In Dunnottar churchyard on the mainland there is a Covenanter's stone, where "Old Mortality" was working when Scott came upon him. The stone carries a simple stern legend of heroism—and almost wins one to the cause.
And yet, there is evidence that in stern Dunnottar life had its moments other than war and siege. The remnants of the castle are of great extent; bowling gallery, ballroom, state dining-room, a library, a large chapel, speak a varied existence. There is a watch tower, a keep, rising forty sheer feet above the high rock, with ascent by a winding stair, somewhat perilous after the centuries; but from the Watchman's seat what a prospect, landward and seaward! What a sense of security in the midst of peril! And on the farther corner of the giddy height, above the rock and above the waves dashing far below, I found growing blue bells of Scotland.
There is one corner of the castle where I fain would inhabit, the northwest corner that looks down on the sea raging cruelly upon the rocks that are the first line of defense against the onslaught of the sea, and that looks far over the North Sea; that sea which is more mysterious to me and more lovely than the Mediterranean; I have seen it a beautiful intense Italian blue, with an Italian sky above it. I have never seen it still, always surging, raging, always cruel. Yet I should be willing to look out on it for many unbroken days. And to hear the somber movement of the "Keltic" sonata played upon the rocks.
The Earl Marischal liked the view, whatever his generation. The North was in his blood, and the sea, even though he was a landsman, spoke adventure. The Earl's bedroom is almost habitable to-day. Once it was a place of luxury. The plaster still clings to the walls in places, and there is a fireplace where still one could light a fire against the chill of the North. The date above is 1645, when Charles was still king, and there was no threat of disloyalty. The tablet unites the arms of the Keiths and the Seatons, the stone divided by a pillar surmounted by two hearts joined. The Keith motto, Veritas vincit, underlines the Keith shield; but I like better the Seaton motto—Hazard yit forvard.
The Earl's library opens out of this. And I doubt not it was richly stored in the days when the last Lord Marischal won here that mental habitude which made him equal in wit and wisdom to Voltaire. And no doubt here sat his mother, loyal Jacobite, steadfast Catholic, sending her two sons forth to battle for the lost cause of the Stewarts—never lost while women remember—while she looked forth on these waters and watched for the return. The story runs in the Jacobite ballad of "Lady Keith's Lament"—
"I may sit in my wee croo house,
At the rock and the reel fu' dreary,
I may think on the day that is gane,
And sigh and sab till I grow weary....
"My father was a good lord's son,
My mother was an earl's daughter,
An' I'll be Lady Keith again,
That day our king comes o'er the water."
CHAPTER VIII
THE CIRCLE ROUND
