I told him how in ancient days three warriors came from Green Ierne,to dwell in the wild glens of Cowal and Lochow,--how one of them,the swart Breachdan,all for the love of blue-eyed Eila,swam the Gulf,once with a clew of thread,then with a hempen rope,last with an iron chain,but this time,alas!the returning tide sucks down the over-tasked hero into its swirling vortex,--how Diarmid O'Duin,i.e.son of "the Brown,"slew with his own hand the mighty boar,whose head still scowls over the escutcheon of the Campbells,--how in later times,while the murdered Duncan's son,afterwards the great Malcolm Canmore,was yet an exile at the court of his Northumbrian uncle,ere Birnam wood had marched to Dunsinane,the first Campbell i.e.Campus-bellus,Beau-champ,a Norman knight and nephew of the Conqueror,having won the hand of the lady Eva,sole heiress of the race of Diarmid,became master of the lands and lordships of Argyll,--how six generations later--each of them notable in their day--the valiant Sir Colin created for his posterity a title prouder than any within a sovereign's power to bestow,which no forfeiture could attaint,no act of parliament recall;for though he cease to be Duke or Earl,the head of the Clan Campbell will still remain Mac Calan More,--and how at last the same Sir Colin fell at the String of Cowal,beneath the sword of that fierce lord,whose granddaughter was destined to bind the honours of his own heirless house round the coronet of his slain foeman's descendant;--how Sir Neill at Bannockburn fought side by side with the Bruce whose sister he had married;how Colin,the first Earl,wooed and won the Lady Isabel,sprung from the race of Somerled,Lord of the Isles,thus adding the galleys of Lorn to the blazonry of Argyll;--how the next Earl died at Flodden,and his successor fought not less disastrously at Pinkie;--how Archibald,fifth Earl,whose wife was at supper with the Queen,her half-sister,when Rizzio was murdered,fell on the field of Langside,smitten not by the hand of the enemy,but by the finger of God;how Colin,Earl and boy-General at fifteen,was dragged away by force,with tears in his eyes,from the unhappy skirmish at Glenlivit,where his brave Highlanders were being swept down by the artillery of Huntley and Errol,--destined to regild his spurs in future years on the soil of Spain.
Then I told him of the Great Rebellion,and how,amid the tumult of the next fifty years,the Grim Marquis--Gillespie Grumach,as his squint caused him to be called--Montrose's fatal foe,staked life and fortunes in the deadly game engaged in by the fierce spirits of that generation,and losing,paid the forfeit with his head,as calmly as became a brave and noble gentleman,leaving an example,which his son--already twice rescued from the scaffold,once by a daughter of the ever-gallant house of Lindsay,again a prisoner,and a rebel,because four years too soon to be a patriot--as nobly imitated;--how,at last,the clouds of misfortune cleared away,and honours clustered where only merit had been before;the martyr's aureole,almost become hereditary,being replaced in the next generation by a ducal coronet,itself to be regilt in its turn with a less sinister lustre by him--"The State's whole thunder born to wield,And shake alike the senate and the field;"who baffled Walpole in the cabinet,and conquered with Marlborough at Ramilies,Oudenarde,and Malplaquet;--and,last,--how at that present moment,even while we were speaking,the heir to all these noble reminiscences,the young chief of this princely line,had already won,at the age of twenty-nine,by the manly vigour of his intellect and his hereditary independence of character,the confidence of his fellow-countrymen,and a seat at the council board of his sovereign.
Having thus duly indoctrinated Sigurdr with the Sagas of the family,as soon as we had crossed the lake I took him up to the Castle,and acted cicerone to its pictures and heirlooms,--the gleaming stands of muskets,whose fire wrought such fatal ruin at Culloden;--the portrait of the beautiful Irish girl,twice a Duchess,whom the cunning artist has painted with a sunflower that turns FROM the sun to look at her;--Gillespie Grumach himself,as grim and sinister-looking as in life.--the trumpets to carry the voice from the hall door to Dunnaquaich;--the fair beech avenues,planted by the old Marquis,now looking with their smooth grey boles,and overhanging branches,like the cloisters of an abbey the vale of Esechasan,to which,on the evening before his execution,the Earl wrote such touching verses;the quaint old kitchen-garden;the ruins of the ancient Castle,where worthy Major Dalgetty is said to have passed such uncom-fortable moments;--the Celtic cross from lone Iona:--all and everything I showed off with as much pride and pleasure,I think,as if they had been my own possessions;and the more so as the Icelander himself evidently sympathised with such Scald-like gossip.
Having thoroughly overrun the woods and lawns of Inverary,we had a game of chess,and went to bed pretty well tired.
The next morning,before breakfast,I went off in a boat to Ardkinglass to see my little cousins;and then returning about twelve,we got a post-chaise,and crossing the boastful Loch Awe in a ferry-boat,reached Oban at nightfall.Here I had the satisfaction of finding the schooner already arrived,and of being joined by the Doctor,just returned from his fruitless expedition to Holyhead.
