Chronicles of Strathearn

by Unknown

ON THE BANKS OF THE DEVON

By Rev. E. B. SPEIRS, B.D., Glendevon

Seeing that "St. Serf's Bridge" still spans the Devon at one part within the parish of Glendevon, and that the good Saint did not himself build the bridge, but, following a common practice, baptised and made Christian what was a Pagan structure, reared in this instance by the Imperial legionaries, it might be permissible for the local historian to go back at least to the times of the Roman occupation. After describing the camp and the Roman road which still exist in the mind's eye of the antiquaries, he might then go on to tell of holy St. Servan's feats in the way of detecting sheep-stealers by making them, like Speed under the influence of Proteus' reasoning, cry "Baa," or relate some such pretty human story as that of how he turned water into wine for the sake of a sick monk, or unfold the thrilling tale of how he fought the Dovan dragon, as Wyntoun sings, or at least says:—

"In Dovyn of devotyoune
And prayere, he slew a fell Dragoune,
Quhare he was slayne, that place wes ay
The Dragownys Den cald to this day."[1]

The more exact methods of writing history now in vogue, however, almost compel the chronicler to begin with the first certain mention of Glendevon in accredited records, and that belongs to the year 1521. On the eleventh of July of that year an interesting ceremony was gone through down at Cambuskenneth, on the banks of the Forth. Abbot Mylne, a man both of culture and character, who to a genuine love of letters added a love of art and architecture, and who was ultimately the first President of the Court of Session, had re-built the great altar, the chapter-house, and part of the cloister of his Abbey, and had laid out two new cemeteries. In order to signalise these notable additions and restorations he invited the Bishop of Dunblane to conduct a consecration and dedication service. The Bishop was directly assisted in this solemn function by three of his principal clergy—his archdeacon, George Newton; John Chesholme, prebendary of Kippane; and "Jacobus Wilson, prebandarius de Glendowane." John Tulydaf, warder of the Minorites of "Striueling" (Stirling), preached on the efficacy of dedication after the celebration of the Mass, and amongst those present were the "noble and powerful" Lord John Erskin, Jacobus Haldene of Glenegges (Gleneagles), Knight, and various others of the local clergy, nobility, and gentry, together with a large concourse of people from the surrounding district. The official account of what took place on this high day when Glendowane, Glendovan, Glenduen, or Glendevon, first emerges into the light of history, is duly signed by Jacobus Blakwood, presbyter of the Diocese of Dunblane, public notary by apostolic authority, who was on the spot and saw everything properly done.[2] The name of Prebendary Wilson occurs in several documents both before and after this, all of which have reference to matters connected either with Cambuskenneth or Dunblane. He gets prominent mention in a paper dated from Cambuskenneth, June, 1530, in which he is styled "Canonicus Dunblanensis," heading a list of "venerable and discreet" gentlemen, including Alanus Balward, vicar of Kalender, and Andreas Sym, vicar of Cumry, but we cannot trace him further down than March of the following year. It is clear from this that Glendevon was attached to the "Kirk of Dunblane," and that the Parish Church was served from there, not, it is to be hoped, in the slovenly fashion characteristic of these times, when the stipend was too often fought for by different teind hunters in the shape of the bishop of the diocese and the abbot of some neighbouring monastery, a state of things to which Prebendary Wilson himself bears witness. There is something almost pathetic in the thought that less than forty years after that dedication service in which the Prebendary of Glendevon took part, these additions were to be pulled to pieces by the savage mob which wrecked, amongst other religious houses, the stately monastery on the Links of the Forth; and it is just possible that the great destroyer—spiritually at least—of what Canon Wilson helped to build up was in his parish in 1556. At any rate a spot is still pointed out on the glebe where, according to tradition, John Knox preached. We know from his own statement[3] that he spent some time in the early part of the summer of that year at Castle Campbell—which is only some four or five miles distant—"whare he taught certane dayis"; so it is at least not utterly improbable that he may have come through Glenquey past the Maiden's Well, and visited a possible congregation in Glendovan, exhorting them to "prayaris, to reading of the Scriptures, and mutuall conference unto such tyme as God should give unto them grettar libertie."[4]

The second direct mention of Glendevon in public records is of a somewhat unsavoury order, and affords a rather curious illustration of the beliefs of the people of Scotland in the seventeenth century. John Brughe, one of the most notorious necromancers and wizards of his day, was tried at Edinburgh on November 24th, 1643, for practising sorcery and other unholy arts, and amongst the charges brought against him was that he had met Satan thrice "in the kirkyeard of Glendovan at quhilkis tymes ther was taine up thrie severall dead corps, ane of thame being of ane servand man named Johne Chrystiesone; the uther corps, tane up at the Kirk of Mukhart, the flesch of the quhilk corps was put above the byre and stable-dure headis" of certain individuals in order to destroy their cattle.[5] John's object in collecting Glendovan "muild" was, according to this indictment, not a beneficent one; but it is to be remembered to his credit that he used the powdered bones of the dead and other materials, notably "ane inchantit stane of the bignes of a dow egg,"[6] for the healing of man and beast, and we are told that for curing a number of oxen afflicted with the murrain by administering a pint of one of his patent medicines, accompanied with the invocation, "God put thame in their awin place," repeated thrice, he got "ellevin od schillings, with twa peckis of meill and thrie tailyeis of beiff." In those days, when not only human nature but Nature herself lay under the black shadow of one of the foulest of superstitions, the fair banks of the Devon were much frequented by the devil, who had whole "covins" of witches and wizards in his service, so that it is not surprising to hear that John was frequently in his company. "That John Brughe had been with the devil at the Rumbling Brigs and elsewhere was affirmed by Katherine Mitchell to be of veritie, at the tyme of hir criminall tryell at Culrose, and immediately befoir hir executione, the said John Brughe being confronted with hir at the tyme."[7] We can claim this renowned empiric not only for the Glendevon district, but in a sense for the Presbytery, since it was alleged against him that he had got his uncanny knowledge "from a wedow woman, named Neane Nikclerith, of threescoir years of age, quha wis sister dochter to Nik Neveding, that notorious infamous witche in Monzie, quha for her sorcerie and witchecraft was brunt fourscoir of yeir since or thereby." Spite of all he had done for the "bestiall," and all the testimonials he had from patients whom he had cured of their "seiknessis" by enchanted drinks, Glendovan and Mukhart mould, and sympathetic conjuring of "sarkis, coller bodies, beltis, and utheris pertaining als weill to men as to wemen," John was found guilty and condemned to be strangled and burned. These were the real Dark Ages, when intimations were frequently made from the Glendevon and other pulpits that the minister and session would be glad to receive information against suspected witches, and when the common pricker who pricked poor witches "with lang preins of thrie inches" to discover the marks of Satan, was specially busy in the vale of Devon, where in a record year no less than sixteen of the local "covin" were burned. In the Roll of Fugitives from kirk discipline drawn up by the Synod of Perth and Stirling in 1649, Glendevon was represented by a warlock, "Mart. Kennard, suspect of witchcraft," but of his fate we know nothing. In this connection it may be remarked that though the "Kirkyeard of Glendovan," immortalised by John Brughe's ghoulish visit, contains no epitaphs, humorous or otherwise, it possesses a "Plague Stone," a large rough slab, under which lie those who died of what is vaguely called the Plague (1645?), and the lifting of which was duly guarded against by a solemn curse pronounced over it on whoever would dare to remove it, for two hundred years ago a curse could break bones or "ryve the saull out of ye."

Two years after John Brughe suffered at Edinburgh, the quiet of the usually peaceful valley of the Devon was broken by the clatter of cavalry and the skirling of the pipes, as Montrose, having in his usual brilliant fashion outwitted Baillie, marched through, burning and plundering as he passed, leaving Muckhart, Dollar, and, above all, Castle Campbell, the lowland hold of the detested Argyles, heaps of blackened ruins, a march which was to end in the bloody Battle of Kilsyth, that "braw day" when, as the Highlander with grim humour remarked, "at every stroke I gave with my broadsword I cut an ell o' tamn'd Covenanting breeks." When Chambers says[8] that "the Covenanting army marched close upon the track of Montrose down Glendevon, at the distance of about a day's march behind," he, of course, means down the Devon valley, and not down Glendevon proper, since it is pretty certain that Montrose, in making his descent from the north, entered the low country not by Gleneagles, but by the south-east end of the Ochils. Glendevon Castle—originally built, it is supposed, by the Crawfords[9] in the sixteenth century—thus escaped the fate which befel Castle Campbell[10] and Menstrie House, and other places in the Devon and Ochil district at this time, when the fierce strife was not merely between cavaliers and Covenanters, but quite as much, and specially during the Devon valley march, between the Ogilvies and Macleans on the one hand, and the Campbells and their friends on the other. It is, however, impossible, to say whether the Keep, which has been in the possession of the Rutherford family since 1766, was actually at this time in the hands of the Crawfords, and, indeed, the traditions regarding its ownership are so vague—one of them assigning it to the Douglases—that, in the absence of authentic records, it is impossible to make any really satisfactory statement regarding its origin and history.

Some years later the parish of Glendevon came prominently before the public in connection with the deposition and excommunication of its doughty true-blue Presbyterian minister, the Rev. William Spence, M.A., though it was not till he had been removed from his living that the really romantic part of his career began. He had graduated at St. Andrews in 1654, and after some years of schoolmastering[11] and probationership he was, in 1664, duly admitted on the new Black Prelatic conditions to the parish of Glendevon. Under the mild rule of Bishops Leighton and Ramsay he lived quietly there for fourteen years. His name occasionally appears on the Synod and Presbytery Committees during this period, and he seems to have done his best to get the brethren stirred up to "better the provision of Glendovan." The Bishop and Synod did actually order a "perambulation" to be made to see if anything could be annexed from the adjacent parishes, especially "Denying and Fossoquhy," so that, as Mr Spence put it, "ane augmentation proportionablie might be made to him out of the vacant teindes of the said paroches in respect of the poornes and meannes of his stipend for the present."[12] The perambulation, beyond affording a pleasant outing to the visitors in the long May days, does not seem to have had any practical result. Mr Spence had, however, been thinking of higher things than teinds and augmentation, and had been looking far beyond the bounds of his own parish, and, spite of the extreme gentleness of the somewhat mongrel Prelatic-Presbyterian rule under which he was, and the general atmosphere of conformity which he breathed, he began to have serious searchings of heart about the state of the "poor afflicted" Church. Accordingly, towards the end of 1678 he took the bold step of presenting a paper[13] to the Presbytery of Auchterarder drawing the attention of the Court to the sundry gross corruptions under which the Church was suffering and to the horrid defection from its first purity, obvious to every man who did not wilfully shut his eyes. The evils against which he asked the Court to testify were doctrinal, liturgical, disciplinary, moral, and what may be called ecclesiastical. He includes in the sweep of his very impartial denunciation not only the pernicious tenets of Pelagianism, Arminianism, Latitudinarianism, and Popish errors, but "the dotage of Quakers and other enthusiasts," human inventions in worship, and the private essays made to introduce or impose an unwarrantable liturgie of unsound and useless form, the loose spirit of atheism, profaneness, and ungodliness reigning in all corners of the kingdom, and the dreadful differences that prevailed, and calls for a return to sound doctrine, the practice of "the gude Kirk primitif," the exercise of a strict discipline, and the ways of peace. At the special meeting of Presbytery called to consider his paper he asked to have it back, apparently because he now thought its terms were not strong enough, and meanwhile a committee was appointed not to deal but to confer with him "until he should get full satisfaction of everything that was his scruple." He refused, however, to meet the Committee or attend the Presbytery, on the ground that he had not "clearness" as to the authority and constitution of a semi-prelatic Court. The Bishop and Presbytery thereupon suspended him, and he was summoned before the Synod in April, 1679, but did not attend, on account of "ane aguish distemper which had seized on him." A Synodal Committee with full powers was then appointed, before which he compeared in May, but spite of earnest entreaties of the Bishop he would withdraw nothing, and even added that he did not think the present Church government agreeable to Scriptural rules—a view shared by some of the Episcopalian bishops themselves. The Bishop and Committee recorded their opinion that the paper was contrived and adhered to for advancing some private interest against the unity and peace of the Church, and rather unfairly insinuated that Mr Spence was the more hardened therein by the late execrable murder of the Bishop of St. Andrews and the expectation of a Revolution to follow thereupon, and unanimously resolved that this unruly and unreasonable member be deposed. Mr Spence was quite prepared for this, and, "with some signs of choler in his countenance," handed a second paper to the Bishop, which turned out to be a protest against the sentence of the "pretended" Bishop and Synod of Dunblane passed on him. He was asked to retire for a little till they should consult, but he scornfully replied that he did not own their jurisdiction, and was making for the church-door when the Bishop ordered the beadle to lay hold of him, and carry him to his house, and desire the Baillie to keep him safely until he should find caution to answer before a competent judicatory. This was Mr Spence's first taste of imprisonment, of which he was to have a very large supply, of very different quality, too, later on. The good Bishop on his own responsibility sent three of the brethren that night to reason with him, but Mr Spence would not yield, and was let out on bail. He appeared at the next meeting of Synod, but, spite of the threat of excommunication, stuck to his guns and argued against his treatment on technical grounds, and on the following day, when, after being duly cited, he neither compeared nor pled "ane aguish distemper," the Bishop and Synod charged the Presbytery of Auchterarder to proceed with the excommunication, which after some bungling they did, and finally the superior Court ordered the intimation of the excommunication to be read from every pulpit in the Diocese on the first Sabbath of January, 1681, but no attempt was made to detain the unruly member, and the door of grace was left open to the very last, quite remarkable leniency when it is remembered that 1680 was the year of the Sanquhar Declaration and Airds Moss, and that the peroration of Mr Spence's protest would have done credit to Cuddy Headrigg's mother. "For these reasons specially, and many others I need not mention now, I, the said William Spence, protest against the sentence aforesaid, and disown the same, seeing the said inflicters have hereby proclaimed themselves to be the patrones and abettors of all the said corruptions, supplanters of the Gospel faction for Anti-christ, promoters of the powers of darkness, enemies to the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and such from whom all good Christians ought to separate because of their maintaining and defending soul-murdering heresies, and in persecuting with the utmost violence and rigour any man who darr open his mouth for the truth of Christ. (Sic Subscribitur), Mr William Spence."[14]

Mr Spence as yet was only an ecclesiastical rebel, and instead of going over to the extreme Covenanters, made his way to Holland, where he joined the colony of Scotch refugees. Ultimately he attached himself to the Earl of Argyle as a kind of secretary, and conducted part of the correspondence between the Earl and the English plotters. He was in London in 1683, apparently on the Earl's business, when he was arrested and imprisoned for some months, but as he could not be efficiently examined in England, where torture was not legal, he was finally sent down to Scotland along with Carstares and other suspects in His Majesty's "Kitchin Yaucht," which did not go at a royal pace, for the journey to Leith took thirteen days. They arrived late at night on November 14th, having left London on the 1st, and were taken straight to the Tolbooth.[15] A week after, orders came from London that Mr Spence should be put to the torture, but for some reason or other he was left alone till the April of the following year, being evidently in irons all the time, his close connection with Argyle rendering his imprisonment extra rigorous.[16] He was taken out of irons on the 25th of that month, but it was not till the 24th of July that he was ordered to appear before the Council and required to take an oath to answer all the questions put to him. He refused and protested, and was tortured in the boot, but, spite of the awful agony, remained "obstinate and disingenuous," whereupon the Privy Council "resolved to use all methods necessary to bring the said Mr William Spence to a true and ingenuous confession, and for expiscating the truth in so important a matter, do recommend to General Dalziel forthwith to call for the said Mr William Spence from the Magistrates of Edinburgh, and to cause such of His Majesty's forces, officers, and soldiers, as shall be found most trusty, to watch the said Mr William Spence by turns, and not to suffer him to sleep by night or by day, and for that end to use all effectual means for keeping him awake."[17] The "effectual means" were "pricking,"[18] and the intention was to induce raving, so that in his delirium the brave prisoner might perhaps reveal his secrets. The torture was continued for eight or nine nights, but Mr Spence did not rave, and tired his tormentors out. It was next resolved to try the "thumbkins" on him, and, indeed, Spence seems to have been one of the first regular prisoners to suffer this new Muscovy torture,[19] for the Act of Council authorising the use of "the new invention and engine called the thumbkins" was passed only a fortnight before; but the sanguine expectations of the Lords were not fulfilled in the present case, for though he sank under the agonising torment, he would not yield. Ten days later he was again threatened with the boot, and having meanwhile understood from his friends that the Government practically knew already all he could tell them, he promised to make a free and ingenuous confession on certain conditions—namely, that no new questions should be put to him, that he should not be obliged to be a witness against any person, and that he himself should be pardoned. Unfortunately, by a sheer accident in disclosing the meaning of some of the ciphers used in Argyle's correspondence, he put the Council on the track of the cipher[20] which expressed the name of his fellow-prisoner, the famous Carstares, who, however, does not in any way blame Mr Spence for what happened. He was sent back to prison, strict orders being given that he was not to be permitted to see Carstares, and when the Council adjourned for the holidays on September 13th, he was removed to Dumbarton Castle, and granted liberty within the walls. Whether he escaped, or was allowed to go out of the country, we cannot tell, but it is clear at any rate that he rejoined his old master in Holland, and the next we hear of him is that he was one of those who accompanied Argyle when he made his disastrous descent on Scotland in the spring of 1685. When the little fleet arrived off Kirkwall Mr Spence must needs go ashore to visit his uncle who lived there, along with one of the Earl's scouts. "Both," says Wodrow,[21] "were discovered and catched by the old bishop there. The Earl was peremptorily resolved to recover the two gentlemen, and ordered Sir Patrick Hume with a party of Fusileers to attack the town"; but the captains were obdurate and nervous, and gave the Earl time only to seize seven islanders and a vessel "lying ther with meall and money," when the ships sailed away, leaving the unfortunate secretary to his fate.[22] He was sent down to Edinburgh,[23] indicted for treason, and remitted in due form to the Assizes, tried, and found guilty, and we seem at last to be near his end when we read that the Lords ordained Mr William Spence to be taken to the Cross of Edinburgh on Wednesday next, July 22nd, and there to be hanged. Before that day arrived, however, he got a reprieve, and on August 17th he was allowed to remove to a chamber in Edinburgh because of sickness—quite unaccountable leniency at a time when the authorities did not scruple to hang dying men in their night-shirts. The Magistrates were made responsible for his safe keeping, and he undertook to re-enter the prison on the first of September. His reprieve was now continued till November 1st, and the last we hear of him was that in a letter from the King, dated October 14th, orders were given that he was to be kept a close prisoner. His master had been executed on June 30th, and had testified before his death that Mr William Spence had been to him a faithful friend and servant. It is impossible to say what became of him between this time and the Revolution, and unless he succeeded in escaping, it is highly probable that he remained in prison till the general clearance made by the alarmed authorities on the eve of that event. All we know for certain is that the General Assembly of 1690, amongst other items of business, declared his deposition null and void, and restored him to his old parish, the minister, Alexander Meldrum, having been deposed shortly before for not reading the Proclamation of the Estates, and not praying for their Majesties William and Mary. He remained in it only a few months, and in the autumn of 1691 he was translated to Fossoway, where he ended his days in peace in 1715,[24] at the age of 80, a clear proof that he was a man of iron constitution as well as of iron will and iron convictions.

We have to go forward something like a hundred years before the parish or its fair stream comes again into notice, though probably in the interval occurred the summary act of justice commemorated by the Glendevon "Gallows Knowe," on which some of the last Highland reivers were hung, and also the tragic event at "Paton's Fauld," a spot a short distance from the old drove road opposite the "Court Knowe," where two local gipsy families effectively settled their quarrel by practically annihilating each other.[25] It was in August, 1787, that Burns first made acquaintance with the Devon, which he has celebrated in three of his poems, though it is evident that both on his flying visit to Harvieston and during the longer stay he made in October of the same year he was more pleased with the human flowers that bloomed on its banks than with the awesome grandeur of the Rumbling Brig, and that Peggy Chalmers and Charlotte Hamilton were more intimately associated with his fond memories of the Devon valley than Caudron Linn and the Deil's Mill. Although the ladies at Harvieston were somewhat disappointed[26] that the more prominent local glories did not inspire the poet to an outburst, it is clear that the subtle softness of the Devon scenery made a deep impression on Burns, if the more aggressive beauty of its waterfalls and gorges left him cold. You feel this in all he has written about it, and it is significant that in one of his last songs, composed when he was down in body, mind, and estate, his thoughts went back to the "crystal Devon, winding Devon," whose music seems to have got into his verse, and to the happy days he had spent on its "romantic banks" and amidst its "wild sequestered shades." It may be noted here that the "Holy Fair" was continued in Glendevon long after Burns' famous attack, and that down to 1835 the minister of the parish received an annual grant of five, and sometimes ten shillings, for grass destroyed at the Sacrament; while a handy parishioner also drew five shillings per annum for putting up the Communion tent on the glebe, and a little extra now and then for making a road to it.[27] It is impossible to say if Burns when at Harvieston was ever actually in Glendevon, but about thirty years later the home of the Taits, which the poet found so pleasant, is brought into close connection with the parish owing to an incident which had its own share in giving to the Church of England one of its wisest, if not one of its greatest, primates. It was in Glendevon House that young Archibald Campbell Tait, according to his own statement, which was found in his desk after his death, written on a sheet of foolscap, had an experience which he never forgot. His words are—"I had ridden over with my brother Crawfurd from Harvieston to Glendevon to visit old Miss Rutherford, and stayed the night in her house. I distinctly remember in the middle of the night awaking with a deep impression on my mind of the reality and nearness of the world unseen, such as through God's mercy has never left me."[28] And with this fragment of spiritual history our local record comes to a close. If the parish of Glendevon, nestling, like Burns' Peggy, "where braving angry winter's storm the lofty Ochils rise," and its clear winding river, occupy but a lowly place in Scottish story, they have something better even than archaeological treasures and stirring memories—the abiding presence of that spirit of beauty, which is above all change, and which ever haunts

"The green valleys
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows."

[1] Much of the legendary history of the Devon is given in the extraordinary poem "Glenochel," by Mr James Kennedy.

[2] See Registrum Monasterii S. Marie De Cambuskenneth, A.D. 1147-1535. Edinburgi: 1872; p. 122.

[3] History of the Reformation, Vol. I., p. 233.

[4] The parish was served by readers from 1568 to 1586, when the reader Symon Pawtoun was presented to the living, and, curiously enough, his successor, A. Marschell, after being minister for a year, was forced by the Presbytery to accept the lower position.

[5] See The Darker Superstitions of Scotland. By John Graham Dalyell. Glasgow: 1835; p. 579.

[6] Mr Wood Martin in his learned work, Pagan Ireland (London: 1895); describes similar usages still prevailing in Ireland.

[7] Dalyell, p. 671.

[8] History of the Rebellions in Scotland. By Robert Chambers. Vol. II., p. 87.

[9] Statistical Account of 1794, p. 234.

[10] Memoirs of the Marquis of Montrose. By M. Napier. Vol. II., p. 537.

[11] He was schoolmaster at Abernethy, and subsequently married the daughter of the parish minister. She died in 1708 at the age of 80.

[12] See Register of the Diocesan Synod of Dunblane. Edited by John Wilson, D.D. Edinburgh: 1877; page 91.

Before the passing of the Act of 1810 for augmenting parochial stipends in Scotland, the stipend was £21 17s 11d, the smallest in Scotland. 50 Geo. III., cap. 84.

[13] Diocesan Register, p. 251.

[14] Diocesan Register, p. 150.

[15] Historical Selections. From the MSS. of Sir John Lauder of Fountainhall. Vol. I., p. 138.

[16] Wodrow's History of The Sufferings of The Church of Scotland. II., p. 386.

[17] Wodrow II., p. 386.

[18] Graham Dunlop MSS., quoted in Story's Carstares, p. 80.

[19] See Fountainhall, p. 138.

[20] Story's Carstares, p. 82.

[21] History, II., p. 531.

[22] Fountainhall, p. 164.

[23] That his spirit was in no way cowed is obvious from the report of what he said and did when he was brought before the Privy Council and informed that "Argile was tane," and urged to tell everything. "He laugh't at them, and with a very obstinate and unbelieving carriage said—'If ye have the principall, what neids ye ask these questions at me.'"—Fountainhall, p. 187.

[24] Fasti Ecclesia Scoticanae. By Hew Scott, D.D. Vol. II., pp. 766-768.

[25] The ecclesiastical quarrel which began in 1765 when Mr Patrick Crichton was presented to the living, went on for several years, and only ended when the presentee, seeing that a peaceable settlement was impossible, retired.

[26] Chambers' Life of Burns, II., 144.

[27] Glendevon Session Records.

[28] Life of Archibald Campbell Tait. By R. T. Davidson, D.D., and W. Bentham, D.D. 2 Vols. London: 1891.

BY THE WELL OF ST. FILLAN

By Rev. THOMAS ARMSTRONG, Dundurn

"Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung
On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring."
—_Lady of the Lake_.

Any one who has visited the scene hallowed in tradition as the sojourn of St. Fillan, can understand how the genius of Scott should have traced to Fillan's spring that draught of inspiration which conceived such a splendid poem as the "Lady of the Lake"; for it is here that the scenery of Upper Strathearn reaches its climax of beauty and grandeur.

Take St. Fillan's Hill as the point of vantage, and the view is most entrancing. Looking towards Comrie and Crieff, we have at our feet the richest and most beautifully wooded part of Strathearn—the valley interspersed in the most picturesque fashion, with knolls richly clad with larch, oak, or hazel; while here and there the gleam of the River Earn betrays her course, where she has emerged from sombre wood, or deep and rocky gorge. In spring-time the eye is delighted and refreshed with the varieties of green—from the deep and sombre shade of the Scotch pine and the almost yellow and brown of the young oak to the exquisite freshness and tender beauty of the larch. In autumn it is one blaze of colour. At our feet an avenue of beeches glowing red; everywhere masses of oak of russet brown—the rich and varied tints of the bracken contributing their share to the similitude of a glorious sunset; and the whole picture is rendered complete to the eye by being set in that massive rocky framework, known as the Aberuchill range, whose stern and rugged sides add to the feeling of the picturesque and beautiful the sense of the sublime.

Looking westward, we have within our immediate view a contrast in the form of a fine piece of pastoral scenery—green fields with cattle or sheep grazing, ploughed land and cornfield, farm-steading, and all that suggests the peaceful but laborious life of the hardy sons of toil.

Almost at our feet, in striking solitude, we discern the chapel and burying-ground of Dundurn. The peacefulness of the place, and the solemn grandeur of the mountains which soar above, and seem as if placed there to safeguard the seclusion, are all in harmony.

From the point of view already taken, that noble Ben, called Biron, forces itself upon our admiration—a mountain with what we might call character—not of any common order—not beaten into any shape by the ruthless elements, but with many determined points, which have survived the war with winds and frosts and rains—an old veteran, who, in spite of the scars where the shadows rest, has a look of triumph about him, especially when his peaks at evening catch the setting rays of the sun, or peer through a surrounding mist.

Although we are not at any great altitude on the top of St. Fillan's Hill, we are yet high enough to get a glimpse of that gem of Highland lochs—Loch Earn, set literally at the feet of the hills, its waters murmuring a never ceasing song, as if happy with their near presence, having wooed and kissed their steep and rugged sides into silver strands and gently curving bays from end to end; and, indeed, the very woods, as if drawn by this music and this wooing, have come to the very water's edge to bathe and to drink, and to watch their graceful forms mirrored in the bosom of the loch.

I need no apology for thus dwelling upon the romantic scenery of the place, for if, in these matter-of-fact times, the fame and reputed virtue of the Well of St. Fillans have departed, and the days of pilgrimage to its source are over, still the pure air, and perfect peace, and wild and romantic surroundings remain, to minister their undoubted healing powers to wearied minds and jaded bodies.

In writing about the Well of St. Fillans and other places of antiquarian interest in this neighbourhood, it almost goes without saying that much must be taken on trust. People are prone to believe that the dirty pool of stagnant water which still remains in the driest summer on the top of St. Fillan's Hill is the famous spring to which pilgrims at one time resorted. Any one who examines it will not fail to observe that it has all the appearance of an artificially built well, and must have been kept in order and preservation for a purpose. Tradition confirms the belief that this was at one time the well, but not always. The Rev. Mr M'Diarmid, minister of the parish of Comrie about the beginning of this century, gives us the following account of it:—

"This spring, tradition reports, reared its head on the top of Dun Fholain (Fillan's Hill) for a long time, doing much good, but in disgust (probably at the Reformation) it removed suddenly to the foot of a rock, a quarter of a mile to the southward, where it still remains, humbled, but not forsaken. It is still visited by valetudinary people, especially on the 1st of May and the 1st of August. No fewer than seventy persons visited it in May and August, 1791. The invalids, whether men, women, or children, walk or are carried round the well three times in a direction Deishal—that is from east to west, according to the course of the sun. They also drink of the water and bathe in it. These operations are accounted a certain remedy for various diseases. They are particularly efficacious for curing barrenness, on which account it is frequently visited by those who are very desirous of offspring. All the invalids throw a white stone on the Saint's cairn, and leave behind them as tokens of their gratitude and confidence some rags of linen or woollen cloth. The rock on the summit of the hill formed of itself a chair for the Saint, which still remains. Those who complain of rheumatism in the back must ascend the hill, sit in this chair, then lie down on their back, and be pulled down by the legs to the bottom of the hill. This operation is still performed, and reckoned very efficacious. At the foot of the hill there is a basin made by the Saint on the top of a large stone, which seldom wants water even in the greatest drought, and all who are distressed with sore eyes must wash them three times with this water."

Of such holy wells, it may be interesting to learn that there were, previous to the Reformation, a great number throughout Scotland.[1] They were usually called after saints, because of the cells of saints being fixed near a spring. Hence these wells are usually in the vicinity of old ecclesiastical sites, and in many cases where the wells alone remain, they mark the place of those sites.

At these wells all diseases were supposed to be within the reach of cure. A student of the development theory might almost find traces of the growth of the specialist in them, for some of them acquired a fame for the cure of special diseases. The Well of St. Fillan, at Strathfillan, e.g., was famous for the cure of insanity; the Well of St. Fillan, about which I write, as has already been noticed, was much resorted to for the cure of barrenness; and if we transfer the virtue of the waters to the credit of the Saint under whose auspices a cure was wrought, we might say of St. Servan that he was considered a great oculist; of St. Anthony, that he was an eminent specialist in the treatment of children's diseases; for to the Well of St. Servan the blind were led, to the Well of St. Anthony, sickly and "backgane bairns." In accounting for the popularity of these wells, the philosopher will reflect that there is a kernel of truth in most widespread error. The truth in the well is the truth that underlay the hydropathic treatment involved, also the treatment of fresh air and exercise, and the extra exertion, the stimulus of change, and the excitement associated with such pilgrimages, not to speak of the power of faith, based though it was on error. From this point of view we may in some respects regard the modern hydropathic establishment as in the line of development with the holy well of old.

It is a testimony to the universality and the popularity of the holy wells in this country, and to the persistency of the superstition, after it had been condemned by the Reformation, that a public statute had to be enacted in 1579 prohibiting these pilgrimages, and that this having been ignored or defied, they had again to be denounced in the strongest terms in 1679. "It seems not to be enough," says this edict, "that whole congregations were interdicted from the pulpit preceding the wonted period of resort, or that individuals humbled on their knees in public acknowledgment of their offence were rebuked or fined for disobedience. Now it was declared for the purpose of restraining the superstitious resort in pilgrimage to chappellis and wellis, which is so frequent and common in this kingdom, to the great offence of God, the scandall of the Kirk, and disgrace of His Majestie's government, that commissioners diligently search in all such pairts and places where this idolatrous superstition is used, and to take and apprehend all such persons, of whatsoever rank and quality, whom they sall deprehend going pilgrimage to chappellis or wellis, or whom they sall know themselves to be guilty of that cryme, and to commit them to waird until such measures should be adopted for their trial and punishment." It is further of especial interest to note the local effort made to suppress these pilgrimages. In the records of the Synod of Perth there is a minute to the following effect:—

"It is found that there is frequent repairing on certain days superstitiously to some wells within this province, as to one called Dumlorn, in Comrie. In the meantime the Synod ordains and entreats all the gentlemen of these bounds where these wells, or any other of that kind are, that they would use all diligence against these abuses as they may according to the Acts of Parliament made thereanent."

Those who have an antiquarian turn of mind will, on visiting the top of Dundurn, where the original well is supposed to have been, find themselves expatiating upon other features of interest surrounding them. The hill itself, it will be remarked, is covered all round, with the exception of the precipitous front facing the east, with piles of loose water-worn stones. At first view they appear only an irregular mass, and seem to be there only to make the ascent more slippery and difficult. Mr Skene, in his Celtic Scotland; points out that here we have the remains of an ancient fort. It is only recently, however, that the subject has come in for thorough investigation by Dr. Christison, one of the Rhind lecturers on Archaeology, who, by careful measurements and by the extensive knowledge which he has brought to bear on the subject, has quite established the fact. One sees that from the east side of the hill the position is by nature impregnable against attack; while on the south, west, and north sides, it is the triumph of the antiquarian's research and skill to re-build for us in imagination a series of fortified lines and enclosures, the original sites of which time has not altogether obliterated. The fortress was known in early days as Dundurn, and must have been a stronghold of considerable importance.[2]

Looking down upon the plain below, the little chapel at our feet, called the Chapel of St. Fillan, also takes us back to antiquity, though to a less remote one than the fortifications. It takes us back to pre-Reformation times. There is no record of the century to which it belongs, and the only relic that has been preserved to us from the pre-Reformation period is a holy water font. It stood in a niche in the wall of the chapel. When, however, it was deemed advisable to remove the tottering roof and to preserve what of the building would make a picturesque ruin, the font was taken in charge by Colonel Stewart of Ardvoirlich, and handed over by him to the Trustees of the Dundurn Parish Church. Placed on a suitable stand, and with an appropriate inscription, this font will represent an interesting link between the past and the present.

This old chapel, doubtless at one time a place of worship, was abandoned at the Reformation, and was taken possession of by the Stewart clan as a burial vault about the year 1580. For a long time this interesting old burying-ground was allowed to remain in a state of shameful neglect. There seemed to be no direct responsibility on the part of any heritor for its upkeep, and what seemed everybody's business became nobody's. This condition of laissez faire was confirmed by a sentimental though unreasonable objection to shifting into their right position a number of head-stones which time and weather had either displaced or Darwin's worms had covered up. It was only five or six years ago that a Committee was formed, which in a regular manner, and with the consent of all parties interested, took in charge the upkeep of the burial-ground, with the aid of public subscription. A head-stone of great interest to antiquarians is one with figures of Adam and Eve sculptured in relief, while above these figures an angel is represented. The tree carved on the other side of the stone is evidently the tree of good and evil, and the whole represents in a crude way the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise. This Adam and Eve stone is considered very rare, there being very few known throughout the country. This one differs from the others in the absence of the serpent, which is usually represented on them. Another monument of considerable interest is to be seen within the chapel. It is a memorial tablet recently erected by the present Laird of Ardvoirlich upon the wall of the east gable and containing the following inscription:—"This chapel, dedicated in early times to St. Fillan, the leper, has been, since the year 1586, the burial-place of the sept or clan of Stewart of Ardvoirlich." Here follow the names of those buried beneath, with the dates of their decease. On glancing over the names there recorded, one will notice the name of Major James Stewart, and will remember that it is to the same memory that a stone still stands erected on the south side of the loch, about three miles up. We there read that this Major James Stewart was temporarily interred, and thereafter removed to his final resting-place at Dundurn. This member of the clan seems to have been of a fiery, irascible, and adventurous nature, and Sir Walter Scott, while in this neighbourhood, found sufficient material in connection with this personage to reproduce his likeness in his Allan M'Aulay of the Legend of Montrose. In his introduction to this romance the author gives an interesting account of his character, and sets before us two different versions of the part he acted in the death of Lord Kilpont; indeed, one will look upon the romantic scenery of this district with redoubled interest after a perusal of this work of the great novelist. With reference to this Major Stewart's tomb-stone on the side of the loch, which has just been referred to, the legend is that the Major died a natural death at Ardvoirlich, and his body was being carried to Dundurn for burial, but the Drummonds and Murrays, who were at enmity with the clan, threatened to intercept the funeral, and a snowstorm coming on, they interred the body on the loch side near the spot where the stone is, and subsequently took it to the chapel.

Another head-stone of considerable interest is to be seen hear the entrance to the grounds of Ardvoirlich itself. It marks the place where the remains of seven of the Macdonalds were interred, the legend being that that clan, on their way to or from a raid on Glenartney Forest, attacked Ardvoirlich House, and the men of the clan being absent with their cattle on the hills, the lady of the house kept them at bay until the men came down, and then they slaughtered all the Macdonalds, except one man, and their bodies were buried in a hole on the loch side. Years after, on excavating to make a pond for cattle to drink from, a number of human bones were found, and the stone was erected to mark the spot.

Another object of considerable antiquarian interest in the possession of the Ardvoirlich family is the charm-stone. It is said by tradition to have been brought from the Holy Land at the time of the Crusades by the Fitz-Allans, who were progenitors of the Stewarts, and who were active Crusaders. It was considered a most holy stone, and had healing properties of a high order. It is a very perfect specimen of rock crystal; the silver setting is Saracenic in character, and said to be very old. Up to 1840, and even later, people used to come to Ardvoirlich from long distances to have the stone immersed in water, while a Gaelic incantation was repeated by the laird or lady. Then the water was carried home, and one condition was that the possessor of the water must not enter any house until home was reached; then if given to cattle to drink, or sprinkled over them, it acted as a perfect cure for any murrain or disease.

On the death of the laird in 1854, the stone was sent into a bank for safe custody, and then all the healing properties were destroyed. It was said also that the last lady of Ardvoirlich who used it, and who was a Maxtone of Cultoquhey, had no Gaelic, and was too lowland by birth to believe in it, and she most irreverently (not knowing the Gaelic incantation) just repeated—"If it'll dae ye nae guid, it'll dae ye nae hairm," and that also destroyed the charm.

Another object which does not fail to attract the attention of the visitor to St. Fillans is the picturesque little island at the east end of the loch, called the Neish Island, for it has its romantic story to tell. "It is uncertain" (says John Brown in his description of the place) when or by whom "the island in Loch Earn rose into form or importance; but that it was entirely the work of man (and certainly it was no contemptible undertaking) is evident from its circular shape, the nature of the bed on which it is raised and surrounding it, and the purpose to which it might be made subservient in lawless times. The ancestors of the present family of Ardvoirlich made it their occasional residence, at the remote period when they held the eight-mark land on which St. Fillans is now built, an endowment which continued annexed to the Chapel or Priory of Strathfillan till its dissolution at the Reformation." On the island there are the remains of what appear to have been a number of dwellings. That it was used as a haunt or refuge by raiders is certain from the tradition which gives it its name of Neish Island. According to the tradition, it was the refuge of the remnant of the Clan Neish who had been defeated in a bloody battle with the MacNabs. There the former carried on a kind of predatory warfare with the MacNabs, and on one occasion so roused the wrath of the latter that a speedy and terrible revenge followed. The stalwart sons of the MacNab, urged by their wrathful sire, whose hint in the words—"The night is the night if lads were but lads," almost amounted to a command, equipped themselves with dirk, pistol, and claymore, raised a boat on their shoulders, and carrying it by night all the way from Loch Tay across the hills by Glentarken, launched it stealthily on Loch Earn, and taking the Neishes by surprise are said to have killed them all, except one boy, who made good his escape. The following lines by the Rev. John Hunter, Crieff, give very appropriate expression and colouring to this interesting tradition:—

Here sit we down on this fair sun-strewn bank,
Beside this queen of lakes, whose loveliness
From out of half-shut eyelids softly woos
To sweet forgetfulness.
Above, the wood, and interspersed knolls,
Made greener by the pat of fairy feet
And dancing moonbeams, fringe the rugged knees
Of scarred and bronzéd heights whose wind-notched crests
Look grandly down. Fair scene and home of peace
Ineffable; and yet not ever so,
For I have seen these scars run full and white,
And heard their trumpetings as they rush'd madly
Adown the spray-sown steep, past wood and knoll,
To mingle with the waters of the lake
Vexed with the storm and sounding loud in sympathy.
What have we here? What human trace of times
When hearts o'erflowed, and hand and steel were swift,
And red in the flashing of a hasty thought?
Ah me! these times, these woful times when word
And blow were wed, and none could sunder them,
And honour'd live! See yonder isle set single
In the lake, near by where Earn darts swiftly 'neath
The rustic bridge to bear the music of the place
To broader Tay, who murmurs from afar
In the rich harmony of his many streams—yon isle,
The haunt of lovers now, where hearts that touch
And thrill, cling closer in the eerie sense
Of fear that lurks amid the tumbled stones
Of robbers' lair. Here, once upon a time,
When might was right, and men made wrongful
Gain of Nature's fastnesses, a ruffian couched
And preyed upon his kind. Long time he throve,
But vengeance woke at length, and the heavy tread
Of frowning men from far Loch Tay—skiff-laden.
Adown the glen they came one moonless night,
Goaded by tingling sneer of white-hair'd sire.
They rest where Tarken pours his scanty tide,
Then silently—nor moon nor star appearing—
Launch forth upon the lake, and softly steal
Towards the caitiff's fire gleaming through the dark
Like blood-shot eye. All saving one, and he
Was left to skirt the shore and give the foe
Rough welcome should he 'scape to land. Who then
Fair-hair'd and young stood there in melting mood,
With all his mother in his swimming eyes,
Of abbot's line—with dirk half drawn, fearing,
Hoping, praying, as his gentler nature bade
That life and light would not go out together.
The hope seem'd vain. From out the gloom there came
The grinding keel—the tread of hurrying feet—
Clashing of words, of steel, and all was dark—
And all was still. But hark! a sound—the faint
Breathing of one who swims with pain, the plash
Of nerveless hands nearer and nearer comes,
Yet ever fainter. What boots it now to have
Escaped the vengeful swords that smote his kin?
The waves engulf him and his bubbling cry.
But unhoped help is near—a friendly word—
A plunge, then stroke on stroke, and timeously
A hand to save. Say not, ye thoughtless ones,
That yon grim head, clean sever'd from the trunk,
Was the chief trophy of that night. Nay;
For kindly thoughts endure, and the High Will
That holds all things within the ever-opening fold
Of His eternal purpose—that High Will
Look'd down with loving eyes that pierce the dark,
And bless'd the deeds that glorified MacNab,
The abbot's son—half-savage and half-saint.
Time sped; the deed was not forgot, and still
The tale is told when nights are long and the lone
Owl hoots upon the hill. And now there stands
Within bowshot of the isle—a house of God
That calls to prayer—a parish church—the fruit
Of kindly thoughts that stirr'd the watcher's heart,
And clomb to Heaven in mute appeal, that night
When vengeance smote and light and life went out together.

So much, then, for the prospect which an antiquarian standing by the Well of St. Fillan would embrace within the programme of his research. If we try to form a picture of the social condition of the people who lived in the midst of this fair vale of Earn in those early days, it is a scene of continual strife we conjure up—clan fighting with clan, and one feud succeeding another. These were the days of superstitious pilgrimages, days of rooted custom and unchanging faith. So much the better for the Saint. The halo of his sanctity shines out all the more against the background of ignorance and strife. If he were to re-visit those scenes now, how much would he have to deplore! No more pilgrimages, no more belief in miracles. What a downcome from his dignity to be the patron of a golf course or the chaplain of a curling club, instead of enjoying the fame and name of the holy well. Requiescat in pace.

The past was not all strife, however. Traces of agriculture lead us to picture this fine strath as at one time throng with peaceful and busy life. There were, no doubt, in those warlike times intervals of peace, when the inhabitants of the glen could tend their cattle and cultivate their potatoes and corn at leisure; and whether we look back upon this land of the "mountain and the flood" as having been the nursery of our best soldiers, or as having been peopled by a race rendered strong and manly by a simple mode of life, the present prospect of our Highland glens cannot but fill us with sad reflection when we behold the process of emigration and depopulation still going on, and when we see that ere long the only links with the past of a once strong and hardy race of people will be the mere traces of their cultivation, the ruins of their once populous hamlets, and the grave-stones in their old burying-grounds.

It is true there is a compensating process going on. For while one regrets the disappearance of the old thatched houses of the primitive village of St. Fillans and the migration of their youthful life to the city, the rise of the modern villa along the loch side speaks of the growth of a temporary population known as the "summer visitors." It is not likely that their peaceful pursuits—their climbing and pic-nic expeditions, their regattas and loch illuminations, will be considered to be as worthy to be recorded in a future "Book of Chronicles" as the feuds and raids of the past. Still, it is to be hoped that this land of "brown heath and shaggy wood" may even in this innocent way minister to the rearing of a healthy manhood and womanhood, and continue to be the nursery of that muscular body and brave spirit which in the past have made the name of Caledonia great.

[1] Proceedings of the Antiquarian Society, 1882-83.

[2] Fortrenn seems to have been the ancient name of a large district of Strathearn, of which Dundurn, or the fort of the Earn, was the capital.