Picture of Castle Campbell sent in by Louise McGilviray
THE Ochil Hills bear much the same relation to the East
Coast of Scotland as the Kilpatrick Hills do to the West. Though not in
themselves privileged to give rise to an extensive stream, they are both
inseparably associated with the noble rivers, the Forth and the Clyde,
which sweep majestically past their several bases on their way to the
eastern and western seas. But in point of grandeur the Ochils transcend
the western range, even as they are themselves dwarfed into insignificance
by the loftier hills of the north.
Opposed by the Pentland
Hills, which limit the southern basin of the Forth, the Ochils form a
lofty barrier between the valleys of the Forth and the Tay, and send
tributary streams to swell the volume of both of these rivers. Three minor
ranges of the Sidlaws, the Ochils, and the Pentland Hills thus enclose
between them the two noblest rivers on the East Coast of Scotland, and
direct their course to the North Sea. The Ochils, unlike the more northern
mountains, are clad with verdure almost to their summits, and though bold
in outline and varied in colour, they have not the sterile majesty of the
peaks of Aberdeenshire. At their base lie many little hamlets and towns,
whose subsistence is drawn rather from their manufactures than from
agriculture. Tillicoultry and Alva are alike famous for their productions
in the woollen trade, and the extensive factories which here exist show
that the introduction of steam as a motive power has rather increased than
diminished the number of weavers.
Pre-eminent among the Ochil
towns stands Dollar, picturesquely situated upon one of the innumerable
"crooks of Devon," which claims remembrance from many causes. The
educationalist will think of it as the site of the famous Academy, to
which many Scottish men of letters owe their mental birth; the poet will
remember it as the residence of Tennant, the inimitable author of "Anster
Fair," and the immortalizer of "Maggie Lauder"; and the Waltonian will
never forget that in its neighbourhood he has bagged the finest trout
which the streams of Scotland afford. For down by the very doors of the
inhabitants of Dollar flows the lovely river Devon, whose name is not
unknown among the lyrics of Scotland, since of it does our National Bard
sing in his well-known lay:-
"Row pleasant the banks of
the clear winding Devon,
With green spreading bushes and
flowers
blooming fair."
It is not easy to find a
more purely Scottish stream than this same Devon river, which calls forth
the enthusiasm of the tourist. Taking its rise in the eastern end of the
Ochil range, it wanders by the natural dip of the land towards
Lochleven; but a peculiar geological
formation interposes a barrier and diverts the stream westward, so that,
instead of having a short-lived existence ere it lost itself in the loch,
it "meandering flows" through many miles of varied scenery, until at
length it becomes tributary to the Forth. Nowhere does it attain
considerable size, but everywhere it presents the essential phenomena of
the Scottish stream. From the Crook of Devon, which is literally the
turning-point of its existence, it wanders placidly between the banks with
verdure crowned, until it nears Rumbling Bridge.
Here the rapid descent of
the valley of Dollar causes it to assume a more turbulent character, and,
dashing through the "Devil’s Mill," where its stream is not seen, but
heard as some weird subterranean "voice of many waters," it hurries on
towards the Cauldron Linn. The force of the water, continuously rushing
for centuries, has hollowed a vast basin in the sandstone rock, and the
stream now pours through a contracted aperture, with the force of a
water-spout, sheer over the precipice. From this point it descends more
gently through the valley of Dollar, presenting all the characteristics of
a Scottish salmon-stream, and realizing Tennyson’s description of "The
Brook" :—
"I wind about, and in and
out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling."
Passing near the town of
Dollar, it takes a south-westerly direction toward the Forth, merely
catching a glimpse of the picturesque Castle Campbell, which stands amid
the green woodland of the hill.
Viewed from a distance,
this ancient Keep might readily be mistaken for some retiring
mansion-house, embowered in a miniature forest of larch and beech, or, by
a stretch of the imagination, to the poet’s mind it might seem
"A palace,
lifting in eternal summer
Its marble head from out a glossy bower
of leaves."
Yet a nearer acquaintance
with its topography will speedily
dispel this illusion. The approach to the Castle soon alters from the mild
riverside way with which it begins, to the rugged and stern mountain path
which terminates at the ruin. The "bower of leaves" becomes a gloomy
forest, and the "marble palace" vanishes into a grim and solitary ruin,
which frowns defiantly from the summit of a precipice, apparently
in-accessible. The road is now narrowed to its minutest limit, and crosses
the fearful chasm which partly surrounds the Castle by one of those shaky
wooden bridges which terrify the soul of the timorous tourist. But the
view to be obtained from this spot is well worth the
trouble thus occasioned. In the valley of the Devon its glistening stream
appears, disappears, and reappears far below the spectator; and the spires
of Dollar and the factories of
Tillicoultry, the scenes of the triumph of head and hand, are at once
visible. Over the rising ground which lies between the Devon and Alloa,
the estuary of the Forth may be seen, now expanded into a noble firth;
while westward the levelling country indicates, the proximity of the
fertile Carse of Stirling.
Nearer the point of vision
the two streams which flow around the Castle and fall into the Devon a
short way from it have been named by some romantic native in pre-historic
times, the Water of Care and the Burn of Greif (Gryfe); while the ancient
title of the ruin itself was "the Castle of Gloom," and the site of the
melancholy trio was "the Valley of Dolour." This poetical combination,
however, like so many fanciful tales, has collapsed before the searching
examination of this practical age, and a new interpretation must now be
given. The name of Castle Gloom is probably a corruption of the Gaelic
Chleum or (loch Leum—the Mad Leap, though the origin of that
title is lost in obscurity. The Water of Care was most likely applied to
the stream after the building of the edifice, as it seems an easy
transition from Caer, the Celtic prefix for a castle and its
surroundings. Dollar is now supposed to have been originally Balor,
the high field—a title which its position justifies; and thus the tender
element of romance evaporates beneath analysis.
The date of the erection of
the Castle is now undiscoverable, nor has the most elaborate investigation
thrown much light upon its origin. There is a tradition still current
which declares that it was a portion of the dowry which King Robert the
Bruce bestowed upon his sister, Lady Mary Bruce, on the occasion of her
marriage with Sir Neil Campbell of Lochow. But if this was the case it
must have gone out of the possession of the family afterwards, for it was
certainly held by Archbishop Schevet, of St Andrews, and was gifted by him
to the head of the Campbells in his tithe as a bribe to secure his support
on a special occasion. The Archbishop died in 1498 at an advanced age. In
1493 an Act of Parliament was passed to enable the proprietor (apparently
the second Earl of Argyll) to change its name from "Castle of Gleume" to
"Castle Campbell," by which designation it is still known. And though it
must have been peculiarly convenient for a powerful western clan to have a
stronghold of such security in the eastern district, whereby disaffection
might be overawed, the isolation of the Castle from the main body of the
Clan Campbell frequently exposed it to danger, and finally brought about
its destruction.
The rivalry between the
clans of the east and the west of Scotland raged with violence for
centuries, and the untutored clansmen pursued their feuds with the same
deep spirit of revenge as a Corsican follows the vendetta of his family.
When, therefore, the Covenanters in the time of Charles I. included two
such eminent men as Montrose and Argyll, the leaders of the Grahams and
the Campbells, who had been sworn foes for a lengthened period, it was
soon evident that they could not long remain devoted to the same cause.
Their traditional enmity effectually prevented them from coalescing, and
the crafty spirit of Argyll led him to attempt
"Ways that are dark,
And tricks that are vain,"
The haughty soul of
Montrose recoiled from his leadership and renounced the Covenanting cause
which he had espoused. His overtures to the King were well received at
Court, for his reputation as a warrior had gone before him, and he was
looked upon as a Chevalier Bayard,
sans peur et sans reproche.
The exploits of the great
Marquess of Montrose in Scotland read more like a romance of olden times
than veritable history; and his heartfelt devotion to the King in good or
ill-fortune elevate him to the position of a hero. But the sun of the
Stewart family was then under eclipse; and it was not given to Montrose to
be the instrument of their restoration to power, however strenuous his
endeavours for that purpose; though, perhaps his cruel and ignominious
death did as much to forward the Royal Cause as his most brilliant victory
on the field of battle. The history of Montrose, however, is not to
concern us at present, save in its relation to Castle Campbell.
The period of Scottish
history which treats of the Civil War during the time of Charles I. and
the Commonwealth, shows distinctly that the gratification of private
revenge and the settlement of family feuds largely influenced the
combatants. The wavering fortunes which inclined now to the Covenanters
and anon to the Royalists soon reduced the land to the state in which
Judæa was placed when "there was no King in Israel." Argyll had his own
traditional enemies, but so also had every prominent man in his retinue;
and thus vengeance was widely spread, and never lacked opportunity. The
history of the time was a constant record of murder and rapine, of insult
and reprisal, until the condition of the country became absolutely
deplorable. The opposing forces soon reached that stage at which no sense
of honour restrains from excess, and when the claims of family ties and
blood relationships are boldly set at naught or publicly outraged. And it
was during this fearful time, and as a result of this melancholy and
fratricidal position that Castle Campbell fell a victim to the general
fury.
The Campbells, as already
mentioned, were at feud with the Grahams, but they were also sworn foes to
the Ogilvies, another powerful eastern clan, which commanded a large
portion of Forfarshire. The Earl of Airlie, leader of this clan and a
devoted adherent of Charles I., had removed to England early in the
struggle of 1640, fearing that the Covenanters would insist upon his
signature. His Castles of Airlie and Forter were left in charge of his
son, Lord Ogilvy, and as they were well-garrisoned, he thought they might
escape the rage of the enemy; But the Committee of Estates, undaunted by
the check which the young Lord had given them, issued a Commission of Fire
and Sword to Argyll, authorizing him to capture both these strongholds.
The task was a congenial one to the ruthless Argyll; and with fiendish
glee he set about its accomplishment. Directing an overwhelming force
against the Castle of Airlie, he compelled Lord Ogilvy to withdraw, and
then, in pursuance of his instructions from the Committee, he proceeded to
raze the walls and battlements.
A contemporary writer
records that "Argyll was seen taking a hammer in his hand, knocking down
the hewed work of the doors and windows till he did sweat for heat at his
task." And the ancient ballad from which the following verses are quoted,
details, with perhaps some superfluous exaggerations, the poetical aspect
of the grim scene:—
"It fell on a day, and a
bonnie simmer day,
When green grew aits an’ barley,
That there fell oot a great dispute
‘Tween gleyed Argyll an’ Airlie.
Argyll has raised ane hunder men,
Ane hunder harnessed rarely;
An’ he’s awa’ by the back o’ Dunkeld
To plunder the Castle o’ Airlie.
Lady Ogilvy looks ower her bower
window,
An’ O, but she looks wearily;
An’ there she spied the great Argyll,
Come to plunder the bonnie house o Airlie.
‘Come down, come down, my Lady
Ogilvy,
Come down an’ kiss me fairly.’
'O, I wadna kiss the fause Argyll
Tho’ he shouldna leave a standin’ stane in Airlie.’
. . . . . .
‘O, I ha’e seven braw sons,’ she
said—
‘The youngest ne’er saw his daddie;
But tho’ I had ane hunder mae
I’d gi’e them a’ to King Charlie.
‘But gin my gude Lord had been
at
hame,
As this nicht he is wi’ Charlie,
There durstna a Campbell in a’ Argyll
Ha’e plundered the bonnie house o’ Airlie.
‘Gif my gude Lord was noo at hame,
As he is wi’ King Charlie,
The dearest blude o’ a’ thy kin
Wad slocken the burnin’ o' Airlie!
Thus runs the old song, and
though there seems too strong a flavour of the Trojan dame in this
Scottish matron, the strain proved prophetic, for her Lord had the
privilege on the bloody field of Kilsyth of executing summary vengeance
upon the Campbell clan in open battle.
Meanwhile, a partial
revenge had been taken upon the unfortunate Castle Campbell by the
followers of Montrose. After the "glorious victory" at Aulderne, that
intrepid leader descended by the east coast to the Forth, and then,
striking across the country by way of Kinross and Devon Valley, he thought
to surprise and capture Stirling with little effort. In his progress
westward he had to pass this stronghold of Argyll; and as the ruthless
conduct of the cross-eyed Earl at Airlie had been detailed to Montrose, he
relaxed discipline to allow the Ogilvies, who were with him, to indulge
their revengeful spirit. These were joined by the followers of the Earl of
Stirling, whose house of Menstrie, at the base of the Ochils, had been
relentlessly destroyed by the same hand. And as these avengers of blood
marched boldly up the narrow path towards the ancient Castle of Gloom,
well might the Campbells within its walls tremble
"To see the gallant Grahams come hame.
I’ll crown them east, I’ll crown them
wast,
The bravest lads that e’er I saw;
They bore the gree in free fechtin’,
An’ ne’er were slack their swords to draw.
They won the day wi’ Wallace wight.
They were the lords o’ the south countrie;
Cheer up your hearts, brave cavaliers,
The gallant Grahams ha’e come ower the sea!"
The resistance offered to
the assault must have been slight, since the position of the Castle might
have rendered defence easy. But the name of Montrose acted as a magic
spell upon his enemies; and this token of western power fell into the
hands of the warriors of the east, and was laid waste by fire and sword.
Nor have its lofty battlements since borne the Banner of Argyll, with the
Galley of Lorne, and the proud motto of the Campbells,
Ne obliviscaris.
Castle Campbell at night and thanks to Ken
Cameron for sending this in. |