Mediaeval times
* Recollections of Marshall MacDonald
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- * From notes by Mr Alexander Carmichael in " Recollections of Marshal MacDonald."
- I * Rathlin, Mull ol Cantyre, and Mull of Oa.
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* Recollections of Marshall MacDonald. t Ibid. In 1784 an Act of Amnesty was passed by the English Parliament permitting fugitives to return, but he never saw his country again. One of his compatriots, a Mr MacNab, collected all his books and papers, but MacNab at the time being a corporal in the bodyguard was, like so many others, seized during the Revolution, arrested, and imprisoned. His papers were carried off and lost for ever. He died at Sancerre in 1788 from the effects of a fall which had dislocated his hip, in his sixty-ninth year. One of his companions in durance vile in London was the faithful and well-trusted Donald MacLeod of Galtrigal, Skye, a shrewd, ingenious, and capable man, with great caution, well adapted for carrying out the great object he had in view, viz., in assisting the Prince to elude his enemies. Hence the more eager was the desire of the Government officers to capture him. This was accomplished by his own countryman, Major Allan MacDonald of Knock, parish of Sleat, who had more opportunities than others of ferreting outDonald'smovements. Major Allan, commonly called " Ailean a' Chnoic," was a stern, cruel-hearted man. He treated the poor Jacobites with uncalled-for severity, so that he was literally detested by most of his acquaintances, and particularly so by those who had embraced the Prince's cause. A certain priest in Uist composed some verses to him of the most cutting and satirical description, of which the following lines are a sample* :— Ciod i do bharail air Ailein, a' bheist ? Cha tèid e o'n bhaile gun iùil as a dheigh, Bithidh chlaidh air tarsuing, mar gu'n deanadh e tapadh, B'e sin cuinneag a' mhaistridh, is cèis phaisgte nam breug! Tha'n dubh-phuill air Ailean a' Chnoic, 'S ait leam a chluinntinn air Ailean a' Chnoic, 'S gu'm bheil an dubh-phuill air a sparradh gu grinn 'S gur ait leam a chluinntinn air Ailean a' Chnoic. " In 1825,, when Marshal MacDonald visited Great Britain, he was everywhere received with distinguished honour, both by Government and the people. The cordiality of his reception in London was only equalled by that of his reception in Edinburgh and Inverness. He visited the battlefield of Culloden, and expressed strong disapprobation at the Highlanders for engaging the Royal troops in such a place. He visited the Western Isles in a Revenue cruiser, placed at his disposal by the Government, accompanied by Mr Ranald MacDonald, Writer to the Signet (whom the writer of this sketch knew very well), who was a son of MacDonald of Boisdale, a scion of the MacDonalds of Cian Ranald. The Marshal walked from the ford at Lochdar to Houghbeg, a distance of 10 miles. On coming in sight of the river, he exclaimed—' That is the river Hough. I know it from my father's description ; many a salmon has he caught there.' He sent for all his relations in the neighbourhood. When his blind old uncle was brought to him, he embraced him affectionately, saying, " You dear old man, how like you are to my own father." He addressed his relations in French and broken Gaelic. He took earth from the floor of the house where his father was born, and potatoes from the garden, and these he placed in a bag and carried home with him to France. He planted the potatoes in his garden, and gave orders that the earth should be placed in his coffin after his death." *
ROBERT MACDONALD, TEACHER, DINGWALL. (Motto, "Per mare per terras.") On the 18th of October, 1818, at Strathgarve, Contin, Ross-shire, Mr Robert MacDonald published the following " family record " :—•" This record is to certify to all whom it may concern that I, the writer hereof, Robert MacDonald, was born of respectable parents at the west-end of Auldinie Bridge, near Loth, in the parish of Loth Sutherlandshire, at three o'clock in the morning of Monday, the 22nd day of June, a.d. 1795, and was baptised by the Rev. George MacCulloch, minister of Loth. That my father is John MacDonald, farmer and cattle dealer, eldest son of Alex. MacDonald and Janet MacPherson, there. And my mother, Catherine MacDonald, eldest daughter of Robert MacDonald, weaver, and Christina Sutherland, Kintradewell, parish of Loth. My eldest brother, George, was a soldier in the 42nd Regiment, and was wounded, and died thereby, at Bayonne, shortly before the battle of Waterloo. I have living a sister named Isabella, and a brother named Alexander, both younger than myself. I had an uncle and three aunts on my father's side, namely, George, Betty, Isabella, and Elizabeth, and three uncles and one aunt on my mother's side, namely, Donald, John, William, and Helen." Dingwall, December 4th, 1821. " I was united in marriage to Margaret Mac-Kenzie, eldest daughter of Kenneth MacKenzie, smith, Dingwall, by the Rev. John MacDonald, of Ferintosh. My brother, Alexander, was first a merchant, and after losing his effects by fire in America, became a schoolmaster in Nova Scotia. My ancestors and that of my wife were of the farming line. My grandfathers descended from two MacDonalds who had to flee (one to Sutherland the other to Caithness) from the Western Isles at the time that MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, was overpowered, and, I believe, were natives of Islay." I * Rathlin, Mull ol Cantyre, and Mull of Oa. The issue of the marriage, namely, Georgina, Elizabeth, John, Margaret, Robert, Kenneth, Alexander, Roderick, Katherine, Henry, Ebenezer, are all on the same page, with dates of birth, and certified as being a " true copy " by Roderick MacDonald, London. His granddaughter, Mrs Margaret MacLeod, Glasgow, from whom the above information was obtained, says that he taught at Inverness, Keils, and Dingwall. His last teaching was Gaelic, in his old age, to the late Macintosh of Macintosh at Moy Hall. She never saw any of his work except a small book of poetry in English and Gaelic, and a small pamphlet on "A Sermon to Asses," which is in the possession of her uncle at Partick, The date of his death I have been unable to ascertain. Robert MacDonald's poetic gift must, therefore, be judged by the following elegy on the death of Lady MacKenzie of Gair-loch, who died suddenly in 1834 :— I sing not this for ostentation; But only as a commem'ration, Of the lamented worth departed: Of Ktthe Caroline of Gairloch. This Noble Plant of great renown, By death was suddenly cut down; Whereby many, in this nation, Were stricken with consternation. Mourn, Ross-shire, mourn, you have great cause, For her who'n ora ment to you was— For her, whose heart with mercy glow'd, Whose lips with kindness overnow'd. How sad a stroke Sir Francis got! His infants too—how sad their lot ! Methinks I see him sadly weep For her who was his own help-meet. Oh ! how suddenly she was torn From him and them, whom she adorn'd. Alas ! alas ! how he is now Bereft—bereav'd of his dear love! He's bereaved of his treasure— Of his darling—of his pleasure— Of his delight—and of his choice, With whom he often did rejoice. It is no wonder for to hear Him weeping—mourning for his dear: And his children, too, lamenting That she so sudd'nly was sent for. To him this world is now dreary, Lonely, desolate, uncheery: But he must bear it—'tis his lot; The Lord may bless it. May he not ? If the inhabitants of Gairloch, Of Conan-side, and Dingwall also, Would well perceive this visitation, They would lament their situation. How appaling this visitation Is to them and to the nation : Seeing the Lord, in haste remov'd Their Patroness who useful prov'd. This Patroness of Infant Schools, Who countenanced Moral Rules— Promoted ev'ry institution, Within her reach for education. Weep, infants, weep, she lowly lies, Who wished to see you happy—wise ; With ardent love her heart was fraught, She lov'd to see you early taught. Ye sons and daughters, low and high, May breathe a mournful feeling sign; The heart that now has ceased to beat Was feeling's own pure—peaceful seat. But mourn not friends, as those who have No hope to meet beyond the grave. Her good example always take, In doing good for Jesus s sake. According to the light she got, She did endeavour to promote The Gospel cause, both far and near, In foreign lands as well as here. She liv'd an honour to her sex, And churls and misers she did vex; By her kind acts to the oppressed ; And also to the poor distressed. She used to breathe a sweeo perfume In ev'ry place where she had room ; She lov'd to aid and patronise The diligent, the good, and wise. How sweet, and amiable, and kind, She show'd the workings of her mind. In schemes, and plans, and such essays As might be useful many ways. If she had liv'd for many years, What good she'd do, from what appear'd Her busy mind could find no rest-How she perform'd, is now a test. On what she did, now many look, Wondering at the pains she took, Especially to teach the young And rising generation. A solemn warning this to all— By it the Lord does loudly call To high and low—to rich and poor, To make their own salvation sure. For none Bhall get eternal rest, Nor e'er in happineBS be blest; But only such as live to Him Who died to save them from their sins. By saving grace we must be sav'd— The way to rest, with love is paVd— Love both to God and all mankind Rules in the soul who rest shall find. Besides the above he wrote an elegy on the death of his daughter, Elizabeth, who died in child-birth, March 9th, 1866, aged 41. When she rose at early morning Full of health, all blythe and gay, She never thought it was the dawning Of her last—her dying day. Will ye trifle any longer, Will ye not regard the call, Ye who think yourselves much stronger, Ye may be the next to fall, Farewell, dear children, my life is past, Your love for me so long did last, Grieve not for me, nor sorrow take, But love each other for my sake. He also published a small collection of religious poems as an affectionate warning, to which is added an appendix which is very severe upon Christian women who ponder over amorous books, ballads, and romances, and all vain dressing of the body and hair, quoting Tertulian on the women of his time, " What doth this cumbersome dressing of the head contribute to your health ? Why will you not suffer your hair to be at rest and lie quiet ? which is sometimes tied up, sometimes relayed and made to hang down, sometimes frizzled and curled, sometimes put under a strict restraint of plaits, knots, combs, and otherwise, and sometimes suffered to flutter and fly at random." It is equally severe upon men for "drinking healths, tippling, carding, dicing, dancing, theatre-going, &c, &c, all the work of the Devil! and the houses for such are called " by the Fathers and Doctors ot the Church " the Devil's temples, chapels, shops, and schools, the plays are called by them the Devil's spectacles, and the players the Devil's chiefest factors, evidently cullea from the works of divines by a very religious' man. TORMOD DONALLACH. (norman macdonald, dunhallin.) The following two songs were composed by Norman MacDonald, sailor, Dunhallin, Water-nish, Skye :— Fonn (Chorus):— Thoir mo shoraidh do'n taobh-tuath, Eilean Sgiathanach nam buadh. An t-eilean dha 'n d'thug mi luaidh, Spbt a's bòidhche fo na neòil. 'S gur ann air toiseach a' Mhàirt 'Dh' fhàg mi eilean gorm mo ghràidh, Sneachd 'n a thòrran air a làr. Dh' fhàg Bud mo mhàthair fo leòn. Dh' fhàg e mo phiuthar fo thùs Mis' bhi fàgail na dùthcha; 'Nuair a thug mi dhi mo chùl Bha a sùilean fliuch le deòir. 'Nuair ràinig mi Glascho nam bùth, Ceò is deathach mu mo shùil, Ghabh mi sios gu an dock ùr 'S gu'n d' leum mi le sunnd air bòrd. Dh' fhaighneachd mi de'n sgiobair am beath', " An d' fhuair thu do chuid làmh gu lèir?" Thuirt e, "Gabhaidh mi thu fèin," 'S chuir mi mo phaipeir 'n a dhòrn. 'S gu'n a dh' fhaighneachd mi gun dàil, " C ait am bi i dol a ghnàths ?" " Dol a dh' Australia an dràsd', " 'S cha'u fhaigh thu ni's feàrr ri d' bheo!" 'S ann's a' mhaduinn. Diardaoin, 'Chuir sinn an long ma sgaoil; Dh' fhàg sinn as ar deigh a' Mhaoil, Rachlin,* is Maoil Chinn-O. 'S cuimhne leam 'nuair bha mi maoth 'Buachailleachd mu'n chreagan chaoil, Long nan crannaibh ri mo thaobh Is biorain fraoich 'n a slatan seòl. 'S gu'm mheal leam na mile crun A bhi 'n dràsd' air tir's an Dùn, 'S mi gu'n togadh mach le sunnd An rathad ùr aig clann 'ic Leòid. 'Nuair a ruiginn bràigh a' Bhàigh 'S a bheirinn sùil air gach ait, Chithinn Bhaternish mo ghràidh Le dltheana air bhàrr a fheoir. 'S bheirinn sùil air Loch a' Bhàigh Le 'aibhnichean's lochan tàmh; Chi thu gach sgiobair le 'bhàt, Gabh iasgair le ràmh 'n a dhòrn. Sealladh a's bòidhche's an tìr. Bràigh an Fhàsaich's Forsabritheamh, Trumpan is Borra Feitheaoh, Eilean Isài's an Aird Mhòr. ORAN BODAICHEAN DHUN-HALLIN. le tormod donullach. Gur e mo ghòraich 'thug dhomhsa Tìr m' eòlais a thrèigsinn, Dol a sheòladh Long nan seòl 'Nuair ri stòras fhaotainn; 'S ged tha mo phoca gann de'n òr, Gur mòr a chuirinn feum air, 'S mi anns an Luing's i dol do Chuibeig, 'S nach cluinn mi ann ach Beurla. 'S truagh nach mise 'bha'n Dun-hallin Far 'n a dh àraicheadh òg mi, Far 'bheil mo mhàthair measg mo chàirdean Is Tormod Bàn a' còmhnuidh, Far 'bheil an tè dho'n d'thug mi gràdh, Cha'n'eil's an ait ni's bòidhche ; Ma's e's an dàn dhomh pilleadh slàn, Gu'n gabh mi bàt'-a'-cheò ann. Sud an t-àit do'n d'thug mi gràdh, 'S e Hallin 'is ainm dha, 0 bhràighe Fhasaich sìos mu'n Chàrnaich, 'S lìonmhor gearr shruith meanmnach ; 'Nuair thig am blàths's an core a' fàs, 'S am buntàta cha searg e, Bidh smeòrach seinn air bharr gach gèig' A' cur an cèill a seanachas. Tha làithean m' òig-sa mar an ceò Bho'n bha mi òg 'an Trumpan Measg dhaoine còire fearail eòlach— Cha'n eil beò ach triùir dhiubh ; Gur e am bàs a sguab an t-àite, Cha'n'eil fàth 'bhi tùrsach ; B'e sgeula deurach leam 'g a leughadh, Gu'n dh'eug Nial Mac Fhionnlaidh, Bha Dòmh'all Shaw, duine taitneach, 'S lìonmhor cridhe brònach ; Iain MacNab, Padruig Bàn, Mo chàirdean's mo luchd-eòlais, Iain MacCalum's Aonghus Petan, Sud an sgeul a leòn mi: Thug deòirean dlùth bho iomadh sùil An uair a bhi 'g an còmhdach, Sguiridh mi nis dhe mo rann Bho'n nach ann ach gòraich' A' smaointeachadh air tìr nam beann Far a bheil a' chlann 'is bòidhche 'S a' mhaduinn bhòidheach Chèitein A' dol 'n an treud do'n mhòine, Ceòl 'bu bhinne leam f o'n ghrèin 'Bhi 'g èisdeachd an cuid òran. SONG ON THE VIEW FROM FASACH BRIDGE.* Download 4.23 Mb. Share with your friends:
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