stood before him with a child, his half brother, on her shoulder.
She told him to look at his young brother smiling at him. Stout John
(_Iain Garbh_) was for sparing the infant but the Grizzly Lad (_Gille
Riabhach_) warned him, the child if spared to come of age would avenge
his father’s death, and he himself stabbed the infant with his dirk on
his mother’s shoulder.
BROWNS OF TIREE.
(_Clann-a-Bhruthain_).
The Browns of Tiree at the present day are called _Brunaich_, sing.
_Brunach_, evidently a word not of native origin, and likely an
adaptation of the English Brown. Brown as the name of a colour is an
English word but not Gaelic, the Gaelic for it being _donn_, hence
as a clan name many affirm that the Brown of the present day is a
corruption or modification of _Bruthainn_ certainly the older name,
and till very recently, the name given to a sept or portion of the
Browns. There are also many who maintain that the oldest form of all is
_Mac-’ill-duinn_. Other explanations are also put forward in behalf of
the origin of the name, but none of them are satisfactorily conclusive.
The following story of how the Browns came first to Tiree is a
tradition as like to be true as any other. It was heard from a native
of the island, well acquainted with the traditions of his countrymen.
The wife of MacLean of Dowart was a daughter of the Lord of the
Isles. Her father on visiting her at Aros had found her destitute of
table-linen, and on her being spoken to on the subject, she said that
there was no place on the estate where lint could be grown. Her father
then gave her the island of Tiree as a good flax-growing country, that
she might not be open to that reproach any longer. In this way the
island of Tiree remained in the possession of the Dowart family till
the forfeiture of the clan towards the end of the seventeenth century.
The MacLeans seem to have ruled the island with a rod of iron. There
is still shewn the hillock called the Bank of the Gallows (_Bac na
Croiche_), where the man who came in last with his rent at collection
time was hanged. A party of strong men called ‘MacLean’s attributes’
(_buaidheanan Mhic-’illeathain_) but more correctly oppressors and
bullies, were kept in the island to overawe the people.
This wife of Dowart, with her galley and men, was at Croig in Mull,
awaiting for a passage across to Tiree. When the men were getting the
galley in order, a big strong man was observed making his way to the
boat. His appearance was that of a beggar, with tattered and patched
garments (_lùirichean_). He quietly asked to be allowed a passage with
them. The master of the boat gruffly refused, saying, that they would
not allow one like him to be in the same boat with their mistress, but
the beggar said that his being there would make no difference, and
asked the favour of getting a passage from her. She gave him permission
and he seated himself at the end of the boat furthest from her to avoid
giving trouble to her. The day was becoming boisterous; it was not
long till the master said that the wind was becoming too high, and the
day unlikely. A heavy sea was shipped wetting the Lady of Dowart, and
the beggar said to the master, “Can you not steer better than that?”
The master said “Could you do better?” The beggar replied “It would not
be difficult for me to do better than that at any rate. Show me the
direction where you wish to go,” and on it being shewn to him he added
“I think you may go on that you will make land.”
“What do you know?” the other said, “it is none of your business to
speak here.”
The Lady then spoke, and said to the beggar, “Will you take the boat
there if you get the command of it?” He said he would, and she gave
orders to let him have the command. He sat at the helm and told them
to shorten sail, and make everything taut, and now, the boat did not
take in a thimbleful of water. They made for Tiree, and the place come
to was the lower part of Hynish, at the furthest extremity of the
island. The first place of shelter which the beggar saw, he let the
boat in there. The little cove is still known as the Port of the Galley
(_Port-na-Birlinn_) on the south side of _Barradhu_ where the present
dwellings belonging to the Skerryvore Lighthouse are. The company
landed safely, and on parting the Lady of Dowart told the beggar man
to come to see her at Island House, where the residence of the Dowart
family was at that time, and which is still the proprietory residence
of the island. The name Island House is derived from its present site
having been formerly surrounded by the water of the fresh-water lake
near it. It communicated with the rest of the island by means of a
draw-bridge, but there being now no necessity for this safeguard the
space between the house and the shore has been filled up, and the
moated grange has become like ordinary dwelling houses. The stranger
wandered about for some time, and then went to the Island House and was
kindly received. After a day or two, he thought it would be better to
get a house for himself, and the Lady of Dowart said that she would
give him any place that he himself would fix upon. Apparently the
island was not much tenanted then, and according to the custom of the
time, he got a horse with a pack-saddle on, and on the ridge of the
saddle (_cairb na srathrach_), he put the upper and lower stones of a
quern (_bràthuinn_), one on each side of the horse, secured by a straw,
or sea-bent rope, and wherever the rope broke it was lucky to build the
house there. The beggar-man’s quern fell at Sunny Spot (_Grianal_), now
better known as Greenhill. He built a bothy there, and a woman came to
keep house for him. By her he had a son, whom he would not acknowledge.
When the child was able to take care of itself she went again to him
with it that she might be free. He still refused to receive the child
and told her to avoid him. She then thought as she had heard from
him before where he came from, that she would go with her son to his
relatives in Ireland. When she arrived there the child’s grandfather
received her very kindly. She stayed with him till her son had grown to
manhood (_gus an robh e ’na làn duine_). As she was about to return the
grandfather said to his grandson, “Which do you now prefer, to follow
your mother, or stay with me?” The lad said he would rather follow his
mother, and risk his fortune along with her. They came back to Tiree
again, and the son would give no rest till they went to see his father.
When they reached the bothy the mother said “you will surely receive
your son to-day though you would not acknowledge him before.” But he
would not any more than at first. His son then took hold of him, and
putting his knee on his breast, said, “before you rise from there you
will own me as your lawful son, and my mother as your married wife.”
He did this and was set free. They then lived together and built a
house, and houses, and increased in stock of cattle. One wild evening
in spring, when they were folding the cattle, they observed a stout
looking man of mean appearance coming from Kilkenneth, still a township
in that part of the island, and making straight for the house.
“I never saw a bigger man than that beggar,” said the son.
“He is big,” the father said, “I well know what man it is; he is coming
after me, and I will lose my life this night, I killed his brother, but
it was not my fault, for if I had not killed him, he would have killed
me.”
“Perhaps you will not lose your life to-night yet,” said the son, “be
kind to him, and when he has warmed himself, ask him to go out with us
to kill a cow, for the night is cold.”
The stranger came in and was made welcome. The old man then said since
there was a stranger, and the night chilly, they better take a cow and
kill it. They went out and brought in the cow. The young man said to
the stranger, “Which would you rather, take the axe, or hold the cow’s
horn?” (_Co dhiu b’ fhearr leis an tuath na ’n adharc_). The stranger
chose to hold the horn, and the blow by which the beast was felled was
so sudden and unexpected that the stranger fell with it. The youth
immediately fell upon him and kept him down, saying, “You will only
have what you can do for yourself, till you tell why you came here
to-night (_Cha bhi agad ach na bheir thu g’ a chionn gus an aidich thu
’de thug so an nochd thu_). He told word for word how he came to avenge
his brother’s death. (_Dh’ innis e facal air an fhacal mar thainig e
thoirt mach éirig a bhràthair_).
“You will not leave this alive” said the young man, “until you promise
not to molest my father while you remain in the country.” The stranger
vowed, if released he would not offend anyone. He was allowed to
remain and they passed the night cheerfully and peacefully (_gu sona
sàmhach_). The stranger returned the way he came. The father and son
then settled together, and are said according to tradition, to have
been the first Browns in Tiree.
Another version of the story is, that the first settler in Greenhill
was a Campbell, and that he was the maker of those underground
dwellings (_tighean falaich_) which still exist on that farm; curious
habitations, which are unlike any building now in use, and worthy of
closer examination by antiquarians. It is said that there are buildings
with similar entrances exposed by sand blowing and covered with a great
depth of earth in Tra-vi at the distance of two miles or more further
south.
There is a precipice on the west side of Kenavara hill called
Mac-a-Bhriuthainn’s leap (_Leum Mhic-a-bhriuthainn_) which one of this
sept of Browns is said to have jumped across backwards, and which no
one has since jumped either backwards or forwards. The one who took
the jump is said to have been chased by a wild ox, which pushed him
over the hill, and if he had not been a man of steady eye and limb, the
fall would have ended in sure destruction. The place where he leapt
was a ledge in the face of a precipice where the slightest overbalance
or weakness, would have precipitated him several hundred feet into a
dangerous and deep sea. No trained tightrope dancer ever required more
sureness of eye and limb than must have been brought into action in
this leap.
In the top of the same hill (Kenavara) there is a well, Briuthainn’s
Well (_Tobar Mhic-a-Bhriuthainn_), which is said to have its name from
the first who came to the island having, in his wanderings, subsisted
on its water and wild water-cress.
THE STORY OF MAC-AN-UIDHIR.
The name Mac-an-Uidhir is not borne by any person now living, so far
as the writer is aware. Like many other names it may have been changed
into MacDonald, or some other clan-name. When a person changed his name
to that of some other clan, or powerful chief, he was said to accept
the name and clanship (_Ainm ’sa chinneadhdas_). This name must, at
one time, however, have been common. The ford between Benbecula and
South Uist is called “The ford of the daughter of Euar” (_Faoghail Nic
an Uidhir_), and Nic-an-Uidhir is also named by the Lochnell bard as a
sister of Headless Stocking (_Cas-a’-Mhogain_), a well-known witch, who
lived so long ago as when Ossian the poet was a boy (_giullan_).
“Did ever you hear mention
Of Rough Foot-gear daughter of Euar?
She was young in Glenforsa,
When Ossian was a young boy;
She was going about as a slip of a girl
With Headless Stocking her sister.
I am a wretched creature after them
Not knowing what became of them.”
(“An cuala sibhse riamh iomradh
Mu Chaiseart Gharbh, Nic an Uidhir?
Bha i òg an Gleann Forsa
Nar bha Oisean ’na ghiullan;
Bha i falbh ’s i ’na proitseach
Le Cas-a’-Mhogain a piuthar.
’S mise an truaghan ’nan déigh
’S gun fhios gu de thainig riu.”)
The person of whom the following story is told, lived at Hynish in
the island of Tiree, and had become engaged to a young woman in the
neighbourhood. Between the espousal and marriage, the engaged couple
went with a party of friends for a sail to Heisker, near Canna.
The men of the party went ashore seal-hunting and one of the young
woman’s disappointed suitors took advantage of the opportunity to get
Mac-an-Uidhir left behind, and coming back to the boat told that the
intending bridegroom had been drowned. By this lie he hoped to make the
bride despair of seeing her intended any more, and by renewing his own
attentions, to get her to consent to accept himself. She, however, not
believing that he was dead, said that she would marry no one for a year
and a day from the date of his alleged drowning. [Heisker means high
rock,[6] and this one, near the island of Canna, is called the High
Rock of Windlestraws (_Heisgeir nan Cuiseag_). It has no one living on
it. At the present day a few young cattle are grazed upon it, and a
boat comes for them in spring from Canna, which lies to the N.E. It is
not otherwise visited except once or twice a year by seal-hunters.]
At first, Mac-an-Uidhir subsisted on birds and fish eaten raw; after
his powder and shot were expended, he had to keep himself alive upon
whelks, or whatever he could get along the shore, principally whelks.
This sort of shellfish is said to keep a person alive though he should
have no other means of subsistence, till he becomes as black as the
shield or wing of the whelk (_co dubh ri sgiath faochaig_). The
abandoned and castaway youth lived in this way for three quarters of a
year; but at last he got away from the islet, and for the last three
months of the year was making his way home. He arrived on the night
on which the marriage of his intended to his unscrupulous rival was
to take place. He went to the house of his foster-mother, who did not
know him, his appearance through his privations having becoming so much
changed, and, he having asked to be allowed to remain for the night,
she said she was alone, and could not let a stranger like him stay. She
also told of the festivities in the neighbourhood, and said that he had
better pass the night there. He asked the occasion of the festivities:
she told him how her foster-son had been drowned, and supplanted, and
that this was the night of his rival’s marriage, saying, “If they are
happy I am sad, another one being in the place of my foster-son” (_Ma
tha iadsan subhach tha mise dubhach dheth, fear eile bhi dol an àite
mo dhalta_). She then added, “this time last year, he perished when he
went with a party to hunt seals in Heisker; his intended vowed that she
would not marry for a year, in the hope of his returning, as she had
not been quite satisfied that he had been drowned, and to-night the
time is expired.” “Let us go” he said, “to see them.”
“You may go,” she replied, “but they are near enough to me as it is.”
He then asked her if she did not recognise him, and told who he was,
but she refused to believe him, saying her dear child (_mo ghràdh_)
could not be so much altered in the time. He put the matter out of
question by asking if she would know her own handiwork, and shewing
what was left of the hose (_osain_) she had given him, to convince her.
When she saw the labour of her own hands (_saothair a làmh fhéin_),
she joyfully welcomed him, and went with him where the marriage party
were. Those who were there were surprised to see her arrival, knowing
the sad state in which she was at this time of year, through the loss
of her foster-child. They, however, received the stranger as well as
herself with the utmost kindness. The bride made the remark, when the
stranger turned his back, that he was like Mac an Uidhir but when his
face was towards her he appeared like a stranger whom she had never
seen before; but that her heart warmed towards him. The custom was then
gone through of the stranger drinking out of the bride’s glass, and
Mac-an-Uidhir when doing this, slipped a ring into the glass, which,
she immediately recognised as that of her first lover. The whole matter
was then upset, and the party for whom the preparations were made were
dispersed, and the bride followed the fortunes of her first lover.
Of a song made by the foster-mother to Mac-an-Uidhir, when he was
reported to have been drowned, and was looked upon as dead, the
following verses have been preserved. In the translation the literal
words are given, but no attempt is made at reducing them to the rhyme
which is essential in English poetry.
“Thou good son of Euar
Of generous and noble heart
At one time little I thought
It would ever happen
That you would be drowned
And your boat return empty
While its irons would last
And repair was not needed
While its stern-post stood,
Its sides and prow,
While yards would hold out,
Or a fragment of its oak.
Your well ordered new plaid
Is on the surface of the grey waves
Your head is the sport of the little gull
And your side of the big gull;
Your sister is without brother
And your mother without son
Your bride without husband
And poor me without god-son.”
Ach a dheagh Mhic an Uidhir
’G an robh an cridhe fial farsuinn
Bha mi uair ’s beag shaoil mi
Gu ’m faodadh sid tachairt
Gu ’m biodh tus’ air do bhàthadh
’S do bhàta tighinn dachaidh
Fhad ’s a mhaireadh a h-iaruinn
’S nach iarradh i calcadh
Thùg horoinn O.
Fhad ’s a mhaireadh a h-iaruinn
’S nach iarradh i calcadh
Fhad ’s a mhaireadh a h-earluinn
Agus tàthadh ’s a saidhean
Fhad ’s a mhaireadh a slatan
Agus bloidhean d’a darach
Thùg horoinn O.
Fhad ’s a mhaireadh a slatan
’S bloidhean d’a darach:
Tha do bhreacan ùr uallach
Air uachdar nan glas thonn
’S fuil do chinn aig an fhaoilinn
’S fuil do thaobh aig an fharspaig
Thùg horoinn O.
’S fuil do chinn aig an fhaoilinn
’S fhuil do thaobh aig an fharspaig:
Tha do phiuthar gun bhràthair
’S do mhàthair gun mhac dheth
Do bhean òg ’s i gun chéile
’S truagh mi fhéin dheth gun dalta.
Thùg horoinn O.
There is quite a modern instance, perhaps about the beginning of this
century, of a native of the islet of Ulva, near Mull, having been
driven during a snowstorm to _Heisgeir-nan-Cuiseag_ (High Rock of
Windlestraws) and passing the winter there alone till he was taken off
early in the following summer. He, too, must have subsisted on whelks
and what he could get along the shore. He was going home from Tiree.
Anxious to be at home at the New-year O.S., he, with a companion,
left Tiree, and before going far a snowstorm came on, and the wind
increased in violence till they were driven they did not know where.
The companion got benumbed and died in the boat. It could only be said
by the survivor that they passed very high rocks on some island.
The boat was cast ashore on Heisker, and the poor man left in it had to
pass the winter as best he could, without food or shelter.
The islet is too distant from Canna for him to have been observed by
any signal he could make.
NOTES:
[6] The islet near North Uist, on which the Mona Light house is built,
is called the High Rock of the Monks, _Heisgeir nam Manach_.
STEEPING THE WITHIES.
There is an expression in Gaelic “It is time to steep the withies”
(“_Tha ’n t-àm bhi bogadh nan gad_”), meaning, it is time for one to
leave or make his escape from the company he is in. This expression
is said to have arisen in this way. A little undersized man and good
archer was sitting on a stool by his own fireside, when enemies intent
on securing his person came in to the house. He sat quietly, but
his wife going backwards and forwards through the house, and being
ready-witted, when she understood the character of the intruders,
gave a slap on the ear to her husband saying, as if he were merely
the herd boy, “It is time to steep the withies” (“_Tha ’n t-àm bhi
bogadh nan gad_”). He immediately left the house, and she managed to
put his bow and arrows out at the window. He having stationed himself
in a favourable locality did not allow a single one of his enemies to
leave the house without killing them with his arrows, one by one as
they came out at the door. Regarding the truth of this story it is
noticeable, that uniformly throughout the Highlands the expression, “It
is time to steep the withies” (“_Tha ’n t-àm bhi bogadh nan gad_”),
means, not that it is time to prepare for action, but that it is time
for one to make himself scarce. A story of the same kind is told of
King Alfred the Great, that he escaped from his enemies in somewhat
the same way. In olden times the harnessing of animals for carrying
burdens, ploughing, etc., was done by means of withies made of willow,
sea-bent,[7] or other accessible material, iron being scarce and
difficult to procure, and these withies had to be steeped before work
with them was commenced. It required a good deal of acquaintance with
the work before the horse was fully equipped with pack-saddle, creels,
and other equipments for which withies were necessary, and the only
means available. The names of some of these withies still survive _e.
g._ the _Gad-tarraich_ is the Gaelic name still in use, although the
material is leather, and not withies, to denote a belly-band.
NOTES:
[7] Tough Grass growing by the shore.
LITTLE JOHN OF THE WHITE BAG.
(_IAIN BEAG A’ BHUILG BHAIN_).
This doughty little archer was attached to the family of the
MacLachlans of _Coruanain_, or little Lamb-dell, near Fort-William, on
the borders of Inverness-shire and Argyleshire. He derived his name
from his carrying a white bag of arrows, which he was very skilful in
the use of. In far off and unsettled times, when a foray or _creach_
was being taken from _Coruanain_, one of the raiders, having met
little John, said, “Little John of the White Bag, I will mount the
hill side quicker than you” (_Iain bhig a’ Bhuilg Bhàin, bheir mise am
fireach dhiot_). In a struggle it is always an advantage, even when
other things are even, to have the higher position on a hill side.
Little John replied, “The hand of your father and grandfather be over
you, White Stirk, I will put the Brankes (or Iron Gag) on you (”_Làmh
d’ athair ’s do sheanair ort, a Ghamhain Bhàin cuiridh mise biorach
ort_“). The _biorach_, branker, was a spiked iron gag, or instrument
set with pointed iron pins, fixed round the head of calves to keep
them from sucking. The expression “The hand, &c., be over you” was a
common expression, meaning much the same as the English “Look out,”
or “Take care of yourself.” Saying this, Little John let fly an arrow
which struck the other in the forehead, toppled him over, and put an
end to the discussion.
THE KILLING OF BIG ANGUS OF ARDNAMURCHAN.
(_AONGHAS MOR MAC’ILL’-EOIN_), BIG ANGUS, SON OF JOHN, AT COR-OSPUINN
IN MORVEN.
In Ardnamurchan, where the district of Kintra commences, there is a
streamlet that falls into Loch-Moidart, which lies along the north of
Ardnamurchan, called _Faoghail Dhòmhnuill Chonalaich_. This streamlet
derives its name from Donald MacDonald, or MacConnell, having been
slain there under the following circumstances. Tradition is uniform
as to the incident which gave its name to the place, and as to the
circumstances under which the murder was committed. Donald was the
heir to the chieftainship of Ardnamurchan, but his uncle, Big Angus,
wishing to secure the estate for himself, waylaid his nephew at the
ford mentioned, which is very difficult to jump across when the tide
is in, as he was on his way to be married to a daughter of the then
Chief of Lochiel. While Donald was jumping across the ford, one of
Big Angus’s men shot an arrow in his face, so that when he touched
the ground on the other side, he staggered and reeled. Before he fell
prostrate Big Angus said that he would wonder if his nephew would dance
as merrily at his marriage with the daughter of the One-eyed Chief of
meat-broth (_saoil an dannsadh tu co cridheil sin air banais nighean
Cham-na-eanraich_). The meaning of this nick-name given to the Chief of
Lochiel is a covert allusion to the cattle-lifting of Lochiel. Before
the introduction of tea, extract of meat was largely made use of, and
even meal was mixed with it for those in strong health, but weak, and
even chicken broth, was given to those who were in delicate health.
Some say that the Chief referred to was _Ailein nan Creach_ (Allan the
Cattle-lifter), who derived his name from the number of cattle-spoils
that he lifted. Lochaber being a wild and remote district was not
unnaturally a place to which cattle forays were taken when people
sought “the beeves that made the broth” in other localities.