The shores of Lochleven, in
Kinross-shire, afford a rich feast to the lover of the picturesque and
romantic. Apart from the interesting associations which arise from
historical events connected with the locality, there is a peculiar charm
to be found in the combination of mountain, lake, and stream which make up
the scenery presented. And though the grandeur of the hills and the gloom
of the passes which are to be met with in the Highlands are alike awanting,
there are more attractive elements of beauty to be seen in the serenely
peaceful villages which are scattered around the lochside. The quaint old
town of Kinross is itself no uninteresting study. For it can claim a very
respectable antiquity, and has been frequently the scene of stirring
events in the history of the country. Standing upon the main highway to
the north, and affording a convenient resting-place between Queensferry
and Perth, it has been often chosen as a rendezvous for troops on the
march, or as a place of ambuscade for purposes of interception. From very
early times the town has been famous for its cutlery, and its artificers
were held in such high esteem that the name of "Kinrosse" was borne upon
the shield of the Cutters of Sheffield as being most worthy of renown.
LOCHLEVEN CASTLE
But the chief point of
interest in the neighbourhood is undoubtedly the Castle of Lochleven. No
situation could be more romantic than that which it occupies. The loch is
dotted here and there with little islands which rise abruptly from the
water, bearing scant foliage and displaying no rugged or precipitous
rocks. Upon one of these stand the ruins of the Monastery of St Serf or
Servanus, whose somewhat unveracious history was recounted by Andrew
Wyntoun in his Orygynale Cronickles
of Scotland, written many centuries
ago. One of the largest islands is situated about the centre of the loch,
and upon it is erected the Castle of Lochleven, which name has become
familiar to every Scottish ear from the historical events of which it has
been the witness. Founded in pre-historic times by one of the Scottish
chiefs, of whom we have no record save its name, it has stood the brunt of
many an angry storm through unnumbered ages; and though now somewhat
battered and decayed, there are still unimpeachable tokens remaining of
the strength and durability of masonry erected before the 19th century
estimate-work.
The first appearance of
Lochleven Castle in credible history is made during the period of the
Balliol dispute in 1333. Throughout Scotland
only four Castles supported the claims of Bruce against Balliol and Edward
of England, and of these Lochleven was one. To reduce this stronghold to
subjection, a body of English, under Sir John de Strivelin, was sent to
besiege it; but as the position of the Castle in the centre of the loch
prevented any stealthy approach or surprise, the besiegers had to adopt
other measures. Finding that the main outlet of the loch was by the little
stream of the Leven, the English hit upon the expedient of damming up this
outflow with dykes, so that the accumulating waters of the loch might rise
above the level of the island, drown the inmates of the Castle, and
suffocate Scottish Independence out of existence. But the theory was too
correct to be justified by fact, and finally proved the destruction of the
attacking forces. The loyal Captain of Lochleven, Alan Vipont by name,
sent out at midnight a few of his faithful retainers, who approached the
barricade, erected by Strivelin, in a small boat, and, demolishing a
portion of the embankment, they caused the pent-up waters of the loch to
overwhelm and destroy many of the enemy. Grave doubts have been
entertained of the accuracy of this story; but there are not wanting many
local antiquaries who can yet indicate the remains of the English dyke,
and who cannot tolerate the honest scepticism of any Edie Ochiltree who
may "mind the big-gin’ o’t."
It was fitting that so
loyal a stronghold should become a Royal Castle. Robert III. occupied it
for some time as a Court residence, and the difficulty of access to it in
so rude an age may have been found rather an advantage than otherwise. But
as civilization advanced the regal taste became more fastidious, and
Lochleven soon descended into the position of a state-prison. Whilst in
the care of a branch of the Douglas family, it degenerated from its former
greatness, and was unhallowed by the presence of Royalty, save under
compulsion, and in "durance vile." Every one knows the melancholy story of
Mary’s incarceration here, and the romantic incident of her escape to
still more relentless imprisonment in England. This episode in the history
of Lochleven it is needless to relate; but it may be interesting to note
that, with a refinement of cruelty, the dominant party, after her defeat,
sent the Earl of Northumberland, who had risen to support her cause in the
north of England, to occupy the chambers which the Royal fugitive had
tenanted, and to leave them only, like her, that he might die upon the
scaffold.
History has not recorded
what catastrophe, either in nature or politics, rendered this ancient Keep
unfit for habitation. Now there remains little save the square tower and a
portion of the outer wall to tell of its former greatness, and to preach
to coming generations the mutability of all things. The great hall has now
no carpet save the greensward, no roof save the blue vault of heaven; and
the winds sough eerily through the tenantless chambers once resonant with
song and revelry. Yet it would be difficult to imagine a spot more
calculated to revive the memories of the past; and here we might look to
find some
"Lady of the Mere
Lone sitting by the shores of old Romance,"
did we live in other times
than the present. But time, the devourer of all things, has laid his
destroying hand upon the Castle, and though:—
"Gothic the pile and
high the solid walls,
With warlike ramparts, and the strong defence
Of jutting battlements—an age’s toil!
No more its arches echo to the noise
Of joy and festive mirth. No more the glance
Of blazing taper through its windows beams
And quivers on the undulating wave.
But naked stand the melancholy walls
Lashed by the wintry tempests, cold and bleak,
That whistle mournful through the empty halls
And piecemeal crumble down the tow’rs to dust."
THE NEW HOUSE OF KINROSS
Directly betwixt the town
of Kinross and the shore of Lochleven stands the mansion-house of the
locality, commonly called the New House of Kinross. Erected as a residence
for the Duke of York (afterwards James II.), it presents all the
characteristics of the mansion of the period, though its chambers were
long deserted, and the exquisite prospect which it commands of hill and
lake was unenjoyed for years by the lawful possessors. A little further
around the shores of the loch is situated the old Kirkyard, which contains
not a few headstones telling of the virtues of "the rude forefathers of
the hamlet." And here, as a memento of semi-barbarous times, there is the
house still standing in which the watchers kept ward over the dead to
preserve their bodies from the sacrilegious resurrectionists. Close by the
kirkyard is pointed out the spot where Mary landed when she made her
escape from Lochleven Castle, though the reclamations recently made by
drainage of the loch render it difficult to indicate the place with any
degree of accuracy.
THE
BURGHER BRIG
Following the pathway by
the shore of the loch one soon arrives at the Burgher Brig, a relic of
more recent times, but of a period rapidly passing away. Tradition relates
that at one time there was no ford over the river North Queich, which runs
into Loch Leven, save the precarious passage afforded by stepping stones,
which in times of spate were quite impassable. But when the advancing
civilization of the district had erected a Burgher Kirk in the
neighbourhood, the Lord of the Manor graciously became a Pontifex in own
country, and built a wooden stair-bridge similar to those now seen in
Japan, which was ultimately replaced by a stone structure.
BURLEIGH
CASTLE
A little way from this spot
stands the ancient Castle of Burleigh. The road which leads from
Milnathort around the loch to Scotland-Well, passes this ancient pile,
which is placed immediately upon the pathway. The situation is most
picturesque. The gable of the Castle towards the road is quite covered
with ivy, and the rent and broken portions of the edifice are enlivened
and beautified by the subdued tone of the evergreen leaves. By moonlight
the scene is romantic in the extreme. The heavy sombre shadows which are
thrown across the roadway, and the pale silvery glory which lights up each
prominent tower and battlement, give a weird and old-world aspect to the
whole place. From time immemorial the Castle of Burleig has been in the
family of the Balfours. Many are the stories related of them, but perhaps
none is so sadly romantic as that which is now to be told. In the
unsettled times betwixt the abdication of Queen Mary and the settlement of
her son, James VI., upon the throne, the young Lord of Burleigh fell under
the power of the arch-conqueror Love. The charms of the daughter of the
gardener at the Castle had overpowered and captivated him, and reckless of
consequences (as lovers ever are) he sought to elevate her to an equality
with himself by honourable marriage. Her beauty was the theme of every
tongue:—
"Who had not heard
Of Rose, the gardener’s daughter? Where was he
So blunt in memory, so old at heart,
At such a distance from his youth in grief,
That having seen forgot? The common mouth
So gross to express delight, in praise of her
Grew oratory. Such a lord is love,
And beauty such a mistress of the world."
But Balfour’s affection was
not reciprocated by the maiden, whose heart was already engaged to
another. Deaf alike to his threats and entreaties, she remained steadfast
to the lover to whom she had plighted her troth, and refused to be swayed
from her resolution to live for him alone. The Lord of Burleigh, finding
all his endeavours to win her hand fruitless, quitted the paternal roof in
the hope that foreign travel might obliterate her image from his heart,
and hoping that absence, in his case, would prove the. bane of love. But
his hopes were doomed to disappointment, and he returned to his home with
intensified love and increased affection for the object of his devotion.
She, however, had profited by his absence and was now married to the man
of her choice, who held the position of schoolmaster at Inverkeithing.
And so, one evening, little
dreaming of the danger which was near them, as the husband and wife sat at
their own fireside, planning perchance some elaborate scheme for securing
the happiness in perpetuity which they then enjoyed, their threshold was
darkened by the person of young Balfour of Burleigh. No phantom from the
"undiscovered country" could have exercised more power upon the young
wife, or paralysed her more completely. Reproach was upon his lips,
vengeance was in his eye. The haughty disposition which he had inherited
from a remote ancestry was unsoftened even by the influence of love, and
now jealousy inflamed him. Drawing a pistol from his bosom, he shot his
defence-less rival through the heart, in the presence of his wife, and
within his own house. No more dastardly act than this has been recorded in
the history of the British nobility. It was only to be expected that so
complete a poltroon would seek refuge from the consequence of his guilt in
flight and ignominious self-exile. Yet so powerful was the feudal
influence of the family that the affair was hushed up and secured from
publicity; and its story now only exists in the traditions of the country,
which have been repeated for generations in the field or by the
ingle-side.
POW-MILL
A short distance from
Burleigh Castle stands Pow-mill, whose untiring water-wheel has revolved
for over three centuries. The Pow Burn, which forms the motive power of
the mill, is one of the eleven streams which flow into Loch Leven,
from which tradition states (somewhat apocryphally) that the name of
Leven was derived. The ancient mill, until lately, was in a wonderful
state of preservation. The quaint old-fashioned gables and open courtyard
remind one forcibly. of the mills of Holland and the Low Countries; and
the moss-covered dyke and green-speckled wall still further add to its
venerable aspect. As the mill of the district, and therefore a centre of
local intelligence, many stories are related of it, one of which is as
follows :—
The
farm of Pittendreich, in the immediate
neighbourhood, was for many generations until lately in possession of a
family of the name of White; and the requirements of their agricultural
pursuits naturally made them intimate with the occupants of the mill.
During the persecuting times it so happened that Crawford, the miller,
took the side of Episcopacy, whilst White, the farmer, was known to be one
of the "hill-folk." The characters of the two men gave an index, to their
religious beliefs; for White was an upright, God-fearing man, whom even
his enemies respected; but Crawford was rude in speech, loose in morals,
and reckless in conduct. In those sad times to be "saintly" in any degree
was to provoke the vengeance of one’s ill-wishers; and though long
preserved from molestation, White’s day of trial at length arrived. A band
of troopers, scouring the countryside in search of "conventicle-men," had
been directed by some "good-natured friend" towards Pittendreich and White
had barely time to escape by a backway and fly for his life ere they
entered his dwelling.
Whilst Crawford the miller
stood in his doorway dreamily contemplating the deepening twilight, he
beheld a man stealthily creeping along by the hedge-sides as if fearful of
being seen, yet driven, nevertheless, to compulsory flight. As the figure
came nearer he recognized with some surprise in the excited and anxious
face before him, his old neighbour White, of Pittendreich. Hailing him as
he sought to pass, the miller inquired whither he was bound, and despite
their opposition in religion and the risk he thereby ran, the fugitive
declared the cause of his unwilling journey. Nor was his confidence in the
neighbourly feeling misplaced. Touched by the circumstances of the case,
the miller gladly extended his aid to him. "Come in bye," said he, "for
here ye may be safe. They’ll never look for a saint in Hell."
And having seen the farmer
safely bestowed, he resumed his position in the doorway, certain that his
reputation with the troopers would preserve him from molestation. And thus
the "touch of nature" had made even these diverse characters "Kin," and
overcame for the tithe their religious animosity. And the record of this
neighbourly action survives to the present day, though both have long
mingled with mother earth.
The shore of Lochleven from
Pow-mill to Scotland-Well is dotted with picturesque little villages which
cannot fail to interest the wayfarer. Little Balgedie, Meikle Balgedie,
and Kinnesswood form a continuous link, the last-named being ever
memorable as the birthplace of Michael Bruce, the poet, whose Scripture
Paraphrases are known throughout the world. The last of the Leven villages
is Scotland-Well, the name of which may have been bestowed by the Roman
invaders, since Tacitus refers to Fons-Sotiœ in his "Annals." The
pathway around the eastern end of the loch leads by the base of Bennarty
to Paran-Well.
This ancient locality of
Paran-Well (erroneously called "Parrot Well" by Sir Walter Scott) was
selected for an ambuscade at a very stirring time. The marriage of Mary,
Queen of Scots, to Darnley was distasteful to many of her powerful
subjects. Amongst these the Earl of Moray, her illegitimate brother, and
throughout her life her most implacable enemy, was principally offended by
this union. Apart from the fact that Darnley and he were sworn foes, there
was the old cry of "the Kirk in danger" to call to his side many wavering
vassals. Supported by the Lords of the Congregation, who resented Mary’s
marriage as endangering the Protestant succession, Many stationed a body
of horse at Paran-Well, under the shadow of Bennarty, to intercept Darnley
and his bride whilst on their way from Perth. But accurate intelligence
and an early turn out enabled them to defeat the purpose of their enemies,
and to escape for a time from their menaces. And thus it appears that
every portion of Lochleven is consecrated by some memory of the
unfortunate Queen, whose own reminiscences of the locality must have been
of the most mournful description. |