In Oban Town. A novel

Front matter

A NOVEL BY C. McKELLAR Author of ' ' Greece : Her Hopes and Troubles ;" " The Old Stradivari ; " " A Jersey Witch;" " Grajin Rinsky ;" " The Premier s Secret," etc., etc. ALEXANDER GARDNER $ut>lf8l)« to gjer the PAISLEY ; and 26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON To tArs. Campbell of Dunstaffnage, Wife of the Nineteenth Captain of Dunstaffnage, and Mother of the Captains to be, A Ladv whose name is a household word throughout the Western Highlands for every high quality which should belong to the position she adorns, CTHIS BOOI^ IS DEDICATED BY HER FRIEND, The AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAGE

Chapter I. Chapter I

The billows round me rise and roll, The storms of -worldly care Beat heavily upon my soul, And shroud me in despair : Forsake)!, comfortless, betrayed, With none to succour me, — Father ! what time I am afraid, Then will I trust in Thee '. —Thomas M'Kf.i.i.ar, Phil., U.S.A. Perhaps it had been one of the loneliest and most remote of Highland dwellings till the railway with its hideous rows of shining metal, its tourist-packed trains, its vulgar roar and whistle and bustle, came rushing through the sad and solemn solitudes which surrounded it. And even now though the railway disfigured the solitary scene, it yet remained — this gloomy castle of Innisdearg — a place alone and remote from other dwell ings, for the nearest station was many miles distant, and beyond the track leading to the water's edge across the heather-clad, boulder-strewn hills, there was no road near it.

Imagine a mountain the sides of which are strewn with mighty boulders of granite, and lower down are A thickly clothed with heather, now in its full glory, and on all sides of this mountain lower hills also clad in heather, and in the hollow in the centre of these hills a long narrow flat banked lake, silent, solitary and lonely beyond words. In this small loch or lake is an island of small size, a mass of tumbled rock, hazel bushes, and thickly growing oaks and other trees, and rising out of this tangled mass of foliage the half ruined walls of a tall narrow stone tower, the decay of which is partly hid by ivy the growth of many years. Save on this island not a tree is visible anywhere. The sun is sinking as the tourist-laden train labours its way up the mountain side, straining and groaning like a tired and human thing, and then with a sigh of relief hastens its pace through the gloomy levels by the edge of the loch.

The great mountain to the west throws a purple shadow on the lower and opposite hills, but here and there they catch the dying sunlight and break into a wonder of crimson and pink, of amber and brown. whilst the silent loch is molten gold, and the tree-clad island is reflected in its depths with strange effect. Sad. gloomy, eerie scene as it is, it is yet beautiful beyond words. Heads are thrust from the windows of the train, and eager eyes turned upon this scene with curious interest, for the story of the gloomy tragedy which has laid a stain on the walls of this old castle, — a stain of darker shade than the purple shadows of the mountain towering above, — is known to all, is printed in the guide books and discussed with bated breath. A weird and eerie scene, made more weird and eerie yet by the gloomy story attached to it.

The eagles have built and dwell in the highest ruined Iii Oban Tozvn. 11 turret of the old tower, and you may see them flit and soar untamed, unheeding, in this savage kingdom of theirs ; the wild duck in the dusk glides with her brood through the rushes at the far end of the loch ; amongst the granite boulders, the fox and the badger dwell in un disturbed ease, and mayhap the grouse may rise in startled flight as the train rushes past, but other sign of life there is none. The smoke rising from unseen chimneys of the half-ruined castle, and the boat moored at the foot of the rock are the only signs of human life or interest in the scene. So strangely out ot keeping with it all is the black and grimy train, which four to five times a day enters this solitude and in a few minutes is gone again, yet leaving its fences and metal rails behind it to be an ever jarring blot upon the scene.

There is time enough however for bitter cruel tongues to wag, and scornful fingers to point at this outcast home of an outcast race ; there is time enough to recall the sad story of crime which sets a mark upon the old stone tower, and gives the whole scene its added touch of superstitious awe ; time enough to keep alive the memory of a deed which even time can not efface. On the bank of the lake opposite to that where the railway runs, and facing the island, the remains of a broken-down landing stage mark the point of embark ment for the island. A neglected and ill-kept road or track ascends from this the hill, and did you pursue it, you would find that after reaching the hill top, you com menced to descend gradually and continuously, showing how high the lake really lies, and after a very monoton ous journey of five miles, you would find yourself in the bleak, dreary glen where lies the hamlet of Ardshelloch if even hamlet it could be called.

There is a large hotel with numerous outbuildings and scattered here and there a few thatched stone cottages, and this is Ardshelloch, a favourite resort of anglers, and the starting point of various coach routes. On the western side, half way up the mountain, and far above Ardshelloch Hotel, is the small but neat railway station, gay with flowers and fir trees, and its Ben Cruachan granite fountain for ever sparkling in the air. Few tourists lingered here, but ardent fishermen held it in high savour. On Sundays, when they dared not fish, these latter sometimes strolled up the bleak, uninteresting road to Loch Dearg and eyed with curious interest Innisdearg and its castle. The only boats on the loch belonged to the castle so that it was impossible for these stray visitors to approach nearer the castle than the shores of the loch.

Permission to fish on the loch was granted to none. When the train was well out of sight a young man dressed in a kilt descended the stone steps which led from the main door of the castle to the water's edge, and calling out, " Colin, I am ready," stepped into the boat lied to the landing stage. Colin appeared presently carrying a rod and other fishing gear, which, depositing in the boat, he seized the oars and with a few vigorous strokes speedily lengthened the distance between the boat and the island. A small fox terrier posed in the bow of the boat eyed with interest the preparation of the fishing tackle, and when his master made his first cast he stood with his legs wide planted on the seat and a knowing look upon his face. The first trout caught was received by him with a wag ol the tail which said plainly enough " This is satisfactory — this is promising !

" and his attention did not relax the whole hour the fishing went on. Colin, a black-bearded, hard-featured old Highlander in a faded kilt, rowed whilst his master fished, and kept up a running fire of remarks and advice. "The watter is gaein vera low, Master Alan," he said, "Ye'll hev to leave the fushing bye for a time. I've no seen the loch sae low for ten years past. They wass saying by M'Creran's at Ardshelloch that there's nae watter mair for drinking doun there, and soon they'll have lo be taking to the whusky." " I expect you will often go down to Ardshelloch then, Colin," his master replied. " And as for the fishing, it is certainly no good trying. See how they are jumping there, but will not take the fly." " Maybe it'll be better that you gae doun to Oban for the games, Master Alan — and what for no?

What for no ? " This with a quick deprecating look at his master, whc, however, returned no answer. " Row back, Colin, it's no use trying any longer," he said presently. The landing place on the island was in a little cove where was a pebbly beach, and from this rose the stone steps leading to the castle door. Some ducks and geese swam and waddled about the edge of the water, and a girl was busily employed washing linen and hang ing it out on the bushes to bleach and dry. She had a large tub at the water's edge, in which she now and again stood with petticoats kilted to her knees, displaying a pair of finely formed feet, ankles, and sturdy limbs, whilst she treaded the clothes in the tub. She was sing ing cheerily to herself, as she worked energetically, a quaint Gaelic song, and when she looked up as the boat approached the shore, she revealed a very bright and beautiful face.

Her features were good, her complexion dazzling, her eyes the deepest, darkest blue, with black brows and lashes which matched her wealth of blue-black hair, carelessly knotted on the nape of her neck. She formed a picture of rude and rustic health and beauty, enhanced by the frank cheerfulness of her bright face. " Nae luck, Master Alan ? " she queried. " No luck till the rain comes, Jessie," he answered as he stepped ashore, and he went up the steps wearily, his terrier Nick at his heels. Jessie looked after him, and for a minute her bright face clouded over and she shook her head ; then she commenced crooning away to herself in Gaelic : — ' Ioumhuinn tighearn, ioumhuin tuath Ioumhuinn gruaidh a's deirge r6s ; Ioumhuinn beul o'n eisdeadh dan, 'So'm bith na muai a' teirbheart ph6] ' Beloved was he of nobles, beloved was he of people, Beloved were his cheeks of reddish rose ; And well-beloved were those lips of song.

Which women loved to kiss." And though she only crooned to herself her voice was mellow and sweet with a strange fascinating cadence in it, and old Colin sat on the boat smoking his pipe and listening. Jessie was the one person whose bright, cheery nature not even the gloom of Innisdearg could overcome, and from morning to night she sang and hummed at her work, now and again breaking forth into a very torrent of song, sending her beautiful voice to wake the strange echoes which lay all around Loch Dearg. Her repertoire was an extensive one, but she loved best the Jacobite songs and the Gaelic. Iii Oban Tozvn. 15 Colin approved highly, and could join in with effect in the Gaelic choruses, and he was even trying to teach Jessie to play the pipes, but as yet with little success. Innisdearg was a world within itself, for save when Colin went to Ardshelloch its inmates seldom left it.

Alan and his henchman Colin would fish on the loch or go out grouse-shooting on the moors surrounding it, but the others seldom left the island. They were five dwelling together in this lonely little isle of theirs. Alan Campbell and his mother, Colin Macarthur, piper, butler ard general factotum, and his wife Margot, who was cook and housekeeper, and the orphan niece of these latter, our Jessie Macarthur of the musical voice. Jessie was maid of-all-work, and a cheerier or more willing maid of-all-work never did service. All her life had been lived at Innisdearg, it, and its inmates were all the world to her. To her it was home, and she did not miss the world beyond this isle because she did not know it. Her interests and her occupations filled her time, and Jessie knew not what dullness meant.

And yet this wild briar-rose with the beautiful face and exquisite voice was surely thrown away on Innisdearg. In that gloomy household no one had the heart or the wish to check the laughter or the song of this cheery young being, and to her alone the cold proud Lady of Innisdearg unbent and softened, and Jessie alone had no fear of her. " Jessie," Alan Campbell had once said to her, struck by the possibilities of her uncommon voice and her beauty, " how would you like to go into the great world, to Glasgow, to Edinburgh, and to London, and become a great singer ? If you studied for a time — I think — I really believe — you might become a great singer in the concert rooms and become famous and rirh — how would you like that ? " " Oh ! I'm no caring," laughed Jessie with a loss of her head.

" I'll bide by Innisdearg, I'm thinking, Master Alan, and I'll just sing awa to the brownies and the fairies, to the echoes of Loch Dearg, and to the aigles in the tower. Glasga ! Na ! Na ! I've heerd them saying there's nae watter and nae hulls there, but many wicked folk and smoke-reek and a' — I'll no leave Innisdearg." Alan Campbell entered the small square and rather dark hall of the castle, the walls of which were covered with family portraits, faded tapestry, rusty old weapons, and passing through it went to his own room. This sitting room of his might almost be termed a library, so filled was it with books. They filled the shelves on the walls, they were piled high on tables, chairs, and even on the floor. On one table illuminated missals were spread out and the paints and brushes and half finished copies of the delicate paintings in these mi-sals showed that Alan had been studying that art.

On another table lay a carved wood panel of intricate Celtic design also in a half-finished state, and the tools he had been using were scattered about in careless disorder. With these lesser arts he kept mind and brain occupied and refreshed, and gave himself not so much time for thinking .' — for alas .' his thoughts were seldom pleasant ones. This room was pannelled in oak, but the book shelves and the numerous portraits almost hid the walls. It had two very deep tall and narrow windows, which did not let in too much light. From their depth the enormous thickness of the walls might be seen. Above the fire a portrait was inserted in the dark oak pannell ing — the portrait of a fair young oval face with rather sad eyes — the portrait of bonnie Prince Charlie. Once, it was said, when on his wanderings, he had slept a night at Innisdearg and in this room ; but if one follows the story of these wanderings of his when a hunted fugitive, it is impossible to see how he could ever have been at Loch Dearg.

However, there is scarcely an old castle in the Highlands, which cannot show the room Prince Charlie slept in ! Alan Campbell threw himself down in a chair in a weary attitude. He felt disinclined for reading or working, for this night — he seemed to have reached the limit of his endurance. Margot Macarthur entered with a tray. " Here is your tea, Mr. Alan — ye'll take it now ? " this in a rather anxious tone. " All right ! Thanks, Margot," he answered wearily and not lifting his head off his hand. " I'll pour it out for you — ye'll take it ? " she asked again. "Yes, yes !" he answered, impatiently. Margot looked at him anxiously as she poured out the tea. "Master Alan," she said suddenly, "You should gang awa for a bittock. It's nae guid for ye to be always fretting and fretting your hairt awa here.

Gang awa, laddie — gang awa to Edinbro' or to Lunnon or maybe to paris — but gang awa frae Innisdearg. Dinna ye think but that we aw' ken hoo it's wi' you — my puir laddie ! " " Oh, Margot ! " he burst out, " I cannot bear it. I think I shall go mad. This monotonous existence — such thoughts to keep one company — it is too much ! Yes — you are right — I must go away for a time. Colin says I should go to the games at Oban," he went on with a rueful laugh, " to run there, I suppose, the gauntlet of all the sneers and jeers of half the county. Have I not had enough of all that ? " " Nay, Master Alan, maybe it's better to face them aw' — to heed na their dour looks and sneers. But whether or no ye gang to Oban, maybe the change'll do you guid. Eh, Master Alan, in our greeting and our sorrow is there not One above to turn to ?

Dinna ye think aboon it sometimes ? Oh ! laddie, laddie, when ye waur to ken what He has been to me — but whisht ye ! — Dinna ye hear what the lassie Jessie is singing the noo ? " Tempered by the distance Jessie's sweet voice came to them. She had burst into a hymn, and Alan and Margot were silent as they listened. " Come unto me, all je that labour and are heavy laden, and I zcitl give you rest," murmured Margot soltly and reverently, and again, but for the voice beneath the window, there was silence. At the door of mercy sighing With the burden of my sin, Day and night my soul is crying, " Open, Lord, and let me in." Waiting 'mid the darkness dreary, Stretching out my hands to Thee, In the refuge for the weary Is there not a place for me?" "Dinna ye hear it, laddie, laddie!" whispered Margot.

I have sought to earn thy favour, Caring not for toil or cost ; Yet I find not him my Saviour, Him who came to seek the lost. Blessed Master ! in thy pity Teach me what I ought to do, So that in the holy city I may gain an entrance too." "Oh I listen laddie ! " " Hark ! what sounds mine ear receiveth, Sweet as songs of seraphim I He that in the Lord believeth Life eternal hath in Him. At the outer door why staying? Nothing, soul ! hast thou to pay : Christ in love to thee is saying, Weary child, come in to-day." " I knew not of Jesus' kindness ! I knew not of Jesus' grace ! O the blackness of the blindness That could not behold his face ! I saw not the door was open, Nor my Lord invite me in : Grace is mine beyond my hoping, Mercy mightier than my sin." (Thomas M'Kellar, Phil. U.S.A.) " Laddie — Master Alan, dear — is na the door open for us a' ?

And maybe the blindest 'mangst us a' may learn to see." Alan passed his hand wearily over his brow. " Mar got, you mean to be good and kind — do you think that I have not thought about such things ? God knows," he went on bitterly, " I have time enough to think and think and think ! I do not like this talk — yes, the blackness of my blindness is yet too dense for me to see. I did no sin, yet God has suffered this thing to be done to me -, think you, then, that it is to Him I could turn ? But speak no more — God has forgotten me, or, if this be God's justice, I would forget Him ! " " Oh, Master Alan," she commenced, trembling with eagerness. " Enough, enough ! " he interrupted irritably. " Let me bear my burden as I can ! But a thought has just come into my mind — it is about Jessie. Why should I not take her to Oban?

She could stay at Mrs. Cameron's, they would be kind to her — and she might sing at the Mod. That would interest and please me, and surely Jessie, too ! Oh ! I must have my way — my mother cannot object — you will not — and Jessie, it will be such a treat for her." He spoke with a certain pleased excitement, and glad that he was interested in anything, Margot could only agree. " If the mistress lets her go I'm no for staun'ing in your way, Master Alan ; and nae doot Jessie '11 be gae pleased to go. And Mistress Cameron at Bank House and the young leddies wull nae doot put the lassie in the way o' seeing the sights o' the toon. What for no should she not gang — puir lassie ! it is not much pleasure she'll find here in Innisdearg the noo — we ha' maist all forgotten the way o' laughing here 'cept yon lassie."

" Yes — it is a good idea. I'll speak to Jessie and to my mother. You'll see that Jessie is lurbished up a bit, and I'll give the Miss Camerons some money to lay out on any bits of finery she may like. She must have a good frock for the mod. Surely there can be no voice so sweet as her's there — or none that knows how to render the Gaelic as Jessie does." Alan was so evidently pleased and excited with this /// Oban Tozvn. 21 new idea of his, that Margot never dreamed of opposing his wishes. " Hoot awa, laddie ! " she exclaimed with a sudden change of mood. " Here is your tea gae-in cauld and you no looking at it, and I blethering awa here. Drink it up — what for do you think I'm makin' guid tea — for you to waste it maybe ? Dinna ye think I've nae better to do than wasting my time on tea-making when you'll no look at it.

And there's that feckless loon Colin sitting oot there on the boat and whustling and smoking and aw' — as if he hadna mair to do than twa days will see him through;" and with this Mistress Margot flounced out of the room, and in a few minutes her voice could be heard, raised in angry tones, shrilly shrieking at Colin in Gaelic, and bidding him bestir himself. Margot Macarthur was a very grim, plain, hard-featured person, and her manner was usually as grim and stern as her face. She had a violent temper, and at times gave vent to it freely, but as there was no one at Innisdearg upon whom she could vent it save Colin and Jessie, and as the latter was too cheerfully willing and too amiable to often merit reproof, the unfortunate Colin came in for his share of it. Margot in one of her tantrums was a most alarming person, and poor Colin received not only many theoretical knocks, but many practical ones.

He was ruled by, and stood in great fear of his wife, yet he had a profound veneration for her. Margot's tantrums were certainly very terrible, but after all her bark was worse than her bite — her heart was in the right place, and her sterling good qualities far exceeded her bad ones. She was intensely religious — endowed with a strong earnest faith, which, because it was earnest and sincere, inspired respect, and those who really knew her always recognized her real worth. But she had her ways — which were not always quite as acceptable as she would have wished them to be. Her religion was at times of the too assertive and aggressive kind; but she was sin cere in all her professions. Her devotion to her cold hard mistress, and to her young master. Alan, was undoubted and patent, and gained her every tolerance from them.

Poor Colin, however, was at times nearly driven out of his wits by her persistent nagging. Colin, though he "had not the religion," had a fad of his own. The Macarthurs, he declared and main tained, were the real head of the Clan Campbell, and he proved to bis own satisfaction that he, Colin, was the real chief! Consequently, he said, that as he was the Chief of the Campbells, so he ought to be Duke of Argyll ! It was useless to point out to Colin that even though the Macarthurs had really been the original Chiefs of the Campbells, it did not at ail follow that they would have become the Earls and Dukes of Argyll. Co'.in's mind was made up on the subject. If all had their rights then he would be Duke of Argyll ! Any mention of this subject roused the wrath of Margot, and Colin had often to endure torrents of shrill abuse and sometimes the weight of Margot's by no means light hand.

" Ye feckless Bodach .' an' it's a braw duke the likes o' you wud mek, an idle feckless loon like you ! Ana' wi' you an' your chieftains and dukes and aw' ! Dinna ye think I ve naething better ta dee than harken to sick claverings as those ! Ye suld have bin merried on the Queen's darter and rue on Margaret Macintyre, since ye're sae grand-like, an' a Hielan' Chief an' aw' ! Ye big laogh .' " ozvn. 23 In derision she had christened him " Cailein Oig," and the name stuck to him and was used by almost everyone who knew him. Loch Dearg and its adjacent lands had been held by the Campbells for many hundreds of years. Though never a wealthy or very important family there had been several of its members distinguished in history. In the unforgetable '45, the Innisdearg of the day had been on the side of Prince Charlie and so had incurred the enmity of his chief Argyll, and would certainly have lost his lands, had not his son, young Innisdearg, taken the Hanoverian side, risen high in the savour of his mighty chief, and so saved his heritage.

It was a very common thing for father and son to be on opposite sides at that time, as, apart from real conviction, it was the only way of retaining their possessions. History teems with incidents connected with this. Very often it was convic tion that made them take opposing sides, but just as fre quently it was a diplomatic care for their own interests. But this taking of different sides brought about strange incidents at times, as an instance of which one may cite the meeting of Piipanach Mor and his son on Stirling Bridge. This Piipanach Mor, so-called either from his great strength and character or from being a bigoted " Papist," was Alexander Campbell of Ardslignish, brother of the great Sir Duncan Campbell of Lochnell, who was friend, adherent, and next of kin to Argyll. The Piipanach Mor was a devoted adherent of the House of Stuart, but his only son John was a Protestant, and served for the King under his uncle, Sir Duncan, and his kinsman Argyll.

One one occasion, when fighting on different sides, the son and father met on Stirling Bridge. John Campbell, though leading his men, had a broken arm and was wounded in the other also. His father, the Piipanach Mor, as he passed him, regarded him with unpitying eyes, " Would to God, John, that every man on your side was in the same state ! " he exclaimed. And the lapanach Mor died as he had lived, loyal to his unfortunate prince. His son arrayed him in the tartans he had worn and fought in at Culloden, and the pipers marched round the house playing the " Fiiilt a' Phrionr.sa " — the " Prince's Welcome " — and so the proud Ardslignish went to his last home. It was this same Captain John Campbell, the son of the Piipanach Mor, who, when Prince Charlie was be sieging Edinburgh Castle, was lowered down in a basket from one of the windows of the Castle in the dead of night, and passing unperceived through the Prince's army, hastened to Stirling to obtain reinforce ments for the garrison, returning to Edinburgh before daybreak, and gaining re-admittance to the Castle in the same manner as he had left it.

That son of Innisdearg who had been on the Hano verian side had risen to high station, and marrying an heiress, had acquired with her a fine mansion and estate in the Lowlands. Innisdea'g had been left neglected and little cared for, and so the old Castle, already show ing signs of decay, had become partly ruinous. Suc ceeding lairds now and again visited it, but beyond keeping the habitable part of it in repair, did not care to live there or spend money on it. They lived in great state on their Lowland lands, and spent their money freely at the dissipated Courts of the Georges in London, so freely, that in time the family inheritance became sadly encumbered. It was the last Innisdearg though who had been the freest spender and highest liver of them all, and who had accumulated such a load of debt that at his death the Lowland estates had to be sold.

He was the father of Alan and Alistair Campbell. He had married Catherine Sinclair, one of the proudest and haughtiest beauties of her time. She came of an illustrious stock, and was allied to and descended from half the greatest families of the king dom — a fact she never forgot for a moment. As Mrs. Campbell of Innisdearg she had been for a time a great London hostess, never popular, as she was too cold, too proud and haughty, but always much courted and run after. When the worry of pecuniary affairs had become more than she could bear, and her domestic unhappi ness had become notorious, she had given up society and retired to Innisdearg with her two boys, there to make her home, leaving her husband to his senseless life of ruinous folly. In her remote Highland home she remained as haughty and arrogant as ever, and never anything but a person of great importance.