Last Autumn we were crossing Rea’s Hill one afternoon of alternate sunshine and shadow, and as we neared the summit, glanced through several openings in the trees at the wide expanse of Fulton County valleys and coves behind us, on to the interminable range upon range of dark mountains northward. In the valleys here and there were dotted square stone houses, built of reddish sandstone, with high roofs and chimneys, giving a foreign or Scottish air to the scene. Some of these isolated structures were deserted, with windows gaping and roofs gone, pictures of desolation and bygone days.

Just as the crest of the mountain was gained, we came upon a stone house in process of demolition, in fact all had been torn away, and the sandstone blocks piled neatly by the highway, all but the huge stone chimney and a small part of one of the foundation walls. Work of the shorers had temporarily ceased for it was a Saturday afternoon. Affixed to the chimney was a wooden mantel, painted black, of plain, but antique design, exposed, and already stained by the elements, and evidently to be abandoned by those in charge of the demolition.

The house stood on the top of a steep declivity, giving a marvelous view on four sides, almost strategic enough to have been a miniature fortress!

It was the first time in a dozen years that we had passed the site; in 1907 the house was standing and tenanted, and pointed out as having been a temporary resting place of General John Forbes on his eastern march, after the successful conquest of Fort Duquesne, in 1758. Now all is changed, historic memories had not kept the old house inviolate; it was to be ruthlessly destroyed, perhaps, like the McClure Log College near Harrisburg, to furnish the foundations for a piggery, or some other ignoble purpose.

As we passed, a pang of sorrow overcame us at the lowly state to which house and fireplace had fallen, and we fell to recounting some of the incidents of the historic highway, in military and civil history, the most noteworthy road in the Commonwealth. The further, on we traveled, the more we regretted not stopping and trying to salvage the old wooden mantel, but one of our good friends suggested that if we did not are to return for it, we shouldshould mention the matter to the excellent and efficient Leslie Seylar at McConnellsburg, who knew everyone and everything, and could doubtless obtain the historic relic and have it shipped to our amateur “curio shop.”

The genial Seylar, famed for his temperamental and physical resemblance to the lamented “Great Heart,” was found at his eyrie and amusement centre on top of Cove Mountain, and he gladly consented to securing the abandoned mantel. As a result it is now in safe hands, a priceless memento of the golden age of Pennsylvania History.

But now for the story or the legend of the mantel, alluded to briefly last year in the chapter called the “Star of the Glen,” in this writer’s “South Mountain Sketches.” The story, as an old occupant of the house told it, and he survived on until early in the Nineteenth Century was, that General Forbes, on this victorious eastern march, was seized many times with fainting fits. On every occasion his officers and orderlies believed that the end had come, so closely did he simulate death. But he had always been delicate, at least from his first appearance in Pennsylvania, though when campaigning with the gallant Marshal Ligonier in France, Flanders and on the Rhine, participating in the battles of Dettingen, Fontenoy and Lauffeld, no such symptoms were noted. Although less than fifty years of age when he started towards the west, he was regarded, from his illnesses, as an aged person, Sherman Day in his inimitable “Historical Collections” states that there was “much dissatisfaction in the choice of a leader of the expedition against Fort Duquesne, as General Forbes, the commander, was a decrepit old man.”man.”

What caused his ill health history has not uncovered at this late date. It has been said that he was an epileptic, like Alexander and other great generals, or a sufferer from heart trouble or general debility. His military genius outweighed his physical frailties, so that he rose superior to him, but it must not be forgotten that he was aided by two brilliant officers, Colonel George Washington and Colonel Henry Bouquet.

His immediate entourage was a remarkable one, even for a soldier of many wars. Like a true Scotsman, he carried his own piper with him, Donald MacKelvie, said to be a descendant of the mighty MacCrimmons; and his bodyguard was also headed by a Highlander, Andrew MacCochran, who had been a deer stalker on one of the estates owned by the General’s father.

Forbes himself, being a younger son, was not a man of property, and Pittencrief House, his birth-place, was already occupied by an older brother, from whom, so Dr. Burd S. Patterson tells us, all who claim relationship to him are descended.

The General was carried in a hammock, with frequent stops, from Harris’ Ferry to Fort Duquesne, and back again, borne by four stalwart Highlanders, in their picturesque native costumes, wearing the tartan of the Forbes clan. The deerstalker, MacCochran, was the major domo, and even above the chief of staff and Brigade Surgeon, gave the orders to halt when the General’s lean weazened face indicated an over-plussage of fatigue.

It was late in the afternoon as the returning army had neared the summit of Rea’s Hill; the pipers were playing gaily Blaz Sron, to cheer foot soldiers and wagoners up the steep, rocky, uneven grade, with the General in the van. The ascent was a hard one, and the ailing commander-in-chief was shaken about considerably, so much so that MacCochran was glad to note the little stone house, where he might give him his much needed rest.

Old Andrew McCreath and his wife, a North of Ireland couple, the former a noted hunter, occupied the house; their son was serving in the Pennsylvania Regiment, which formed a part of General Forbes’ expeditionary forces. The old folks were by the roadside, having heard the bagpipes at a great distance, eager to see the visitors, and catch a glimpse of their hero son. They were surprised and pleased when MacCochran signalled the halt in front of their door, which meant that the entire procession would bivouac for the night in the immediate vicinity. There were several good springs of mountain water, so all could await the General’s pleasure.

Permission was asked to make the house “general headquartersheadquarters” for the night, which, of course, was quickly given, as the old couple were honored to have such a distinguished visitor. There was a great couch, or what we would today call a “Davenport” in front of the fire, and there the General was laid, the room dark, save for the ruddy glow of the roaring fire, which illuminated every nook and corner, and made it at once as cheerful as it was warm and comfortable.

The General’s eyes were wide open, and he gazed about the room, while his faithful domestics watched him to anticipate every wish. When he was ill he excluded his Staff, but kept his servants with him, and they, with McCreath and his wife, stood in the corners of the room, back of the couch, waiting for his commands.

The piper asked if he could liven his master with a “wee tune or two,” but the General shook his head; his sandy locks had become untied, and flapped about his bony face; he made a motion with his hand that indicated that he wanted to be alone, to try and get some sleep. McCreath and his wife, and their stalwart son, the other bearers of the hammock and litters, and the surgeon of the expedition, Major McLanahan, who had slipped into the room, withdrew, leaving the piper and MacCochran standing in the corner back of the couch, to aid the General should he become violently ill in his sleep.

The General dozed, and the bodyguard became very tired, for they had had a hard march, and sank down on the floor, with their backs to the wall. All was still, save for the tramp, tramp of the sentry outside the window, or the crackle of some giant bonfire in the general campground, or the barking of some camp follower’s dog. The fire had died down a little, but threw great fitful shadows, like a pall, over the sleeping General, and caused an exaggerated shadow of his bold profile to appear on the wall.

All at once, without the slightest warning, he jumped to his feet, with the elasticity of a youth, and arms outstretched, seemed to rush towards the fire. He might have tripped over the pile of cord wood, and fallen in face foremost, had not the ever watchful piper and MacCochran, springing forward, caught him simultaneously in their strong arms. They did not find him excited, or his mind wandering, like a man suddenly aroused from slumbers. On the contrary, he was strangely calm. He whispered in MacCochran’s ear:

“Andy, I have seen my lady of Dunkerck. She came out of the ashes towards me. I rushed forward to greet her, and she went back into the hearth and was gone.”

The General would say nothing further, but allowed himself to be laid out on the couch once more, and be covered with buffalo robes, and while he lay quiet, he slept no more that night, but every minute or so kept looking into the fire. At daybreak, at the sounding of Surachan on the pipes, he was able to start, and the balance of the march executed without incident.

He reached Philadelphia in safety, but within a short time after arriving there he passed away unexpectedly, and was buried in historic Old Christ Church, where a tablet with the following inscription was erected in the Chancel by the Pennsylvania Chapter of the Society of Colonial Wars: “To the Memory of Brigadier-General John Forbes, Colonel of the 17th Regiment of Foot, born at Pittencrief, Fifeshire, 1710, died in Philadelphia, March 11, 1759.”

MacCochran was released from the army, and being enamored of the wild mountain country in the interior of Pennsylvania, returned to the forests. Later, though nearly fifty years old, he enlisted and served through the Revolutionary War in Captain Parr’s Riflemen. After peace was declared he bought the little stone house on Rea’s Hill from young McCreath, who had served with him in the Rifle Brigade, and lived there alone until he died about 1803. He said that he liked the place for its memories of General Forbes, and he was always fond of telling to his mountaineer friends when they dropped in of an evening for a smoke and a toddy, of his hero’s exploits in peace and war, and more than once recounted the tale of the wraith which appeared to the General at the fireplace, during his eastward journey from Fort Duquesne.

General Forbes, he said, as noted previously, was a younger son, and had entered the army early in life. He had been too busy campaigning to marry, but not always too busy to fall in love. Yet he was a serious-minded man, and his romances were always of the better sort, and would have ended happily on one or more occasions but for the exigencies of his strenuous campaignscampaigns, which moved him from place to place.

Of all his love affairs, the one that hit him the hardest, and lasted the longest, occurred after the victory of Lauffeld, won by Marshal Ligonier, when, as Lieutenant-Colonel, he was quartered with his regiment at Dunkerck, preparatory to embarking for England. Colonel Forbes’ billet was with one Armand Violet, a rich shipowner, who resided in a mediaeval chateau, which his wealthwealth had enabled him to purchase from some broken-down old family, on the outskirts of the town. It was built on a bare, chalky cliff, overlooking the sea, where the waves beat over the rocks, and sent the spray against the walls on stormy nights, and the wind, banshee-like, moaned incessantly among the parapets.

Violet was away a good deal, and his wife was an invalid, and peculiar, but their one daughter, Amethyst Violet, was a ray of sunshine enough to illuminate and radiate the gloomiest fortress-like chateau. She was under eighteen, about the middle height, slimly and trimly built, with chestnut brown hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion; her hair was worn in puffs over her ears and brushed back from her brows, just as the girls are again wearing it today; she was vivacious and intelligent, and detected in the Colonel, despite his thirty-seven years, a man of superior personality and charm.

In the long wait, due to conflicting orders, and the non-arrival of the transport, Forbes and Amethyst became very well acquainted, in fact the Colonel was very much in love, but would not dream of mentioning his passion, as he deemed it folly for a man of his years and experience to espouse a mere child. The girl was equally smitten, but more impulsive, and less self-contained.

Every evening the pair were together in the great hall, sitting before the fire in the old hearth, their glances, which often met, indicating their feelings, but the Colonel confined his talk to descriptions of military life, Scotland, its glens and locks and wild game, old legends and ballads which he loved to recite. He was particularly fond of repeating the old ballad of Barbara Livingston.

One night while the wind was howling, and the spray was lashing against the castle walls, and the rain dashed and hissed against the panes, the time to retire had come, and Amethyst, instead of tripping away, sprang right into Forbes’ arms, and lay her fluffy head against his bespangled breast.

“You are the coldest man in the world” she sobbed, looking up with tear-dimmed blue eyes. “What have you meant all these nights, we two alone for hours and hours, your eyes on only the sparks as they swept upwards through the ‘louvre,’ and your thoughts only on battles and mountain scenery. I love you more than all the world, and yet you could not see it, or did not care. I can restrain my feelings no longer; tell me the truth, for I cannot bear the suspense and live.”

Forbes revealed his love by holding her very tight, and covering her wet, hot eyelids with kisses. “Oh, foolish, darling Amethyst,” he said, “I love you just as much as you care for me. I have from the first moment I saw you, and hoped that the transport would never come, but I am twice your age, and battered by many hard campaigns, and while I think I could make you happy now, ten years hence I would be an old man, and you would despise me.”

Amethyst looked up into his sad, steady eyes, saying, “I don’t care what happens ten years from now; we might both be dead. I love you, and I want you. I will give you a week to decide; if you do not, I will jump off the highest parapet into the sea, and you can have yourself all to yourself, and prosper if you will with your stern Covenanter’s principles.”

The Colonel, though moved, was too prudent a Scot to capitulate. He took the case under advisement, and every night for a week, though chivalrous and charming, neglected to set the beautiful girl’s mind at rest. Yet when he retired to his room, he paced the floor all night, for he knew that the exquisite girl could revive his youth.

The fatal night arrived. Perhaps the result might have been different if Amethyst had reminded her lover of her threat. She was too proud to do so, and the Colonel, thinking that she had forgotten her rash words–to some extent at least–was mum, and they parted gaily, Amethyst darting out of the hall humming the old love song of Barbara Livingston as light on foot, and apparently as light-hearted as any carefree child.

She was never seen again–at least not until Forbes saw her come out of the embers at the fireplace on Rea’s Hill, more than thirteen years later.

When the word came that her room in one of the turrets was empty, a general search was made, revealing the trap-door to the parapet open. In her haste she had omitted dropping it. From that Forbes knew that the worst had happened. When MacCochran told it to him, standing pale and frigid by the ancient hearth, he tried to stroke his small military mustache, to show his sang-froid, but fell in a swoon on the stone floor, lying unconscious for a week.

That was the beginning of the fainting fits that plagued him for the rest of his life, and the commencement of his distaste of life, which caused him to ask for active service in America, in a new and wild environment, far from scenes similar to the terrible tragedy of his love and pride. And yet, out of the fire, in distant Pennsylvania, had appeared the long lost Amethyst Violet, perhaps as a “warning” of his fast approaching end, to open the portals to that better world where they would be together, and all things be as they should.

MacCochran, philosophic and superstitious Scot that he was, had many reasons for lingering in the little stone house. Often he said, when he sat smoking late at night, the shadows from the dying fire would cast dark shapes, much like General Forbes’ bold features, on the walls, and he felt the magnetic spell of his old Master’s presence. Perhaps out of the ashes would emerge Amethyst Violet, or her spirit self, and the lovers could be re-united before his eyes in a shadowland.

But nothing ever happened so fortuitous, and the engraved likenesses of “Bonnie Prince Charlie” and Madame d’Albany, unhappy lovers also, which hung on either side of his Revolutionary rifle, above the mantel, looked down on him as if in sympathy, for his fidelity which had survived the grave. The long looked for visitations never came; perhaps among the vaults and cornices and lofts of Old Christ Church, where the General is resting, the reunion of the lovers has taken place, but wherever it has, the place is known only to the spirits of Forbes and the fair Amethyst Violet; there are no witnesses.

And now the present owner of “General Forbes’ Fireplace,” as he calls it, is waiting to set it up in some study or hunting lodge, beneath the skull and antlers of the extinct Irish elk, from Ballybetag Bog, where amid forest surroundings, in the dead of night, he can keep vigil like MacCochran, after reading “Volumes of Quaint and Forgotten Lore,” and maybe be rewarded by a sight of the true lovers from out of the ashes.