Part 34

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 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 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!"

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.