It happened, while a son of the then Earl of Argyll was prosecuting his studies in the University of Glasgow, that a dispute arose between him and one of his fellow-students regarding the superiority of their respective clans. The quarrel ultimately assumed such proportions, that it was resolved to decide it by an appeal to arms. The weapons chosen were the broadsword and target, these being the common weapons of war in those days. At the proper time the combatants, with their seconds, appeared at the appointed place. A desperate combat immediately began, and continued with unabated fury for some time; and so well were the warriors matched that it became doubtful latterly which of them would carry the day. Campbell, however, ultimately made a clever and skilful stroke, which secured him the victory—having split his adversary’s head almost in two. Campbell was thus, according to law, guilty of manslaughter, and being ‘wanted’ for that offence, he and his second, a son of Macleod of Dunvegan and Harris, fled to the latter island for refuge.
Campbell was not long in the island when he became acquainted with Mary Macleod, the fair heiress of Marrig, and became deeply enamoured of her; and being a handsome man of prepossessing appearance, refined address, winning manners, and withal of an illustrious family, his love was soon warmly returned, and with the full concurrence of the young lady’s father the day of their marriage was fixed for an early date. But it happened soon afterwards that the old gentleman casually received a full account of the reason which brought his daughter’s affianced to Harris, and, his whole nature revolting at the idea of marrying his daughter to a man guilty of manslaughter, he at once resolved to break off the alliance. He well knew that this could not be accomplished without encountering some serious difficulty, possibly a bitter and deadly feud. Not that he apprehended any serious opposition on the part of his daughter, who, he was sure, would sacrifice almost anything to please him; but her suitor was a very different person. He was proud and easily irritated, and that he was of a violent disposition was sufficiently demonstrated from the fact that he had already fought a duel and had slain his opponent for the honour of his name. He belonged to a powerful family, whose chief might feign offence at his son’s proffered suit and engagement being thus summarily rejected and violated, and who might come to make reprisals, or, peradventure, declare open war with the Siol Thormaid, the result of which might be disastrous. Carefully considering all these questions which operated strongly on his feelings, the good man of Marrig called his daughter to his presence, and told her in an affectionate and feeling manner what he had discovered of the history of her lover, and then, in a tone sufficiently firm to manifest that he meant what he said, he made known his resolution. ‘You must not,’ he said, ‘have any further communication with Campbell. Sorry, indeed, am I to be under the necessity of thwarting my dear Mary’s affections, but ten times more would it pain me to see her wedded to a man whose past conduct my soul loathes. My darling Mary is still very young. Let her trust in Providence, and she will yet get a husband, in whom she may safely repose her trust, and whom her aged father can love as he loves his daughter.’
‘Never have I attempted to go against my father’s commands,’ answered she, weeping bitterly, ‘nor shall I do so now; but as my heart bleeds for my beloved, I trust you have authentic information before you can act so harshly. Shall I, Oh! shall I be permitted to see him once more?’
‘I have no reason to doubt the correctness of my information,’ replied he, ‘for I received it from young Macleod, who witnessed the duel. You may see Campbell once more, but once for all.’
A meeting had previously been arranged between the lovers for the very evening of the day on which the above conversation took place between Mary Macleod and her father; and with buoyant spirits, and a step so light that it scarcely bent the purple heather, Campbell walked from Rodel to Marrig that day—a distance of between twenty-five and thirty miles—to meet his affianced Mary. Little, alas! did he think, while performing his journey, that she would greet him with such heart-rending words to both as ‘My dear, I must see you no more.’ The lovers embraced each other when they met. ‘How happy am I to meet you and see you, my darling Mary, once more,’ said Campbell, who was the first to speak; ‘but, thank God, we shall soon meet to part no more while we live.’
‘Happy, thrice happy would I be,’ sobbed the maiden, ‘if that were so; but, alas! it cannot be.’ And in broken accents she recapitulated all that her father said to her, adding with a groan, ‘I must never see you again.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Campbell in great excitement, ‘must I never see my dear, my own Mary again? It cannot be. The very thought would kill me. I will not part with my own, my darling Mary.’
They both burst into tears, and continued to weep and sob for a time; but the young lady, who, on the whole, considering the trying nature of it, bore the ordeal with remarkable fortitude, remarked that as her father’s word was inexorable as the laws of the Medes and Persians which altered not, they must be reconciled to their fate.
‘If it must be so, then,’ Campbell replied, ‘I shall try to submit to it. But the island of Harris will henceforth have no attraction for me. I shall depart from it at once, and go to the seas, where I can muse in melancholy silence on the maid who first stole my heart and afterwards rejected me.’
‘Restrain thy plaint, my dear Archy,’ rejoined the maiden, as she proceeded to assure him that the step she had taken was entirely in obedience to the wishes of her father, without whose consent she would never marry while he lived; but she would faithfully promise that if he would wait for her until her father had paid the debt of nature she would be only too happy to fulfil her engagement and become his wife. ‘And,’ she continued, ‘I shall never marry another while you live.’