirty miles in length, Loch
Awe does not exceed two miles in breadth, and the frequent storms which
come sweeping down from Glen Strae and the Pass of Brander keep the waters
in such constant motion that it seems to be some gigantic river rather
than a peaceful mountain-lake.
The isles which lie cradled
in its bosom are rich in foliage, which contrasts with the bare, brown,
heath-clad mountain summits, whose bold outline stands relieved against
the sky, and in the midst of the overwhelming grandeur of the scene they
assume fairy-like proportions which their actual extent does not justify.
Far away north rises the peak of Ben Cruachan, whose summit is 3611 feet
above the level of the sea. The springs which feed the tributary streams
in this quarter mostly owe their origin to this mountain, and the valley
which stretches from its base forms the bed of Loch Awe. The tradition
which accounts for the origin and present position of the loch may be of
special interest to the reader, and is not well-known.
In the times of remote
antiquity, ere wizards, witches, and fairies had been scared from
Scotland, the rich and fertile valley now covered by the waters of the
loch, was in the possession of a brave and fearless woman, the daughter of
a former chief who held the locality. For years she ruled the land which
belonged to her wisely and well; but by some hidden means the "uncanny
folk" gained an ascendency over her, and wrought their wicked purposes
upon her. She was laid under a spell which doomed her to death unless she
performed a certain task with unfailing regularity. Her duty was a
peculiar one. Midway up Ben Cruachan there was a tiny spring whose limpid
waters had often solaced the chief’s daughter and refreshed her followers
upon their return from the chase; for in those days the toils and dangers
of this sport did not terrify the softer sex. This spring she was enjoined
to cover each night with a cabalistic stone whose potency should avert
unheard of dangers from her. The unknown is always terrible; and in dread
of a peril which she could not understand, she did not fail to perform her
nightly duty, though with fear and trembling.
At last a moment’s weakness
accomplished her destruction. Returning after a weary and fruitless chase
one day, she was separated from her companions, and, footsore and "forfouchten,"
disappointed in mind and exhausted in body, she sank down at the base of
Ben Cruachan, unable to reach her home. There are times when the most
vigorous intellect must succumb to the influence of physical exhaustion,
no matter how important the duties may be which lie before it, and .then
the overburdened spirit, weary of resistance, abandons the contest.
"Is it not pitiful
Our souls should be so bound about with
flesh,
Even when they leap and smite
with wings and feet,
The least pain plucks them back, puts out their eyes,
Turns them to tears
and words?"
And so this Highland Diana,
this mighty huntress, sank to rest beneath a beechen tree at the foot of
the hill. She knew that the setting sun had its duty for her, but,
reckless of consequences, she fell into a deep and troubled sleep.
She was destined to endure
a rude awakening. Ere long there came the ceaseless drip-dripping of a
running streamlet, which mingled pleasantly with her dreams, but soon
increased to the murmur of the rill, the rush of the mountain-torrent, the
thunder of the cascade and the Cailleach Bhe’ir awoke to find
herself in the midst of a raging flood. The insignificant spring which she
had despised had now become a foaming sea, and the fair and fertile vale,
once her loved inheritance, was now the prey of the merciless waters.
Regret became despair, and she plunged into the seething abyss never more
to return. And now Loch Awe stretches its waters, glistening in silver
sheen, over this once fertile Vale of Tempe; and the gentle undulations
which arose upon the plain appear as crested islets, crowned with foliage,
or fringed with sedge and dwarf willow.
One of the loveliest of
these islands is that known as Fraoch Eilean, the Isle of Heather.
On the mainland, immediately opposite to it, the mountain surfaces descend
precipitously, forming the deep valley known as the Pass of Awe. Yet
though exposed to the rude Borean blasts which sweep in fury down the loch
from this spot, Fraoch-Eilean has ever maintained its fertile appearance.
The verdant trees which cluster round the ruins of the ancient Castle
effectually screen it from the view; and few save those who care to
explore the recesses of the wood are conscious of its existence. But the
venturous spirit who threads the weedy maze by which it is encompassed
will be repaid for his labour.
Though now roofless and
uninhabitable the Castle, sometimes called Dunderawe, exhibits traces of
its former strength, which plainly show that it was fitted to become the
stronghold of a powerful Argyllshire Clan. And from the vantage ground
afforded by the crumbling walls and tottering battlements the daring
climber may obtain an enchanting view of the valley of Loch Awe. Northward
the Pass appears to follow the trend of the basin of the loch, and, but
for its elevation, would naturally have been a prolongation of it. The
height of the hills which rise on either side causes this spot to become
the scene of some of the grandest phenomena of storm and tempest. Their
lofty crests, by intercepting the fleecy clouds which float in ether,
bring frequent showers at unexpected moments upon the lowly vale, or, by
attracting the dark-rolling thunder cloud, precipitate the atmospheric
tumult, and thaw down the ruddy levin-brand upon their elevated summits.
Southward, through the
interlacing boughs, the silvery lake may be seen extending itself, with
many a winding turn and creek, and encircling the sister isles of Innis-Hail,
Eilean-taigert, and Innis-Connel, each claiming notice for some tale of
long ago; inwoven with its history. To the east and west rise those peaks
whose drainage, by stream and torrent, reaches the loch, and whose
position compels the wild north wind frequently to rush with irresistible
force down the channel thus formed, and to lash the placid waters of the
lake into foam and fury. Fenced from the storm by the trees which rustle
in the blast, the wayfarer may turn his gaze upon the scene which is thus
spread around, and feel that—
"‘Tis pleasant from
the loopholes of retreat
To peep at such a world."
Like many other ruins on
the shores of the loch, the Castle of Fraodh-Eilean has an unwritten
history. Tradition records that the island was gifted to Sir Gilchrist
Macnaughton by Alexander III., who caused the first Castle to be built
there in 1267, and handed it over to the chief by making him perpetual
Castellan. The only duty imposed upon him was the seldom-exercised one of
providing entertainment for the King of Scotland should he pass that way.
But the journey to the wilds of Argyllshire was not often attempted by the
Scottish rulers in early days; for the state of the roads and the manners
of the inhabitants made it neither pleasant nor safe for the King’s
Majesty to venture within their bounds. And when Robert Bruce made his
presence known in the locality, it was as an errant knight in search of a
kingdom; and as the sworn foe of Macdougal of Lorn, he could not receive
the homage of the lesser Chief Macnaughton. The keeping of the Castle,
therefore, became somewhat of a sinecure, so far as kingly visits were
concerned. Only once is there record of special preparations having been
made for a royal guest, and these ended in disappointment and failure.
During "Scotland’s fule-time"
in 1745, when the northern clans became insane upon the subject of
government, and madly sought to place their King-Stork again upon the
throne, the Macnaughtons were not exempt from the national frenzy. Prince
Charlie, the gay inheritor alike of the vices and virtues of his race, was
to pass near the shores of Loch Awe upon a semi-royal progress, and it
became necessary that his Castellan should furnish his royal seat of
Fraoch-Eilean, and provide such entertainment as befitted the heir of a
line of kings. Doubtless the silent woods of the heath-clad isle resounded
to the din and tumult which the unwonted occasion called forth and made
necessary, and the hereditary cobwebs were swept from their places, lest
they should offend the eye of Royalty. Horace describes a similar
preparation for a feast in these terms :—
"While all the hands were hard
at work, and boys and
girls ran here and there;
And brightly glowed the
fires, which rolled their
murky smoke to outer air."
But the ways of the
Stewarts were not like the ways of ordinary mortals, and Prince Charlie
suddenly altered his intention and passed the Castle heedlessly by. Now
the boldest Macnaughton in that ancient and honourable clan would scarcely
care to invite the royal presence to dignify the grey ruin which was once
the seat of his chief.
Though there are few
stories related of the Castle, the island itself is not bereft of
tradition. By one of those curious coincidences which startle the student
of folklore, it will be found that the ancient Greek fable of the
Hesperides has its counterpart in a tale which has been handed down for
many generations amongst the dwellers on the shores of this remote
Highland loch. It may be possible to invent an explanatory theory to
account for this fact; but as the romance alone make the frivolous tale
endurable, the task would be a thankless one.
Once on a time there dwelt
on the borders of Loch Awe a certain lovely "lady, the wonder of her
kind," at whose feet knelt the bravest knights and the gayest courtiers of
whom the locality could boast. To Sir Fraoch, however, did her heart
incline; but with that caprice which so often works woe to womankind, she
refused to bestow her hand upon him until he had accomplished some
stupendous task which would place him above his rivals in knightly daring.
The green isle, against whose shores the waters of the loch were fretting
into foam, had long been famous as the natural orchard in which grew
apples of gold fitted to charm the life of the possessor, and to confer
unimagined blessings. But this precious fruit was jealously guarded by a
huge serpent, the rival of Behemoth, whose very name carried fear and
dread to the hearts of the natives. With that folly and unreason which is
sometimes found even in the tenderest bosom, the Lady of Loch Awe charged
her knight as a true man and faithful lover to bring her some of these
golden apples of fabled virtue, in defiance of the grisly monster in whose
charge they were held.
Sir Fraoch thought not of
the toil or danger, but only of the glorious reward which should be his,
and at once addressed himself to his task. Entering his skiff he rowed
rapidly towards the Isle of Heather, and daring wind and tide at last
beached his tiny vessel. Drawing his sword from its sheath to be ready for
any emergency he boldly leapt ashore, and looked around in vain for an
opponent. The dreaded serpent seemed to him but a phantom of the
imagination, since no trace of it was visible. Advancing through the
wilderness of verdure which covered the isle, he sought to gain the spot
where tradition had placed the auriferous tree.
"His path
was rugged and
sore;
Through tangled juniper, beds of
reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent
feeds,
And man never trod before."
But at length he won the
coveted prize, and plucking some of the wished-for fruit he endeavoured to
reach his boat. To his dismay he found his return prevented by the wily
monster, who had suffered him to land upon this Circean isle that his prey
might be more secure. Powerless are the
emissaries of evil against the true-hearted knight (in fable at least),
and after a deadly struggle Sir Fraoch escaped to his skiff, leaving the
terror of the island vanquished and overthrown.
Faint from the fury of the
fray in which he had been engaged, the knight rowed more slowly back to
his lady’s hall than he had set forth at early morn; and, tempted by the
beauty of the fruit he had won, he partook of the spoil thus dearly
bought. Ere long he felt that sudden chill which creeps along the veins
and paralyses the nerves, thus giving the first hint of poison; and before
he reached his destination he knew full surely that his hours were
numbered. Yet not without a glow of triumph did he meet her for whom he
had endured the extreme penalty, to lay at her feet the tokens of his
victory. But the glazing eye and the interrupted speech told the tale too
readily to her, and she soon saw that she had thrown from her the love and
respect, nay, the life of her knight, to gratify an idle whim, and to
indulge in wanton sport and wicked jest. The situation offered no escape
for her save one; and, as was the custom with mythological heroines when
placed in similar circumstances, she tasted of the poisonous fruit, and
then expired in her lover’s arms.
Such is the flimsy tale
still told by the credulous natives of Loch Aweside when accounting for
the name of the island. A practical age, which believes only what it can
understand, naturally rejects this imaginative fabrication, and finds a
more likely origin of the name in the physical aspect of the scene. The
Isle of Heather still deserves its title, though the years which have
rolled over it have overthrown the proud dwelling which man had erected,
and left the Castle desolate and ruined. The loch, the hill, the glen,
remain as they have been from pre-historic times; but the men who loved
them as the scenes of their early years now sleep within their shadow, or
bear the memory of them wherever they may wander in distant lands or
foreign shores.
"Not by the sunshine, with its
golden glow,
Nor the green earth, nor yet the laughing sky,
Nor the fair flower-scents as they come and go,
In the soft air, like music wandering by;
Oh! not by these, the unfailing, are we taught
How time and sorrow on our frames have wrought,
But by the saddened eye, the darkened brow
Of kindred aspect, and the long dim gaze
Which tells us we are changed—how changed from other days!"
The first Castle of
Dunderawe, or Fraoch-Eilean, built in 1267, remained as the principal seat
of the chiefs of Macnaughton for over three centuries; but in 1596,
Alexander Macnaughton erected the Castle, the ruins of which now remain.
In early times this clan had large possessions, and "owned all the country
between Loch Fyne and Loch Awe, parts of which were Glenira, Glen Shira
and Glen Fyne." The chief had also Dhu Loch in Glen Shira, Macnaughton
Castle in Lewis, and Dunnaghton Castle in Strathspey, so that his clansmen
formed a very powerful clan. Alexander Macnaughton, who was knighted by
James IV., fell with that monarch on the fatal field of Flodden. The
devotion of the Clan to the Stewarts led to the forfeiture of their
possessions in 1691 and the direct line of chieftainship terminated with
John early in the 18th century. The succession then fell to the
descendants of John, younger son of the hero of Flodden, who had settled
in County Antrim, and become a Scoto-Irish Laird. In 1878, at a meeting of
the clan in Edinburgh, it was decided that the right to the chieftainship
was then due to Sir Francis Edmund MacNaghten of Dunderawe, Bushmills,
Antrim; and the present chief is Sir Francis Alexander MacNaghten, seventh
baronet, who resides at the residence of his late namesake. His uncle, the
late Lord MacNaghten, in 1887, was made a Lord of Appeal, and officiated
on the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords. The ruined Castle
shows the date "1596," with the initials of "I.M." and "A.N." over the
doorway, with the inscription, "Behold the End; be not wiser than the
Highest," and the clan motto, "I hope in God." The building, though a
ruin, could easily be made habitable, and thus preserve the memory of a
once-important clan, now dispersed throughout the world. |