L’année
2011 est une année mouvementée marquée entre autres par le Printemps arabe, le
séisme de la côte Pacifique du Tōhoku et l’éruption du Grímsvötn. Sur la scène
politique, on se trouve en plein milieu de la première présidence de Barack
Obama et dans la cinquième année du gouvernement de Stephen Harper. Parmi tous
ces événements marquants se trouve quelque part dans le quartier Saint-Roch à
Québec un jeune historien en herbe qui lance ses trois premiers billets de
blogue : un montage vidéo de ses voyages, le partage d’une bande-annonce
mettant en vedette George Washington, et un billet sur l’état de la consommation
de patates en 1758... Dix ans plus tard, son petit blogue, Curieuse
Nouvelle-France, représente maintenant un total de 273 billets et plus de 345 256
visites! Il me semblait donc approprié de célébrer cet anniversaire. Après
tout, dix ans passés à rejoindre un public passionné d’histoire, ça se souligne!
La genèse
de ce blogue remonte à ma maîtrise : alors que je discutais avec Normand
Renaud (la légende franco-ontarienne en personne!), je me plaignais du nombre d’anecdotes
croustillantes que je croisais dans les archives, sans jamais leur trouver une
utilité dans mes projets courants. Ce cher Normand m’a suggéré de les compiler
sur un blogue. C’est ainsi qu’est né Curieuse Nouvelle-France!
Au-delà le
simple partage de diverses anecdotes historiques, ce blogue est rapidement
devenu l’occasion de m’exprimer artistiquement et politiquement aussi. D’ailleurs,
mon billet le plus populaire est A Snarky
Explanation of What’s Going on With Doug Ford vs Franco-Ontarians,
le seul qui a atteint une portée virale avec plus de 26 000 consultations. Loin
derrière en deuxième place se trouve mon compte rendu de la série Barkskins,
intitulé Barkskins:
Dud on Arrival, qui a attiré quant à lui sept mille visiteurs.
Sans être un blogue « bilingue » au sens où rien n’est
systématiquement traduit, je suis également heureux de constater que mon
lectorat ne m’a pas critiqué d’écrire parfois en anglais. J’avais d’ailleurs eu
l’occasion de traiter cette question sur un autre blogue, Boréalia.
Quoique mon
débit d’écriture de billets fluctue au fil des années selon mes préoccupations
(par exemple, la fin de mon doctorat a causé une légère chute de productivité),
ce blogue continue d’être mon exutoire pour de nombreuses réflexions
préliminaires. Celles-ci se retrouvent souvent à l’avenir au sein de projets
plus formels (à titre d’exemple, voir mon récent billet sur les femmes
et l’armée française).
Mon blogue est
devenu ma principale présence virtuelle. J’ai presque entièrement abandonné les
groupes d’histoire sur les réseaux sociaux. J’ai décidé qu’il était plus
constructif de me consacrer à mon travail professionnel et à mon blogue que de
perdre mon temps à présenter des arguments tout aussi répétitifs qu’éphémères
sur Twitter et Facebook. En effet, le format même de ces derniers empêche toute
discussion constructive : à peine atteint-on un consensus moyennement
sensé, la somme des échanges est immédiatement remplacée par le prochain sujet
de l’heure (ou plutôt de la minute!). La discussion rapidement oubliée et
effacée, ce n’est pas long avant que le cycle se répète avec de nouveaux
usagers qui n’auront jamais eu le bénéfice de savoir que le débat avait déjà eu
lieu sur tel ou tel sujet. Sans oublier, bien sûr, la masse de trolls qui n’en
ont rien à faire avec la discussion raisonnée et courtoise. Je conseille donc à
tout chercheur en herbe ou professionnel de miser sur un minimalisme numérique
à leur tour. Mieux vaut se servir des réseaux sociaux de manière stratégique. J’ai
vu trop de mes collègues se laisser traîner dans la boue virtuelle par des gens
impulsifs et grossiers. Mieux vaut donc produire du contenu scientifique de qualité mis à la disposition de tous et toutes que de passer tout son temps libre à aborder
les gens individuellement sur les réseaux sociaux. En somme, n’en déplaise à
ceux qui croient que les blogues sont un médium dépassé, c’est pour ces raisons
que je trouve le format beaucoup plus constructif.
Je note
avec une certaine fierté que ce blogue a également inspiré directement ou
indirectement d’autres gens à faire de même. Allez voir, par exemple, Michel
Thévenin et son blogue Tranchées
& Tricornes, et Marie-Hélaine Fallu avec Mlle. Canadienne.
Je prends également plaisir à côtoyer d’autres blogueurs et blogueuses, comme Erin
Isaac avec son Historia Nostra.
Je me souviens aussi
qu’il m’est arrivé une fois, pendant les Fêtes de la Nouvelle-France, de me
faire reconnaître grâce à ce blogue. Je ne sais pas si c’est là la marque de la
célébrité, mais mon ego l’a certainement trouvée bonne! Blague à part, ce
blogue est devenu important non pour me faire connaître, mais pour faire
connaître les ressources en lien avec l’histoire de la Nouvelle-France. Quoique
j’ai aussi mon portail Nouvelle-France
électronique, je profite de Curieuse Nouvelle-France pour
y afficher des sources utiles discutées dans certaines de mes communications
publiques.
Quel avenir
attend ce blogue? À vrai dire, je suis plus préoccupé ces jours-ci par ce que l’avenir
me réserve: après avoir complété mon doctorat en 2020, je suis en train
de poursuivre le postdoc à l’Université de Windsor en attendant de me caser quelque
part dans le monde académique. Tristement, l’histoire de la Nouvelle-France
semble moins valorisée que dans le passé alors qu’elle n’a jamais été plus nécessaire.
Elle est pourtant incontournable pour comprendre entre autres l’histoire des
relations entre les Autochtones et les nouveaux arrivants, ou bien les origines
de la société canadienne-française. Il est à espérer que d’ici un an, j’aurai
une bonne nouvelle à vous partager!
Quant à ce
blogue, je songe qu’il serait utile d’écrire plus souvent des billets qui ne
parlent pas nécessairement d’histoire, mais du processus de la recherche
historique. Au fil des années, j’ai remarqué que la moyenne des gens ne
comprend pas ce que font au juste les historiens et brouille souvent leur expertise
avec ce que radotent les racontars sur les réseaux sociaux. Je rêve de
transmettre la leçon que l’histoire est une science, et que la science est un
processus, un outil pour connaître et comprendre, non une collection d’énoncés
canoniques de l’heure. En somme, je compte poursuivre la
construction de ponts entre le monde académique et le grand public, toujours au
rendez-vous pour assouvir sa soif de connaissances!
Reprenant
cet élan d’enthousiasme, je souhaite longue vie à ce petit blogue et je lui
souhaite un autre dix ans à rejoindre les gens curieux!
Pour leur édition de 2021, les Rendez-vous d'histoire de Québec ont cherché à diversifier les types de présentations virtuelles offerts au public. J'ai eu le plaisir d'être invité à contribuer à leur Carrousel d'images. N'oubliez pas de cliquer sur le lien précédent pour voir d'autres historiens commentant des images!
Pour leur édition de 2021, les Rendez-vous d'histoire de Québec ont cherché à diversifier les types de présentations virtuelles offerts au public. J'ai eu le plaisir d'être invité à contribuer à leur Carrousel d'images. N'oubliez pas de cliquer sur le lien précédent pour voir d'autres historiens commentant des images!
Bombardement van Bergen op Zoom, 1747. Détail. Simon Fokke, d'après Cornelis Pronk, 1772.
Nous avons
tendance à oublier que les soldats qui arrivent dans la colonie pour la
défendre pendant la guerre de Sept Ans ne sont pas tous de simples recrues. Plusieurs
sont des vétérans de la guerre de Succession d’Autriche. Justement, je viens de
tomber sur un individu en particulier qui a piqué ma curiosité. André Doreil, le
commissaire ordonnateur des guerres en Nouvelle-France, écrit au ministre :
« J’ay
l’honneur de vous envoyer cy joint l’Etat signé et apostillé de neuf grenadiers,
Caporaux, oû soldats des seconds Bataillons des Régiments de la Reine, La
Sarre, Guienne, et Béarn que leurs blessures et infirmités ont mis hors d’état
de continuer leurs services, les quels sont proposés pour les Invalides, après
avoir été scrupuleusement examinés par M. Le Marquis de Montcalm et par moy.
Dans le nombre est le nommé Bellerose grénadier de la Reyne qui entre de droit
à l’hôtel oû il avoit eté cydevant admis par un coup de feu qu’il avoit reçu au
bras au siège de Berghopsoom [Berg-op-Zoom] étant dans le Régiment de Normandie
: aprés avoir eté detaché de l’hôtel, il s’engagea au Régiment de la Reyne oû
il a servi 8. ans consécutifs. C’est d’ailleurs un bon sujet. » [1]
Arrêtons-nous
ici deux instants pour nous rappeler que le siège Berg-op-Zoom a lieu pendant
la guerre de Succession d’Autriche. Cette ville des Pays-Bas en Europe est défendue
parplus de 16 000 hommes. Les
Français mettront plus de deux mois à l’assiéger avant de finalement pouvoir s’infiltrer
à l’intérieur de ses murs le 16 septembre 1747. Pour citer l’historien Michel
Thévenin, « C’est là que les Français, enragés par deux mois d’un siège
long et coûteux, déchaînent leur fureur. Une partie de la garnison est
massacrée, et la ville est mise à sac. Le déchaînement des Français à cette
occasion, et le pillage de la ville, choquent profondément l’Europe. » (Pour
en savoir plus sur cet épisode, je vous invite d’ailleurs à lire le billet de
blogue de mon cher collègue et ami en cliquant
ici.) Toujours est-il, de nombreux vétérans de cette campagne vont
participer au prochain conflit, la guerre de Sept Ans. Certains iront même au
Canada, dont le dit Bellerose.
Nous avons de
la chance d’avoir une description physique de ce grenadier. Dans un état des
blessés envoyés en France, on y lit :
« Claude François [Renoux/Kenoux] dt
Bellerose. Grenadier, natif de Paris, P.sse [Paroisse] S.t
Roch agé de 32. ans. Taille 5. p. 3. p. ½ cheveux, barbe et sourcils noirs,
les ÿeux roux, le nés [nez] aquilin, le visage long, une cicatrice sur l’oeil
gauche. // a servi cinq ans dans le Regiment de Normandie 18. mois aux
invalides et 8. ans dans le Regiment de la Reine. // avoit reçu un coup de feu
au bras au siege de Bergopzoom pourquoi il avoit eté admis à l’hôtel. Etant
detaché au fort S.t Vincent en Provence il s’engagea dans la Reine,
ayant obtenu un congé d’un an [en/et] plus. fort incommodé de douleurs aux
reins. » [2]
Alors
que je perds sa trace (il ne semble pas inclus dans l’inventaire du Projet
Montcalm non plus), on peut déjà être heureux d’avoir ces rares
informations à son sujet. Comme mes lecteurs assidus le savent déjà, je
travaille présentement sur la présence des femmes qui accompagnent l’armée. Ce
projet courant a sa part de défis alors que les soldats eux-mêmes ont tendance
à être relativement anonymes dans les sources. Le plus souvent, on ne parle que
d’effectifs et non d’individus. Voilà donc un grenadier qui devient un peu
moins anonyme à cause de ses blessures.
Notons
avant de terminer que le cas du dit Bellerose n’est pas unique : ces
informations ont été tirées d’une liste d’infirmes et de blessés renvoyés en France.
Ces documents sont l’occasion de mieux connaître d’autres individus et de
constater certains détails. Par exemple, Bellerose porte une barbe. Il n’est
pas le seul, d’ailleurs. Pourtant, le cliché veut que les hommes au xviiie siècle soient
imberbes, selon la mode de l’époque. S’agit-il ici d’un choix personnel?
Peut-être est-ce par esprit de corps? Après tout, certains corps militaires ont
pour tradition le port de la moustache. Mais encore : il est également
possible que cette pilosité soit directement attachée aux conditions difficiles
dans les camps militaires. En 1760, le chevalier de Lévis se plaint du manque
de savon à raser pour ses hommes.
Autant de
questions intéressantes soulevées par des sources tout aussi fascinantes!
N.B. Je ne
peux pas terminer ce billet sans noter que parmi les soldats qui doivent
retourner en France pour suite de blessures, Doreil mentionne qu’il « reste
également dans [cette] colonie [...] un bon soldat, [puisque] nous n’avons pas
pû refuser à la demande de M.rs de Vaudreüil et Bigot qui avoient
besoin d’un bon ramoneur pour les cheminées du Roy à Québec. »
Sources :
1. SHD, A1 3499, pièce 46. Québec. M. Doreil : situation des troupes; invalides et
soldats congédiés, 1er septembre 1758.
2. SHD, A1 3499, pièce 48. Québec. "État de neuf soldats… qui sont proposés pour
les Invalides…", 1er septembre 1758.
A few weeks ago, I had the great pleasure of hanging out with the amazing historian Erin Isaac, creator of Historia Nostra. If you don't know Erin's work, she is on Facebook (@historianostrayoutube), Twitter (@historia_nostra) and Instagram (@historianostrayoutube). Every month or so, she publishes new videos shedding new light on various topics in colonial history. This time, she invited me to discuss common misconceptions and myths regarding the battle of the Plains of Abraham. You can see the video below, and don't forget to follow Erin's work!
Pour leur édition de 2021, les Rendez-vous d'histoire de Québec ont cherché à diversifier les types de présentations virtuelles offerts au public. J'ai eu le plaisir d'être invité à contribuer à leur Carrousel d'images. N'oubliez pas de cliquer sur le lien précédent pour voir d'autres historiens commentant des images!
[Note: originally posted here in 2021, I've since upgraded the content of this piece and turned it into a full paper which has been formally published. See Gagné, Joseph. « “A” Legend of Ticonderoga: Retracing the Origins of the Duncan Campbell Ghost Story », The Bulletin of the Fort Ticonderoga Museum, Vol. 18, No. 1 (2023), p. 22‑45.]
Introduction
I love a good ghost story. Among my
fondest memories of childhood, the ones that stand out are the summers I spent
riding my bicycle to my hometown library where I would pick out such books as
Rupert Matthews’ Ghosts (wonderfully
illustrated by Michael Bragg), or C.B. Colby’s World’s Best “True” Ghost Stories. (Out of nostalgia, I bought both
off the internet and they are now proudly displayed among my collection of
folklore books.) Not only do I love reading a good ghost story, but I also love
telling them: after all, I did spend eleven years working for the Ghost Tours of Québec! This is
why, for my main Halloween blog post this year, I wanted to share a New
France-themed tale of the supernatural. This is not just any ghost story: it is
one that spans across two continents, and that has been kept alive in three
different countries. As interesting as this legend is, however, the story of
its proliferation in the 19th century is just as fascinating…
Chasing the Legend(s) of Ticonderoga
Image from Scribner’s Magazine, vol. 2, no. 6 (December 1887).
There have been many published
versions of “The Legend of Ticonderoga” throughout the years. From its murky
origins in the oral folklore of the Highlands of Scotland to that of the Lake
Champlain Valley, and through the writings of famous authors like Robert Louis
Stevenson or historians like Francis Parkman, by the end of the 19th
century, the Legend of Ticonderoga had established itself as a classic tale
which continues to be retold even in today’s digital age.[1]
The following is perhaps the most concise one, as told by A.P. Stanley in 1880:
In the middle of the last
century the chief of the Campbells of Inverawe had been giving an entertainment
at his castle on the banks of the Awe. The party had broken up and Campbell was
left alone. He was roused by a violent knocking at the gate, and was surprised
at the appearance of one of his guests, with torn garments and dishevelled
hair, demanding admission. ‘I have killed a man, and I am pursued by enemies. I
beseech you to let me in. Swear upon your dirk—upon the cruachan or hip where
your dirk rests—swear by Ben Cruachan—that you will not betray me.’ Campbell
swore, and placed the fugitive in a secret place in the house. Presently there
was a second knocking at the gate. It was a party of his guests, who said,
‘Your cousin Donald has been killed; where is the murderer?’ At this
announcement Campbell remembered the great oath which he had sworn, gave an
evasive answer, and sent off the pursuers in a wrong direction. He then went to
the fugitive and said, ‘You have killed my cousin Donald. I cannot keep you
here.’ The murderer appealed to his oath, and persuaded Campbell to let him
stay for the night. Campbell did so and retired to rest. In the visions of that
night the blood-stained Donald appeared to him with these words: ‘Inverawe,
Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield not the murderer.’ In the morning
Campbell went to his guest, and told him that any further shelter was
impossible. He took him, however, to a cave in Ben Cruachan, and there left
him. The night again closed in, and Campbell again slept, and again the blood
stained Donald appeared. ‘Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed; shield
not the murderer.’ On the morning he went to the cave on the mountain, and
the murderer had fled. Again at night be slept, and again the blood-stained
Donald rose before him and said, ‘Inverawe, Inverawe, blood has been shed.
We shall not meet again till we meet at Ticonderoga.’ He woke in the
morning, and behold it was a dream. But the story of the triple apparition remained
by him, and he often told it amongst his kinsmen, asking always what the ghost
could mean by this mysterious word of their final rendezvous.
In 1758 there broke out the French and English war in
America, which after many rebuffs ended in the conquest of Quebec by General
Wolfe. Campbell of Inverawe went out with the Black Watch, the 42nd Highland
regiment, afterwards so famous. There, on the eve of an engagement, the general
came to the officers and said, ‘We had better not tell Campbell the name of the
fortress which we are to attack to-morrow. It is Ticonderoga. Let us call it
Fort George.’ The assault took place in the morning. Campbell was mortaily
[sic] wounded. He sent for the general. These were his last words: ‘General,
you have deceived me; I have seen him again. This is Ticonderoga.’[2]
I myself first encountered this chilling and tragic story in
Ronald C. Finucane’s book on the evolution of ghosts in Western culture. For
years following, I had wanted to write about the Legend of Ticonderoga. However,
I had no idea how to discuss it beyond simply quoting the few paragraphs that I
had read. Later, as I was researching an unrelated topic, I stumbled on yet
another version of the story, this time as told by H.R. Casgrain in the last
quarter of the 19th century. Discovering that one of the foremost
specialist of French primary documents of his day had written a French version
of the story was intriguing in and of itself, but what had truly grabbed my
attention was that he had noted having first heard of the legend through “Dean
Stanley during his passage in Québec”.[3]
Who was this Dean Stanley? How did he come to meet Casgrain? Were there other
versions of the Legend of Ticonderoga? Without knowing it, in trying to answer
these questions, I was falling into a deep rabbit-hole spanning across the
Atlantic Ocean, leading me to delve into the works of various English and
Scottish men and women of letters. This was a veritable trek through the who’s
who of 19th century Scottish folklore anthologists, branching off
from the wider literary movement of the era then rushing to commit oral
folklore to paper.
What follows is the story of this story, one that is just as
fascinating as the legend itself. This is my attempt at retracing the
“genealogy” of the legend of Ticonderoga: that is, how it came to be spread
throughout the literary world of the 19th century and how it became
a staple “For the lovers of the weird, the mystical and the eerie”.[4]
Though what follows is not an in-depth comparative analysis
of every minute divergences and similarities between each story, I do highlight
some of the main details at glance. Readers who wish to further acquaint
themselves with the numerous versions I’ve found can consult the chronological
list at the end of this post. For each, I’ve included a link leading directly
to its respective first page.
Retracing each text has not been nearly as straightforward
as it would seem. I could only assume most had the same basic keywords:
Campbell, Ticonderoga, and Inverawe. Searching for more basic keywords (say,
“murder” + “brother” + “ghost”) ended up being both too vague and too specific.
Also adding to the confusion was the amount of other Duncan Campbells, both
throughout history as well as contemporaries of the protagonist (for example,
another Duncan Campbell was killed in 1763 during an expedition to Fort Pitt[5]).
Furthermore, no matter the keywords, there was no guarantee that the OCR of the
various databases I consulted would necessarily find every version that ever existed.
In fact, the earliest one I’ve identified was found not through keyword
searching, but through an intertextual reference. Beyond the use of search
engines, the best method of teasing out the early literary life of the tale remained
carefully reading the precious few notes some authors had bothered including
regarding where they themselves first heard of the legend. It is important to
note that despite the existence of various reprints, these clarifications where
often included in later publication—proof once again that it is important to
never assume all copies of primary sources are identical to their originals.
All in all, my search focused primarily on the 18th
and 19th century. By the 20th century, the various
reprints, retellings, and reinventions of the legend of Ticonderoga started
being either reheated fare or clearly mashups of previous versions. In all,
I’ve identified the following eight authors who have put the legend to paper in
the 19th century, either successively or coincidentally, each with
his or her own variations. Through their scant indications, I’ve been able to
draw up a table of four paths through which the story proliferated.[6]
The Facts Behind the Legend
Image from Frederick B. Richards' The Black Watch at Ticonderoga and Major Duncan Campbell of Inverawe
Though I have not been able to
retrace the exact origins of the story backwards beyond 1841, it is important
to first parse the facts from the fiction to get a better sense of them. C.F.
Gordon Cumming said of the Legend of Ticonderoga: “The story is as wholly
inexplicable as it is incontrovertible.”[7]
In reality, despite her conviction, historical mistakes abound throughout each
retelling. Dean Stanley’s version presented previously may be considered a
bare-bones version of the legend, but it is, as far as I can tell, the most
authoritative as well. This comes as no surprise since Stanley has been the
author who by far has put the most effort in researching this story. His
version includes an extensive follow up with any and all facts he had managed
to collect surrounding the legend. However, even though his is the most “accurate”
version, narratively, it is far from the definitive one. In fact, as we will
see, there is no such thing: like most ghost stories, especially those that
first came to be through oral transmission, the legend of Ticonderoga has had
so many iterations throughout the centuries that nailing down “the” version is
quite impossible. Many details diverge between each, from the victim’s identity
to the French name of Ticonderoga, from the chronology of events to even the very
name of the protagonist! The only common thread is the ghostly foreshadowing of
the main character’s death at Ticonderoga following the murder of a male
relative or acquaintances, and the protagonist shielding of the murderer from
an angry mob, later to be reprimanded by the spectre of the victim.
Even with historical research, pinning down the actual facts
of the matter also becomes problematic when considering what sources survive
and which are readily available—or not—to the researcher. Case in point: as
useful as it might have been for this topic, I can only wish I could have done
further research in Scotland. This is another reason why Stanley’s version
stands out: his quasi-obsessive interest in the legend led him on a quest to
visit every location tied to the tale both in Scotland and North America. The
reader who wishes to know more about the historicity behind the legend are
encouraged to read his version. To know more about Duncan Campbell, his family,
Inveraw, the Black Watch, and the aftermath of this death, he or she can also consult
Frederick B. Richards’ Black Watch at Ticonderoga. Considering both of
these works have been written over a century ago, a new, updated biography of
Duncan Campbell is certainly long overdue. For the current needs of this text, however,
I will stick to basic facts taken from the historical record.
Major Duncan Campbell from Inverawe did indeed exist and did
participate in the Seven Years’ War in North America. However, contrary to most
versions of the legend, though wounded at Ticonderoga, he did not die there. In
fact, four days after the battle of July 8th 1758 which had pitted
Abercromby’s army against the defending French lead by Montcalm, Campbell had initially
been marked as simply wounded. The damage he had incurred to his right arm,
however, was severe enough to eventually warrant amputation, causing his death
“soon thereafter.”[8] As
stated in the October edition of the Scots
Magazine of the same year: “[…] Maj. Duncan Campbell of Inveraw [sic],
of Murray’s highlanders, died at Fort Edward on the 17th [of July]”.[9]The
major would be replaced in his functions by “Gordon Graham, Major of Ld. John
Murray’s highlanders” (who, by the way, had also been wounded at Ticonderoga).[10]
Campbell’s son, Alexander, was also wounded in the arm at
Carillon. Unlike his father, however, he would linger long enough to make it
back to Scotland before finally succumbing. As one obituary stated in January
1760: “In the neighborrood of Glasgow, Capt. Alexander Campbell, of Inverawe,
of the Argyleshire regiment. He was wounded in 1758 at the attack upon
Ticonderoga, and never recovered of his wounds. That attack occasioned also the
death of this father, who was Major of the Royal Highland regiment.”[11]
Tragedy wasn’t done with the family, as Duncan’s wife, Jean, passed away shortly
after in 1761.[12]
Traces of Duncan Campbell exist outside of printed sources
as well. For example, a powder horn attributed to him can be found within the
collections of the McCord Museum in Montreal. Like many similar artifacts, the
horn is engraved with the name of its owner as well as a map showing the many
places tied to the Lake Champlain Valley campaign.[13]
The most impressive artifact tied directly to Duncan
Campbell, however, is his headstone. As Nathaniel Bartlett Sylvester put it
best in 1878, “Of all that stricken multitude buried at Fort Edward, the name
and place of only one grave is preserved to the present day. It is the grave of
Duncan Campbell […].”[14]
According to Robert O. Bascom in 1902:
The Gilchrist family, within
whose lot the remains of Duncan Campbell now rest, were of Scotch descent.
Alexander Gilchrist, the emigrant, came to this country about 1740, and
undoubtedly was one of the Loughlin Campbell colony, and the original owner of
Lot No. 83 of the Argyle Patent. He married Catherine McNeil after he came
to this country. He died in 1768, leaving two sons — Alexander and Archibald.
Alexander married Sarah White of Argyle, about 1794, and lived and died upon
his father’s farm. Archibald came to Fort Edward and purchased a farm east of
the present village of Fort Edward. From these two brothers have sprung large
families. They were men of position and character in the community.
Alexander Gilchrist claimed, it is said, to be related
to Duncan Campbell. If the tradition be true, the relationship is not known to
the author, and whether or not the many Campbell families now residing in this
and other localities may trace descent from Duncan Campbell, is perhaps
uncertain.[15]
Richards further clarifies that Major Campbell “was buried
in the family lot of the Gilchrists, in the old cemetery at Fort Edward. The
body was moved to the Gilchrist lot in the new Union cemetery between Sandy
Hill and Fort Edward in 1871, and in 1920 was moved again to the Jane McCrea
lot in the same cemetery.”[16]
Today, a granite reproduction stands in the plot, while the original epitaph is
exhibited in the Cronkhite
Pavilion of the Old Fort House Museum in Fort Eward.[17]
Duncan
Campbell’s original tombstone. “Here Lyes the body of Duncan Campbell of
Inversaw, Esqr Major to The old Highland Regt:Aged:55:Years.
Who died The:17th:July:1758:of The Wounds He Received In The Attack
of The Retrenchments of Ticonderoga or Carillon the:8th:Juy;1758.”
From Bascom, The Fort Edward Book,
plate immediately following page 80.
The Versions
1841: Thomas
Dick Lauder
The earliest published version of
the legend of Duncan Campbell, as well as one of the lengthiest, seems to have
been written by Thomas Dick Lauder (1784-1848). Author, baron, and one-time member
of the Cameron Highlanders (the 79th Regiment), he had a penchant
for tales of the supernatural. As one of his biographers stated, “The scenery
and legends of the district [of Elginshire] gave a special bent to his scientific
and literary studies.”[18]
As Dean Stanley pointed out, this version is “told with many
embellishments.”[19] These
superfluous details are too numerous to be listed here. However, one notable
difference is that the protagonist in the story is not haunted by his cousin,
but the ghost of a stranger he happened to have met in a cave in Lorn. This
version also firmly ties the legend to the Jacobite Rebellion, establishing
that both men, though on opposite sides of the conflict, had earned each other’s
respect through the understanding that they were both merely following orders. It
is also striking that in this first printed version of the legend, both the
murderer and the victim remain anonymous (the mob simply stating it was after
“a man who has murdered another”).
Very much more verbose that most versions, Lauder’s happens
to be quite atmospheric as well, with one of the most memorable descriptions of
the specter: “The shadowy arm was extended, and the curtain was slowly and
silently raised. […] With noiseless action, the figure dropped one corner of
the shadowy plaid in which it was enveloped, and displayed a gaping wound in
its bosom, which appeared to pour out rivers of blood. Its lips moved not; yet
it spoke—slowly, and in a hollow and sepulchral tone.”[20]
Thought fraught with historical mistakes (for example,
Campbell’s fellow officers deflect his fear of Ticonderoga by calling it Fort
Defiance rather than Carillon), this version correctly states that the
protagonist’s son was killed at the same battle, though by having him die immediately
next to his wounded father, finally understanding the prophetic warning before
dying himself.
1880: Dean Arthur
Penrhyn Stanley
Besides being occasionally quoted or
reprinted, the legend of Duncan Campbell doesn’t seem to have been thoroughly researched
by historians and folklorists despite having become a perennial favourite in
many compendiums of Scottish and American folklore. As previously mentioned, the
notable exception however is the Dean of Westminster, Arthur Penrhyn Stanley
(1815-1881). Not only is Stanley’s take on the story still one of the most
researched, his own quest to dig up the details surrounding the story is just
as interesting as the legend itself.
As the author puts it himself, “It was in the dreary autumn
of 1877 that in the dark woods of Roseneath [Scotland] I heard the […] tale from
the parish clergyman […].”[21]
Stanley’s first nod to the story was in an article in which he unapologetically
gushed over his visit of North America. Indeed, Stanley was clearly absorbed by
the romanticized history of the United States and Canada (“What can be more
stirring or more primeval than the account of those brilliant adventurers […]?”[22]).
After having long desired to cross the “pond,” Stanley was finally on his way on
September 6, 1878, boarding the Siberia
in Liverpool. As one of his earlier biographers stated, “Every moment of the
voyage was used in preparation for the coming campaign. All the books bearing
on America, including not only histories, but the novels of Hawthorne and
Fenimore Cooper, were eagerly devoured.”[23]
As will be seen later on, Stanley seems to have singlehandedly spread the
legend of Duncan Campbell in America, often bringing up the legend with his
hosts in hopes of gathering more information. For example, despite being well
versed in the history of the region, Bishop
John Williams had never heard of this Lake Champlain ghost story; yet, he
was able to inform Stanley of the existence of Campbell’s gravestone.[24]
Later, Stanley would encourage his readers to visit these various historical
sites themselves, also inviting them, among other things, to “Listen to the
legendary lore which hangs over the mysterious death of Duncan Campbell of Inverawe,
whose gravestone is still to be seen in the neighbourhood amongst the descendants
of his famous clan”.[25]
Ruins of Fort Ticonderoga. Engraving by Jacques-Gérard Milbert, 1838.
In truth, however, Stanley never did visit the gravesite
himself, having only heard of its existence after he had passed through the
region. During his American grand tour, he had the fortune however of visiting the
ruins of Ticonderoga. The site, by then protected by the Pell family, had yet
to be reconstructed as it stands today. As Stanley put it, “It is […] almost
the only ruin in the United States, and the most interesting spot we have seen
after Niagara”.[26] As
his early biographer Rowland E. Prothero stated:
For Stanley the spot had two special
fascinations. The name, in the first place, was already familiar to him from
the monuments in Westminster Abbey to two English officers killed at
Ticonderoga in the French and English war in 1758. One monument is to Lord
Howe, erected by the ‘Province of Massachusetts Bay,’ the other is to Colonel
Townsend, with the fortress and two Red Indians carved upon it. It was also, in
the second place, associated with a Highland legend which he was fond of
repeating, and which he told, not for the first time, to his two companions as
they approached Ticonderoga in the dim twilight of an autumn morning.”
After giving an abridged version of
Stanley’s take on the legend, Prothero continues:
Stanley determined to
explore the spot, and, if possible, discover the traces of Campbell of
Inverawe. At Hartfort, in Connecticut, he had met Bishop Williams, ‘the flower
of the American episcopate,’ who had made a special study of the regions of the
Lakes, and told him the story. Through the Bishop he eventually found the
object of his search. At the time of his visit to Ticonderoga a mound of grassy
hillocks alone marked the graves of the British officers. But in the evening,
at Saratoga, he found in Lossing’s ‘Revolutionary War’ a description of the
burial at Fort Edward of Jane Macrea, whose tragical story formed the basis of ‘The
Last of the Mohicans.’ Her grave is near an old brown headstone, on which are
inscribed the words: ‘Here lyes the body of Duncan Campbell of Inversaw
(sic), Esq., Major to the old Highland Regiment, aged 55 years, who
died in the 17th July, 1758, of the wounds he received in the
attack of the entrenchments of Ticonderoga, or Carillon, 8th July, 1758.’
‘My first impulse,’ says Stanley, ‘was to return to the spot. But we were
already at Saratoga, Fort Edward was far in our rear, and we were due at
Concord on the following night. We were forced to abandon the actual visit; but
that day I wrote to Bishop Williams, stating that we had found the grave, and
asking whether any particulars could be procured of the reason or manner of his
burial.’
From Bishop Williams he received and account of the
tombstone, which had been removed to the enclosure of the Gilchrists, a family
which claimed Duncan Campbell as a near relation. on his return to England he
followed up the story in all its details and ramifications. He identified the
actual spot where Stuart of Appin had murdered Donald Campbell; he traced the
flight of the murderer to Inverawe; he visited the Ghost Room at the Castle; he
sought out every member of the two families who could add fresh particulars,
and finally completed his narrative by the addition of a legend which described
the appearance of Inverawe, ‘in full Highland regimentals,’ to announce to his
foster-brother in Scotland his death at Ticonderoga in America.
Finally, Prothero shared this
observation on Stanley’s research into the Campbell Legend:
The story is told here at length
because it illustrates, not only the variety of Stanley’s interests, but the
pertinacity with which, even in the last years of his life, he hunted down, and
realised upon the actual spot, every detail of any incident, legendary,
fictitious, or historical, which had impressed his imagination.[27]
Outside tracking down family and other filiations to
Inveraw, Stanley didn’t bother revealing all of his sources (probably oral for
the most part). His few indications regarding this matter do however prove the
story had a life of its own outside of literary circles, at least in the
surrounding area of Inverawe.
1884: C.F. Gordon Cumming
Scottish painter Constance Frederica
Cumming (1837-1924)[28]
heard the story from her mother, Eliza Campbell, who in turn had heard it
through Sir Thomas Dick Lauder (whom she mistakenly named Landen. She is not
the first to make the mistake).[29]
Ironically, though shorter, the story contains many details not found in Lauder’s
version, including the name of the murderer (Stuart of Appin). Furthermore, in
this version, Donald is not only the name of Duncan’s son, but also that of the
stranger in the cave, Donald Campbell of Lorn. Francis Parkman wrote of this
version:
The legend of Inverawe has within a
few years found its way into an English magazine, and it has also been
excellently told in the Atlantic Monthly of September of this year,
1884, by Miss C. F. Gordon Cumming. Her version differs a little from that
given above from the recital of Dean Stanley and the present laird of Inverawe,
but the essential points are the same. Miss Gordon Cumming, however, is in
error when she says that Duncan Campbell was wounded in the breast, and that he
was first buried at Ticonderoga. His burial-place was near Fort Edward, where
he died, and where his remains still lie, though not at the same spot, as they
were long after removed by a family named Gilchrist, who claimed kinship with
the Campbells of Inverawe.[30]
1884: Francis Parkman
Speaking of which, Historian Francis Parkman
(1823-1893) requires no introduction. Parkman mentions the story at least twice
in his works. It is first included in his masterpiece Montcalm and Wolfe (1884). While describing the battle of Carillon,
Parkman includes a sullen Duncan Campbell, “his soul […] dark with
foreshadowing of death”, before receiving “a mortal shot”.[31]
The story behind this line is expanded upon in an appendix.[32]
Later, Parkman would reproduce his version verbatim in his travel handbook
dedicated to the history of the corridor between Québec and Lake George (1885),
with the exemption of the final paragraph which analyses Cumming’s version.
Being that the story was told to him by Stanley in 1878,
there is little variation if any with the dean’s version. It is worth
mentioning that Parkman also added this brief evaluation
of the legend: “The indisputable facts are that Major Duncan Campbell of
Inverawe, his arm shattered by a bullet, was carried to Fort Edward, where,
after amputation, he died and was buried. (Abercromby to Pitt, 19 August,
1758.)”.[33]
1885: Lord Archibald Campbell
It is fitting that a Campbell should
finally put down his own version of this story to paper. Lord Archibald
Campbell of Argyll (1846-1913) wore many hats, from having an early career in
trading wine and tea, to being the author of various works on Scottish culture,
both social and material. Being a passionate defender of the traditional
Highland regimental dress and tartans in the 19th century, there is
little wonder he was also captivated by this tale of Highland honour.[34]
Family tradition wasn’t the source of this version, however: the author assures
his readers that the tale was told to him by a Miss Isabel Smith.
Sadly, Lord Campbell’s take on the legend suffers from a few
anachronisms (for example, it was Abercromby, not Amherst, who lead the attack
on Carillon). The author’s biggest sin by far is the fact that he spoils the
punchline, explaining to the reader early on that Ticonderoga was the name of
the targeted French fort. More details diverge: the murderer, named McNiven,
is immediately hidden in a cave and not the protagonists’ house; the victim is
Campbell’s cousin and foster brother; and finally, in this version, Campbell’s
fellow officer hides Ticonderoga’s identity by calling it Fort Saint-Louis
(which makes more sense than the name found in other variations, that of Fort
George, a British moniker).
1887: Robert LouisStevenson
The author of Treasure Island
hardly needs introducing. Ironically, though this is the most well known
version of the legend of Ticonderoga, it is also the least accurate, mainly
because Stevenson swaps the name Cameron for Campbell. The murderer is Appin,
and the victim is the protagonist’s brother once more. Stevenson also has “the
plaided soldiers” travel halfway around the world to China in an attempt to justify
this poetic flourish: “Many a name I have heard […] In all the tongues of men
[…] But never a name like that.”[35]
Once more, the name of Carillon is non-existent, Sault-Marie standing it its
place as the French name of Ticonderoga. Finally, it is inferred that
Campbell—or should I say, Cameron, is buried on the battleground instead of at
Fort Edward.
The poem,
originally titled simply Ticonderoga,
would be reprinted in Stevenson’s 1900 collection of poems, with the added
subtitle A Legend of the Highlands. According
to the few notes Stevenson included in this edition, he had relied on David
Stewart’s work on Highlanders for accuracy (despite actually adding plenty of
mistakes). In addition to the
handful of minor corrections or word changes, this book version includes titles
for each of the poem’s three sections. More importantly, this version comes
with this addendum:
I first heard this legend of my own country from that friend of men of
letters, Mr. Alfred Nutt, “there in roaring London’s central stream”, and since
the ballad first saw the light of day in Scribner’s Magazine, Mr. Nutt
and Lord Archibald Campbell have been in public controversy on the facts. Two
clans, the Camerons and the Campbells, lay claim to this bracing story; and
they do well: the man who preferred his plighted troth to the commands and
menaces of the dead is an ancestor worth disputing. But the Campbells must rest
content: they have the broad lands and the broad page of history; this appanage
must be denied them; for between the name of Cameron and that of Campbell,
the muse will never hesitate.[36]
Though Stevenson specifies he was told the story by Nutt, a publisher and Celtic scholar[37],
no published version from his hand was found, nor any by “Mr. Cameron of
Barcaldine”[38]
who in turn had told him of the story. On the other hand, Archibald Campbell
and Alfred Nutt’s comments following the original publication of Stevenson’s
poem are readily found (see the following images).
“Ticonderoga,”
The Athenaeum (London), no. 3138 (December 17, 1887): 825.
Should you wish to listen to Stevenson’s poem rather than
read it, I invite you to listen to my dear friend and American colleague
Matthew Keagle narrating it on the heights of Ticonderoga: https://youtu.be/2WEZmbzqgHQ.
1891: Abbé H.R.
Casgrain
La Kermesse
was published in the 19th century to raise funds for the Hôpital du Sacré-Cœur in Montreal.
Yet again thanks to Stanley, the
tale of Ticonderoga made its way into French Canada in the guise of the
writings of H.R. Casgrain (1831-1904). For those unfamiliar with Casgrain,
he can be arguably summed us as being the Francis Parkman of French-Canada. A
man of many hats, from Catholic priest to historian to publisher, he was
instrumental in publishing many volumes of primary sources on the history of
New France (particularly the papers of the Chevalier de Lévis, now nicknamed the Casgrain Collection).
In fact, not only did both Parkman and Casgrainbecome close collaborators, the
latter would even end up writing a biography of
his American colleague. Furthermore, and back to the present topic, just as
Parkman recalled the legend of Ticonderoga in his Montcalm and Wolfe, Casgrain included it in the
endnotes of his Montcalm et Lévis. Interestingly,
Casgrain mentions that the Marquess of Lorne also “took pleasure in telling it
back when he was the governor of Canada.”[39]
Indeed, after his governorship between 1878 and 1883, the Marquess would become
the 9th Duke of Argyll in 1900. Though born in London in 1845, more
importantly, he was born… a Campbell.
Little can be said about Casgrain’s version of the tale since,
after all, it is simply a distillation of Stanley’s version. It is interesting
to note, however, that a year after its initial publication, it was reprinted
verbatim in La Kermesse,
in October, no less. (This, by the way, happens to be the version that had
grabbed my attention and inspired me to attempt to retrace the origins of this
legend!)
1897: Andrew Lang
Despite “pursuing an intellectual
career too varied and eclectic” (according to his friends)[40],
no doubt this very fact places Scottish anthropologist and historian Andrew
Lang as one of the most prolific writers in this entire list. Co-founder of the
Folklore Society in 1878, his
interest for legends and myths led him to publish many books on the topic,
including The Book of Dreams and Ghosts. As
a contemporary reviewer stated, the “book is packed with excellent yarns.” The
same reviewer also added: “As far as we can gather [on] Mr. Lang’s attitude […]
he disbelieves in traditional ghosts, the ghosts that do things—but wishes it
were otherwise.”[41]As Lang stated regarding his book, “The
chief purpose of [it] is, if fortune helps, to entertain people interested in
the kind of narratives here collected.”[42]
Among these collected stories is, of course, Campbell’s ghost story.
Lang’s version of the “curious Argyll tradition of
Ticonderoga” was transmitted to him by Miss Elspeth Campbell, most certainly Elspeth
Angela Campbell (1873-1942), daughter of Janey Sevilla Callander and of none
other than… the aforementioned Archibald Campbell! I must confess to being
surprised to discover that there doesn’t seem to exist any biography of Miss
Elspeth, or at least, none that that could be readily found within an evening’s
worth of online research. It is quite a shame, since she apparently followed in
her father’s footsteps, having been just as interesting and having also helped
promote Scottish culture and folklore. For example, her work on local
traditions helped contextualize certain artifacts, like this “cursing
bone,” found at the National Museums Scotland. Among her handful of
publications in periodicals, I would be remiss if I didn’t quote this
heartwarming excerpt printed around the time her father published his own
version of the story:
Lord Archibald Campbell’s Famous
bagpipers continue to skirt in the West Highlands. The other day they walked
abroad in Inverary headed by a young lady, who blew the pibroch with all the
dexterity and success of a prize bagpiper. This was Miss Elspeth Campbell. Lord
Archibald’s handsome daughter. I hear that she is really an expert player, and
that she has done much to make the warlike instrument popular in fashionable
circles. In any case, the Duke of Argyle is proud of her, and that is
satisfaction enough.[43]
Despite the fact that the story Lang collected from Miss
Campbell was essentially the same story as told by her father, there are a few
differences nonetheless. These mostly have to do with certain corrections (for
example, Abercromby is correctly identified as leading the British), and
additions (this version has by far the best description of the actual battle of
Carillon).
On a final note, Lang’s version also happens to be the one
quoted by Ronald C. Finucane in his analysis of the evolution of ghosts
throughout history, the first I’ve ever read about the legend of Ticonderoga.[44]
Motifs
Though the previous focused on early
versions of the Legend of Ticonderoga in the 19th century, the story
continues to be reprinted even to this day, showing up in various media
(including Inverawe’s own website!),
often circulating historical mistakes and different details according to which
of the “original” versions inspired them. As the New York Times put it in the
first quarter of the 20th century, “There is always some old
resident of the vicinage [of Fort Ticonderoga] who is willing to start the tale
of the Campbell ghost just as soon as he can draw attention to the relics of
the Black Watch.”[45]
That said, Inverawe and Ticonderoga are not the only haunted location tied to
this legend. Though Stanley had placed the murder at Barcaldine without
mentioning any ghostly link,[46]
one has been established since. As The
Scotsman put it in 2012:
Situated near Loch Creran in Argyll,
Barcaldine Castle is haunted by a pair of Campbell brothers. In the 18th
century the laird of Barcaldine was Donald Campbell, who had been involved in a
bitter feud with Stewart of Appin. Stewart killed Campbell with his sword and
then sought refuge at the home of the victim’s brother Duncan, who had not
heard about the murder. Duncan was haunted by visions of his brother, but by
the time he realised what they meant, Stewart was gone.[47]
Furthermore, two more stories tied
to Duncan Campbell are regularly brought up, both having to do with family back
in Scotland learning of Campbell’s passing before the arrival of any official
news. In Stanley, Campbell, Gordon, and Parkman, a story is told of a child
relative being visited in his sleep by the ghost of Major Duncan. Again in
Stanley, Campbell, Parkman, and also Lang, another story tells of two female
relatives in Inverawe who see the battle of Carillon in the sky, recognizing their
fallen kin, only to have their demise confirmed in a gazette’s official report
from the front.
The actual origins of any of these stories tied to Duncan
Campbell have been frustratingly elusive. Just as Honoré
Beaugrand‘s Chasse-Galerie became
the most well known version of the flying canoe story through print despite the
innumerable previous oral versions, one is left wondering how much of the
literary legend of Duncan Campbell truly reflects its initial roots in oral
tradition. Furthermore, as entertaining as is the ghost story of Duncan
Campbell, it cannot boast being original in its central motif. As Dempster
wrote in 1888:
The fatality of one locality
to certain persons has always been maintained. The oracle warned Cambyses that
he should die in Eckbatana. The prince determined never to go there;
but, on being accidentally wounded in the chase, he asked the name of the spot
to which they had brought him to be treated for his wound; he was told that it
was called “Eckbatana,” and immediately expired.
Twardowsky (the Dr. Faustus or Michael Scott of
Lithuania) sold his soul to the devil, with this condition that the fiend could
only claim it if they chanced to meet in Rome. The wizard avoided any visit to
the city of St. Peter; but in a hamlet of his native land, which chanced to be
called “Roma,” the devil accosted him, and Twardowsky had difficulty in
baffling the fiend.
Henry IV. considered the prophecy that he should
die in Jerusalem to be fulfilled by his death in the “Jerusalem Chamber” at Westminster.
The late Emperor Louis Napoleon had been told and
he believed that the streets of London would be fatal to him.
Captain Campbell was warned by the ghost of a
murdered kinsman that he must render his soul at Ticonderoga. He had never
heard of such a place, and the name was quite unknown in Argyllshire. But the
war of American Independence broke out, Campbell went to America with his
regiment, and, while lying wounded under the walls of Fort-Edward, he learned
just before he expired that the Indian name of the spot was “Ticonderoga.”[48]
More recently, Jennifer Westwood and Sophia Kingshill
pointed out the legend’s parallels to Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, act IV, wherein Caesar’s ghost appears to Brutus,
informing him that they will meet again at Philippi.[49]
With so many examples of ghostly foreshadowing of a protagonist’s demise, it
becomes quite evident that this “unique” legend is hardly such. One also
wonders if the memory of other historical events influenced the story. For
example, though no sources have been found supporting the existence of the
murder at the heart of the narrative, one can’t help raising an eyebrow and
wonder if the more famous “Murder of Appin,” which lead to the controversial
accusation of James Stewart of the Glens for the 1752 murder of Colin Roy
Campbell of Glenure following the Jacobite Rebellion, somehow bled into the
Legend of Ticonderoga after 1841.[50]
Nonetheless, despite this repeating motif, the Legend of
Ticonderoga has withstood the test of time, proving it is far from being simply
rehashed fare. Through it’s combination of classic themes like the fear of
death, the notion of personal honour, and our fascination for the supernatural
(just to name a few), capped in the end with a tragic dénouement, there is little wonder this story has been retold again
and again, and will most probably continue to spook new readers for years to
come.
Conclusion
As Robert O. Bascom puts it, the
appeal of the Legend of Ticonderoga is that it “is one of the links that not
only binds the Old World to the New, but seems to unite this world, which is
visible and material, with that which is invisible and immaterial.”[51] Authors
such as Pyrke claimed it is “best authenticated ghost story in history,”[52]
while Richards stated that “No ghost story is more widely known or better
authenticated than that of Duncan Campbell of Inverawe.”[53]
This is not quite true, as we have seen: though historical fact does support
the background of the story, proof of its supernatural elements have, alas, remained
elusive. As Lang puts it best: “The author has frequently been asked, both
publicly and privately: ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ One can only answer: ‘How
do you define a ghost?’ […] my mind is in a balance of doubt. It is a question
of evidence.”[54]
What is undeniable, however, is that no matter the truth behind the story, Duncan
Campbell’s afterlife is assured through this tale perfectly suited to being
told around a fire on a cold, crisp autumn night.
I wish to finish on a personal note: I can certainly
sympathise with Stanley’s slight obsession with the legend of Duncan Campbell
after also falling deep into the same rabbit hole. Stanley had one important
accomplishment he could claim above anyone else, however: “[…] I am
probably the only person now living who has seen the Murder Ford at Barcaldine
in all its beauty, the haunted castle of Inverawe, the ruined fortress of
Ticonderoga, and (almost) the old brown head-stone which marks the grave of
Duncan Campbell.”[55]
On the other hand, I can boast having done what Stanley could not: after having
first stumbled on the legend in Finucane’s history of ghosts and then through
Casgrain, it slowly dawned on me that the description of Campbell’s epitaph
sounded strangely familiar. After a quick verification, a cold chill ran down
my spine as I realized I had also seen the tombstone, not knowing it at the
time... And yet, though Stanley only wished he could have experienced seeing
that headstone, inversely, I hope to imitate him and to someday complete his
pilgrimage on the steps of Duncan Campbell’s life.
The
new tombstone in Fort Edward. Photo: Joseph Gagné 2016.
Early Published Versions of the Duncan Campbell Story
1880. Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn. “Inverawe and Ticonderoga.” Fraser’s
Magazine, New Series, 22 (October 1880): 501–10. https://hdl.handle.net/2027/hvd.32044092641745?urlappend=%3Bseq=531.
[Note: this version was reprinted a few times in other publications, including The
Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art, New Series, 32,
no. 6 (December 1880): 740–46.]
1884: Parkman, Francis. Montcalm and Wolfe: The French and
Indian War. New York: Da Capo Press, 1995.[Note: the first edition, simply
titled Montcalm and Wolfe (Boston:
Little, Brown, and Company, 1884), was originally printed in two volumes (Vol.
1 and Vol.
2 [1914]).]
1885. Campbell, Archibald. “Ticonderoga.” In Records of
Argyll: Legends, Traditions, and Recollections of Argyllshire Highlanders,
Collected Chiefly from the Gaelic, 136–43. Edinburgh and London: William
Blackwood and Sons, 1885. https://archive.org/details/cu31924087975813.
Baigent, Elizabeth. “Cumming, Constance Frederica Gordon
(1837–1924).” In Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Online
edition. Oxford University Press, 2004. https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/42347.
“Disaster in the Attack of Ticonderoga.” The Edinburgh
Magazine 2 (August 1758): 143.
Donaldson, William. “Lang, Andrew (1844–1912).” In Oxford
Dictionary of National Biography, Online edition. Oxford University Press,
2004. https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/34396.
Hammond, P.C. “Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn (1815–1881), Dean of
Westminster.” In Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Online
edition. Oxford University Press, 2004. https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/26259.
Harrington, John Walker. “Fort Ticonderoga’s International Ghost
Story.” New York Times, (July 2, 1922): 2 and 6.
Tedder, H.R. “Nutt, Alfred Trübner (1856–1910).” In Oxford
Dictionary of National Biography, Online edition. Revised by Sayoni Basu. Oxford
University Press, 2004. https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/35269.
Westwood, Jennifer, and Sophia Kingshill. The Lore of
Scotland. A Guide to Scottish Legends. London: Random House Books, 2009.
Wightman, Anne N., and Bartlett Cowdrey. “New York
Pre-Revolutionary Powder Horns.” New York History 26, no. 1 (1945):
93–99.
Notes
[1] See Matt Keagle’s
narration of Stevenson’s text on YouTube.
[2] Stanley, “Inverawe and
Ticonderoga,” 501-502.
[3] “Cette légende m’a été
racontée par le Dean Stanley, lors de son pasage à Québec”. Casgrain, “Légende
de Ticonderoga,” 40.
[4] Pyrke, “The Story of
Ticonderoga,” 22.
[5] Stewart, Sketches,
2:lviii.
[6] See figure 1.
[7] Cumming, “A Legend of
Inverawe,” 338.
[8] Richards, Black Watch
at Ticonderoga, 25-6.
[9]“Affairs in Holland and North America,”546. Campbell’s death was also
announced in other period gazettes. See for example: “Disaster in the Attack of
Ticonderoga,” 143.
[10] “Military Promotions,”
150 and Stewart, Sketches, 2:lviii.
[11]“Deaths.” The Scots Magazine,51. As another
obituary put it: “Alexander Campbell, Esq; of Inveraw, in Scotland, Captain in
the Argylshire regiment. He was wounded in the year 1758, at the attack upon
Ticonderoga, where his father fell, and had returned for his recovery”.
“Deaths.” The British Magazine,
169. See also Richards, Black Watch at Ticonderoga, 20.
[12] “Deaths, and Promotions,”
447 and “Lists of Births, Marriages, Deaths, &c.,” 162.
[13] Wightman and Cowdrey,
“New York Pre-Revolutionary Powder Horns,” 97 and Richards, Black Watch at
Ticonderoga, 41.
[14] Sylvester, History of
Saratoga County, New York, 42.
[15] Bascom, The Fort Edward Book, 88.
[16] Richards, Black Watch
at Ticonderoga, 27. See also 38.
[17] I wish to thank Executive
Director R. Paul McCarty for confirming this.
[18] Lee, “Lauder, Sir Thomas
Dick (1784-1848),” 198.
[19] Stanley, “Inverawe and
Ticonderoga,” 507, note 12.
[20] Lauder, “The Legend of
the Vision of Campbell of Inverawe,” 246-7.
[21] Stanley, “Inverawe and
Ticonderoga,” 501.
[22] Stanley, “The Historical
Aspect of the United States,” 262.
[23] Prothero, Life and
Correspondence of A.P. Stanley, 2:511. Hammond identifies the year of his
visit as 1877. This might be a typo, since both Prothero and Stanley himself
state 1878. See: Hammond, “Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn” and Stanley, “Inverawe and
Ticonderoga,” 502.
[24] Stanley, “Inverawe and
Ticonderoga,” 502 and “The Ticonderoga Ghost.”
[25] Stanley, “The Historical
Aspect of the United States,” 264.
[26] Prothero, Life and
Correspondence of A.P. Stanley, 2:527.
[27] Prothero, Life and Correspondence of A.P. Stanley,
2:528-30.
[28] On her life’s work, see
Laracy, “Constance Frederica Gordon-Cumming (1837-1924),” 69-92.
[29] Cumming, “A Legend of
Inverawe,” 334. For another example of the Sir Lauder/Landen spelling
confusion, see: “Literary Intelligence,” The Museum of Foreign Literature,
Science, and Art 18 (February 1831): 192.
[30] Parkman, Montcalm and Wolfe, 563.
[31] Parkman, Montcalm and
Wolfe, 358 and 367.
[32] Parkman, Montcalm and
Wolfe, 561-3.
[33]Parkman, “A Legend of
Ticonderoga,” 88.
[34] On his life, see:
Campbell, “Lord Archibald Campbell.”
[35] Stevenson, “Ticonderoga,”
648.
[36] Stevenson, “Ticonderoga:
A Legend of the West Highlands,” 227.
[37]See: Tedder, “Nutt, Alfred Trübner (1856–1910).”
[38] Possibly Donald Charles
Cameron. See: Smith, “The Camerons of Glen Nevis,” 160.
[39] “[il] se plaisait à en
faire le récit, à l’époque où il était le gouverneur du Canada.”
Casgrain, Montcalm et Lévis, 2:467.
[40] Donaldson, “Lang, Andrew
(1844–1912).” For a larger biography, see also: Green, Andrew Lang.
[41]Anonymous. “Review. Mr. Lang on Ghosts,” 193.
[42] Lang, The Book of
Dreams and Ghosts, v.
[43] Anonymous, “Music in
Scotland,” Musical Opinion & Music
Trade Review 21, no. 241 (October 1897): 35.
[44] Finucane, Ghosts, 160-61.
[45] Harrington, “Fort
Ticonderoga’s International Ghost Story.”
[46] Stanley, “Inverawe and
Ticonderoga,” 507-508.
[47] “Scotland’s Specters:
Haunted Castles, Part 1.”
[48] Dempster, “The Folk-Lore
of Sutherland-Shire,” 151.
[49] Westwood and Kingshill, The Lore of Scotland, 26.
[50] On this murder, see
Hunter, Culloden and the Last Clansman.
