E-text prepared by Robin Eugene Escovado
by
Author of John Halifax, Gentleman, Christian's Mistake,&c., &c., &c.
New York
Harper & Brothers, Publishers
Franklin Square
Dedicated, with the affection of eighteen years,
To Uncle George
Many years ago, how many need not be recorded, there lived in hisancestral castle, in the far north of Scotland, the last Earl ofCairnforth.
You will not find his name in "Lodge's Peerage," for, as I say, he wasthe last earl, and with him the title became extinct. It had been bornefor centuries by many noble and gallant men, who had lived worthily ordied bravely. But I think among what we call "heroic" lives—livesthe story of which touches us with something higher than pity, anddeeper than love—there never was any of his race who left behind ahistory more truly heroic than he.
Now that it is all over and done—now that the soul so mysteriouslygiven has gone back unto Him who gave it, and a little green turf in thekirk-yard behind Cairnforth Manse covers the poor body in which it dweltfor more than forty years, I feel it might do good to many, and would doharm to none, if I related the story—a very simple one, and morelike a biography than a tale—of Charles Edward Stuart Montgomerie,last Earl of Cairnforth.
He did not succeed to the title; he was born Earl of Cairnforth, hisfather having been drowned in the loch a month before, the wretchedcountess herself beholding the sight from her castle windows. She livedbut to know she had a son and heir—to whom she desired might begiven his father's name: then she died—more glad than sorry todepart, for she had loved her husband all her life, and had only beenmarried to him a year. Perhaps, had she once seen her son, she mighthave wished less to die than to live, if only for his sake; however, itwas not God's will that this should be. So, at two days old, the "poorlittle earl"—as from his very birth people began compassionately tocall him—was left alone in the world, without a single near relativeor connection, his parents having both been only children, but with histitle, his estate, and twenty thousand a year.
Cairnforth Castle is one of the loveliest residences in all Scotland.It is built on the extremity of a long tongue of land which stretchesout between two salt-water lochs—Loch Beg, the "little," and LochMhor, the "big" lake. The latter is grand and gloomy, shut in by bleakmountains, which sit all round it, their feet in the water, and theirheads in mist and cloud. But Loch Beg is quite different. It hasgreen, cultivated, sloping shores, fringed with trees to the water'sedge, and the least ray of sunshine seems always to set it dimpling withwavy smiles. Now and then a sudden squall comes down from the chain ofmountains far away beyond the head of the loch, and then its watersbegin to darken—just like a sudden frown over a bright face; thewaves curl and rise, and lash themselves into foam, and any littlesailing boat, which has been happily and safely riding over them fiveminutes before, is often struck and capsized immediately. Thus ithappened when the late earl was drowned.
The minister—the Rev. Alexander Cardross—had been sailing withhim; had only just landed, and was watching the boat crossing backagain, when the squall came down. Though this region is a populousdistrict now, with white villas dotted like daisies all along the greenshores, there was then not