SOME WELL-KNOWN GATHERINGS.
“Ye voices of Cona, of high swelling power,
Ye bards who can sing of her olden time,
On whose spirits arise the blue panoplied throng
Of her ancient hosts, who are mighty and strong,
My bards raise the song.”
—_Ossian._
A Tune with four stories—The Carles wi’ the Breeks—The Mac Gregor’s
Gathering—Scott’s verses—_Caber Feidh_—The Camerons’ Gathering—Well-
matched chiefs—The Loch of the Sword.
The first tune to be noticed in this chapter is peculiar in this
respect, that whereas to many are ascribed two origins, to this there
are ascribed three or four. More than one cannot possibly be correct,
unless we conclude that different pipers at different times in different
places and without any co-operation, composed the same tune. That is
rather too much, however, but we will give the stories as they are to be
found in many books of Highland history and tradition.
In the first place, then, this tune has three names. It is known as
“THE BREADALBANE GATHERING”
(or March), “Wives of this Glen,” and _Bodaich nam Briogais_ (“The
Carles wi’ the Breeks”), and each name applies to the air as it is
associated with a certain district of Scotland. As “Lord Breadalbane’s
March” it is noticed in an old hymn-book by _Iain Bàn Caimbeul_, first
published in 1786, and afterwards in 1834. This book associated it with
Coll Kitto, mentioned in a previous chapter, and gives a long story of
raiding and plundering in which this worthy was engaged about 1644. At
one stage in the exploits, when his enemies were fleeing, the Baronet of
Lochawe ordered his piper to compose a march tune suitable for the
occasion, and to keep playing all night. This the piper did, and his
tune was _Bodaich nam Briogais_. There is certainly an air of
authenticity about the story, and the details bear the stamp of
probability if not of truth.
As the “Breadalbane Gathering” it is a Perthshire tune, and well known.
The story is that it was played in 1762 at a battle in Caithness, in
which the first Earl of Breadalbane was victor, but the air belonged to
an earlier period, for _Seumas-an-Tuim_, the reiver referred to in the
melody flourished at the beginning of the century:—
“Ye women of the glen
Ye women of the glen
Ye women of the glen
Ye women of the glen
Is it not time for you to arise?
And _Seumas-an-Tuim_ driving away your cattle.”
The tune, then, although Breadalbane’s raid into Caithness may have
given it a new lease of life, under a new name, must have been in
existence before that time. The raid itself, for that matter, is
somewhat mythical, and the chances are that this is only a bowdlerised
version of the next story, which is thoroughly authenticated.
It is as “The Carles with the Breeks” that the tune really hails from
Caithness. Sir John Campbell of Glenorchy received in 1672 from George
Earl of Caithness an assignment of all his lands and possessions on
condition that he would take the name of Sinclair. Glenorchy agreed to
this, and on the death of the Earl in 1676 he took the title. His right
was, however, disputed by the heir male, George Sinclair of Kiess, and
Sir John went to Caithness with a force of Campbells, and defeated the
Sinclairs at Altimarlach, a spot on the banks of the Water of Wick, and
a short distance from the county town. The Campbells, a Highland clan,
of course wore the kilt, and like all true Highlanders—of that age—they
despised those who did not. The Sinclairs, never a Highland clan, but
only a county family at best, wore the trews, and when Findlay Mac Ivor,
Glenorchy’s piper, saw them wavering, he poured forth the voluntary:—
“The carles with the breeks, the carles with the breeks,
The carles with the breeks are flying before us.”
And to experts in pipe music the tune does appear to articulate very
plainly the sentiments of _Bodaich nam Briogais_. Another set of words,
given in the Killin collection of Gaelic song, seems more like a defying
challenge to the Sinclairs than a song of victory:—
“Your cattle lifted are, lifted are, lifted are,
Your cattle lifted are, your men sadly slain are.
I’m Black John the sharp-eyed one, sharp-eyed one, sharp-eyed one,
I’m Black John the sharp-eyed one, driving them safely.
Carles in trewses clad, trewses clad, trewses clad,
Carles in trewses clad, up and bestir you.
Carles in trewses clad, side dirk and mailed shirt,
Carles in trewses clad, flight we quick gave you.
Glenorchy’s bold Mac Intyres, true shots that will not miss,
Bullets sure hitting that fast slay the carles.
There where the river bends, arrows that pierced you quick;
Many’s the house-head that rests without waking.
Carles in trewses clad, etc.
We made that morning start, morning start, morning start,
We made that morning start, when watching failed you.
Wives, mothers, in this glen, in this glen, in this glen,
Wives, mothers, in this glen, it’s time you were waking.
Carles in trewses clad, etc.”
Glenorchy, however, did not obtain a very firm hold in the county, and
the Sinclairs held the great bulk of the lands until within the lifetime
of the present generation, when it seems to be drifting into other hands
because of the want of heirs male in the direct line. Neither did the
contempt expressed by the piper do much to make the trews unpopular, for
the late Caithness Fencibles, raised and commanded by Sir John Sinclair,
were dressed pretty much as were their ancestors at Altimarlach.
Caithness, of course, was, and still is, not very Highland, except in
the matter of latitude, and it is very noticeable that the only pipe
tune associated with the county was played by a Perthshire piper on a
warlike excursion, fighting against the natives. Caithness has no pipe
music of its own.
Again, the tune is known in Argyllshire as “Wives of this Glen.”
Tradition says it was played by Breadalbane’s piper just previous to the
massacre of Glencoe, in 1692, in the hope of warning the Mac Ians of
their danger, and that one Mac Ian wife heeded the warning and fled to
the hills with her child, saving his life. Glencoe is one of the wildest
places in the Highlands, gloomy and desolate, ten miles from any other
inhabited district, and through it the Cona, a wild, rugged stream, on
the banks of which Ossian is believed to have first seen the light,
tumbles its way to the sea. Towards the north-west end the terrible
tragedy, which left an ineradicable stain on Scottish history, took
place, and there the piper is supposed to have stood when he played:—
“Wives of wild Cona glen, Cona glen, Cona glen,
Wives of wild Cona glen, wake from your slumbers,
Early I woke this morn, early I woke this morn,
Woke to alarm you with music’s wild numbers.
Slain is the cattle boy, cattle boy, cattle boy,
Slain is the cow-boy while you soundly slumbered;
Lifted your cattle are, lifted your cattle are,
Slain are your herdsmen, by foemen outnumbered.
_Iain du Beeroch du, Beeroch du, Beeroch du,
Iain du Beeroch du_ is off with the plunder.
Wives of wild Cona glen, Cona glen, Cona glen,
Wives of wild Cona glen, wake from your slumbers.”
_Iain du Beeroch du_ was a noted Highland cattle-lifter, and corresponds
to _Seumas-an-Tuim_, of the Perthshire origin of the tune. Probably they
were one and the same person under different names. The only theory on
which the three stories can be reconciled is that the tune originally
belonged to Perthshire, but was taken to Caithness and to Argyllshire by
different pipers, accepted in each place as new, and given a new name.
In those days, when communication between districts of Scotland which
had nothing in common was very restricted, the tune could exist in one
county as new for many years without the people knowing that it was
familiar to those of another. And naturally they continued to associate
with it the circumstances in which they themselves first heard it. It
was this tune, by the way, that on the morning of Quatre Bras, was
played through the streets of Brussels to wake the slumbering
Highlanders.
“THE MAC GREGORS’ GATHERING.”
Although the Clan Mac Gregor was one of the most famous in Highland
history, there is not very much even of reliable tradition concerning
the music of the clan. There is—or, at least, was—enough of tradition;
but as it does not seem to have been committed to paper, it is now
probably lost. Of the origin of “The Mac Gregors’ Gathering” we know
nothing beyond the fact that it was included in Captain Mac Leod of
Gesto’s manuscript book of pibrochs as having been taken down in pipers’
language, that “syllabic jargon of illiterate pipers” referred to at
length in a former article, from the performers, most likely from the
Mac Crimmons. From the Gesto book it was translated in 1815 into
ordinary notation by Alexander Campbell, editor of _Albyn’s Anthology_,
and this gave it a place in published pipe music. The notation of
Captain Mac Leod, says Mr. Campbell, he found, to his astonishment, to
coincide exactly with regular notation, so it cannot have been such
jargon after all. Scott thoroughly caught the spirit of his tune in the
song:—
“The moon’s on the lake, and the mist’s on the brae,
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day!
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalich!
Gather, gather, gather, etc.
Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo!
Then haloo, Gregalich! haloo, Gregalich!
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregalich, etc.
Glen Orchy’s proud mountains, Caolchuirn and her towers,
Glen Strae and Glen Lyon no longer are ours;
We’re landless, landless, landless, Gregalich!
Landless, landless, landless, etc.
But doom’d and devoted by vassal and lord,
Mac Gregor has still both his heart and his sword!
Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalich;
Courage, courage, courage, etc.
If they rob us of name and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame and their flesh to the eagles!
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalich!
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, etc.
While there’s leaves in the forest, and foam on the river,
Mac Gregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever!
Come then, Gregalich; come then, Gregalich;
Come then, come then, come then, etc.
Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,
O’er the peaks of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance unfelt.
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalich!
Gather, gather, gather, etc.”
“_CABER FEIDH._”
One of the most stirring of pipe tunes is _Caber Feidh_, composed by
Norman Mac Leod, a native of Assynt, Sutherlandshire. The Earl of
Sutherland gave a commission to William Munroe, of Achany, who, with a
large body of retainers, descended on Assynt and carried off much
plunder. His excursion was in the latter end of summer, when the cattle
were grazing in distant pastures, and Achany plundered the sheilings and
stole a considerable amount of butter and cheese. Indignant at this, Mac
Leod composed the tune and song which became the clan song of the Mac
Kenzies. He made it the vehicle of invective and bitter sarcasm against
the Sutherlands and Munroes. The “victims” were very sore about the
production, and Munroe threatened the bard’s life if they should meet.
They were personally unacquainted, but they did meet in Ardgay Inn. Mac
Leod was enjoying bread and butter and cheese and ale, and he knew
Munroe by the colour of his bonnet, which was always grey, though Munroe
did not know him. Mac Leod drank to Munroe with great promptitude, and
then offered him the horn, remarking in Gaelic:—
“Bread and butter and cheese to me
Ere death my mouth shall close,
And, traveller, there’s drink for thee
To please the black Munroes.”
Achany was pleased, drank the ale, and when he had discovered who the
courteous stranger was he forgave him _Caber Feidh_, and ever after they
were good friends. Years later the poet’s young son, Angus, then a
licentiate, waited on Achany relative to the filling up of a vacancy in
Rogart Parish Church. “And so you really think,” said Munroe, “I would
use my influence to get a living for your father’s son. _Caber Feidh’s_
not forgotten yet.” “No, and never will,” replied Mac Leod, “but if I
get the parish of Rogart I promise you it will never be sung or
recommended from the pulpit there.” “Thank you,” said Achany, “that is
one important point gained. You are not so bad as your father after all,
and we must try and get the place for you.” And he gave young Mac Leod a
letter to Dunrobin which got him the living.
“THE CAMERONS’ GATHERING.”
There is a good story associated with “The Camerons’ Gathering:”—In the
seventeenth century a dispute arose between Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel
and the Earl of Atholl about their respective rights to grazing on lands
on the borders of Rannoch. The two chiefs met at Perth, and it was
agreed that the dispute should be settled amicably at a meeting on the
ground in question. On the appointed day Lochiel started early,
accompanied by a single henchman and his piper, Donald Breac of
Muirshiorlaich. On the way, however, he met an old woman—Gorm’uil Mhor
of Moy—who warned him emphatically not to proceed further without more
attendants:—“Go back, Ewen of Lochiel, go back! Take along with thee
three score and five of the best men of thy name and clan. If their aid
is required it is well to have them to appeal to, if not, so much the
better. It is Gorm’uil of Moy that advises it; it is Gorm’uil of Moy, if
needs be, that commands it.” Lochiel went back and chose three score and
five picked clansmen whom he took with him. Before meeting Atholl he
concealed his men in a hollow within a few hundred yards of the
trysting-place, and arranged with them that until they saw him turn his
cloak, which was dark grey on one side and bright red on the other, they
were to lie still. Whenever he turned his cloak it was a sign to them
that Atholl was treacherous, and they were to come to their chiefs
assistance.
At noon the chiefs met, and after discussion they found that neither was
disposed to yield his claims. The Earl at last threatened Lochiel, and
at a signal fifty Atholl men sprang from a copse near by and awaited
orders.
“Who are these, my lord?” demanded Lochiel.
“These,” replied the Earl of Atholl, with a smile, “are only a few of
the Atholl hoggets come across the hills with me to eat and grow fat on
their own grazings.”
Lochiel in the meantime had turned his cloak scarlet side out, and at
the signal his three-score-and-five men rushed into view.
“And who are these, Lochiel?” said Atholl, rather taken aback.
“These, my lord,” said Cameron, “are a few of my Lochaber hounds, sharp-
toothed and hungry, and oh! so keen to taste the flesh of your Atholl
hoggets.”
The Camerons were nearer than the Atholl men, and could have made the
Earl a prisoner before his own men could prevent them. So he gave in as
gracefully as possible, and, drawing his sword and kissing it, he
renounced there and then all claim to the grazings; and, in proof of his
faith in Lochiel, he tossed the sword into the loch near by. The loch
since then has been called the “Loch of the Sword.”
Lochiel’s piper meanwhile had been deeply interested in the scene, and
the idea of the Lochaber dogs tearing the Atholl sheep inspired him to a
new melody. Accordingly, he struck up and played for the first time
_Cruinneachadh nan Camaronach_, “The Camerons’ Gathering.”
“Ye sons of dogs, of dogs the breed,
Come quick, come here, on flesh to feed.”
The tune is considered one of the best pieces of pipe music extant; and,
in corroboration of the story, it is said that in 1826 a herd-boy fished
out of the loch, then almost empty, a basket-hilted sword, but the men
of Lochaber coming to hear of it, asked that it should again be
deposited in its place, as it was a token and pledge of a very solemn
transaction. So with due formality the sword was again thrown into the
loch, the bard of the party repeating a Gaelic rhyme, which has been
translated:—
“The sword we’ve cast into the lake;
Bear witness all the knolls around,
Ours to the furthest stretch of time
Are hill and stream and pasture ground.”
This story, on almost similar lines, is told of two other Highland
chiefs, but in that case there is no pipe tune connected with it, and it
is as the origin of “The Camerons’ Gathering” that it is most generally
accepted.