Part 14

In the history of the town of Wigtown no character stands out in stronger relief than Provost Coltran, proprietor of Drummorall. In 1683, along with David Graham, brother of Claverhouse, and Sir Godfrey M'Culloch, he was appointed to administer the test to the people of Galloway, and was Chief Magistrate at the drowning of the Martyrs on Wigtown Sands (May 11th, 1685). His private character does not seem to have been beyond reproach, and it was commonly said that in his life time he had sold himself to the Devil.

The story still lingers that at his death the windows of his house looked as if they were in a blaze of fire, clearly indicating to the popular mind that the Devil was getting his own, and for long afterwards his ghost, a terrifying figure snorting fire from his nostrils, walked the earth. Even the house where he lived and died was for many years avoided after night-fall.

Not far from the village of Bladnoch, on the farm of Kirkwaugh, is a spot known as the Packman's Grave, round which a grim story lingers:--

"Tradition has it that an enterprising packman lived in or near Wigtown long ago. He had a consignment of cloth on board a vessel which put into a local port. The ship was plague-stricken, and the people in the district, fearing that the infection might spread by means of the packman and his cloth, seized both the merchant and his wares, and taking them to Kirkwaugh dug a deep grave, in which they were deposited--the packman alive. Even until lately people imagined they saw lights and heard knocks at the spot, which gets the name of the Packman's Grave to this day."(80)

Near Sorbie is the farm of Claunch, concerning which there is an old-world memory of a spectral carriage and pair of horses. The origin of the tradition is unknown, but the following is an authentic account of its appearance furnished by a correspondent:--

"I can, however, recall the strange experience of one who avowed that it had come within his ken. He was a blacksmith by trade, and had been doing some work at the farm. It was a fine moonlight evening when he gathered his tools together and started on his walk to Whithorn, where he lived. It chanced that the farmer by whom he had been employed during the day accompanied him as far as the entrance to the farmyard. As they were crossing the courtyard, what certainly seemed a spectral carriage and pair of horses galloped past them, and in another moment disappeared as if it never had been.

'What in the name of wonder was that?' ejaculated the smith; to which the farmer replied--

'It's mair than I can tell--but it's no' the first glint o't I hae gotten, although I haena seen't aften. But dinna ye come owre what ye hae seen--nae guid'll come o' talkin' aboot it.'"(81)

The old parish manse of Whithorn, which adjoined the churchyard near to its main entrance, and which was demolished a good many years ago, had rather an uncanny reputation, but nothing very definite can be gleaned to explain this. It certainly was, however, avoided after darkness fell. A little short lane off the public road, between the north end of Whithorn and the Bishopton Crofts, is associated with an appearance denoting foul play towards a very young child. But the most important ghostly reminiscence that can be gathered in this locality refers to the ghost at Craigdhu, in the parish of Glasserton, on the shore-road from Whithorn to Port-William. The following account was communicated by a native of the district:--

"Many rumours used to be afloat in my younger days of people being terrified by some unearthly shape or other which was believed to show itself at Craigdhu. Such stories were, however, rather conflicting, some declaring that it was a spectre of human form and proportions, while others held that it was more like a huge quadruped of an unknown species; but I confine my notes to personal testimonies of three individuals whom I knew. The first of these was a hard-working farm servant, who insisted that he had seen the something--whatever it was--not once or twice, but repeatedly. The second testifier was a wood-sawyer, who had occasion to spend a night in the house belonging to the farm. His first consciousness of the ghost's presence was when he was ascending the stair to the sleeping apartment, which a companion and himself were to occupy. This was manifested by the distinct sound of a lady's silk dress passing him and his bed-fellow on their way to the garret which was to be their dormitory. But that, though eerie enough, was nothing to what was to follow. As soon as they had extinguished their candle and crept into bed _something_ leapt on the bed and dealt the unfortunate couple some well directed blows with what seemed like a heavy blunt instrument. The third witness was an ex-magistrate of Whithorn, who told that he was almost run to earth by the goblin. He was just able to evade it by reaching the farm-house door as he was actually being overtaken. Throwing himself against the door, he was admitted by the farmer himself without a moment's delay. The latter at once conjectured the cause of his breathlessness and terror--'Aye! come in, my frien', come in. I ken gey weel what has happened; but ye're safe here, an' as welcome as I can mak' ye, to bide till daylicht.'"(82)

The roofless ruin of the little pre-Reformation Church of Kirkmaiden (in Fernes) in Glasserton parish, so beautifully situated on the very verge of Luce Bay, has among other associations a tradition of supernatural intervention and tragedy.

Many tides have ebbed and flowed since the night of a merry gathering in the old house of Moure, the original home of the Maxwells of Monreith. As the evening wore on, some harmless rallying and boasting took place concerning bravery and indifference towards darkness and things uncanny. Among the guests was a young man in the hey-day of youth and recklessness, who rashly wagered that he would that very night, and without delay, ride to the Maiden Kirk and bring away the church bible as a proof that he had been there. Amidst much careless talk and banter he galloped off. The night wore on, but the young man did not return. As it was but a short ride from Moure to the Kirk the greatest anxiety prevailed. Next day, in a bleak spot, his dead body was found, as also his horse lying stiff beside him. Of robbery and violence there was no evidence, but the entrails of both man and beast had been carefully drawn from their bodies, and were found twisted and entwined round some old thorn bushes close beside them. It was afterwards found that he had reached the church and was on his way back.

Some ten miles northward, along this eastern shore of Luce Bay, are the ruined Barracks of Auchenmalg, built in the days of the free-trade as a means of suppressing the traffic. A whisper of the old building being haunted exists, but further than that the idea is associated with some deed of violence in the smuggling days nothing very definite can be gleaned.

Passing from Wigtownshire, by way of Kirkcowan, towards Kirkcudbrightshire, it may be noted that Dr Trotter has preserved a ghost story concerning Craighlaw House, originally a fifteenth century square keep, now the oldest part of a mansion-house of three distinct periods. The story conveys that the ghost appeared on one occasion by the side of the large arched kitchen fire-place, during the absence of the cook at the well. Much alarmed at the sight on her return she screamed and collapsed. Her master, sceptical of anything supernatural, fervently expressed the wish that he himself might meet the cause of the alarm, which he actually did, and shot at it with no effect, much to his own alarm. Dr Trotter adds that "since the ghost was laid everything has been quiet."(83)

In Kirkcudbrightshire, still passing eastwards, the legends and eerie associations that cluster around Machermore Castle first meet us, and call for narration.

The following details are taken from an article entitled "The White Lady of Machermore," contributed to the _Galloway Gazette_ some years ago by James G. Kinna, author of the _History of the Parish of Minnigaff_:--

"Pleasantly situated on the east bank of the Cree, about a mile from the town, Machermore Castle is a prominent feature in the landscape as the traveller approaches Newton-Stewart by rail from the south. For wellnigh three hundred years the grey old Castle of Machermore bravely weathered the storms, and it would have continued to do so unscathed had not modern times necessitated structural changes. The Castle now presents a happy instance of the blending of the old and new styles of architecture--an adaptation of the past to present requirements.

It is a curious circumstance that although certain spots near Machermore Castle have always been associated with the name of the White Lady no one has ever actually seen the mysterious being. And yet there are few of the older residenters in the parish of Minnigaff who have not heard their grandfathers speak of her as a reality.

Machermore Castle is believed to have been built about the latter end of the sixteenth century. Tradition says that it was at first intended to build the Castle on the higher ground, a little to the north-east of the present site, but that during the night the foundation stones were always removed, so that what was built during the day was carried off by unseen hands and deposited in another place. As it was no use to strive against the supernatural, the Castle was eventually built where the materials were always found in the morning.

In the Castle itself was a room reputed to be haunted. In this instance the particular apartment was in the north-west angle, and was always known as Duncan's room. Projecting from the top corner of the outer wall in the same part of the Castle was the finely-carved figurehead of a man. A close inspection revealed the fact that the neck was encircled by an exquisitely-chiselled lace ruffle of the Tudor period. This piece of sculpture was always known as Duncan's head. On the floor of Duncan's room there was the mark of a bloody hand, distinctly showing the impress of the fingers, thumb, and palm. It was said that removing that part of the flooring had been tried so as to eradicate all trace of the bygone tragedy, but the mark of the bloody hand appeared in the new wood as fresh as before. From the history of Machermore at least this legend is ineffaceable, and the annals of the parish of Minnigaff are incomplete which do not contain a reference to this remarkable phenomenon.

It is a good many years since the incident I am about to relate took place, but the circumstances are as fresh in my memory as if it had happened but yesternight; nor am I ever likely to forget my first and only visit from the White Lady. On that occasion I happened to be the sole occupant of Duncan's room, but as usage had worn off all prejudice against the occupation of that particular bedroom amongst the members of the household, little or no importance was attached to the general belief that the room was haunted.

It was a midsummer night, and I had been asleep, but had awakened, and lay wondering what time it was, just as a clock on one of the landings struck twelve. As the last stroke died away I distinctly heard a footstep coming upstairs. All being perfectly quiet in the Castle at that hour, I could hear the slightest sound. Nearer and nearer to the door of my room came the midnight visitant, until it seemed to enter; but although the room was flooded with moonlight I saw no one come in, yet I was perfectly conscious that some mysterious presence was near me. I was not in the least frightened at the time. Although wide awake I could see nothing. A peculiar sound resembling the opening and shutting of a stiff drawer now came from the corner of the room where was the impress of the bloody hand. I then sat up in bed and called out, "Who's there? what do you want?" but got no answer. After this I must confess to feeling uncomfortable, a state which changed to something like positive fear as a rustling sound resembling that made by a silk dress passed out of the room. All this time the door remained closed. Nothing, therefore, possessing a material body could either have entered or left the room without its entrance or exit being noticed, but although I looked in the direction from which the moving sound proceeded nothing could be seen. It was with a sense of relief that I listened with bated breath and palpitating heart to the retreating footsteps as they slowly descended the stairs and gradually died away in the distance, and then all was silent again, ... and here the mystery rests."

There is a tradition that somewhere about Machermore Castle there is buried under a flat stone a kettle full of gold:

"Between the Castle and the River Cree Lies enough o' gold to set a' Scotland free."

The spell of the White Lady for good or evil is exercised no longer in the ancestral home of the Dunbars of Machermore.

Between Kirkdale House and Cassencarry, on the beautiful sea-girt road leading from Creetown to Gatehouse, there stood many years ago a little cottage in a sequestered situation among the woods, where a young girl was murdered by her sweetheart under the saddest of circumstances.

In and around the cottage immediately afterwards unaccountable noises were heard, and the ghost of the unfortunate girl seen, which curiously enough, as the tradition tells, at once ceased when the young man was brought to justice.

There is also a further tradition about a gypsy killing a woman near Kirkdale Bridge. At twelve o'clock at night, it is said, the ghost of a woman with half of her head cut off, and all clad in white, appears at Kirkdale Bridge, and slowly wends its way along the road and disappears by the wooded pathway leading to Kirkdale Bank.(84) This apparition is firmly believed in by folks in that locality.

The district of Dalry has furnished us with tales of witch and fairy lore. Of ghost tradition there are also authentic details, of which the most important concerns the old mansion-house of Glenlee. The following details are extracts from a paper on the subject contributed to the _Gallovidian_ (Winter, 1900):--

"In the north of Kirkcudbrightshire, in the beautiful district of the Glenkens, on the banks of the Ken, nearly opposite to the village of Dalry but on the other side of the river, stands the fine mansion-house of Glenlee Park, at one time the residence of Lord Glenlee, one of the Judges of the Court of Session. Silent and solitary, and untenanted for years now except by a caretaker, this eligible residence has the reputation of being haunted by a lady who walks about dressed in grey silk.

A lady, who is still alive, tells how the grey lady appeared to her one evening as she was sitting in front of her dressing-glass waiting on her maid to come and do up her hair. While looking into the mirror she became aware of someone or something behind her, and then saw a lady enter by the door of her room, pass across the floor, and disappear through a door which communicated with a dressing-room. As the house was full of company at the time she wondered whether some of the strangers had mistaken the way to her room; but she waited in vain for her return, and just as she was thinking of going to explore the mystery it occurred to her that there had been no sound of doors opening or of footfalls on the floor, nor was there any sound in the direction in which the lady had disappeared, and finally it struck her that the lady was not dressed like anyone in the house.

On another occasion the same lady was sitting up with her husband, who was seriously ill, and during the night a kind of rap was heard on the door, or about the door, which roused her to go and see what it was. Upon opening the door a face stared at her, but spoke not, and passed silently along the dimly-lighted corridor out of sight.

A guest at Glenlee, before going off to some entertainment one evening ran up to his bedroom for something or other, and to his surprise there was a lady standing at his dressing-table putting some finishing touches to her toilette. He at once withdrew, thinking that some of the ladies in the hurry of the moment had gone into the wrong bedroom. When he came down again they were all upon the point of departure, and called to him to come along--but before getting into the carriage he said,

'You have forgotten one of the ladies.'

'Oh, no!' they said, 'everyone is here, and but for your lingering we should have been off.'

One evening at dark the butler was hastening down the avenue on some errand to the lodge-keeper's, when suddenly a lady hurried past him, and he heard nothing but a faint rustle as of her dress, or the faint flickering of the remaining autumn leaves in the breeze overhead. As it was at a time when all the ladies were supposed to be indoors curiosity piqued him to follow her and watch her movements. She hurried on without once looking round, and finally disappeared through a disused cellar door which he knew to be locked and rusted from want of use. Not till then did it strike the butler that there was anything uncanny about the lady that had hurried past him in the gloom of the evening.

No satisfactory explanation of these unpleasant experiences has ever been established.

Mr Blacklock, in his notes on _Twenty Years' Holidaying in the Glenkens_, makes mention of the Glenlee ghost, and adds that Lady Ashburton was said to have poisoned her husband, who was afflicted with _morbus pediculus_. 'Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap'--and there is a further tradition that Lady Ashburton's butler poisoned her in turn, in order to possess himself of some valuables which he coveted.

[Illustration: THE HEADLESS PIPER OF PATIESTHORN. Sketch by J. Copland, Dundrennan.]

The disturbances are chiefly connected with the old part of the house, the bedroom and dressing-room previously mentioned, which seem to be the chief haunts of this yet unlaid ghost."

In the village of Dalry itself there stood a row of houses called Bogle-Hole, on the site now occupied by the school. In one of these houses a man was said to have poisoned his wife, and the ghost of the murdered woman has, according to credible authority, appeared even within recent years.

The following singular story is connected with the lonely district of the Moor of Corsock:

"Many years ago a drover, while making his way north and crossing that wild and thinly populated district which lies between the head of the parish of Parton and the Moor of Corsock had the following uncanny experience: He had left the Parton district late in the afternoon with the intention of reaching a farm-house some miles north of the village of Corsock. By the time he reached the path over Corsock Hill, however, it had become dark, and occasional flashes of lightning foretold that a storm was at hand. With loud peals of thunder, vivid flashes of lightning, and a downpour of rain the storm at last broke. The only shelter near at hand was some thorn bushes by the roadside, under which the drover crept and stayed for fully an hour, while the storm raged and the darkness increased. When the storm had somewhat abated the drover set out once more, hurrying as fast as the darkness would allow him. He had reached a very desolate part of the moor when his collie gave a low whine and crept close to his master's heels. The drover stood up for a moment to try and find a reason for the dog's behaviour, when down in the glen between the hills he heard what at first appeared the sound of bagpipes, which increased quickly to a shrill piercing wailing that struck terror to his heart, the collie creeping closer and closer to his heel whining in a way that showed he was as much frightened as his master.

Standing irresolute, a blaze of blue light flashed right in front of him, in the centre of which appeared the figure of a piper, his pipes standing like horns against the background of blue light. The figure moved backwards and forwards playing the wildest of music all the time. It next seemed to come nearer and nearer, and the drover, now transfixed to earth with terror, saw that the piper was headless, and his body so thin that surrounding hills and country could be seen right throught it. A blinding flash of fire, followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder, brought matters to a close for the time being, and the drover fell prostrate among the heather. When he recovered his senses the strange light had gone, and with it the headless piper. The storm had cleared off, and in due time he reached the farm, where he was put up for the night. When he told his story no one spoke for a moment or two, then the farmer's aged father broke silence: 'Aye, aye, lad, ye hae seen the ghost o' the piper wha was murdered on his wey frae Patiesthorn.[44] I hae had the same fearsome experience myself, tho' its mair than saxty years syne.'"(85)

In the Dundrennan district of Kirkcudbright a persisted belief lingers concerning a headless lady haunting the Buckland Glen. The following narrative which has been handed down lends an increased interest to the tradition:--

Long ago a Monkland farmer, accompanied by one of his farm-lads, was on his return from Kirkcudbright at a very late hour. The farmer was riding a small Highland pony, the boy being on foot. It was about midnight when they got to that part of Buckland Glen where a small bridge crosses the Buckland Burn. They had just crossed the bridge when the pony suddenly stood up and swerved, almost throwing the farmer out of the saddle.

"What's wrang wi' ye the nicht, Maggie--what's tae fricht ye, my lass?"

"Eh, Maister, did ye see that?" whispered the lad. "See--yonner it's again!"

The old man looked, and muttering to himself whispered, "Aye, it's there, laddie! It's a' true what hes been mony a time telt! That's the ghost o' the headless leddy wha was murdered in the glen in the aul' wicked times. We'll no gang by, but gang doon the lane and slip hame by Gilroanie."