Letter is situated some two miles from the historic Lake of Menteith, and about four from Callander. The romantic Loch Rusky lies nearby, and the Peaks of Beinn Dearg and Ben Gullipen dominate the homestead.

Letter marches with Glenny on the top of Beinn Dearg. Between these heights lies the mountain tarn of Loch an Balloch. The district teems with legends of the ancient warlike days. The scene of one of the most charming of these is laid in the Glens around Letter, and is titled “The Race for a Chief’s Daughter”, as published in the Scottish Review, of the U.S.A , the story is as follows: –

 

The race for a chief’s daughter – A legend of Loch Rusky

From the topmost walls of “Ruskie’s escutcheoned battlements” a maid looks forth upon the waters all around, and then beyond to the steep sides of Ben Gullipen and Beinn Dearg, that shut out from her gaze the farther country – the hills and glens that gave her birth. For she is a daughter of the wild MacFarlanes that dwell up around Loch Reodihte and raid the lands of fair Menteith.

Her father is the chief of the clan, and has led a great onslaught of the more civilised, more Anglified tribe of Menteith, and wrought great damage and captured much spoil.

As a result, Menteith was roused, and a great revenge was sought – a revenge that was dearly paid for, for the foe melted away among the hills, and their chief was never seen save on those occasions when he dashed down with a few followers and slaughtered any men who dared to straggle, then up again to the hills, where pursuit was all but hopeless.

But Menteith, though he could not harm his active foe, by treachery and bribes carried off the pride of Loch Reodihte – Matilda, the sixteen-year-old daughter of the chief, and a charming, winning maid that every MacFarlane loved.

And to Loch Rusky he brought her, and put her in the castle there, on the small island, safe from rescue; and now the knights are meeting down below, discussing what her fate shall be.

She, poor girl, snatched from her friends, feels well that she can expect no mercy from those her father has so often harried; but at least her life has taught her not to be afraid, and not to fear to die. But waiting on, this suspense, is terrible. At last she hears a step upon the stair; her door is opened, and Menteith himself strides in.

“We have decided your future, my girl,” he says. “Young Ean Stewart said that he would like to wed you, but we thought that would be too high a fate for a MacFarlane.

All the same, we did not wish to disappoint the lad, so we arranged that to-morrow he and I are to race on the course yonder for you, his black horse, Arrow, against my brown mare, Bess. If I win you are mine, and I hand you over to my men; but if young Ean wins, he may wed you if he wish. That is all; good night.” And the Earl went off to join in the revelry in the dining-hall below.

Matilda was stunned for a minute. To treat the MacFarlane’s daughter as a prize for which to race was a scandal and a crime. To hand her over to the winner to be wedded by him, or to be given by him as a plaything to his followers, was shameful beyond description.

She who had lived as free as air and breathed the freedom of the mountains was to be made as a slave for shame.

Poor child; she spent a miserable night praying for strength to plunge her small dagger in her breast, but always checking each stroke before it was half through, and waiting, again waiting for something – waiting for anything that might save her.

At last the sun begins to rise up by Stirling Castle, and sends his bright rays down the valley of the Forth, and even up to the small window on the turret on Loch Rusky. Often had Matilda watched the sun rise from her native hills, and often wondered at his splendour; but never did he seem so glorious as he did this morning, on the day she felt would be her last. But she has not long to wait, for the contest is to be decided early.

All the warriors crowd out around the racecourse that lies on the south shore, take up their places, and make great wagers among themselves. For these two horses are easily the fastest in all the country round, and all make great wagers among themselves. For these two horses are easily the fastest in the country around, and all look forward to this test of speed. Then she is called, rowed across, and placed within the circle on the course, on a high platform beside the knights. She can see everything from here, each move in the race, while all can see the captive MacFarlane, a prisoner of their Earl’s, a prize for the winner of the race.

At last the two appear, the old Earl and the young Knight, and each as they canter past, bows low to the maid. The race is four times around the course – a short spurt – about a mile in all. A herald is to start them with a flag. Soon they are ready. Young Sir Ean has won the toss, and chosen the inside station; no small advantage.

All is still; the excitement is immense as the two great horses stand side by side waiting for the signal. The flag falls; and they are off, the black and the brown. Sir Ean rides his hardest, and forces his horse ahead, while the Earl seems to hold back the mare.

They are at the first corner, and Sir Ean’s mad rush carried him out a little, and gives the Earl the chance for which he waits.

He pulls the mare behind the horse, and runs into the inside place. The cheering is frantic. The black leads by nearly a length, but the brown has now the advantage at the turns, and as they come to each gains a little more.

Once round, Sir Ean still leads by half a length. But when they fly round a second time, the Earl gradually comes up and up until, as they pass the post, they race neck and neck.

Sir Ean is in despair. The Earl’s backers cheer madly, for they see the Earl must win. Matilda, almost forgotten now, watches with intense excitement every move. If the Earl wins,  she is to be thrown to those rough men who cheer so wildly. Surely that that thought will give her courage – the jewelled dagger will save her honour.

But if the Knight wins, what then! He is a handsome youth; but to be forced like a slave to marry any man is shame. All this she thinks while the two rush past.

Sir Ean beaten now, for he loses ground more quickly, and at the third time past the Earl has a clear lead. Again the frantic cheering. But Sir Ean is not done yet, for at the north-east corner he sees his chance, for the mare has swung out a little; and as the Earl had done before, the seizes the inside place, and plies his whip and spurs.

Only 300 yards, and a length to make up. Can he do it? For a while the Earl holds his own, but at the next two corners Ean gains, and when they enter on the last straight dash for home is barely a head behind. Neck and neck they go up the straight, locked together, and only at the very finish does Sir Ean, with a last effort, force Black Arrow’s nose in front. The Knight has won.

Sir Ean did not wait for long the centre of an applauding crowd, but quickly turned Black Arrow and rose up to where Matilda was. The maid had risen, and was standing up, holding high in her right hand her small jewelled dagger.

She stood quite still, as it turned to stone. Events have come and passed so quickly that she can hardly realise that yet she lives; and that here, at her feet, stands a gallant knight, praying her to be his wife.

Never she looked so fair or majestic as now, while she stands upright, filled with the stubborn courage of her fathers, and glowing with the excitement of the race. Sir Ean looks the humble suppliant he feels, and not the winner of the prize. And she, Matilda, looks in every way something divine –a saint-like queen. Not one of those rough men but knows that had the Earl won she would have died, and in his heart rejoices at Ean’s victory.

And then she speaks: “Sir Ean, I believe you to be a man of honour and a gallant knight, yet never shall a daughter of the MacFarlanes be given as a racing prize by a Menteith. If you would wed me, do not ask that wily man, the Earl; but if you have courage, ride to Loch Reodihte, and see my father, and ask him for his daughter. If you do this, and if he gives his leave, and I still live, then will I wed you; otherwise I die.”

Then  Menteith himself broke in: “You must not go, Ean. The girl is yours already. Is it a foul plan to get you murdered or held as a hostage for this girl’s return. I will not allow it. You must not go.”

“Will you trust my word, Sir Ean,” the maid said quietly. “Take this ring and go unarmed. A MacFarlane may kill, but does not murder. As for this man, this Earl of Menteith, know that for ever in Scottish history his name and treachery shall go together. How can a traitor trust an honest man, or the false Menteith the chief of the MacFarlane’s daughter?”

“You shall pay for this,” the Earl cried. “Seize her and bring her to me, and we shall whip some sense and some respect into this outlaw’s whelp.”

Sir Ean was before the hesitating men. He caught Matilda’s hand.

“Jump,” he cried, and she ran up beside him on the saddle, and then Black Arrow went. The race was nothing. This is riding a double burden on the horse, and the country rough with holes and stones and crags and burns, and the angry Earl behind.

Across the moor, then along Ben Gullipen’s side they sped; past Rednock’s Tower, and along Beinn Dearg and Ben Dhu until the Lake of Menteith is reached, and then on by its fertile shore till they come to the Glenny Pass.

Then Black Arrow seeks the due north, up by the Glenny Burn into the Pyper’s Glen. Still the Earl is close behind him with many fresh recruits, for men are easily gathered all along the lake side from the castle at Inchmahome.

And poor Black Arrow is tired to death. Still on he has to go, staggering under his heavy load, and losing ground at every stride, until when they come to the upright line of crags on the north side of the glen the pursuit is but 300 yards behind.

“We are done,” muttered Sir Ean. “Black Arrow cannot go another yard, poor beast.”

“Come quickly, follow me,” Matilda cried; and leaping off the tottering horse, runs like a deer up the great rocks in front.  Sir Ean follows hard; but the maid is a true daughter of the hills; and has often to wait and help him up, and to show him where to come. The men behind pant and struggle a hundred feet below. It is no good; the fugitives are safe.

Every step leads them to the MacFarlane’s land, and the Menteiths know well  its dangers. Once there, the fugitives feel that the ride had turned their mutual admiration into mutual love. And later on Sir Ean’s eloquence and Matilda’s pleading won the chief’s consent to their union.

 

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