indentures of apprenticeship with their pupils, one of which has been
published in the Inverness Gaelic Society's Transactions. So many
years of study were prescribed, regular lessons were given out, and
certain periods for receiving the instructions of the master were
fixed. The Rev. Archibald Clerk, son-in-law of Dr. Norman MacLeod
(Caraid nan Gaidheal), writing in 1845 states, that the whole tuition
"was carried on systematically as in any of our modern academies;
and the names of some of the caves and knolls in the vicinity still
point out the spots where the scholars used to practice respectively
the Piob Mhor or large bagpipe, before exhibiting in presence of the
master. MacLeod endowed this school by granting the farm of Borreraig
to it, and it is no longer than seventy years since the endowment
was withdrawn. The farm had originally been given only during the
pleasure of the proprietor. For many ages the grant was undisturbed,
but when the value of land had risen to six or seven times what it
was when the school was founded, MacLeod very reasonably proposed to
resume one half of the farm, offering at the same time to MacCrimmon
a free lease of the other half _in perpetuam_: but MacCrimmon,
indignant that his emoluments should be curtailed, resigned the whole
farm and broke up his establishment, which has never been restored."
Any description of the home of the MacCrimmons would be incomplete
without referring to Clach MacCrimmon, a stone which is almost as
well-known as the MacCrimmons themselves. Although the account of
this matter savours of exaggeration, there can be little doubt that
the incident is believed in firmly by the people of the district. The
incident as narrated to me was as follows: One of the MacCrimmons
was in the habit of tethering his horse, in accordance with the
custom of the country, by a rope attached to a cipean driven into the
ground. Some maliciously disposed persons removed the cipean from
its place on more than one occasion, thus causing MacCrimmon's horse
to roam and to do damage to the surrounding crops. In exasperation,
MacCrimmon vowed that he would so fix the cipean that no mortal man
would ever remove it again. He thereupon looked about for a stone
sufficiently large to suit his purpose, and, observing one about
200 yards distant, he immediately proceeded, unaided, to lift it,
carried it that distance and placed it upon the top of the cipean.
The spot from which MacCrimmon removed the stone, and the spot upon
which he placed it, were both pointed out to me. The stone is about
3 feet long by 2½ feet broad, and 2 feet high. I endeavoured to
lift the stone an inch or two from the ground and failed to do so. To
satisfy certain south-country sceptics, not very long ago, several
men, including Murdoch MacLeod (who accompanied me upon the occasion
to which I have been referring), succeeded in removing the stone
from the bed in which it had lain so long, and by using a wall as a
lever, rolled it down a gradient of several yards to the spot where
it at present lies. A most remarkable sequel followed. It was stated
to me, in all seriousness, that underneath the stone when it was
removed, was found an ancient rusty cipean much worn away. Murdoch
Macleod stated to me that he not only saw it, but handled it.
MACCRIMMON PUPILS
If the genius of a master can be measured by the success of his
pupils, then, apart from other considerations, the MacCrimmons of
Boreraig must truly be regarded as kings among pipers. The fame of
their college, long recognised throughout the Isles, spread to the
mainland, and pupils from all parts of Scotland eagerly travelled
long distances to avail themselves of the tuition the college
afforded. No piper's education was regarded as complete until he
had passed through the hands of the masters at Boreraig. Rival
chiefs buried for a time their jealousies, and sent their pipers to
the college on MacLeod's lands. The method usually adopted was to
apprentice the young pipers to the MacCrimmons for a period of years,
and, in the case of those men who had already otherwise been trained,
to send them to Skye for a short period. In a series of articles
upon the History of the Parish of Kiltarlity, written by the Rev.
Archibald Macdonald, I find the following: "There is an indenture
drawn up at Beaufort on 9th March, 1743, in which William Fraser,
tacksman, Beauly, is described as his Lordship's (Simon Fraser, Lord
Lovat) musician. The brother of this William--David Fraser--had been
educated by David Macgregor, his Lordship's piper. His Lordship,
however, was now to send David to the Isle of Skye to have him
perfected as a Highland piper by the famous Malcolm MacCrimmon, whom
his Lordship was to reward for educating the said David for a year."
It in no sense belittles the importance of the MacArthurs, who, as a
family of pipers, were second only in excellence to the MacCrimmons
of Boreraig, to state that the musical education of a member of
this family, Charles, was perfected by Patrick Og MacCrimmon. The
MacArthurs were hereditary pipers to the MacDonalds of the Isles
and, like the MacCrimmons, had a school for instruction in pipe
music. Pennant, who visited the Hebrides in 1774, was hospitably
entertained in this building and listened to the playing of many
pibrochs. He describes the building as consisting of four apartments,
one of which formed the hall set apart for students. Of Charles
MacArthur the following interesting incident is told. Sir Alexander
Macdonald, being at Dunvegan on a visit to the laird of MacLeod,
heard the performance of Patrick Og MacCrimmon with great delight,
and desirous if possible to have a piper of equal merit, he said to
MacCrimmon one day that there was a young man whom he was anxious to
place under his tuition, on condition that he should not be allowed
to return until such time as he could play equal to his master. "When
this is the case," said MacDonald, "you will bring him home and I
will give you ample satisfaction for your trouble." "Sir Alexander,"
said Patrick, "if you will be pleased to send him to me I will do
all that I am able to do for him." Charles was accordingly sent
to Boreraig where he remained for eleven years, when MacCrimmon,
considering him as perfect as he could be made, proceeded to Mugstad
to deliver his charge to Sir Alexander, who was then residing there,
and, where Iain Dall Mackay, Gairloch's blind piper, happened also to
be. Macdonald hearing of their arrival, thought it a good opportunity
to determine the merit of his own piper by the judgment of the blind
man, whose knowledge of pipe music was unexceptionable. He therefore
enjoined Patrick Og and MacArthur not to speak a word to betray who
they were, and, addressing Mackay, he told him he had a young man
learning the pipes for some years and was glad that he was present
to say whether he thought him worth the money which his instruction
had cost. Mackay said if he heard him play he would give his opinion
freely, and he requested to be informed previously with whom the
piper had been studying. Sir Alexander told him he had been with
Patrick Og MacCrimmon. Then Mackay exclaimed, "He could never have
been with a better master!" The young man was ordered to play, and
when he was finished Sir Alexander asked the other for his opinion.
"I think a great deal of him," replied Iain. "He is a good piper; he
gives the notes correctly, and if he takes care he will excel in his
profession." Sir Alexander was pleased with so flattering an opinion,
and observed that he had been at the trouble of sending two persons
to the college that he might retain the best, and that now the
second man would play, so that an opinion on his merits might also
be given. Mackay observed that he must be a very excellent performer
to surpass the first, or even to compare with him. When Patrick Og
(who acted as the second pupil) had finished playing, Sir Alexander
asked the umpire what he thought of his performance. "Indeed, Sir, no
one need try me in that manner," returned the blind man. "Although I
have lost the eyes of my human body, I have not lost the eyes of my
understanding; and if all the pipers in Scotland were present I would
not find it a difficult task to distinguish the last player from
them all." "You surprise me, Mackay, who is he?" "Who but Patrick Og
MacCrimmon," promptly rejoined Mackay, and, turning to where Patrick
was sitting, he observed, "It was quite needless, my good sir, to
think you would deceive me in that way, for you could not but know
that I should have recognised your performance among a thousand." Sir
Alexander then asked Mackay himself to play, and afterwards he called
for a bottle of whisky, drank to their healths, and remarked that
he had that night under his roof the three best pipers in Britain.
So much admired was Charles MacArthur for his musical taste, that a
gentleman in MacLeod's country prevailed on Malcolm MacCrimmon to
send his son Donald for six months to reside with MacArthur, not with
the idea of adding to his musical knowledge, but in order that he
might be improved by studying MacArthur's particular graces.
About the same time one of the MacCrimmons, better known as Padruig
Caogach (obviously not the Patrick Caogach No. 3 on Mr. Ross' list,
if Mr. Ross' order is correct), because of his habit of frequently
winking, was endeavouring to compose a tune. Two years had passed
since the first two measures of it had become known, and still
the tune remained half finished. Poor Patrick utterly failed in
his frequent attempts to finish what he had begun so well. Mackay
succeeded where Patrick failed, finished the tune and called it
"Lasan Phadruig Chaogaich."[26] Annoyed because of Mackay's success,
or perhaps because of the perpetuation of his physical weakness,
Patrick bribed the other apprentices to hurl the blind Iain from a
height of twenty-four feet. Iain, however, landed on his feet without
injury. The place in question was thereafter known as "Leum an
Doill."[27] It is said that the completion by Iain Dall of Patrick's
unfinished tune resulted in great praise being bestowed upon the
former, and gave rise to the saying, "Chaidh an fhoghluim osceann
Mhic Cruimein," _i.e._, "the apprentice outstrips the master."
MACCRIMMON LEGENDS
The legends associated with the MacCrimmons are numerous and
interesting, but I can only refer to one or two of them. The "Cave"
legend is well-known, and I make no further reference to it except to
say that variations of it are to be met with wherever piping has been
practised.
Neil Munro, whose stories of the Hebrides are redolent of peat reek
and quaint Gaelic idioms, has used the following Breadalbane legend
to excellent purpose in his story of the Red Hand: Ross, an old
Breadalbane piper, in a fit of jealous rage, forced the right hand of
his brother into the fire until it became a charred lump, to prevent
him becoming a better piper than himself. Somewhat akin to this old
tale is one concerning the MacCrimmons. Although proud of the state
of perfection to which they had brought the art of piping, and while
encouraging the dissemination of their art by returning young men to
their homes from the college at Boreraig trained to a high degree of
efficiency, they nevertheless retained among the members of their
own family certain movements known only to themselves. They were
rightly proud of the position they occupied, and were jealous lest
they lost it, even though the honour were to descend upon a pupil of
their own training. The story goes that a girl, friendly with the
MacCrimmons, acquired the knowledge of how a certain hitherto secret
combination of notes was accomplished and imparted the information
to her sweetheart, who was not of the MacCrimmon family. Upon this
fact reaching the ears of her family the drastic step was adopted of
instantly cutting off her fingers so as to prevent possible leakage
of information in the future.
In the beautiful Gaelic song, said to have been composed by Donald
Ban MacCrimmon's sweetheart at Dunvegan, one of the lines refers to
the wailing of the fairies when they heard that their friend was
leaving to return no more. These little people play no small part
in Highland legends generally, and we are therefore not surprised
to learn of the existence of the following MacCrimmon fairy legend.
On one occasion, when Dunvegan's chief was entertaining within his
hospitable walls a goodly company, including many representatives of
the leading clans, accompanied by their pipers, it was agreed that
the pipers should compete for the post of honour. MacLeod, as a good
host, naturally left his piper to come last. The competition went on,
piper succeeding piper, until there remained two, including MacLeod's
piper, MacCrimmon, to compete. MacLeod glanced in the direction
where he expected to see MacCrimmon preparing to acquit himself
bravely, but to his annoyance there was no sign of him. Calling a
boy, a young MacCrimmon, to him, he bade him search for and bring
back MacCrimmon. In a short time the boy returned with the tidings
that MacCrimmon was hopelessly drunk. The chief was plunged into the
depths of despair with the certainty staring him in the face of being
disgraced in front of his guests in his own castle. Seizing the boy
by the hand, he whispered in his ear as the eleventh piper stepped
forward, "You are the twelfth piper from your chief." Realizing the
impossibility of the task imposed upon him the poor lad fled from
the hall and threw himself down upon the hillside bitterly bewailing
the helplessness of his condition. Suddenly there arose out of an
adjacent hillock a beautiful little fairy, who, doubtless realizing
the importance of time, handed to the lad a silver chanter and bade
him play upon it. He did so, and through the silent glen there
floated music the like of which had never before been heard by human
ears. With a radiant countenance the lad immediately returned to the
hall and, as he entered, the last notes of the eleventh piper were
dying away. Proudly the little fellow lifted his master's pipes, and
to the surprise and merriment of the great gathering, took the place
just vacated by the previous piper. The virtues of the silver chanter
stood him in good stead and the looks of amusement quickly turned
into admiration, as there came from the pipes the notes of a master
player.
In my own youthful days I heard the following MacCrimmon story. On
the occasion of a great competition among the pipers held at Dunvegan
Castle, the leading MacCrimmon of the day and his nephew, to whom
MacCrimmon had imparted his whole store of knowledge, save one
particular tune, resolved to compete. The old master had specially
refrained from communicating this particular composition to his
pupil in order that, while priding himself upon the accomplishments
of his own pupil, he might yet retain one item, the knowledge and
playing of which would secure for him the coveted honour at the
coming competition. On the night before the great event master and
pupil slept together at a certain inn. Believing his companion to
be sleeping, the old man conned over to himself the air by which he
hoped to distinguish himself on the morrow. The arm of the apparently
sleeping lad was lying stretched across the bed, and the old piper's
hands, mechanically searching for something upon which to "finger"
the tune, seized upon his pupil's arm. Time and again the old man
practised the notes, at the same time quietly humming the notes,
ignorant of the fact that his pupil, though feigning sleep, was very
wide awake, and gradually becoming the possessor of the coveted port.
On the morrow the pupil entered the lists before his master, and to
the mortification of the latter, carried off the leading honour by
reason of his manner of playing the tune of which MacCrimmon believed
himself at that time to be the sole possessor.
* * * * *
Once again, I find myself in "Eilean a' cheó." Six weeks of almost
constant rain, disappointing to others who are not accustomed to the
vagaries of the weather, have not chilled the affectionate ardour
which contact with the island and its people invariably inspires in
me. The mists have ever hung heavy on the hills in times of deep,
heart-breaking sorrow, and the present tempestuous weather is but in
keeping with the sad aftermath of War.
To-day, there came from a distant part of the Island one who served
his country well in the late war and who was sorely wounded in that
service. To the home of Pibroch he brought his pipes, and in the
seclusion of the Pipers Cave in Galtrigal he played two well-known
MacCrimmon ports; "Cumha Ruari Mhor," and "Tog orm mo phiob." An
ardent student of MacCrimmon Pibroch, and a cultured exponent of
their art, he came to do honour at their shrine. It was fitting that
one of those who heard the haunting notes as they welled forth across
the loch was Sir Rory's lineal descendant Macleod of Macleod.
There are many pipers who look hopefully for the day when the memory
of the MacCrimmons and of their immortal genius shall be enshrined
in a College of Piping, where pupils from far and near may receive
instruction in all that is noblest and best in the art of bag-pipe
playing.
A GOSSIP ABOUT THE GORDON HIGHLANDERS
BY J. M. BULLOCH
If the Great War has reversed some preconceptions and ruthlessly
rationalised many traditions, it has confirmed, and actually
enhanced, the fine fighting reputation of the ten Regiments of the
Line--half of them kilted--which Scotland contributes to the British
Army. We now know of a certainty that this reputation is well founded
as we did not know it before. True, there has long been a legend to
that effect, but of recent years there has been a disposition to
question its validity. Scotland, or rather the articulate part of it,
has borrowed the deadly doctrine of self-depreciation, from which the
dominant partner has suffered severely, and the suggestion has not
been wanting that the praise of Scots troops, which received such
an impetus from the enthusiastic pen of the author of _The Romance
of War_, was somewhat overdone. We were reminded that our Army had
not had to face troops on the Continent of Europe since the days of
the Crimea; one Scots Regiment had not done so since 1799, while the
Gordons had nothing to show for it since Waterloo.
If that was true of the old "Contemptibles" generally, it was still
truer of the auxiliary forces, which had seen no fighting at all,
except in South Africa; but to-day all of them have stood the acid
test of the greatest war in history. The old "Contemptibles" were
never finer, and we have lived to see one of the best Divisions in
the Army composed entirely of kilted Territorials. Indeed, a cloud
of witnesses has arisen to prove that all the 126 Battalions, into
which the 69 composing the Scots Regiments expanded themselves
for the purposes of war, have rendered magnificent service. If we
relied merely on the word of the Commander-in-Chief we might suspect
bias, for Earl Haig and more than one of his Generals are Scots
by birth; but we have the appreciation of the special newspaper
war-correspondents, and not one of them hailed from north of the
Border.
We have, moreover, the testimony of the enemy, who very quickly
recognised the valour and skill of all the Scots Regiments,
particularly those of the 51st Division. Indeed, the Scots soldier,
although he represented only eleven per cent. of the British Army
against eighty-one per cent. of England itself, took hold of the
imagination of the Germans to such an extent that their caricaturists
turned John Bull into a Highlander, converting his traditional tall
hat into a diced "cockit" bonnet, his white riding breeches into a
kilt or tartan trews, and his top-boots into gaiters. The pages of
_Simplicissmus_, _Kladderadatsch_, and _Jugend_, to name only a few,
have throughout the war pictured a long procession of the "wife-men"
as representing the British Army, at first in a spirit of incredulous
burlesque, and latterly with something of the wholesome fear, which
was popularly supposed to have overtaken George the Second when
he started in his sleep in terror as he dreamed that the "Great
Glenbogged" (Glenbucket) was swooping down upon him.
It was to the advent of the father of that monarch that we owe the
raising of the kilted Scots--nearly all the trewsed Regiments arose
in the previous century--though the connection was indirect, not
to say inverted, and was touched with an irony (especially in the
light of the greatest of wars), which has been largely lost on a
certain type of popularly accepted English history. According to this
reasoning, the Highlanders, on seeing the country in danger owing to
the expansion adventures of the dominant partner at the expense of
France, flocked to the colours at the call of the English Government,
and thus not only helped to save the Empire, but gratified their
own passion for arms, which had been severely suppressed after the
Forty-Five.
The facts, however, are very different from this facile theory. To
begin with, if the country as a whole had little consciousness of
expansion, as Seeley argued, the Highlander had infinitely less, for
one of the main troubles of dealing with him, even in our own day,
has been his homing instinct, his intense love of his native soil,
no matter how poor it may be. In the second place, the ambitions of
the House of Hanover touched no responsive chord in the Highlander's
heart, for the Clans had felt the full scourge of Teutonism in the
ruthless work of Cumberland at Culloden.
Again, if France was the hereditary arch-enemy of the dominant
partner, Scotland in general and the Highlands in particular, had no
such quarrel with her. On the contrary, France and Scotland, linked
together by racial, psychological, and historical similarities and
identities of interest, had long been the best of friends, and it
must have puzzled the average Highlander why he should be asked to
fight against her. So strong is this community of spirit that it
might very well be argued that the Highland Regiments have never
fought better in their long history than they have done in the Great
War, because they were fighting for France, as well as for their
native country.
No doubt the Union had placed Scotland in the same category as
England so far as France was concerned, but the kilted regiments
arose, not so much out of a political necessity as from a revival of
the spirit which had made the Scot in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries a soldier of fortune wherever he was wanted, fighting now
for Rome, and now in the ranks of Gustavus Adolphus against her;
fighting to a large extent without passion, but as an artist in
arms; and it was this absence of bias as much as anything else that
made these venturers clean fighters, and raised their reputation as
masters of their art wherever they took service.
From first to last the spirit which animated the soldier of
fortune--out to gratify his instinct for adventure, his desire to
make a living, and his passion for individuality--has always inspired
the Highland regiments to a remarkable extent. It is true that the
war with France involved the most momentous issues for the State, but
the methods adopted for warding off the danger were far more personal
and local than national. It might be argued that the real cause
of the war with France was due to the imperialistic ambitions of
individual adventurers, and therefore raised little national animus,
but precisely the same methods of meeting a crisis coloured the early
stages of Armageddon, when every one felt involved, the influence of
one man, Lord Kitchener, being far more potent in rousing resistance
than any abstract doctrine of State necessity.
The raising of troops to fight France was at no time the complete
State undertaking that conscription has involved in our own day. At
first the duty was taken up by individual landowners, who raised in
turn Regiments of the Line and Fencible Corps; and when their pockets
were exhausted, the task was assigned to local authorities like the
Lords Lieutenant, who were commissioned to raise in turn Militia,
Volunteers (1794-1808), and the very curious force known as Local
Militia (1808-1816).