Once upon a time Old Glengarry was very unpopular with all the
northern chiefs, in consequence of his many raids and creachs among
the surrounding tribes, but although he was now advanced in years and
unable to lead his clan in person, none of the neighbouring chiefs
could muster courage to beard him in his den single-handed. There was
never much love lost between him and the chief of the Mackenzies, and
about this time some special offence was given to the latter by the
Macdonells, which the chief of Eileandonan swore would have to be
revenged; and the insult must be wiped out at whatever cost. His clan
was at that time very much subdivided, and he felt himself quite unable
to cope with Glengarry in arms. Mackenzie, however, far excelled his
enemy in ready invention, and possessed a degree of subtlety which
usually more than made up for his enemy’s superior physical power.
‘Kintail’ managed to impress his neighbouring chiefs with the belief
that Glengarry proposed, and was making arrangements, to take them
all by surprise and annihilate them by one fell swoop, and that in
these circumstances it was imperative, for their mutual safety, to
make arrangements forthwith by which the danger would be obviated and
the hateful author of such a diabolical scheme extinguished root and
branch. By this means he managed to produce the most bitter prejudice
against Glengarry and his clan; but all of them being convinced of the
folly and futility of meeting the ‘Black Raven,’ as he was called,
man to man and clan to clan, Mackenzie invited them to meet him at a
great council in Eileandonan Castle, the following week, to discuss
the best means of protecting their mutual interests, and to enter into
a solemn league, and swear on the ‘raven’s cross’ to exterminate the
hated Glengarry and his race, and to raze, burn, and plunder everything
belonging to them.
Old Glengarry, whom the ravages of war had already reduced to one
son out of several, and he only a youth of immature years, heard of
the confederacy formed against him with great and serious concern.
He well knew the impossibility of holding out against the combined
influence and power of the Western Chiefs. His whole affections were
concentrated on his only surviving son, and on realizing the common
danger, he bedewed him with tears, and strongly urged upon him the
dire necessity of fleeing from the land of his fathers to some foreign
land until the danger had passed away. He, at the same time, called
his clan together, absolved them from their allegiance, and implored
them also to save themselves by flight; and to their honour be it
said, one and all spurned the idea of leaving their chief in his old
age alone to his fate, exclaiming—‘that death itself was preferable
to shame and dishonour.’ To the surprise of all, however, the son,
dressed in his best garb, and armed to the teeth, after taking a formal
and affectionate farewell of his father, took to the hills amidst the
contemptuous sneers of his brave retainers. But he was no sooner out of
sight than he directed his course to Lochduich, determined to attend
the great council at Eileandonan Castle, at which his father’s fate
was to be sealed. He arrived in the district on the appointed day,
and carefully habilitating himself in a fine Mackenzie tartan plaid,
with which he had provided himself, he made for the stronghold and
passed the outer gate with the usual salutation—‘Who is welcome here?’
and passed by unheeded, the guard replying in the most unsuspicious
manner—‘Any, any but a Macdonell.’ On being admitted to the great
hall he carefully scanned the brilliant assembly. The Mackenzie plaid
had put the company completely off their guard; for in those days no
one would ever dream of wearing the tartan of any but that of his own
leader. The chiefs had already, as they entered the great hall, drawn
their dirks and stuck them in the tables before them as an earnest of
their unswerving resolution to rid the world of their hated enemy. The
brave and intrepid stranger coolly walked up to the head of the table,
where the Chief of Kintail presided over the great council, threw off
his disguise, seized Mackenzie by the throat, drew out his glittering
dagger, held it against his enemy’s heart, and exclaimed with a voice
and a determination which struck terror into every breast—‘Mackenzie,
if you or any of your assembled guests make the slightest movement,
as I live, by the great Creator of the universe, I will instantly
pierce you to the heart.’ Mackenzie well knew by the appearance of the
youth, and the commanding tone of his voice, that the threat would
be instantly executed if any movement was made, and he tremulously
exclaimed—‘My friends, for the love of God, stir not, lest I perish at
the hands of my inveterate foe at my own table.’ The appeal was hardly
necessary, for all were terror-stricken and confused, sitting with open
mouths, gazing vacantly, at each other. ‘Now,’ said the young hero,
‘lift up your hands to heaven and swear by the Long, am Bradan, agus
an Lamh Dhearg (the ship, the salmon, and the bloody hand), that you
will never again molest my father or any of his clan.’ ‘I do now swear
as you request’ answered the confused chief. ‘Swear now,’ continued
the dauntless youth, ‘you, and all ye round this table, that I will
depart from here and be permitted to go home unmolested by you or any
of your retainers.’ All, with uplifted hands, repeated the oath. Young
Glengarry released his hold on Mackenzie’s throat sheathed his dirk and
prepared to take his departure, but was, curious to relate, prevailed
upon to remain at the feast and spend the night with the sworn enemies
of his race and kindred, and the following morning they parted the
best of friends. And thus, by the daring of a stripling, was Glengarry
saved the fearful doom that awaited him. The youth ultimately became
famous as one of the most courageous warriors of his race. He fought
many a single combat with powerful combatants, and invariably came
off victorious. He invaded and laid waste Glenmoriston, Urquhart, and
Caithness. His life had been one scene of varied havoc, victory, ruin,
and bloodshed. He entered into a fierce encounter with one of the
Munros of Fowlis, but ultimately met the same fate at the hands of the
‘grim tyrant’ as the greatest coward in the land, and his body lies
buried in the churchyard of Tuiteam-tarbhach.
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