"Story and Song from Loch Ness-Side"

[268]

Coire-Dho is one of a number of wide and fertile corries on the banks of the river Do, in the heights of Glen- moriston. To form some conception of the locality and position of this corry, the reader should suppose himself standing on Sgur-nan-Conbhairean, the highest moun tain in the vicinity, from the top of which, on a clear summer's day, can be seen an indescribably magnificent panorama of mountain scenery. Practically all round, as far as the eye can see, peak upon peak lifts its head in bold grandeur to the sky. To the right, embosomed warmly by precipice, cascade, crag, and cliff, lies Coire- Dho; while the Do meanders past, winding its way in silvery curls to Ceannachnoc, where it joins the Moriston river. The sight baffles all attempts at description, and, to be appreciated, has to be seen.

It was in this beautiful corry that, about the end of July, 1746, the unfortunate Prince Charles Stewart made the acquaintance of the famous men of Glenmoriston, whose fidelity to his person and cause forms one of the most thrilling and illustrious chapters in one of the world's greatest real romances, Hither, miles from human habitations, Patrick Grant, tenant of Crasky, John Macdonald, Alexander Macdonald, Aonach, Alex ander, Donald, and Hugh Chisholm, and Grigor MacGrigor had come to hide after forming among themselves ''a league of offence and defence'' against the Sassenach soldiers, whose inhumanity after Culloden    Day   had   been    writing   its   history   in    blood [269] and brutality in the country. An eighth is said to have been added to the seven in the person of one of the name of MacMillan. Those were the heroes who befriended and counselled the royal scion of the great House of Stewart, during one of the most critical periods of his wanderings, after an unsuccessful attempt at obtaining possession of the British throne, and when no less a price than £30,000 was on his head. The story of the kindness of the Glenmoriston men to the lonely and destitute Prince, forlorn and weary as he was, is so well- known and so world-wide as to require no re-telling. Their solicitude for his safety and comfort has long been proverbial, even far beyond the bounds of Glenmoriston.. He afterwards himself frequently referred to this experience in his misfortunes with mingled feelings of exultant pride and impotent gratitude, and he is said to have, in his more communicative moments, tried to quote a few words of Gaelic he had been learning from his faithful protectors in the cave. "Uaimh a' Phrionns'" ("The Prince's Cave") is easy to find after getting to the carry, and it is still occasionally visited by the curious.

But our more particular object is to show that Coire- Dho is interesting in local tradition and lore otherwise than on account of its connection with the rising of ''The Forty-Five". Mention of it occurs not infrequently in the history of the Glen from the earliest times. Some of those traditions are worth giving, as referring to ages "far back into other years". when, indeed, fact and myth are indissolubly blended. It is well known that for long before Glenmoriston came into the hands of the Grants, the district was included in the great and exten sive possessions of MacDonald of the Isles. Local seanachies say that at that time the Glen was held by [270] four families of MacDonalds, called respectively "Cloinn- Iain-Chaoil" "Cloinn-Iain-Ruaidh," "Cloinn-Illeas-b uig", and "Cloinn-Alasdair". (Some name a fifth, "Cloinn Eoghain Bhain"). Annually, at Aonach, the chief among those MacDonalds met the Lord of the Isles, or his representative, and exchanged shirts with him, which constituted "an oath of fidelity". The story is told that on one occasion, while a Glenmoriston MacDonald, accompanied by his twelve sons, was on his way to meet their lord and master from the Isles, they noticed a white fawn crossing their path. After a fruitless attempt to capture the animal, they found themselves in Coire-Dho, where they sat down by a path-side to rest and refresh themselves. In a little while, however, an ominously black-locking bird flew over their heads, dropping among them a large bone as it passed. One by one the sons took up the bone, and handed it along till it reached the sixth, when the father interposed saying: "Stop; if the bone betokens good, we have enough of it; if evil, we have too much of it". ("Ma 's ni maith e, tha gu-leor againn deth ; ma 's a ni don' e, tha tuilleadh 's a' choir againn deth"). The fawn and the bird in the legend are myths - indeed almost world wide myths - which somehow got mixed up with history of a much later age. Some traditionists associate this story with "Fasadh-an-Fhithich" in Glenmoriston, making the bird in the story am fitheach (the raven), and stating a twelfth son to have been the last one to handle the bone; and it is interesting to note that the raven has found a place in the armorial bearings of the Glengarry branch of the MacDonalds. But, as is well known, Glenmoriston passed over to the Grants in the reign of James IV, who had recognised the necessity for crushing, in every way possible, the [271] ambition of the great House of MacDonald, whose power and authority had become such as were to be reckoned with.

But the white fawn and the black bird were not the only ''uncanny'' tenants of Coire-Dho. In local legend, and as also related in "Urquhart and Glenmoriston," it is shown to have been frequented by a white mare - "Lair Bhan Choire-Dho" - which caused, for years, much loss and annoyance to the farmers of Glenmoriston and GlenUrquhart, by enticing their horses to her com panionship, and thereby rendering them useless. At last the people of both Glens made up their minds to get rid of the white mare. On a given day they suc ceeded in hunting her down, and one of them known, as " Alasdair Cutach" ("Short Allister"), the swiftest man in the whole country, and a famous hunter, went near enough to catch her by the tail. The mare made a desperate effort for liberty, rushing through the cordon dragging Allister behind her, who now found that he could not let go his hold. Past mountain, moor, river, and loch, she flew furiously on all the way to a place called "An Craach" (as elsewhere noticed), near Strath glass, where Allister and the white mare seem to have been lost sight of forever. Coire-Dho was said to have also been haunted by male and female goblins named respectively David and Marion. They were considered peaceable, quiet-living beings, except that they objected out and out to the GlenUrquhart farmers grazing their cattle in the corry, which remained attached to the Grant lands in GlenUrquhart long after Glenmoriston had become separated therefrom. On one occasion David felt so strongly on this matter that, taking a tree from its roots, he and Marion chased the GlenUrquhart farmers over the Glenmoriston bounds, never again to appear - themselves or their cattle - in Coire-Dho. A [272] somewhat similar legend is related of a giant fairy who routed certain of the neighbouring tenantry from the forest of Glenmore, in Strathspey, for unneighbourly conduct.

Our beautiful corry becomes more interesting still as the scene of the following olden-time tale: In the very long ago, three brothers lived in Coire-Dho, who loved each other and the corry with more than ordinary affection. In its warm shelter they knew nothing but happiness, saw nothing but loveliness, felt nothing but peace. They hunted, they fished, and they worked, all aa suited them. But death - unkindly dark death - dis turbed them; they had to die. Yet there was a gleam of joy. They made a covenant between themselves that they should be buried in Clachan-Mheirchard (the Glen moriston Churchyard) beside each other, with their faces towards Coire-Dho; and their graves are still shown to the curious who visit this ancient burying-ground.

In the following gruesome tale, frequently told at our Ceilidhs, Coire-Dho figures somewhat differently. The corry has always been known as a peculiarly fertile one. We have heard it spoken of as comparatively warm all the year round. Sheltered on all sides, its temperature is always genial. Archie Grant, in an important hunting song, somewhat after the style of Duncan Ban MacIntyre's "Beinn-Dorain", describes, the corry as of luxuriant productiveness in herbs, grasses, and wild flowers:

[273] There is, upon the whole, no good reason to disbelieve the tradition that at one time Coire-Dho produced an enormous crop of natural grass, which, when the seasons happened to be good, the people stored in barns of rough wicker-work ("saibhlean caoil"). In one particular year, the weather during winter having been exceptionally mild, grass was left in one of these barns longer than usual, and it was early summer when there was occasion to open the barn. The little building was visited in course, but all efforts to push open the door proved un availing, no doubt from some of the grass having fallen behind it, and thus blocking it from the inside. It then occurred to the party that one of them should enter from the roof. But as the man who volunteered to do so was making his way in, he cried out to the others - "Save yourselves and set fire to the barn; inside here is all alive with serpents.'' The barn was accordingly set on fire, and the story says that some of the serpents were seen jumping several feet above the crackling building after they began to feel the fire, hissing with terrible ferocity as they fell back into the flames. After all was over, the charred remains of the man who had died this horrible death were found. It is believed that serpents have never since been so numerous in the corry, though, even within recent years, certain very large specimens have been killed there.

Coire-Dho is mentioned in connection with another very interesting story of the olden time, upon which all who have hitherto dealt with the traditions of the district seem to be in accord. The corry appears to have, among its other productions, grown the most perfect firs to be found, at any rate within many miles around, and which supplied, at one time, most of Glenmoriston with house light.

[274] The story says that John Grant, III of Glenmoriston, called "Iain Mor a' Chaisteil," while on a visit to the South, was chaffed as to the primitive character of the lights in his native Glen. But Grant, not to be beat, said that he would bring for exhibition from his Glen a chandelier with lights that in costliness and brilliancy would surpass anything his Southern friends could exhibit. A wager was duly arranged, and the necessary conditions on both sides laid down. A message was sent to Glenmoriston for John Grant - or, as some say, John MacDonald - one of John Mor's servants, and a man of remarkable personal beauty. In due time John ("Iain-Mac-Eobhainn-Bhain") arrived in the South. As arranged, beautifully dressed in the Highland garb, and holding in his right hand flaming torches of the best fir that could be found in Coire-Dho, he marched into the presence of the judges, a living, expensive, and uniquely rare chandelier. As to the decision there was, of course, no question. The laird of Glenmoriston was awarded the prize. It is not with out interest that a similar story finds it way into "a Legend of Montrose", by Sir Walter Scott.

At a later time, but considerably before Prince Charles Stewart visited Coire-Dho, it was the haunt of a noted hunter of the name of Rory MacGregor, who lived there in a cave. Some traditionists say this cave ("Uaimh Mheadhoineach") was that which afterwards sheltered royalty in the person of the "Bonnie Prince." Rory supplied himself liberally with game from the bountiful forests around. He lived to a good old age, and local seanachies still speak of a large slab of stone in our illustrious corry as ''Leac Ruairidh '' ("Rory's Slab"). From whatever side or direction approached, Coire-Dho remains miles away from modern travelling facilities, but is, nevertheless, one of the most interesting corries in Scotland.

[275] SOME GAELIC STORIES.

We would now, by way of variety, submit two tales in Gaelic which we are desirous of reproducing in the mother tongue with as much as possible of the earnest ness which our ancient story-tellers lent to their efforts. There was no mistaking the fact that, however romantic, however improbable, their own inward conviction as to the absolute truth of their lore was not to be shaken by anything short of a miracle, or a revelation:

This tale is about "a bonnetless black-haired lad " ("Gille Maol Dubh"), a character that figures rather prominently in Celtic story. One such appears in the remarkable tragedy of "Clan Uisneachan, and Deirdre"; while "a bonnetless dark-haired lad" gets mixed up in a few of the more modern legends. I have also heard some interesting traditions regarding "a bonnetless dark- haired lad," from Kintail, who, on one occasion at least, overturned not less than nine Lowlanders in a squabble:

I. Sgeulachd air Gille Maol Dubh.

Bha ann air aon uair gille og ris an canadh an sluagh da 'm b' aithn' e "An Gille Maol Dubh", bho 'n a bha e daonnan gun bhoineid, agus mar bu trie gun chasbheairt. Chaochail a mhathair mu 'n robh e ach og, agus phb-; athair bean eile. Tha e coltaeh nach robh a mhuime gle mhath dha 'n a' ghille dhubh. Bha i ga 'chumail a mach a' buaehailleachd gu siorruidh, agus cha> robh I ro-chaoimhneil dha Leis a' bhiadh. Latha dhe na laithean, an deigh moran chruaidh-chais agus fhulangais, ghabh an gille maol dubh na 'cheann gu ; m fagadh e a dhachaidh, agus gu 'n toireadh e an saoghal mor foidhe. Agus a' cheud chothrom a fhuair e thug e na buinn as. Chuir e seachad an oidhche sin comhla ri oeannaiche paca, air airigh, ann an comunn dhithis chail-eagan oga, agus tha an sgeulachd ag innseadh gu 'n robh an oigribh gle thoilichte, agus gle chridheil 'an cuideachd a cheile.

[276] Thainig a' mhaduinn 's giiabli an gille dubh ; s an oeannuiche cead de na h-oighean. Ach lha e coltach nach robh an gille dubh leth sgith dhe combanans na 'm boirionnach, oir tha- e air innseadh gu 'n do ghabh. e, goirid an deigh an airigh fhagail, am air dealachadh, ris a,'cheannuiche, a chum pilltinn a dh' ionnsuidh nan caileagan. Coma co-dhiu, cha deach' e fada air a thurus gus an do thachair e ri aireamh dhaoine fiadhaich —robairean a bha daonnan ri mort is meirle feadh na diithcha. Dh' iarr na robairean air a' ghille mhaol dhubh an leantuinn, ach bho nach bu taitneach idir leis an dol a mach a bh' aca ghabh e a' ; cheud chothrom a. thainig an rathad air cul a chinn a chur riu.

An uair a dh J ionndrainn na robairean bhuatha fear a' chinn duibh ghabh iad eagal gu ; n innseadh e orra, agus thug iad as air a thoir. Thuig an gille dubh mar a bha; agus bho 'n a chinn aige gu 'm marbhadh iad ena'm faigheadh iad greim air, faodar a bhi cinnteach gu 'n d' rinn e 'uile dhichioll air an seachnadh. Chaidh e an toiseach am folach ami an uaigh creige, ach air dha smaoineachadh nach robh e ro shabhailt' ann an sin, thug e 'chasan as a,rithisd. Tha e coltach gur e 'n oidhche a bh' aige, agus na; ; chabhaig a' ruith '&a' leum a' teicheadh, thuit e ann an cruibh-eisg, far 'n do theab e a bhi air a bhathadh. Cha robh e ach eigneach air faighinn as a' chruibh-eisg an uair a. bha a luchd-toir- eachd aig laimh. Theich e as a rithisd, agus an deigh dha a dhol troimh mhoran dhorainnean agus dhoil- gheasa.n, thainig e gu seann sabhall, ann a' monadh ard, fada, bbo thighean agus bho shluagh. Chaidh e a stigh y agus dh' fholaich e e fein air lobht ai bha^ anns an t-sabhall.

Cha b' fhada a bha e 'an sin an uair a thainig na robairean a stigh, agus beathach mairt aca. a ghlac iad air an cuairt. Dh' fhionn iad am beathach mairt, agus theann iad ri a rosdadh air teine mor a bheothaich iad ann an ceann an t-sabhaill. Mar bha cuid dhiu. ris a, y chocaireachd bha cuid eile dhiu a' cunntadh airgid agus 6ir, air an t-seorsa buird a bh J aca. Bhuail eagal mor an gille dubh. Thuig e le beag is beag, gu 'm b' e 'm bothan sabhaill fear de dh' aiteachan comhnuidh nan robairean,    ague gu   'm biodh   iad   a'   tighinn   a chodal [277] far an robh e, 's gu 'm faigheadh iad e. Bha e ro-c holtach nach robh ann da ach bàs aithghearra, sgreatail; ach thug e bòid gu 'n deanadh e a h-uile dichioll a b' urra dha air a bheatba fhéin a shàbhaladh.

Leis na smuainteanan sin air a bheachd, gu dé da 'n d' thug e an aire mu 'n cuairt da ach mòran bhoicionnan is chraicionnan dhe gach seòrsa, 's ag éirigh. air a chosan chàraich e mu 'cheann 's mo chorp de 'bhoicionnan 's de 'chraicionnan na b' urra dlia a ghiùlain; agus a,'dol gu bràiglie na staidhre blia eadar an lobht' agus ùrlar an t-sabhaill, ghlaodh e le guth àrd, garg: "Mo chlann, mo chlann ghaolaich féin, is maith a tha sibh a' deanamli mo thoil , agtis bithidh sibh n' ur cla-nn domli gu siornindh. 'S ann a tha mi gu dearbh an dòchas gu 'm bi sibli a nochd féin maille rium-sa far am faigh sibh lan dhuais airson 'ur seirbhis."

Shaoil le na robairean gu 'm b' e am Fear-millidh fhéin gun teagamii a bha a' bruidhinn riu, agus b' i 'chois bu luaithe cois bu dilse leis gach fear 's a' cbòmhlan, a' teicheadh le a,bheatha. Anns an ùpraid a thachair cha robb. cuimlin' air an airgiod na air an òr a bha na robairean a' cùnntadh, agus dh' fhàg iad a h-uile bonn diù air a' bliòrd. Thainig an gille maol dubh a mhàn air a sheachd socair, agus cha do chiùrr e a chogais an t-airgiod agus an t-òr a chur na 'phòca. An deigh sin chaidh e dhachaidh gu dùtliaich 'atliair 's a inhuime. Pliòs e - cha 'n 'eil e air innseadh. co-dhiù nighean righ na nighean duine bochd. Chuir e an còrr de a làithean seacliad ann an fcoil-inntinn agus an greadhnachas; 's mar tha 'n sean-fhocal a' ràite, mar do chaochail e blio sin tlia e beò fhatliasd.

II. "MORT NA CEAPAICH."

"Chunnaic mi droch bhruadar an raoir a rithisd, Alasdair," arsa bean an Dùghallaich mhòir, an lonar- làir, ris is iad a' cneacaireachd ri chéile na 'n tigh fhéin o chionn còrr agus da chéud gu letli bliadhn' air ais.

"Creididh mi sin," ors' Alasdair Mòr ; "tha mise 'coimhead droch bhruadair an còmhnuidh; ach ciod am bruadar a chunnaic thus' an raoir, mata?"

[278] "Thoir leam gu 'mfaca mi gràine de mhucan dubha a' tolladh fodla chloich-bhuinn an tighe so aga-inn, agus gu 'n robh feadhainn diubh a' deanamh air an leab- aidh againn."

"Is olc am bruadar a chunnaic thu, a bhean," arsa 'n Dughallach Mòr; tha eagal orm gu 'm beil faoghaid I ain Luim a' tighinn dlù air laimh ; tha barail agam gu 'n deachaidh aig' air feachd fhaighinn an Eilean Sgì, 's gu 'm beil iad air thòir Mort na Ceapaich a dhioladh fhathasd. Tha 'n t-am a bhi bogadh nan gad."

"Tha thu mar gu 'm bitheadh tu ga do dhìteadb fhéin ria-mh air son a' ghnothaich a blia 'sin,' ors' a' bhean ri Alasdair Mòr, is i a' cur smut fhanaid as a sròin.

"Thig an t-olc an uachdar," ors' Alasdair; "ge bith gu dé a' bhoile bh' orm an uair a ghabh mi fo laimh gillean eireachdail, òg, neo-chiontach na Ceapaich a chur gu bàs, cha dheanain a rithisd a leithid. Cha robh e na chleachdadh aig Clann Dòmhnuill balc dubh, dorcha, grannda, mur sud a dheanamh. Ach tha mi fìcsraichte gu 'n tig an tòir; cha deachaidh fois air Iain Lom ach bho Ghleanna-garadh gu Sì-phort, 's bho Shì- phort gu Sléibhte bho 'n a thachair an gniomh a tha esa ag ràite a dh' fhàg a' Cheapaich na fàsaich; agus 's e dh' fhéumas mise 'bhi 'deanamh an deasachaidh is fheàrr is urra' dhomh a chum coinneamh a thoirt do 'n luchd tòireachd an uair a thig iad."

Ghairm Alasdair Mòr an sin a shianear mhac gu 'thaobb, agus dh' innis e dhoibh, mar a bha e ro choltach, gu 'n robh 'n tòir air bonn. "Tha rud-eiginn ag innseadh dhomh", ors' esa, "gu 'm beil 'cath gailbheach'romhainn; ach ged a rug an droch àm oirnn an uair a mharbh sinn Alasdair òg agus Raoghall beag, a bhràthair, féumaidh sinn a dhearbhadh nach bí e farasda da 'r luchd-diolaidh ar cur ri làr."

"Tha déur na do shùìl,   Alasdair Mhòir,"   ors'   a' bhean; "am beil do chridhe ga t' fhàgail?"

" Ma tha déur na. nio shùil cha 'n ann bho ghealt- aireachd, mar is maith is fios dhuit; cha 'n 'eil uair a smaonuicheas mi air an   dichioll   a rirn   na bràithrean [279] bochda air am beatha 'chosnadh nach fhairich mi mo chridhe a' fàisgadh na mo chom. Na 'm faca frusa mar a dhion Alasdair Og a bhràthair beag, agus, an uair a chaidh Alasdair a chur gu talamh agus créuchdan sheachd biodagan na 'chorp, Raoghall - nach robh ach na 'phàisde brogaich - ga 'thilgeadh fhéin na m' uchd-sa, 's mo chluais a' cluinntinn a chridhe a' bualadh na 'chliabhan - na 'm faca tusa sin uileadh cha ghabhadh tu iongantas ged a bhiodh dealt air mo shùil. 'S ann is miorbhuilleach nach 'eil mo réusan air m' fhàgail o chionn fhada."

"Ma thig an Ciaran Mabach agus a chuideachda a chur fàilt' ort a noclid, cha dean boganachd dhe 'leithid sin an gnothach dhuit, Alasdair Mhòir."

"Ged a thigeadh an Ciaran Mabach agus na 's urra' dha a chruinneachadh leis, seasaidh mise mo làraich fhad 's a bhios mo chomas agam; ach cha d' thubhairt sin nach 'eil guthan beag, coimheach a' sanais féin-dhìteadh na mo chridhe fhin a b' fheàrr leamsa sàmhach no ged bu leam a' Cheapaich tri uairean as a'ghrunnd; agus cha lugha mo thàmailfc gu 'm b' ann an aobhar sluaigh eile, aig nach robh còir na dlighe air an oigh- reachd aig an am, a chaidh mise 's mo theaghlach a chur ar cinn ann an snaim."

An oidhche sin mu 'n deaehaidh Alasdair Mòr a chodal chuir e fhéin 's a shia mic an cinn ri 'chéile, agus chuir iad air ball rian air an deasachadh a b' fheàrr a bha na 'n comas; oir, a dh' innseadh na firinn, cha robh iad idir gun eagal nach rachadh fois gu bràth air Iain Lom gus am biodh mort na Ceapaich air a dhioladh.

Goirid an deigh so thainig fios gu Ionarlàir gun robh Iain Lom agus prasgan làidir de Chlann Dòmhnuill, fo chomannda 'Chiarain Mhabaich, anns a' choirahearsnachd. Thuig na Dùghallaich an gnothaich air an robh iad; ach cha d' thainig e 'stigh orra. a dhol a thoirt baiteal do phàirtidh Iain Luim; 's ann a rùnaich iad a bhi deas a chum iad fhéin a dhion an uair a thigeadh feachd na tòireachd na b' fhaisg' orra. Le beag is beag rinn na Dòmhnullaich air Ionarlàir, ach cha robh iad a' coimhead gluasad sam bith mu 'n tigh.

"Gu de do bheachd dhe 'n a } chùis a nis', Iain?" ors' an Ciaran Mabach. ris  a' bhàrd, 's e a'   gabhail [280] fadachd nach robh e 'faighirm cothrom air ceist na dha a chur na 'dhòigh fhéin ri na Dùghallaich.

"Mata, 'llleasbuig, a laoigh mo chridhe, 's e mo bharail-sa nach 'eil sinn gle fhada bho 'n a' ghràisg a dh' fhàg a' Cheapaich lom; tiba mi mar gu 'm bithinn a' faighinn fàileadh orra."

"'S ci' àit am beil iad Iain? Tha sinn a nise mach 's a sigh mu thri latha feadh an so, 's cha 'n fhaca sinn crom no direach ach bodach leiseach a' bhrata riabhaich an dràsda 's a rithisd eadar an tigh 's am fuaran. Mar fhaigh mise sealg dhe na Dùghallaioh gu h-aithghearra, 's ann a bheir mi 'n ceann dhiot fhéin."

" A mhic an leomhainn, 's a' bhradain, 's an fhraoich, cha b' ann ri t-fhuil uasal, uaibhreach a chòrdadh e an ceann a chur de Iain Lom; ach gu de 'their thu mar e 'n aon bhodach leiseach a tha sinn a' coimhead bho latha gu latha anns a' bhrata ria.bhach idir, ach neach is neach de na Dùghallaich, a mach 's a stigh a J gabhail na gaoithe?"

"Cha chan mi nach 'eil thu ceart, Iain; agus am béul an latha 's a' mhadumn a maireach chi sinn co- dhiù a tha do bheachd ceart no nach 'eil."

Agus 's ann mar so a bha. Tràth an ath mhaduinn dhùisg bean Alasdair Mhòir e ag ràite gu 'n robh i a rithisd a' bruadar air mucan dubha 'bhi 'tolladh a stigh troimh 'n tigh; agus aig a' cheart am chual' iad iollach is iorghuill nan Dòmhnullaich aig an dorus. Ann am priobadh na sùla bha Alasdair 's a shia mic na 'n éideadh 's na 'n armachd;ach a' faicinn gu 'n robh cuideachda 'Chiarain Mhabaich gu math làidir, 's e a chinn aca gu 'm b' fheàrr dhoibh fhéin fuireach mar a bha iad, agus na b'urra' dhoibh de chàch a mharbhadh le na gunnachan.

Mar so bha 'n tim a' dol seachad, na Dùghallaich a' oaithidh fùdair is luaidhe gun a bhi 'deanamh call mòr sam bith air na Dòmhnullaich. Mu dheireadh theirig luaidhe dhoibh, ach, mo theirig, chum bean-an-tighe peilearan riu fhad 's a mhair dhi na ghabhadh leaghadh de shoithaichean an tighe. Ach thainig crioch air sin, agus cha robh it' as na Dòmhnullaich'.      'S ann a bha [281] iad a' fàs na bu ladurna 's na bu mhisneachdail a h-uile mionaid.

" 'S co maith dhuit, Alasdair Mhòir," ors' an Ciaran Mabaah,"a thigliinn a mach. Cha 'n 'eil dol as agad. Tha 'n so na chuireas t' fhàrdaich mu do chluasan ann an tiotadh. 'Ge fada dàil fear an uilc cha téid e as gun dioladh.' Am beil cuimhn' agad air Mort na Ceapaich?"
" Cha robh mi riamh naeh freagairinn gairm catha," ors' an Dùghallach, "cia rnéud a tha sibh ann?"
" Ge bu cia méud a tha sinn ann 's co maith dhuitsa t' fhaosaid a dheanamh. Tha fuil dhearg, chraobhaich òganaich na Ceapaich ag éigheach diolaidh."
" Gheibh sinn cothrom na Féinne," ors' Alasdair Mòr.
"An d' thug sibli cothrom na Féinne 's a' Gheap- aich?" ors' an Ciaran, 'e a lamh ann an ceanna-bheairt a chìaidheamh.
"A Cheapaich mo dhunach, 's 'e bhios an so latha grannda measg Chlann Dòmhnuill," orsa bean lonar- làir, 's a cridhe na 'slugan; 's anns an fhocal, a mach ghabh na Dùghallaich.
Cha do mhair am baiteal fada. Mu 'ncearfc a chaidh na fir ri aghaidh a chéile, chuir an Ciaran - fear claidheamh cho maith 's a bha 'n Alba ri a latha - an ceann de Alasdair Mòr, agus, mar a theirar, ann an tionndadh na boise, bha a shianear mhic na 'n laiglie marbh ri thaobh air an òtrach.
"Mo cheist ort, 'Illeasbuig mhòir, bhuadhaich, o 'n Eilean, 's ann duit fhéin 's dha do dhaoine a thigeadh a dhol a thoirt a mach a' cheartais. Fhearaibh mo ghaoil, nach freagarrach far an do thuit na Dùghall- aich bhréin mu dheireadh!"
" Cluinnear thusa 'n comhnuidh, Iain, an uair a bhios an cath thairis. Cia méud de na Dùghallaich a mharbh thu fhéin, Iain?"
" 'Illeasbuig, a ghraidh, cha mhillinn air feadhainn is fheàrr air cùl a' chlaidheamh na mise."
"Cha robh leisgean riamh gun leithsgeul', Iain; ach. na 'na bu chlaidheamh an teanga cha bhiodh do sgath cho cli."

[282]

" Coma dha sin an dràsda, 'llleasbuig, ach bheir sinn cinn nan Dùghallaich a dh' Inbhirnis, agus 's e mi fhin a bhios pròiseil, aighearrach a' giùlain an eallaich."

Agus 's ann mar so a bha; chuir am bàrd gad toinnte, làidir troimh fhiaclan nam marbh, agus shiubhail a' phàirtidh air an turus. A' tighinn troimh lonar- gharradh ghlàn iad na cinn ann am fuaran ris an abrar gus an latha 'n diugh "Tobair-nan-Ceann". A' dol troimb. Ghleann-Urchadainn thilg Iain na cinn dheth 's e a' tarruing analach. Thug na cinn gnog air a chéile, anns a' chliabh anns an robh iad, 's an uair a chual' am bàrd sud 's e a thubhairt e - "Ud! ud! nach còrd sibh, 'e gur cloinn chàirdean sibh fhéin."

Rinn Iain Lom òran briagha air Mort-na-Ceapaich: a tha ri fhaicinn ann am mòran leabhraichean.

This account of the dastardly event known as the " Murder of Keppoch" was sometimes followed by repeating a very interesting song, composed by John MacDonald ("Iain Lom") at a place called "Coire-na- Cléithe", while on his way to Kintail, where he took refuge from the threatened vengeance of the murderers, whom he had made no secret of wishing to bring under punishment at all costs:

'S mi a m' shuidla' air bruaich torrain, Mu 'n cuairt do Choir-na-Cléithe, Ged nach 'eil mo chas crùbach, Tha lot na 's mo orm fo m' léine, 'S ged nach 'eil mo bhian sràcte, Tha fo m' aisne mo chréuchdan. ' S cha 'n e cùram na h-imraichd, No iomagain na spréidhe. No bhi ga m' chur do Clieann t-Sàile, ' S gun fhios cia 'n t-àite do 'n téid mi. Ach bhi nochd gun cheann-cinnidh; ' S tric 's gur mìnig leam fhéin sin.

And so on for many more verses of a very long com position.

Chapter 15