The place, above all, of fairy association was the Holm Glen, with which is associated a legend of the abduction of a youth, and an abortive attempt to win freedom after serving seven years. Round this vestige of fairy-lore Dr Robert Trotter has woven a well-told mantle of narrative, from which an extract is well worth quoting:—
“I rose early upon the morning of Hallowe’en, and having dressed myself, I went out to the harvest field, just as the minute hand of my watch pointed to half-past five. I began busily to arrange and set up the stooks, which a storm of wind and rain the preceding evening had blown down. I had not been long occupied in this manner when I heard the tramping of horses’ feet, the giggling and laughing of the riders, and the jingling of their bridle bits. I instantly turned round to see what this troop of early travellers could be; but my eye rested not then on the broad holm of Dalarran and the grey turrets of Kenmure Castle, of which there was a goodly prospect from the place where I stood—but it fell upon the tall form of a young man standing close by my side, dressed in a riding-cloak of the lightest Lincoln green ever worn by a Nottingham Archer. By his side hung a hunting-horn of the purest silver, whilst his spurs and the diamond chased scabbard of his sword glanced clear and bright in the rays of the rising sun.
‘I wish thee good speed, John Gordon,’ said he in a well-known voice. ‘I am thy old friend William Hoatson, who, thou mayest remember, was found drowned about seven years since in the Water of Taarfe, near Red Lyon. But I am not dead, as is generally believed, but was carried away by the fairies of Holm Glen, and a body resembling mine placed in the river ford. And I have been permitted to appear unto thee at this time, knowing that thou art a fearless man, and one that seeketh after the Kingdom of Heaven; and I request thee, in the name of Heaven, that this night thou wilt win me back to my family and to the world!’
I expressed the happiness which I felt in meeting so unexpectedly with one whom I had so long considered to be dead. I shook him heartily by the hand, and offered him my friendship and assistance.
‘Oh, John!’ said he, ‘this night will I be offered up a sacrifice in hell, and thou alone can save me from destruction.’
He spoke this so mournfully that the tears trickled down my cheek, and I sobbed aloud.
‘Wilt thou promise,’ continued he, ‘to come this night at twelve o’clock, unarmed and alone, and stand by this ancient thorn-bush, where thou wilt see forty-one horsemen riding past, everyone dressed as I am at present? Pull me down from the chestnut-brown steed upon which I ride, for I will be the last man of that gay troop. They will turn me into a variety of frightful shapes in thy arms, and lastly into the appearance of a red-hot coulter; but thou must hold me fast in the name of Heaven, for if thou let me slip from thy hands they will take thee soul and body, and I also will be lost for ever!’”[(54)]
The conclusion of the story is not very happy, for John’s courage entirely failed him. Through fear he refused his aid, but ever afterwards was haunted and crossed by the evil influence of the night-riding of the fairies of Holm Glen.
Other places in Kirkcudbrightshire which have the lingering touch of fairy romance hovering around them are Hazelfield, Auchencairn, the Nick of Lochenkit, “where the fairies have been seen dancing in thousands by the pale light o’ the new moon on her third nicht,” and on the “rugged height of Bengairn.”
The last Galloway fairy reminiscence we shall quote before passing into Dumfriesshire illustrates the malignant side of their nature, and tells of the drowning of the Morrisons in Edingham Loch, near the present town of Dalbeattie:—