Part 15

Turning the quivering pony they wended their way along the woods which thickly fringe the Buckland Burn, as it leads to the shore at the Manxman's Lake, and reached home without further difficulty than keeping in hand the frightened pony. The curious fact was a week later discovered that two disreputable characters had lain in wait, for the purpose of robbery or perhaps worse, at a lonely turn on the Bombie road about a quarter of a mile from Buckland Brig. They had learned that the farmer had been to Kirkcudbright to draw a sum of money, and, had the sudden appearance of the Buckland ghost not turned their path, another tragedy might have been that night enacted in the Buckland Glen.

[Illustration: THE GHOST OF BUCKLAND GLEN. Sketch by J. Copland, Dundrennan.]

Concerning the parish of Rerwick the account of "A true relation of an apparition, expressions, and actings of a spirit which infested the house of Andrew Mackie, in Ringcroft of Stocking, in the parish of Rerwick, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright in Scotland, 1695, by Mr Alexander Telfair, Minister of that parish, and attested by many other persons who were also eye and ear witnesses," will be found in its original form in the Appendix.

One of the most interesting weird stories connected with Galloway, centres round a mansion-house in the neighbourhood of Castle-Douglas.

A lady renting it for a few years tells how she was twice or thrice disturbed in the night by hearing a horse trotting round to the front door, and on getting up to look out of the window always found there was nothing to be seen, and nothing to be done but to return shivering to bed. Several years after, returning to the neighbourhood, she met the owner of the house, who asked her to go and see the improvements he had recently effected. On being shown over the house she was told that the room she had slept in had had the partition taken down between it and the dressing-room next it to make a large room, and strangely enough, when taking down the wall, a horse's skull was discovered built into the wall.

The only connecting link to the above curious circumstance is that a former proprietor paid a hurried visit to the town of Dumfries at the time of the terrible epidemic of cholera (1832), the journey being naturally accomplished in these days on horseback. Unfortunately, he contracted the disease and died shortly after his return.

Until some years ago a huge boulder lay at the roadside on the way from Dalbeattie to Colvend, not far from the cottage known as the "Wood Forester's." The story was, that this was the scene of foul play long ago, the victim being a woman, whose ghost afterwards haunted the neighbourhood in the black hours of the night.

Bearing upon this, an exceedingly graphic account has been furnished the writer of such an apparition having been seen by the captain of a local coasting vessel[45] late one night as he was walking from Kippford to Dalbeattie. It made its appearance near Aikieslak, which is the next house to the "Wood Forester's," and not very far away. The figure walked in front, stopped when he stopped, and finally disappeared, to his intense relief, in the wood to the left.

The parish of Kirkbean is particularly rich in ghostly record, no fewer than six haunted, or once haunted localities having been noted.(86) Traversing the parish from Southwick towards Newabbey, the first eerie place of note is a field above Torrorie known as the "Murder Fall." The ghost in this instance was that of a man who came to an untimely end by hanging.

Between Mainsriddel and Prestonmill there is a sequestered part of the road known as "Derry's How," once reputed to be haunted by an evil spirit in the form of a black four-footed beast. The third uncanny place was a farm-house in this same immediate neighbourhood. The ghostly manifestation was here that of sound--well-defined sounds of footsteps passing along a passage to the foot of a staircase, pausing, then seeming to return along the passage again. The sound persisted for many years, and was recognised and described by different individuals always as footsteps, which of themselves were so natural as to give rise to no alarm.

Between Prestonmill and Kirkbean--midway between the two villages--there is a small plantation, with, on the other side of the road, a larger wood. The road itself at this particular part forms a hollow. This natural arrangement of wood and road, known locally as the "Howlet's Close," was the reputed domain of a "lady in white," but so little can be gleaned concerning her appearance that even the origin of the tradition seems to be quite forgotten.

The "Three Cross Roads" near Arbigland is the next spot of ghost-lore association, round which there lingers a rather romantic tale. A young lady, a member of the well-known family of Craik (of Arbigland) had fixed her affections upon a young groom in her father's employment, a lad of good physique and manners, but, of course, apart in social status. The course of true love, however, did not run true, the romantic attachment having a most tragic ending. One day a single report of fire-arms was heard, and soon afterwards the lifeless body of the young man, whose name was Dunn, was discovered. The law took the view of suicide having been committed, but it was generally believed in the district that a brother of the young lady, incensed at her devotion to one he thought so far beneath her, had himself taken the young man's life. This deed of violence took place at the "Three Cross Roads," and this was the place where the victim's ghost was afterwards reported to have been seen.

Another part of the road on the confines of the parish, and near to where it enters that of Newabbey, is associated with the midnight wanderings of yet another "lady in white," but concerning this "poor ghost" also, tradition withholds her story.

There comes down through the long flight of centuries, a curious old story of supernatural sequence to the tragic death of John Comyn at the high altar of the Minorite Friary in Dumfries (February 10th, 1306), when the impetuous dagger-thrust of the Bruce, followed by the death dealing strokes of Kirkpatrick and Lindsay, completed the all-significant tale of murder and sacrilege.

The terrors of the day had passed, and night had fallen. With simple and earnest pomp the death-watch over the slain was being held by the troubled and anxious Friars. Wearily the hours dragged on. It was the dead of night, and many of them slumbered--all indeed, save one aged Friar, who, as the chronicler[46] tells, "with terror and astonishment heard a ghostly voice mournfully call out, 'How long, O Lord, shall vengeance be deferred?' and in reply an answering wail, 'Endure with patience until the anniversary of this day shall return for the fifty-second time,'" rising to the chancel roof with terrible clearness. The aged monk bowed his head, praying earnestly that evil might be averted, but it was otherwise to fall out.

Fifty-two years have passed away, and the hand of hospitality is being extended in the fortress of Caerlaverock Castle. In the great hall the flickering firelight fitfully lights up the faces of two men who have been served with a parting cup of wine, for the hour draws late. The host is Roger Kirkpatrick, the guest James Lindsay, and they are the sons of Kirkpatrick and Lindsay, whose daggers despatched the Red Comyn. Goodwill and friendship evidently prevail as they rise to part for the night, but the rift is in the lute, and an ugly savage look comes to the face of Lindsay as he is left alone in his room in the west tower.

An hour later a stealthy figure creeps up the eastern turret stair. There is a single well-directed thrust, and deep sleep becomes the deeper sleep of death, so sure has been the stroke that sends Roger Kirkpatrick, son of "Mak' Siccar," to his doom.

A bridled and a saddled steed stands beyond the confines of the castle walls, and Lindsay, leaping to his seat, terror at his heart, rides into the darkness of the night. Daybreak comes, the alarm is given, and almost red-handed the murderer is taken, not three miles from the castle gates, from which he had deemed himself many leagues away.

Hurried to Dumfries, doom is pronounced, and the common place of execution claims him for its own. The ghostly call of the night, "How long?" echoing through the monastery walls, is fulfilled.

With the history of the South-western district of Scotland the life story of Sir Robert Grierson of Lag, or "Aul' Lag," as he is to this day called, is intimately associated. In a previous chapter we have dealt with the superstitious happenings at his death and funeral. Mention must now be made of a legend which concerns the passing of his soul, and which is not yet forgotten in Dumfries and Galloway.

The year of grace, 1733, was wearing fast towards Yule, when one stormy night a small vessel found herself overtaken, at the mouth of the Solway, by a gale of wind that was almost too much for her. Close-hauled and fighting for every foot of sea-way she was slowly forcing her way up-channel against the angry north-west blast when a strange adventure befel her. In a lull following a savage squall the moon broke through the black flying cloud, lighting up the storm-tossed sea and revealing to those aboard another struggling sail far astern. Curiously the seamen gazed, but searching glance gave place to wonder, and wonder to fear, when they saw what had at first seemed a craft like themselves, come rushing onwards in the very teeth of the wind, and with as much ease as if running "free" before it. The moon dipped, and again darkness descended on the face of the waters, but not for long. Once again the moonlight pierced the curtain of flying cloud. Then was seen what surely was the strangest craft that ever sailed the tossing Solway sea--a great State-coach, drawn by six jet-black horses, with out-riders, coachmen, and a great retinue of torch-bearers, footmen, and followers, furiously driving onwards over the foam-crested waves. As the phantom carriage plunged nearer, the skipper, regaining some little of his courage, ran forwards, hailing in sailor fashion--"Where bound? and where from?"--and the answer came back, clear and distinct across the raging waters--"To tryst with Lag! Dumfries! from--Hell!"

[Illustration: "TO TRYST WITH LAG." Sketch by J. Copland, Dundrennan.]

A similar legend exists in connection with the death of William, Duke of Queensberry, appointed High Commissioner to James VII., 1685, and whose attitude towards the Covenanters is still remembered against him.

"Concerning the death of the Duke of Drumlanrig, _alias_ Queensberry, we have the following relation: That a young man perfectly well acquainted with the Duke (probably one of those he had formerly banished), being now a sailor and in foreign countries, while the ship was upon the coast of Naples and Sicily, near one of the burning mountains, one day they espied a coach and six, all in black, going towards the mount with great velocity; when it came past them they were so near that they could perceive the dimensions and features of one that sat in it.

The young man said to the rest--'If I could believe my own eyes, or if I ever saw one like another, I would say that it is the Duke.'

In an instant they heard an audible voice echo from the mount--'Open to the Duke of Drumlanrig!' upon which the coach, now near the mount, vanished.

The young man took pen and paper, and upon his return found it exactly answer the day and hour the Duke died."(87)

Of Drumlanrig Castle itself, the writer of _Drumlanrig and the Douglases_ notes, that "like all old baronial residences, this castle was believed to be haunted by the ghosts of the dead. The most alarming legend was connected with what was known as the 'Bloody Passage,' where a foul murder had been committed, and the very spot was marked out by the stains of blood, which no housemaid's scrubbing could obliterate. It is the passage on the south side of the castle running above the drawing-room, from which a number of bed-chambers enter. Here, at midnight, the perturbed spirit of a lady, in her night clothes, parades, bewailing her sad fate, but by whom she had suffered tradition tells not. There is also a haunted room on the east side of the castle, on the fourth storey from the ground, where in former times fearful noises used to be heard."

Passing from Thornhill to Moniaive by way of Penpont and Tynron a conspicuous land-mark is the truncated peak of Tynron Doon, the abrupt ending of the hill range dividing the valley of the Scaur from that of the Shinnel. Round Tynron Doon there linger memories of a spectre in the form of a headless horseman restlessly riding a black horse. The local tradition is, that the ghost was that of a young gentleman of the family of M'Milligan of Dalgarnock, who had gone to offer his addresses to the daughter of the Laird of Tynron Castle. His presence was objected to, however, by one of the young lady's brothers. Hot words followed, and in high wrath the suitor rode off; but mistaking his way he galloped over the steepest part of the hill and broke his neck, and so, with curses and words of evil on his very lips, his spirit was not allowed to pass untroubled to the realms beyond.

In the adjoining parish of Glencairn the following ghost vestiges have been gleaned:--"At Auchenstroan and Marwhirn a white woman is seen; at Pentoot and Gaps Mill 'pens' a crying child (supposed to have been murdered) is heard. The Nut Wood at Maxwellton was long supposed to harbour an emissary of the Evil One, and woe betide the traveller who failed to gain the running waters of Cairn or Shinnel. Jarbruck and Kirkland bridges were also of evil repute."(88)

In the district of Sanquhar there are numerous stories of supernatural appearance and ghostly visit.

Connected with Sanquhar Castle, or Crichton Peel as it is otherwise termed, now a ruined remnant, there are two distinctive ghost legends.

The first is concerned with the fate--in the far-off old unhappy days--of a servitor of Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, who "suffered" innocently at the hands of the sixth Lord Crichton. In this instance the ghost was not seen, but manifested its presence by strange chain-clanking noises within the castle walls.

The other is yet another "Lady in White," whose rare appearance foretold grief or misfortune to the Crichton family. The legend runs that it was the ghost of a young maiden who had been wronged and murdered by one of the Lords of Sanquhar.

Littlemark, a small farm on the Eliock estate, three miles from Sanquhar, was the scene, some two hundred years ago, of the murder of a pedlar, who came into the district with a large and valuable quantity of goods carried on a pack-horse.

The ghost which was supposed to haunt the neighbourhood was curiously enough not that of the pedlar himself, but took the form of the bundle or "pack" itself, moving slowly above and along the ground.

Stories which tell of the visitations and appearances of the ghost of Abraham Crichton, erstwhile Provost of Sanquhar, are to this day well remembered in the district. A merchant in Sanquhar, he seems in life to have been a shrewd and active citizen, with the reputation of being very wealthy. In 1734 he became Provost, succeeding his brother in that office, and also inheriting the possession of Carco. But evil days came, and in 1741 he was declared a bankrupt. The deed which seems chiefly to have marked him out for unrest in the next world was the share he took in the abolition of the services in the old parish church of Kirkbride and of its existence as a separate parish. An actual attempt, at his instigation, to "ding doon the Whigs' sanctuary," to use his own expression, was frustrated by Divine intervention--it was said--in the form of a violent storm. The workmen were obliged to desist, and shortly afterwards Abraham met his death by a fall from his horse near Dalpeddar. With this as an introduction, let Dr Simpson continue the story as it is set down in the _History of Sanquhar_:--"Though declared a bankrupt before his death, the good people of Sanquhar were convinced that he must have somewhere secreted his money, and acted a fradulent part. On this account it was supposed that he could not rest in his grave, and hence the belief of his frequent appearances in the sombre churchyard, to the affrightment of all and sundry who passed near the burying-ground in the evening dusk. The veritable apparition of this worthy was firmly credited by the populace, who were kept in a state of perpetual alarm. Many a maid, with her milk-pail on her head, dashed the whole to the ground when the ghost showed himself at a kirkyard wall, and ran home screaming with affright, and finally fell on the floor in a faint. The exploits of the resuscitated Provost was endless. He assailed all who dared to pass near his resting-place, young and old, men and women. The consternation became universal, the attention of the whole district was directed to the subject, which, indeed, became a topic of discussion throughout the south-west of Scotland. Its merits were discussed also in the Edinburgh forum, and attracted the attention of the learned North Briton, Thomas Rudiman.[47]

At length the matter came to a crisis, and it was found necessary to do something to allay the popular excitement. In those days it was believed that certain sacred charms were effectual in allaying a ghost, and that the charm, whatever it might be, was chiefly to be employed by a minister of the gospel. The next thing, then, was to find a person of this order who had the sanctity and fortitude necessary to accomplish the feat. The individual fixed on was a venerable minister of the name of Hunter, in the parish of Penpont. During the night he went to the churchyard, and on the following day gave out that he had laid Abraham's ghost, and that in future no person need have the least alarm in passing the churchyard, as he never again would trouble anyone. Mr Hunter's statement was implicitly believed, and nothing supernatural has since been seen within the ancient burying-ground of Sanquhar. To add to the seeming mystery which Mr Hunter wished to keep up, when questioned on what he had said or done to the spirit he replied, 'No person shall ever know that.' In order, however, to prevent all such annoyances for the time coming, and to retain Abraham more effectually within the bounds of his narrow cell, it was deemed prudent to keep down the flat gravestone with a strong band of iron or stout chain. This precaution, it was supposed, would keep the popular mind more at ease."

To Poldean, in Wamphray, situated at the north-west corner of the parish, on the Annan, about five miles from Moffat, there is a curious old-world ghost reference in _Law's Memorials_, edited by Kirkpatrick Sharp. In the narrative, which is here given, Poldean is described as "Powdine in Annandale":--

"Also in the south-west border of Scotland, in Annandale, there is a house called Powdine belonging to a gentleman called Johnston; that house hath been haunted these fifty or sixty years. At my coming to Worcester, 1651, I spoke with the gentleman (being myself quartered within two miles of the house). He told me many extraordinary relations consisting in his own knowledge; and I carried him to my master, to whom he made the same relations--noises and apparitions, drums and trumpets heard before the last war; yea, he said, some English soldiers quartered in his house were soundly beaten by that irresistible inhabitant.... He tells me that the spirit now speaks, and appears frequently in the shape of a naked arm."

Three and a half miles north-east of Lochmaben, on the banks of the Annan, stands the turreted ruin of Spedlins Tower, the old home of the Jardines of Applegarth.

Grim, gaunt, and lonely, one of the best accredited ghost legends in the south-west of Scotland lingers round its walls. The story has been told many times, and the version here selected is that of Francis Grose, the antiquary, who described the Tower in his _Antiquities of Scotland_ (1789-91):--

"Spedlins Tower is chiefly famous for being haunted by a bogle or ghost. As the relation will enliven the dullness of antiquarian disquisition, I will here relate it as it was told me by an honest woman who resides on the spot, and who, I will be sworn from her manner, believed every syllable of it. In the time of the late Sir John Jardine's grandfather, a person named Porteous, living in the parish of Applegarth, was taken up on suspicion of setting fire to a mill, and confined in the lord's prison, the pit or dungeon, at this castle. The lord being suddenly called to Edinburgh on some pressing and unexpected business, in his hurry forgot to leave the key of the pit, which he always held in his own custody. Before he discovered his mistake and could send back the key--which he did the moment he found it out--the man was starved to death, having first, through the extremity of hunger, gnawed off one of his hands. Ever after that time the castle was terribly haunted till a Chaplain of the family exorcised and confined the bogle to the pit, whence it could never come out, so long as a large Bible, which he had used on that business, remained in the castle. It is said that the Chaplain did not long survive this operation. The ghost, however, kept quietly within the bounds of his prison till a long time after, when the Bible, which was used by the whole family, required a new binding, for which purpose it was sent to Edinburgh. The ghost, taking advantage of its absence, was extremely boisterous in the pit, seeming as if it would break through the iron door, and making a noise like that of a large bird fluttering its wings. The Bible being returned, and the pit filled up, everything has since remained perfectly quiet. But the good woman declared, that should it again be taken off the premises no consideration whatever would induce her to remain there a single night."

Jardine Hall, the new home of the Jardines, to which the family had removed, is situated on the opposite side of the river Annan, its windows overlooking the old walls of Spedlins Tower. It also was by no means free from a share of the haunting of the dead miller, for during the time the Bible had gone to Edinburgh to be re-bound, the ghost, getting out of the dungeon, crossed the river and presented itself at the new house, making a great disturbance, and actually hauling the baronet and his lady out of bed. Some accounts indeed, say that so terrifying was its behaviour that the unhappy owner of Jardine Hall refused to wait until the Bible was repaired, but recalled it hastily before it reached the Capital, in order that its holy presence might quell the restless spirit and keep it confined to its dungeon.