Wrecking and Salvaging: The Weaver of the Stack

For many years the topic of piracy (as well as the interrelated subject of smuggling) in a Scottish context has been a fruitful area of research as witnessed by such books and studies given in the bibliography below. Nevertheless, there has not been a great deal of research regarding the rather fascinating and related subject of wrecking, at least in relation to the Hebrides.

The following historical legend was taken down by Calum Maclean on 23 June 1958 from the recitation of Captain Donald Joseph MacKinnon, known as An Eòsag, a man who knew a thing or two about sailing boats. Although more renowned as a fantastic singer with a distinctive style, MacKinnon clearly knew a great deal of stories and possibly one which intrigued him more than others concerns the Weaver of the Stack.

BREABADAIR AN STAC

Well, a nist, mar a chuala mise naidheachd air Creag a’ Bhreabadair, ’s ann mar seo a bha i. ’S e breabadair, ’s e fear do Chlann Nèill a bha sa Bhreabadair, agus mar a chuala mise is coltach gun robh e car…car…fuasgailte sa cheann mar a chanas sinn, air neo, cha robh e cho inbhich ri duin’ eile sa cheann, agus bha iad a’ faighinn a leithid a thrioblaid sa chaisteal aig an àm sin agus gun tuirt na còrr dha bhràthairean gum b’ fheàrr a’ chlìreadh a-mach às a’ chaisteal air fad, gun e bhith cuir nàire sam bith air MacNèill fhèin, a chionn nuair a bhiodh iad an uair ud a’ suidh aig bòrd mòr ’s uaislean à tìr mòr còmh’ riutha, bhiodh esan a’ dèanamh a leithid a ghnothaichean mun bhòrd, agus nach robh e freagairt idir ann, agus bha air fàs suas na dhuine mòr calma agus ’s esan a Dhia bh’ ann an sin calm’ tha chance – agus ’s ann a smaoinicheadh gun cuireadh, gun cuir a Chreag a’ Bhreabadair e, agus gu toirte dhà beairt ann a shin fhèin agus e bheò-shlàin’ a dhèanamh ann a shin fhèin. Well, ’s e sin a rinneadh: chuireadh sìos a Chreag a’ Bhreabadair e, agus ’s e chiad rud a rinn e, ’s taigh a thogail dha fhèin agus dhen bheairt. Fhuair e sin a dhèanamh co-dhiù, agus nuair a dh’fhàs e eòlach air na caolais, ’s ann ’iodh a dol a-null dha na h-eileanan eile, dh’Èirisgeidh, ’s bhiodh cho fad ri GilleBhrìghde. Agus aig an àm sin, bha nighean bhrèagh’ aig fear GhilleBhrìghde, no fear Bhaghasdail, ’s e fear a bh’ ann, cha ’reid mi; agus, ’s ann a thuit mo laochan na tacsa dha na trì dh’uaireannan, agus dh’fhàs is’ i fhein gu math miadhoil air, agus ’s ann ag obair air fheadh na h-oidhcheadh a bhiodh iad the chance. Bhiodh esan a’ dol ga coimhead air fheadh na h-oidhcheadh, ’s cha bhiodh fhios aig duin’ air, agus bhiodh e tilleadh air n-ais dhan chaisteal a bh’ aige. Well, a-nist, bha feadhainn eile far tìr mòr uamhasach man, bha iad uamhasach mun nighean a bha seo cuideachd – tha chance gur h-e nighean bhrèagha bh’ innte. Agus ’s ann mar a rinn mo laochan, scheme an oidhche bha seo gun goideadh e nighean a bha seo agus rinn e sin ’s thug e dhan chaisteal i. Agus cò smaointicheadh gun robh i ann a shiud, an nighean?

Ach, co-dhiù, air rèir choltais gun do rinn iad pòsadh air choreigin an sin, agus ’s ann a bha teaghlach math aca – bha ceathrar mhac aca. Agus tha chance gun robh na mic na bu chalma na ’n athair fhèin, chionn mar a chuala mise ’s mar a chunna mi sgor neo sgeilp as am biodh e glèidheadh a’ bhàta, feuma’ gur h-iad a bha calma, nuair a thogadh iad am bàt’ às an uisge, agus a chuireadh iad ann a shin i airson na h-oidhcheadh.

Well, a-nist, aig an àm a bha sin, bhiodh, bhiodh soithichean a’ tighinn a dh’ionnsaigh na h-àltracha mòradh, agus bhiodh iad ag acrachadh ann a shin, airson an seòl sruth a chuir seachad, air neo an seòl sìde chuir seachad. Agus, air fheadh na h-oidhche bhiodh mo laochan a’ falbh leis na mic, agus bhiodh iad a’ geàrradh a’ chàpl’ aice – mar tha fhios agaibh fhèin, ’s e càpla bh’ aca nuair sin ’s e ròpa, chan e seinneachan a bh’ aca nuair sin mar a th’ aca ’n-diugh idir ach ròpa.

Bha iad a’ cumail na sgothadh as an fhalaidh, bha iad ga togail beò slàn dìreach dhan fhalaidh, agus chì sibh, mar a chanas sinn an-duigh an sgeilp ann a shiud san fhalaidh fhathast aig duine sam bith ri dhol – ri faicinn. Agus, a shiorrachd, nach iad a bha làidir!

Well, an latha bha seo, bha iad a-muigh air an Oitir Mhòr, eadar iasgach ’s brith gu dè còrr a bhiodh aca, agus thill iad, a dh’ionnsaigh an àit’ aca fhèin gu a dh’ionnsaigh an stac. Agus nuair a ràinig iad an staca, nach robh criudh bàta cogaidh romp’ ann a shin, well pàirt dhan chriudh ’s e bu chòir dhomh ràdha. Agus, air choltas armachd orra. Well, cha robh armachd sam bith aig a’ bhreabadair na aig na mic, ach thuirt e ris na mic gu rachadh esan go tìr – esan a chur gu tìr co-dhiù. Agus ’s e fear – Captain MacKenzie, shuas a Loch…Loch Dubhaich ann a shin, ’s e bha ceannard Mair…air a’ bhuidhinn a bh’ air tìr. Agus air rèir choltais gun robh e as deaghaidh na, na mnathadh aig a’ bhreabadair e fhèin, uaireigin dhan t-saoghal, agus thachair iad air a chèile air an laimrig dìreach fo thaigh a’ bhreabadair. Sheas na gillean aige ann a sheo, dìreach air an laimrig, agus brith gu dè, chan urrainn mise ag ràdh, an e ’n claidheamh a bh’ aig’ a bh’ aig’ a’…criudh’ an t-soithich, neo na mosgaidean, ach cha d’fhuair iad chance a thàine riamh air an ùsaideachadh. Thàinig ise a dh’ionnsaigh a’ [blank] shuas taigh, ’s chuir i bodha ri sùil, ’s rinn i brac do Chaptein MacKenzie air an laimrig. Bha batail ullamh. Cha robh ach dh’fhalbh iad le corp – thug iad leotha a corp aig MacCoinnich, dhan bhàta ’s chaidh am breabadair ’s a chlann dhachaigh mar a b’ àbhaist.

Agus air rèir choltais, cha robh breabadair ullamh dhan obair a bh’ aige, mar a bha, mar tha fhios agaibh, robaigeadh soithichean ’s gnothaichean dhan t-seòrsa sin, cha robh e ullamh dhan obair idir ged a thachair seo, agus cha do sguir e dheth idir, agus leis an sin, bliadhna na dhà an deaghaidh sin, chuir iad bàt’ eile a-mach a dh’ionnsaigh a’ chaisteil; agus mar a b’ àbhaist, bha esan air falbh nuair a thàinig am bàta. Ach an triop-sa, bha cruidh na bu làidire roimh air an laimrig nuair a ràing e. Agus tha chance nach dèanadh an saighead aice-se mòran cuideachadh. Agus ràinig e e cheart àit’ as do ràinig a’ chiad thriop, agus bha iad roimhe. ’S mar a b’ àbhaist cha robh armachd aig an duine thruagh sa bhàt’ ann – cha robh ach breith air. ’S cheangail iad e, e fhèin ’s e ’s na mic, ’s thug iad leotha dhan bhàt’ iad, bhàta-chogaidh. Am feasgar air tighinn agus an oidhche teannadh – tharraing iad sìos gu cladach Uibhist – go tuath, ’s chaidh iad a-staigh a Loch Sgiobhart. Agus dh’acraich iad ann a shin airson na h-oidhcheadh, agus bha esan shìos, as an...as an rùm iarrainn, e fhèin ’s na mic, air an ùrlar, air an ceangal cas as làmh. Agus chaidh am bàta gu tàmh an sin. Ach, air rèir choltais, cha robh mo laochan na thàmh. Thòisich e air ithe ròpa bh’ air, cheann eadar a chasan, agus dh’ith e an ròpa bh’ air a chasan an toiseach, ’s nuair a fhuair a chasan ma rèir, dh’ith e nuair sin an ròpa bh’ air a làmhan, agus nuair a fhuair e làmhan ma rèir, dh’fhuasgail a nuair sin na gillean aige fhein. ’S choimhead iad ma cuairt an uair sin feuch de ghabhadh deanamh, na dè ghabhadh bristeadh. Agus, dè thachair dha na gillean eile – gillean a’ bhàta ach sgealb mhòr, mhòr iarrainn, fhios agaibh, mar a chì sibh dol tarsaing na doraist, fhàgail gun a chuir air an dorast. Agus, bha, bha t-iarrann a bha seo mòr, trom uamhasach, agus thuirt e ris na gillean gu feumadh iad a bhith grad, agus aon bhuille, an dorast a chuir a-mach, air neo gun robh iad deiseil air fad. Dh’fhalbh clann m’ eudallach ’s thog iad an t-iarrann, agus ri aon bhuille, chuir iad a-mach an dorast, agus cha robh fuireach ann ach dìreach far na cliathaich, ’s shnàmh iad gu tìr. Shnàmh iad go tìr is choisich iad à Loch Sgiobart, ro Uibhist, agus ann an èirigh na grèine bha breabadair ’s a chlann air n-ais anns a’ chaisteal san stac. Ach tha, as deaghaidh sin, air rèir mar a chuala mise, sguir a’ mhèirl’ aig a’ bhreabadair, ’s bha e math gu leòr dheth, e fhèin ’s a mhic.

THE WEAVER OF THE STACK

Well, now, I heard the story about the weaver’s stack which goes like this. He was a weaver and he was one of the MacNeils, and as I heard it he wasn’t quite right in the head as we say, or, he wasn’t quite mature and they were facing so many problems in the castle at the time and it would be best to clear the rest of the querns[?] out the castle, that he shouldn’t be able to embarrass MacNeil himself for when they were sitting around the great table with the nobles from the mainland together, he’d be doing things around the table that wasn’t at all acceptable and he grew up to be a big, strong man and by God, he was a strong man – and he then thought that he’d exile him to the weaver’s stack and that he’d be given a loom so that he could make a living for himself there. Well, that was done: he was lowered onto the weaver’s stack and the very first thing he did was to build a house for himself and his loom. He managed to do that and once he got to know the narrows around he’d travel over to the other islands such as Eriskay and he’d go far as Kilbride (South Uist). And at that time there was a bonnie lass, a daughter of the Tacksman of Kilbride or Boisdale, I believe, and my little hero fell in with her two or three times and she grew very fond of him and this happened at night whenever they got the opportunity. He’d go to see her at night-time and no-one else knew about it and then he’d return to his castle. Well, now, there were a few others from the mainland who were very fond of this lass too – it so happened she was very bonnie. And so my little hero thought up a scheme this night that he would kidnap the lass and so he did and took her to the castle. And who’d ever think that you’d be here, lass?

Apparently they were married by some method or another, and they had a big family of four sons. And it so happened that the sons were even stronger than their own father for, as I heard it, there was a gap of a shelf on which they’d tie the boat and they’d have to be very strong in order to lift the boat out of the water and to keep it there overnight. Well, now, at that time, the vessels used to make their way towards the big rocks and they would anchor there to wait for the strong currents going by or until they could wait for favourable weather. And throughout the night, my little hero left with his sons and they’d cut the cables – as you know, the cables then were made of rope as they didn’t have chains back then as they do today.

They kept the vessel in the hidden crevice[?], and so they kept themselves going just from that, and you can still see, as we say ourselves, the shelf there in the hidden crevice[?] for anyone who cares to take a look. And by Heavens, weren’t they strong! Well, this day, they were out on the Oitir Mhòr, fishing and whatever else they were up to and afterwards they were making their way home to their own place on the stack. And when they arrived at the stack, they was a crew from a warship before them, well, a part of the crew I should say. And they looked as if they were well armed. Well, neither the weaver nor his sons had any armour, but he said to them that he’d go ashore – he at least would go ashore. And there was a Captain MacKenzie from Lochduich overbuy who was in command of the crew on shore. And it appears that he had been after the weaver’s wife, at some point, and they met one another at the jetty just below the weaver’s house. And the lads stood there just at the jetty, and whatever happened I cannot say whether the crew of the vessel had swords or muskets but if they did then they never had the chance to use them. She came to towards the house and she took aim with the bow and left Captain MacKenzie for dead on the jetty. The battle was over. So they then took the corpses, including that of Captain MacKenzie and placed them in the boat and with that the weaver and his children then went home.

And apparently the weaver had not quite quit his work, such as it was, and as you know, from robbing vessels and other such things, and he had not quite finished with this sort of work although it had all happened and he never stopped and because of that, a year or two later, they sent another boat to the castle; and, as usual, he happened to be away when the boat arrived. But on this occasion, there was a far stronger crew set before him when he reached the jetty. And it so happened that an arrow from his wife wasn’t going to be of much help. And he arrived at the very place as had the first time round and they were before him. And as usual this poor man in the boat wasn’t armed – they only had to catch him. And so they tied him and his sons up and they stowed them away in the warship. It was evening and night was drawing near – they made their way northwards to the shores of Uist and they went in at Loch Skipport. And they weighed anchor for the night, and he and his sons were down below in the iron-clad brig shackled to the floor by their legs and hands. And the boat was at rest there but, apparently my little hero wasn’t himself at rest. He began to chew the rope between his legs and then he began to chew on the first rope and he got his leg free, and then he chewed through the rope on his hands and got them free, and then he let his sons free. And then they all looked around to see what could be done or what could be broken. And look what happened to the other lads – the crew but they had had left the huge iron bolt, you know, that you see going across the door, from it. And this piece of iron was very heavy, and they said to him that if they struck the door with one strike at great force then they could get out or else they’d be done for. The lads lifted up the iron and with one great strike they broke down the door and they jumped over the side of the deck and swam ashore. They got ashore and walked from Loch Skipport through Uist until at sunrise the Weaver and his sons arrived back home at the castle on the stack. But after that, as I heard, the Weaver ceased plundering and he and his sons were fairly well off.

Another good source of local historal tales and legends was, of course, The Coddie (or The Coddy), who was extensively recorded by both Calum Maclean and John Lorne Campbell. The following account is exceprted from his book entitled Tales from Barra Told by the Coddie:

The weaver of the castle

The Weaver was banished from Barra to the Stack islands. He took with him a small boat and an ancient cas chrom and other implements for cultivating the island. The first thing he did was to go across to Eriskay and get hold of a fair pony, or làir bhàn as it was called. He then started to build the castle, with stones collected from the shore at the foot of the cliff. He then started to carry the stones by every means he could use, including his back, up the cliff. And to this day you can see where be tipped the pack of stones with the white pony. It took him a long time carrying the stones and building the castle, living on fishing and fowling and what he could produce from the island. And when that failed, he went ashore and helped himself –raiding was common enough in those days.

Now it came to the end of the tether – the castle was finished and the Weaver decided to take a wife to himself. This was in the month of July, when it was the custom in those days of the crofters in South Uist to go to the hills, taking with them the various kinds of cattle, from the milking cows to the small calves. During this period most of the butter and cheese was made for the winter use. The wives and daughters who acted as dairymaids followed them to the shielings, and when the Weaver had a conference to himself where to look for a wife, he decided to go to the nearest shieling to him – which was Loch Eynort, South Uist. At sunrise, maybe before, the Weaver left the Stack Islands, and was at the shieling among a gay crowd of good-looking ladies, with their wooden buckets, getting ready to start the milking. The Weaver made a quick decision for a choice and without much debating he flung this young lady on his shoulders and made a bee-line for the boat, which carried them both safely to the castle.

We now leave the Weaver in the castle with his wife, whom he trained to be equal to himself in raiding. She used to go fishing and raiding with him. In those days it was all cable and hawsers that were used instead of chains, and the Weaver and his wife used to cut the hawsers and let the ships drift to the shore, and themselves getting the benefit of the wreckage. This was the routine until the boys [were born and] grew up one by one and helped him with the piracy, which was now getting to a dangerous point.

Now an order was passed to destroy the Weaver, or apprehend him. One day the Weaver was fishing with his three sons from the castle. The mother was at home with her youngest boy. They both could see the boat fishing. Later on in the day she saw a sailing ship off the Island of Gigha. The ship was a cutter, manned by oarsmen. At first she thought they were making for the castle and she got ready to go to the top of the cliff where there was always a cairn of stones ready for anybody attempting to climb the cliff.

Unfortunately they made for the boat that was fishing. As soon the Weaver picked up the cutter he made a bee-line for Eriskay. The Weaver and the boys pulled well and hard to make for a point land on Eriskay. If they could manage to land there he could hide safety. He did manage to land, but the cutter was there immediately. The commander landed without delay and with his sword slew the Weaver and his three sons, and ordered that the blood of the Weaver should remain on the sword to dry, as proof that was the sword with which he killed the Weaver. To this day that landing-place is called ‘The Cove of Disaster’ (Sloc na Creiche).

The news circulated from the Island that the Weaver and his three sons were killed on the Island of Eriskay by the commander of the ship. Little did the mother know of the sad event at the time, though she did see the cutter passing out. The next stage was the funeral of the Weaver and the sons. When all was completed, her father went to the castle to take his daughter home and the little grandson. That day and since, the castle has not been occupied. It stands on an island, commands a magnificent view of the Minch, Barra, South Uist and Eriskay.

The life story of the little weaver

His grandfather, with whom the boy was living, dearly loved the boy, and his activity at an early age much interested the old man. At early age of twelve he used to be wonderful in attending with his grandfather on the croft, about the sheep, cattle and horses. When he grew to the age of fourteen he often wondered why his mother used to cry every day. He became so interested that he inisisted on his mother telling him the reason why. His poor mother told him the story about the sad end of his father and three brothers. Pausing for a bit, and taking a long and deep breath, he said, ‘I am going to sea, and I shall never stop until I meet the man who killed my father and my three brothers.’ His mother at this stage broke down worse than ever.

However, the time was moving along and John was daily making up his mind to go. One day he decided to have a meeting with his mother and grandfather, and told them he was going. This was a very sad parting.

In those days there were no conveyances. John had to walk all the way from mid-Uist to Lochmaddy, over two fords, The only connection to the southern isles was a ferrybaot from Lochmaddy to Dunvegan. However, he assisted the boatman, and in return the ferryman was very kind to him and give him his food and passage charge free. The passage across to Dunvegan was quite good and, landing there, he was must interested in the number of trees he saw, whereas there were none in the land he left behind him.

John stayed with a crofter, working in the croft, and the crofter assisting him a lot as to the right road to Kyle. On his departure he charged him nothing and give him a little money of the very small amount he had himself.

John was moving across Skye. Until one day he landed in Kyle and got the ferry across to the mainland. John stayed a week in Kyle, working with an old carpenter who was once upon a time a ship’s carpenter. John MacNeil overstayed his time, listening to the carpenter’s stories. John was keen to find out from the carpenter where was Greenock, as it was at Greenock he intended to get a ship. The carpenter told John he did sail several times from Greenock,and encouraged him by saying he would have no difficulty in getting a ship from there. From the time John left Dunvegan till he arrived at Greenock he covered a full year, walking and working, just as he found convenient. However, the day he arrived at Greenock he was thrilled with the sight of the ships, with their high masts, yards, sails, et cetera. He walked straight down to the harbour and nobody even spoke to him. Having saved a few shillings, he was able to take a night’s lodging. Next day he got up early and went down to the harbour. He was not long there when the captain came on deck. Having seen John MacNeil there yesterday, he hailed in English, ‘Do you want to go to sea?’

John could not speak but very little English, and did not reply. Immediately then the captain spoke in Gaelic and John replied immediately, ‘Yes, I want to go to sea.’

‘Come on board,’ the captain replied.

The captain was a very good Gaelic speaker, and into the bargain a native of Arran. He asked John what part did he come from and he replied that his father came from the Island of Barra but that he was born on the Stack Islands. The captain then asked his name. He replied: ‘My name is John MacNeil.’ Then both MacNeils shook hands and ever since that they were the best of friends.

This voyage was to be from Scotland to Vancouver Island, round Cape Horn – quite a long voyage in the sailing-ships of those days. The ship was taken to the Tail of the Bank and the cargo was sugar. She anchored on the Tail of the Bank and the boys got ready to go aloft to bend the sail and get ready for sailing, whenever everything was ready.

John was the youngest on board. Never mind, the material was in him and he was not long picking up. The captain patted him on the shoulder when he came down on deck and told him to take care of himself. ‘One day you shall be master of a ship yourself.’

At this stage it took them a few days to get ready. When all was in order, with wind and weather favourable, the order came to stand by and heave the anchor. This was, and used to be, a great time in the old sailing ship, heaving the anchor: no definite time where or when they would hear again the order ‘Let go the anchor?’

*           *           *

As time was getting on, the captain was getting fonder of MacNeil. He used to watch him with pride and admiration – how very handsomely he would walk the plank, or in other words, walk the decks. Watching him daily he could see how handsomely and skillfully he could run up the shrouds. Before MacNeil was very long in the ship, the captain used to send him up the rigging right to the royals, where he would stand on the yard and put his hand on the the top mast and wave to them all on deck.

The whole voyage out Captain and John MacNeil became great friends, so much that latterly the captain took in hand to teach him the alphabet. Not a long period passed before John could read and write. The captain’s ambition was to teach John all the schooling he could. As for the seamanship part of it, John had it all on his finger-ends already. When the ship returned on this voyage the captain sent him to school and left him behind the next one. On the ship’s return, John sat the exam and passed straight out. He was pleased to be sailing the next voyage as second mate along with his good friend Captain MacNeil. John very much enjoyed his first job as an officer, and I could vouch with safety that nothing was left undone. A few voyages after that John sat another examination and got First Officer’s. One day the captain said: ‘Now be getting ready, John. I shall soon be retiring, and you shall be taking over full command. But I am not going to take this step until we both agree that all is in order.’ The day, alas, arrived and Captain John took over command of the ship and the faithful friends went out and sailed together for the last time. After the voyage was completed the captain and John parted. The good captain went on his knees and kissed John’s hands and wished every good wish in his new career – that is how two most dutiful friends and good sailors parted.

*           *           *

Now that is the little Weaver in full command of a full-rigged ship after completing his time. Captain MacNeil was now sailing in me same company for several years but did not seem to meet or bear any news of the man who killed his father and three brothers. Coming home on this voyage he wondered a lot if ever he was going to meet him.

On arriving in London he went to a club. There he found a lot of old veterans telling stories and drinking whisky. It suddenly grasped on him that among this crowd he might meet the man who he was rally looking for – the man who so brutally killed his father and three brothers.

Suddenly one veteran stood up and told the story of how be destroyed a very destructive raider and his three sons on one of the western islands off the west coast of Scotland. One could imagine the thrill Captain John got when the sad story was renewed to him.

The veteran got a lot of cheering. Captain MacNeil went over to him and specially thanked him for his great bravery. In turn the old man cordially thanked him, and invited him to tea next evening at 5 p.m. and told him that the bloodstains were still on the sword with which he slew the raider and his three sons. John left the club and returned to his ship and trying to decide how he would destroy the commander without the use of arms. So he finally decided that with one good blow of his fist he would do the job.

The appointed time arrived. Captain John arrived. The veteran answered the bell and both entered the house. Plenty of food and drink was prepared. Captain MacNeil said he would not eat drink until he would see the sword with which he destroyed the dangerous man in the Western Isles of Scotland. The old man immediately invited him to his parlour. He opened the cupboard and took out the sword, and bloodstains were still on it as he described. Captain John gave him time to return the sword, at same time he decided not to kill him with the sword with which his father and three brothers had been slain. As the old man was stretching himself, Captain John struck him right in the ear and the old man never breathed another.

This put an end to Captain John’s ambition. Now there nothing for it but to face the return journey home to Uist. Off he set and left the ship and cargo there. The return journey did not take him so long and one day he found himself landing in Lochmaddy. It happened to be a fine summer day when he arrived home. Sitting outside the door was an old lady who he took to be his mother – and he was right. When she saw the boy dressed in blue approaching the house she rose to meet him and when she came within speaking range she asked him: ‘Are you a sailor? Or did you ever meet my boy?’ At this stage John jumped to and kissed his mother, who was speechless for a time.

Captain John stayed with his mother in Uist for over two years – until times calmed down; then sailed out of Liverpool, where his descendants still flourish.

[There is a long and circumstantial version of this story in the papers of the late Fr. Allan McDonald of Eriskay. It was probably taken down in 1893. The name of the reciter is not given and the story is told in Fr. Allan’s own words.

In this version the Weaver is said to have come from the mainland and to have acquired his nickname from having married a weaveress from Kildonan in South Uist. It describes how he took the white mare to Stack to carry the stones to build the ‘castle’ and how the mare fell dead from exhaustion with the last load, the contents of the panniers remaining as two cairns, as can still be seen. In this version the Weaver had three sons, and the only stranger who ever visited the castle was the midwife who was brought to deliver them. In consequence of the Weaver’s depredtions the king sent a boat to capture him. He and his two eldest sons were caught by a ruse and put to death.

When the youngest son, John, grew up, he resolved to avenge his father. He made his way to Dunvegan via Lochmaddy, and there learnt that the man who had killed his father was captain of a ship sailing between Dunvegan and Tobermory. He waited until this ship entered Dunvegan harbour, boarded it, found the captain in possession of the bloodstained sword with which the deed had been done, and killed him.

At this point the story takes a fantastic turn and becomes mixed up with events which belong purely to the folklore of the old Gaelic stories. John took a job with an inn-keeper, was told to guard the garden against deer, aimed his gun one night at a deer which turned into a woman, who told him she had been be-spelled by the inn-keeper. An assignation was made, but three times frustrated by a sleeping-apple which John was persuaded to eat when smitten by thirst. At the last encounter the lady left John a ring and a knotted handkerchief, and wrote with her fingernail on the stock of his gun that her name was on the ring and that whenever he unloosed a knot in the handkerchief he could get a wish.

After waking, John set out in search of her, and eventually learnt she was in the Kingdom of the Great World (Rìoghachd an Domhain Mhóir of folk-tales). He arranged to get carried there in an oxskin by a griffin. He escaped from the griffin’s net by unloosing a knot in the handkerchief, and, learning there was to be a celebration at the palace that night, attended it, was recognised by the lady (who was the King’s daughter) through the ring, married her and lived splendidly ever after.

There is an inferior version of this second part of the story printed in More West Highland Tales, p. 394, the annotator of which has been handikapped by ignorance of Uist traditions, dialect and topography. This was taken down from Patrick Smith of South Boisdale in 1859. It is difficult, indeed, to believe that Patrick Smith, who was a famous tradition bearer, did not really know this story in full.

As regards the main part of the tale, it is very probably founded on fact.

The Stack Island, which I visited with the Rev. John MacCormick in 1951, is shaped like the figure 8. The isthmus which joins the two halves is very narrow and on the south side is faced by a cliff up which there is only one path, easily defended. There is good grazing on the island. At the top of this path are the two small cairns said in the story to be the last load of the white mare. On top of the Stack, commanding a magnificent view north and south up and down the Minch, and over Barra Sound out to the Atlantic, are the ruins of a small stronghold and of a small house wall. The ‘castle’ is made of very strongly mortared stone and its appearance suggests that it was destroyed by gunpowder.

Ships used to anchor in Barra Sound in the lee of the small islands of Hellisey and Gigha, and it was these of which the cables were cut by the Weaver and his sons rowing out under cover of darkness. When the ships were driven ashore, they would be plundered.

That this kind of thing did occur in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries is proved by various references in the register of the Privy Council of Scotland. In 1611 the Barramen were in trouble over the pirating of a ship, laden with Bordeaux wines, belonging to one Abell Dynes. In 1636 there was similar trouble over an English ship, the Susanna, which had been bound for Limerick with a cargo of wines, fruit, coin, etc. Gales had driven her out of her course into the waters of an island (not named). She had lost mast and small boat, so she signalled to the islanders who came out to her armed to the teeth. They agreed to tow the Susanna into safe harbour in consideration of a butt of ‘seck’ (?sack) and a barrel of raisins; but it was alleged that, after they had cut the anchor cable and brought her into harbour, Clanranald and about three hundred others took casks and barrels down to the shore and daily drew of the cargo of wine, and took all else besides, robbing the crew even of their clothes, and that then they made some ship’s lad sign a document to say that he was owner of the cargo which he thereby sold at a certain price (which amount he did not in any case receive), and under threat of handing the whole company over to the ‘savages that dwells in the mayne,’ the captain was forced to sell for £8 the barque worth £150 sterling.

So that the activities of the Weaver and his sons, his death and the revenge exacted by his youngest son, are perfectly probable. The folkloric elements are likely to have been tacked on to the story of young John by later storytellers in order to entertain their audiences. They are found in quite a number of tales.]

As the above indicates, that in addition to oral accounts there are a number of historical documents that mentions wrecking and piratical activites taking place in the Southern Outer Hebrides. In contrast to wrecking or salvaging, piracy did and continues to have many romantic connotations as anyone familiar with Robert Louis Stevenson’s novel Treasure Island knows and there are quite a few Scottish pirates who became world famous, with perhaps Captain Kidd being the most notorious of them all. Nevertheless, the Hebrides also had a fair number of unsavoury characters who saw nothing wrong in taking raiding and stealing from ships or aother vessles that crossed the Minch. Of Hebridean pirates, the most famous is probably Ruairidh Òg or Ruairidh an Tartair, chief of the MacNeils of Barra, who was active at the end of the sixteenth century. The MacNeil chief was cunning and frecious and even raided as far as the west coast of Ireland and also ranged into the broad Atlantic. Spanish and French treasure galleons seemed to have been a favourite target as well as English ships. In short the MacNeil chief became a thorn in the side of the authorities who were determined to put a stop to his activities and he was repeatedly ‘put to the horn’. The remoteness of Kisimul Castle, his strongold that gives Castlebay its name, was such that he could flout goverment directives with near impunity. Pressurised by Queen Elizabeth I, King James VI was forced into action and through subterfuge with the connivance of MacKenzie of Kintail the MacNeil was eventurally captured. Far from being totally repentent, when the MacNeil chief was brought into the king’s presence his charm and conviviality brought him his freedom. Although his estates made forfeit no one seems to have carried through the action. Other Hebridean pirates of note were Neil MacLeod of Bresary, Isle of Lewis, and also Ailean nan Sop, both of whom where active in the early seventeenth and early sixteenth centuries respectively. Although wrecking is no longer practiced in Scotland as it once was there was certainly an air of salvaging going on when the SS Politician famously struck the rocks near Eriskay, within clear sight of the Weaver’s Stack, in 1941. Bad weather and lack of an expertese of navigating through unfamiliar waters―two factors favoured by wreckers or salvagers―both combined to offer what islanders saw as a God-given gift that eventually gave rise to Compton Mackenzie’s wonderfully comedic novel Whisky Galore! and, of course, the Ealing comedy classic of the same name.

References:

Bella Bathurst, The Wreckers: A Story of Killings Seas, False Lights and Plundered Ships (London: HarperCollins, 2006)

James D. G. Davidson, Scots and the Sea: A Nation’s Lifeblood (Edinburgh: Mainstream Publishing, 2003) 
J. F. Campbell, More West Highland Tales, vol. 1, ed. John G. MacKay, W. J. Watson & H. J. Rose (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 1994), pp. 394–409

David Ditchburn, ‘Piracy and War at Sea in Late Medieval Scotland’, in T. C. Smout (ed.), Scotland and the Sea (Edinburgh: John Donald, 1992), pp. 35–53

Eric J. Graham, Seawolves: Pirates and the Scots (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2007)

Jim Hewitson, Skull and Saltire: Stories of Scottish Piracy, Ancient and Modern (Edinburgh: Black and White Publishing, 2005)

Captain Donald Joseph MacKinnon, ‘Breabadair an Stac’, CIM I.I.23: pp. 1766–71; SA1958/31/B3

John MacPherson, Tales from Barra Told by the Coddie, ed. John Lorne Campbell (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 1992), pp. 59–66

Steve Murdoch, The Terror of the Seas?: Scottish Maritime Warfare, 1513–1713 (Leidin: Brill, 2010)

Richard Platt, Smuggling in the British Isles: A History (Stroud: History Press, new. ed., 2011)

Gavin D. Smith, The Scottish Smuggler (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2003)

Image:

Captain Donald Joseph MacKinnon, known as An Eòsag

Weaver’s Stack / Stac a’ Bhreabadair, Eriskay

Patron Saint of Glenmoriston: Some Traditions of St Merchard

During a fieldwork trip to the central Highlands in the autumn of 1952, specifically in and around Glenmoriston and Invergarry, Calum Maclean managed to garner in a few traditions of St Merchard from various reciters. Religious anecdotes and legends represent some of the oldest strata of Gaelic oral traditions, some of which go as far back as the time of St Columba (Colmcille) as well as to other more obscure saints or holy men.

According to legend, the saint found three bells in Strathglass and took his to Glenmoriston (the other two bells went with his two fellow missionaries to Glenconvinth and Broadford): “His bell rang for the first time at Suidh Mhercheird (Merchard’s Seat) a hill above Balintombuie. The bell rang a second time at Fuaran Mhercheird (Merchard’s Well) beside the burn at Balintombuie; and a third time at a spot beside the River Moriston where he built his church.”

No traces now remain of either the church or cemetery, nor of the famous bell or font stone, which, it is claimed, always retained water, irrespective of weather conditions. Further, it is claimed by tradition, “that the bell was wont to ring of its own accord when a funeral came in sight, and that whenever it was removed from its usual position it was invariably found restored miraculously to its place. Many persons still living in the glen have seen the bell, and the grandparents of some of them used to relate that they heard it ring in their youth. Devotion to this saint was very strong in that neighbourhood in Catholic times, and he is still regarded by Catholics as the local patron.”

Such are a few of the traditions represent in print concerning St Merchard which chime well with those recorded and later transcribed by Calum Maclean. The following anecdote relates the story of how famous bell went missing and was recited by James Warren, around the 30th of September 1952, who belonged to Glenmoriston:

THE BELL OF MERCHARD

Well you see, it was never discovered. There were two men working in the hill in that dell, you know, and they were supposed to have taken the bell. And they left the district, and it was never found. Well strange to say, there was a smith and he was putting in his apprenticeship down at Forres. And he met this man, Garrow, at the railway station. And he says: “You belong to Glenmoriston.” He looked at his face. He says: “You belong,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Oh!” he says. “I knew your father very well he says. “I was working a long time up in Glenmoriston,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Garrow.” he says.

Now the train was coming in and he couldn’t wait:

“I’ll see you,” he says, “when I come back.” he says.

And by the time he came back, the man was dead. Now he would probably have got a lot of information out of that man about the bell. Wasn’t it strange he had no time to speak to him at the time.

“Oh!” said he, “I knew Glenmoriston well. I was working in the mill.”

Well, these two men were supposed to have taken the bell away. Well, the old lady, old Mrs Grant of Glenmoriston, she dredged the river for miles trying to get the bell. But there was nothing left of the bell, but the shell at last. It was a thousand of years old. There was the three bells. I forget the other place. You’ll find it in “Urquhart and Glenmoriston” – where he left the other two bells.

According to William Mackay the place at which the bells were found was then still called Craobh nan Clag (Crinaglack)―The Tree of the Bells.

The following short anecdote confirms that St Merchard found the bells in Strathglass, also recited by James Warren:

“MISE MEIRICHEARD MÒR NAM FEART”

[“I AM ST MERCHARD OF THE MARVELS”]

Merichead followed the cow. And the cow was always licking at the foot of this tree and working at this tree. And then they dug at the foot of this tree and they found the three bells. So Meiricheard, St. Merchard came on the scene. And he was supposed to take the bells and leave them at these – I suppose they would be churches at that time – and consecrated the churchyards there. Well, the bell rang at the top of Suidhe Meiricheard. It is called Suidhe Meiricheard until this day. He came in sight of the churchyard there. The bell rang. He came away down, took the water from this spring, which is St Merchard’s Well – it is just coming out of the rock – and went down and consecrated the churchyard. Well, there’s a stone in that churchyard that they call the baptismal stone. There is a little hole in it well in the driest of weather it’s wet. That stone is wet. The stone is there and the water is always in it. On the driest day in summer, it is never dry. The water is still there. A lot of people goes to have a look at that stone. It is wonderful.

The cemetery and its apparent nearby church also attracted traditions which was again recited by James Warren in his native Gaelic:

CLACHAN MEIRICHEARD

Bha craobh thall an Srath Ghlais agus bha a’ bhò a bha seo ag ilimeach bun a’ chraobh a bha seo a h-uile latha is a h-uile latha is, mu dheireag, thòisich iad agus thug iad an àird an talamh aig bun a’ chraobh agus fhuair iad trì cluig ann an clag. Well, ’s e Crò nan Clag a their iad ris an àite fhathast à Srath Ghlais. Well, Meiricheard – chuala tu Meiricheard, St Merchard, Meirichead Mòr nam Feart. Well, fhuair e fios gun robh aig airson clag fhàgail aig trì cladhan no trì clachan. Well, thàinig e gu mullach uiread an seo agus shuidh e an sin agus ghoir an clag. Thàinig e a-bhàn tao’ an uillt agus bha fearann beag aig tao’ an uillt an sin agus thug e an t-uisge an sin agus choisrig e – chan eil fhios a’m an robh eaglais ann aig an àm. Well, choisrig e e. Well, am fuaran gus an latha an-diugh Tobar Meiricheard a their iad ris agus an cladh Clachan Meiricheard. Chan eil teagamh nach robh eaglais ann uaireigin.

The above may be rendered in translation as follows:

There was a tree over in Strathglass and this cow was licking the base of the tree every single day until, at last, they began to dig up the base of the tree and found three bells in a hollow. Well, the folk of Strathglass call this place the Cattle-stance of the Bells to this day. Well, Merchard, you’ve heard about St Merchard, Great Merchard of the Wonders. Well, they got word that he had left a bell at three cemeteries or boulders. Well, he came up to a height at this place and he sat down and called for the bell. It duly appeared from beside a burn and there’s a piece of land beside the burn and he took some water and blessed it – I don’t know if there was a church there at that time. Well, he blessed it. Well, there’s a spring there to this very day and they call it Tobar Meirichead [St Merchard’s Well] and the cemetery is called Clachan Meiricheard [St Merchard’s Church]. There’s no doubt that a church was there at some point.

Let us now come full circle and return to the bell with this final following anecdote as recited by Glenmoriston native Peter ‘Struy’ MacDonald, which was transcribed by Calum Maclean on the 13th of September 1952:

CLAG MEIRCHEARD

A-nise, an cuala sibh iomradh riamh air a’ chlag a bha an Clachan Meircheard? A-nise, chan eil fhios ’m ciamar a bha tòiseach an eachraidh aig a’ chlag, ach bha Suidhe Meiricheard ann anns a’ mhunadh eadar Baile an Tom Buidhe agus Giuthsachan, mullach a’ mhunaidh agus bha Fuaran Meiricheard glè fhaisg air an rathad an ceum a tha a’ dol a dh’ionnsaigh a’ chladh a’ tionndann dhen rathad mhòr aig Baile ’n Tom Buidhe agus bha Clachan Meiricheard far a bheil e gun teagamh. A-nise, tha clach – bha e air a ràdha an còmhnaidh – agus ’s tric a chuala mi sin aig Griogar, gum biodh an clag a’ bualadh nuair a bhiodh tìodhlaiceadh a’ dol a thighinn. Agus cho fad ’s a bheireadh iad brìgh as an fhuaim a bha an clag a’ dèanamh, “Falbh dhachaigh, falbh dhachaigh gu do dhachaigh bhuam,” a bheil sìbh a’ tuigsinn. Agus nuair a chluinneadh iad sin an ceann latha na dhà bhiodh tìodhlaiceadh bàs air choreigin glè fhaisg orra a’ tighinn a thìodhlaiceadh na chladh. A-nise, tha clach anns a’ chladh làmh ris an àite sa bheil Tobar a’ Bhàistidh mar a their iad – bheil sìbh a’ tuigsinn. A-nise, tha clach ann an sin, far am biodh an clag na shuidhe air. Agus tha cumadh a’ chlag ann agus gum biodh e ann an sin. A-nise, cha robh duine sam bith ann an Gleanna Mhoireasdainn aig an robh cuimhne, nuair a bha mise òg, air teangaidh a bhith sa chlag – a bheil sìbh a’ tuigsinn – ach bha cuimhne aca air a’ chlag fhèin. Agus an fheadhainn air an d’rinn sinn iomradh mar-tha, coigrich a bha ag obair mun a’ mhuileann a bha sin, chuala mise m’ athair ag ràdha tric gur h-e feadhainn dhiubh-san, nach robh a’ creidsinn anns an naidheachdan seo, a dh’fhalbh leis a’ chlag agus a thilg san abhainn e. Agus an ath-latha thuit air gun robh an abhainn ann an tuil uamhasach, agus gheàrr i pìos dhen a’ bhruaich mun cuairt is thuit e air a’ chlag is tha àit’ tollta ann fo Dhal Chreichard – nach robh sgeul riamh air a’ chlag an sin. A-nise, fear dhen fheadhainn a thug air falbh an clag b’ aithne dhomh-sa mi fhìn e. Tha cuimhne agam air na sheann-duine is mise nam bhrocach òg. Ach is suarach cho math is a dh’èrich dha aonan dhiubh. Ach tha feadhainn eile a bhuineas dha Gleanna Mhoireasdainn agus tha fhios aca air seo glè mhath. The fear Raghnall Dean ann. Tha e a’ fuireach sa Mhanachainn, agus tha fhios aige-s’ air an fhìrinn a tha seo gun deach falbh leis a’ chlag is a thilgeil san abhainn. B’ e sin deireadh a’ chlag. Chan fhacas bhuaith’ sin e.

Tha e coltach rium-sa gun robh eaglais far a bheil an cladh.

And the above may be rendered in translation as follows:

ST MERCHARD’S BELL

Now have you ever heard mention of the bell in St Merchard’s Cemetery? Now, I don’t recall the story about how the bell begins but Suidhe Meiricheard [St Merchard’s Seat] is on the hill between Balintombuie and Giuthsachan, on top of the hill and Fuaran Meiricheard [St Merchard’s Spring] is near the road on the way towards the cemetery when leaving the highway from Balintombuie and St Merchard’s Cemetery is where it is without a doubt. Now the stone – they always said it – and often I heard Gregor say it, that the bell would ring when a funeral was coming. And as far as they could make sense of the noise that the bell made, “Go home, go home, to your own home,” you understand. And when they’d hear that in a day or two they’d bury some who died quite near them and they were going to be buried in the cemetery. Now there’s a stone near to the place where Tobar a’ Bhàistidh [The Well of Baptism] as they call it, you see. Now there’s a stone there where the bell would sit on. And the indentation of the bell is there as if it should be there. Now not anyone in Glenmoriston who remembers, when I was young, the bell had a tongue – you see – but they remembered the bell itself. And those whom we’ve mentioned already, a stranger was working over in that mill, I heard my father saying often that it was a few of them, if you believe in such tales, that removed the bell and threw into the river. And the next day it so fell out that the river was in a terrible spate, and a piece of the surrounding bank was swept away and it fell onto the bell and there is a holed place below Dalreicart – there was never any sing of that bell. Now one of those who had removed the bell I knew him myself. I remember him as an old man when I was but a young lad. But it’s just as well as what happened to one of them. But a few others who belong to Glenmoriston and they know fine well about this. There’s a man Ronald Dean and he stays in Beauly, and he knows the truth about how the bell was removed and thrown into the river. That was the end of the bell. From then on it was never seen again.

It appears to me that there was a church where the cemetery now is.

Of biographical information about St Merchard the information is rather scanty but a sketch was provided by Fr Michael Barrett in The Calendar of Scottish Saints:

5th or 6th century. This saint was born of pagan parents in the district of Kincardine-O’Neil, Aberdeenshire.

In his early youth he embraced the Christian Faith, and was ordained priest by Saint Ternan, who associated the young man with himself in his missionary labours. In later life he journeyed to Rome, and was there consecrated bishop. Returning to Scotland he ended his days in Aberdeenshire. At Kincardine-O’Neil a church was erected over the spot where the chariot which was conveying his remains to burial was miraculously stopped. A fair was formerly held there annually on Saint Merchard’s feast and during the octave.

One of the saint’s churches was in Glenmoriston. The ancient burial ground which adjoins it is still in use, and some few stones of the old building are yet to be seen there. The local tradition tells that the saint when labouring as a missionary in Strathglass with two companions, discovered, by previous revelation, three bright new bells buried in the earth Taking one for himself, he gave the others to his fellow-missionaries, bidding each to erect a church on the spot where his bell should ring for the third time of its own accord; undertaking to do the same with regard to his own. One of these companions founded a church at Glenconvinth, in Strathglass, the other at Broadford, Isle of Skye.

Saint Merchard travelled towards Glenmoriston. His bell rang first at Suidh Mhercheird (Merchard’s Seat), again at Fuaran Mhercheird (Merchard’s Well), near Ballintombuie, where a spring of excellent water treasured by both Catholics and Protestants still bears his name, and a third time at the spot where the old churchyard, called Clachan Mhercheird, close by the river Moriston, recalls his memory.

The bell of the saint was preserved there for centuries. After the church fell into decay early in the seventeenth century, the bell remained in the churchyard. The narrow-pointed spar of granite on which it rested still stands there. The bell, unfortunately, was wantonly removed, by Protestant strangers about thirty years ago, to the great indignation of the inhabitants of the glen, Protestant as well as Catholic; it has never since been discovered.

Tradition has it that the bell was wont to ring of its own accord when a funeral came in sight, and that whenever it was removed from its usual position it was invariably found restored miraculously to its place, Many persons still living in the glen have seen the bell, and the grandparents of some of them used to relate that they heard it ring in their youth. Devotion to this saint was very strong in that neighbourhood in Catholic times, and he is still regarded by Catholics as the local patron.

An additional source for traditions about St Merchard stems from William Mackay, a local historian and authority who compiled Urquhart and Glenmoriston: Olden Times in a Highland Parish:

A tradition which has probably come down from his own time tells that he was the first who preached the gospel in Glenmoriston, and to him the ancient church of that Glen—Clachan Mhercheird was dedicated.

Erchard, or Merchard, as he latterly came to be called, was a native of the district of Kincardine O’Neil, on the southern slopes of the Grampians. He became a zealous Christian in his early youth, and Ternan not only ordained him priest, but also appointed him his own coadjutor. It was perhaps while he laboured with Ternan that he visited our Parish. In after life he went to Rome, and was consecrated bishop by Pope Gregory. On his return journey he visited the Picts of Pictavia, now Poitou, in France, and brought back to the truth such of them as had lapsed into paganism. Falling sick, he prayed God that he might not see death till he arrived in his own country, and hastened northward through France and England. He reached Kincardin O’Neil to be honourably received by his people, and then died. According to his own instructions, his body was placed on a cart drawn by two horses, which were allowed to go forth where they listed. He was buried where they first stopped, and a church was built over his grave.

Such, briefly, are the circumstances of his life and death, as given in the Breviary of Aberdeen and other ancient writings. Much more is told of him in the traditions of Glenmoriston. While labouring in Strathglass with two missionary companions, his attention was drawn to a white cow which day after day stood gazing at a certain tree, without bending its neck to eat, and yet went home each evening as well filled as the other cattle. Curiosity, or a higher influence, led him to dig up the earth at the foot of the tree, and there he found three bells, new and burnished as if fresh from the maker’s hands. Taking one himself, and giving the others to his companions, he bade each go his own way and erect a church where his bell should ring the

third time of its own accord. One went eastward, and founded the church of Glenconvinth; another westward, and erected his church at Broadford in Skye; while Merchard himself travelled southward in the direction of Glenmoriston. When he reached the hill now called Suidh Mhercheird, or Merchard’s Seat, his bell rang for the first time; it again rang at Fuaran Mhercheird (Merchard’s Well) at Ballintombuie; and it rang the third time at that spot by the side of the Eiver Moriston which is now the old burying-ground of Glenmoriston. There he built his church—Clachan Mhercheird; and there and in the surrounding districts he for a time taught and preached. He became the patron saint of Glenmoriston; and his solicitude for the Glenmoriston people has not yet ceased. His acts of mercy and love have been without number. One example may be given. In former times, when a tenant died, his best horse went to the proprietor as each-ursainn—herezeld, or heriot. If the deceased left no horse, a horse's value was taken in cattle or sheep. On one occasion—twelve hundred years after Merchard’s death—it came to pass that a poor Glenmoriston tenant died, leaving a widow to succeed him. He had left no horse, and the ground-officer took the heriot in sheep. That same night, as the officer lay in bed, an unearthly voice spake to him:—

“’S mise Merchard mor nam feart,

’S mi dol dachaidh chum an anmoich;

Is innis thusa do Mhac-Phadruig

Nach fheaird e gu brath a’ mheanbh-chrodh!

(“I am great Merchard of the miracles, passing homeward in the night. Declare thou unto Mac Phatrick [the laird] that the widow’s sheep will never bring him good.”)

With the morning’s sun the terror-stricken man appeared before his master and delivered the ghostly message. The sheep were instantly returned to the widow, and from that day until now no heriot has been exacted in Glenmoriston.

Merchard’s bell was preserved at his clachan until about the year 1870, when it went amissing—removed, it is supposed, by strangers employed in the district. Its powers and attributes were of a wonderful order. It indicated, as we have seen, where Merchard’s church was to be built. Until the very last the sick and infirm who touched it in faith were strengthened and cured. After the church became ruinous, in the seventeenth century, the bell was kept on an ancient tombstone, specially set apart

for it. If removed to any other place it mysteriously found its way back. When a funeral approached, it rang of its own accord, saying, “Dhachaidh! dhachaidh! gu do leabaidh bhuan!”—“Home! home! to thy lasting place of rest!” If thrown into water it floated on the surface, but this the people were slow to put to the test, in deference to Merchard’s warning:—

“’S mise Merchard thar an fhonn:

Cuimhnichibh trom trom mo shàr’adh;

’S fiach’ nach cuir sibh air-son geall

An clag so air a’ pholl a shnamhadh.”

(“I am Merchard from across the land: keep ye my sufferings deep in your remembrance ; and see that ye do not for a wager [or trial] place this bell in the pool to swim.”)

All of the above traditions were summarised rather neatly by Calum Maclean in his only published book The Highlands (1959):

Glenmoriston is a glen of wonders and most of the wonders were associated with its patron saint, Merchard. Merchard was a disciple of Saint Ternan, a follower of Saint Ninian. The story goes that at one time Merchard and two missionary companions were in Strathglass, and while they were there their attention was drawn to a white cow that stood daily and gazed at a certain tree and, though it did not appear to graze at all, returned home each evening quite as satiated as the other cows. Merchard dug at the foot of the tree and there found three new and shining bells. He took one bell himself and gave one each to his companions and told them to go forth and build a church on the spot where the bells rang of their own accord for the third time. His two companions went on their way and Merchard came southwards to Glenmoriston. When he reached the top of a hill now called Merchard’s Seat the bell rang for the first time. He went on and the bell rang for a second time at Merchard’s Spring at Balintombuie. The bell rang for the third time at a spot beside the River Moriston where the old burial-ground of the glen now is, and there Merchard decided to build his church. The bell continued to be miraculous long, long after the saint’s death and, if it was taken from the ruined church buildings, it always found its way back in a mysterious manner. The sick and aged were cured if they touched it with full faith in its powers, and it used to ring on the approach of a burial. It was preserved among the ruins of Merchard’s church until almost the end of last century, when some sacrilegious person removed it and cast it into the river. In the ruins of the old church there is also a baptismal font that never dries up even during the most prolonged drought. The font is still there and bears witness to the powers of Merchard.

References:

NB SSS 18, pp. 1558–59; 1581–83

NB SSS 19, pp. 1608–10

Fr Michael Barrett, “Saint Yrchard or Merchard, Bishop”, The Calendar of Scottish Saints (Fort Augutus: The Abbey Press, 2nd ed., 1919)

Frederick Odo Blundell, The Catholic Highlands of Scotland, 2 vols. (Edinburgh: Sands & Co., 1909–17)

William Mackay, Urquhart and Glenmoriston: Olden Times in a Highland Parish (Inverness: Northern Counties Publishing Co., 1893), pp. 322–26

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (Inbhirnis: Club Leabhar, 1975)

William Owen, Glenmoriston: Places of Interest (Glenmoriston: printed for the author, 1973)

Image:

Dalreichart cemetery, Glenmoriston.