It is happy for the present age that the ancient manners and customs,
which were practised in the Highlands and Islands under the feudal
system, have long since fallen into oblivion. It would fill volumes
to relate the numerous practices which were then resorted to by the
feudal lords, many of which were cruel in themselves, and entailed
great hardships on their submissive vassals, who were bound to obey. As
the chiefs had full power over the life and death of their retainers,
such of them as betrayed any disobedience or opposition to the stern
demands of their superiors, rendered themselves liable to the severest
punishment, and frequently to nothing less than the penalty of death.
The national laws of Kings and Queens had then but little influence in
checking or counteracting the peremptory enactments of feudalism.
The following striking instance of the remarkable practices alluded to
will furnish a specimen to the reader of what took place in Skye, not
much more than a century and a-half ago.
No sooner did the death of a tenant take place than the event
was announced to the laird of the soil. The land-steward, or
ground-officer, incurred the displeasure of his master unless that
announcement were made no later than three days after it had occurred.
Immediately after the deceased farmer had been consigned to the grave,
the disconsolate widow, if he had left one, was waited upon by a
messenger from the landlord, to deliver up to him the best horse on
the farm, such being reckoned then the legal property of the owner
of the soil. This rule was as unalterable as the laws of the Medes
and Persians. On large and extensive farms the demand was submitted
to without much complaint, by the widow, children, or heirs of the
deceased, but it pressed hard upon the occupiers of small tenements of
land, and particularly so on helpless widows. But whoever refused, or
attempted to evade this heartless enactment, forfeited every right to
their farms in future, and became liable to have all their goods and
chattels confiscated to the laird. It frequently happened that a poor
farmer had but one horse, yet even this circumstance did not mitigate
the cruelty of the practice; for the solitary animal was taken away,
and frequently so to the great distress of the younger branches of the
orphan family, who mourned bitterly, and often shed tears for the loss
of their favourite animal.
A circumstance took place in the parish of Strath, which was, it is
said, the means of abolishing this abominable rule. About the beginning
of the seventeenth century a farmer of the name of Mackinnon was
gathered to his fathers in the parish, and after his interment the
laird’s messenger visited the afflicted widow, and, as usual, demanded
the best horse on her little farm. Her husband having been a kinsman
of the laird, and expecting, in her distress, to receive some sympathy
from her chief, and at all events some relaxation of that rule which
had been all along so resistlessly put in force, she showed much
reluctance to part with the animal. Seeing this, the officer became
more and more determined to have it. The widow, in the same manner,
became more and more determined in her refusal, and appealed to him in
vain to submit the case to the decision of her chief. The officer was
inexorable, and becoming incensed at the woman’s pertinacity he turned
from words to blows, and inflicted some severe wounds on the helpless
female to the effusion of blood. She, however, retaliated, and through
desperation, assuming more courage, addressed her little son, a boy
of four, that stood weeping by her side, and said to him in her own
emphatic vernacular:—
“Cha mhac mar an t-athair thu, a’ Lachlainn Oig,
Mar diol thu le fuil droch caithreamh do mhàthar;
’S mar smàil thu gu bàs, le diòghaltas air chòir,
Am borb-fhear fiadhaich so, am mòrtair gu’n nàr!”
_Literally translated_:—
“Thou art not a son like the father, my young Lachlan,
Unless thou requite with blood the ill-treatment of thy mother;
And unless thou dash to death, with due revenge,
This fierce and savage fellow—this barefaced murderer!”
The mother’s charge to her boy cannot be said to be tempered with much
Christian feeling or principle, yet it was according to the generally
cherished practices of the system under which she lived. Then it
was that might was right, and revenge bravery. But to return to the
subject—the widow’s cries and tears, excitement and eloquence, were
all in vain. The officer made off with the horse, and delivered it to
his chief.
Matters went on in this way, in various quarters, for a considerable
time, until at length, and about twenty years thereafter, the same
officer appeared on the same errand at a neighbouring widow’s door, and
deprived her as usual of her best horse. The circumstance was brought
under the notice of Lachlan Og, and having been, no doubt, frequently
reminded of the cruelty inflicted by that official on his mother, he
determined to embrace the present befitting occasion for displaying
his dire revenge. It may be stated that young Lachlan was noted in the
district for his great agility and muscular strength. He made no delay
in pursuing the officer, and having come up to him at a distance of
some miles, he seized him by the neck and sternly demanded the widow’s
horse, reminding him, at the same time, of the treatment inflicted by
him on his mother twenty years before. The officer stood petrified with
fear, seeing fierceness and revenge depicted so very unmistakably in
young Mackinnon’s face. Yet still he grasped the animal by the halter,
and would not permit his youthful assailant to intermeddle with it.
The strife commenced, and that in right earnest, but in a few moments
the officer fell lifeless on the ground. Mackinnon, seizing his dirk,
dissevered the head from the body, and washed it in a fountain by the
wayside, which is still pointed out to the traveller as ‘Tobar a’
chinn,’ or ‘The Well of the Head.’ He then, at once, mounted the horse,
and galloped off to the residence of his chief, carrying the bloody
head in his left hand on the point of his dirk. His appearance at the
main entrance, with the ghastly trophy still bleeding in his hand,
greatly alarmed the menials of the mansion. Without dismounting, he
inquired if Mackinnon was at home, and being told that he was, he said,
‘Go and tell my chief that I have arrived to present him with the head
of his officer “Donnachadh Mor,” in case that he might wish to embalm
it and hang it up in his baronial hall as a trophy of heartlessness and
cruelty.’ The message was instantly delivered to the laird, who could
not believe that such a diabolical deed could be perpetrated by any of
his clan, but still he came out to see. On his appearance in the court,
Lachlan Og dismounted, did obeisance to his chief, and prominently
exhibited the dripping head by lifting it up on his dirk. ‘What is
this, Lachlan; what murder is this?’ asked the excited chief. Lachlan
explained the whole in full detail, and related the circumstances of
the present transaction, as well as of the inhuman treatment which
his mother had received when he was a child. The chieftain pondered,
paused, and declared that these cruelties had been practised unknown to
him. He granted a free pardon to Lachlan Og, appointed him his officer
in room of Donnachadh Mor, and issued an edict over all his estate that
thereafter neither widow nor orphan, heir, nor kindred, would ever be
deprived by him of their horse, or of any other part of their property.
[Illustration]