Beagan Sheanchais mu Latha Fhèill Mìcheil

B’ ann bho Dhòmhnall ‘Larry’ Mac an t-Saoir (1882–1962),  Dòmhnall mac Alasdair Mhòir ’ic Iain ’ic Iain ’ic Iain ’ic Nèill, a bhuineadh do Loch Aoineart, a fhuaireadh beagan sheanchais mu Fhèill Mìcheil agus na bha a’ thachairt air an latha ud (29mh den t-Sultain) ann an Uibhist a Deas. Chuir Calum an Tàilleir air chlàr e air an 20mh latha den Dùbhlachd ann an 1959:

 

Dòmhnall Mac an t-Saoir: Cho mòr ’s a bha na seann Ghàidheil a’ creidsinn ann na dhèanadh cuideachadh leotha – a bheireadh cobhair ann an dòigh sam bith a bhiodh a dhìth orra…Agus tha e collach gum biodh iad cumail latha fèilleadh – Latha Naomh Mìcheil – latha sònraichte ann an seo, agus bhiodh iad a’ deànamh…chan eil an latha fhèin buileadh a bhiodh ann idir ’s a bhiodh iad’ toirt urram dha. Bhiodh iad a’ bruich aran ris an canadh iad srùthan, agus bha an srùthan a bha sin, bha e mar gum biodh e na bhonnach beannaichte mar chuimhneachan air Naomh Mìcheal. Bha seann seanchasan ag ràdha aig na seann daoine, nuair a bhrist an sluagh a-mach à Flathanas, gur h-e Naomh Mìcheal a chaidh a-mach, a thuirt e gun robh ’n t-àite bha seo brath air a bhith falamh, agus gun tug e leis aran, agus gun robh e toirt pios dhan aran a bha seo dhan h-uile duine airson iad a thilleadh air ais, agus mar a bha iad a’ blasad air an aran, agus ga ghabhail, gun robh iad a’ tilleadh, agus gun do thill a’ chuid mhòr dhuibh, ach a’ chuid dhiubh nach do thill, gun do ghabh iad an t-aithreachas nuair a ràinig iad, ’s bha fios aca càite an do robh iad a’ dol – gun robh iad a’ tuiteam an sin fhèin, sìos, ge bith gu dè ’n t-àite bha rompa, co-dhiù ’s e fairge, na sgallachan, na talamh, na gainmheach na dè bh’ ann, agus gun robh iad ri bhith ann a shionach rè ùine gus an dèanadh iad suas airson a’ chiont a rinn iad, agus airson an t-aingeal uaisneach a bha seo a leantail. ’S ann a bhiste air rèir chollais mar a chuala mi fhìn aig na seann daoine, gum b’e sin an reusan a bh’ air an t-srùthan a dhèanamh, chionn gun robh aid a’ toirt urram do Naomh Mìchael, gun robh iad a’ dèanamh a’ bhonnaich a bha seo, agus ga riarachadh orra fhèin, agus gum biodh e na urram rompa nuair a ruigeadh iad an taobh thall, gum biodh e aca ri ràdh gun do rinn iad fhèin an t-aran a bha seo, agus gun robh iad ga riarachadh dha teaghlaichean fhèin airson an toirt air an rathad cheart, agus airson urram dhàsan – gur h-e siud bu reusan gun robh iad ris an t-srùthan a bha seo. Bha srùthan ri dhèanamh air oidhche Mìcheil, oidhche roimhe, agus bha e air a riarachadh latha Fhèille Mìcheil, agus cha robh duine bha san teaghlach nach fheumadh pìos dheth fhaighinn. Nuair a bhiodh iad ga fhuinne oidhche ron àm bha a’ bhean – am fallaid a bha i fàgail  bha i ga chaitheadh ann as teine agus bha i ag ràdh, “Siud dhuibhse, Dhonais, do chuid fhèin”, agus bha sin ag ciallachadh gun robh a’ chuid nach dèanadh feum dhan t-srùthan, gun robh e ri thoirt dhà-san, a chionn nach robh feum ann. Agus bha feadhainn eile ann cuideachd, agus ’s e “cuid a’ mhadaidh” a chanadh iad ris an fhallaid a bha iad a’ fàgail, agus rachadh iad a-mach gu cùl an taighe, agus chaitheadh iad a-mach e, agus chanadh iad, “Seo dhuibhse seo, a mhadaidh.” Agus chan eil fhios a’m co-dhiù a bha ceart, an fheadhainn a bha ag ràdh “Seo dhuibhse, a mhadaidh” na “seo dhuibhse, Dhonais” ach bha dà dhòigh ac’ air. Bha a-nist an cleachdadh a bha sin, tha e collach, a’ dol, agus gu h-àraid ann an Uibhist a Deas an seo – bha – ’s aithne dhuibh fhèin Àird Mhìcheil shìos an sin – bha e ri linn mo shìth-sheanar ’s tha mi cinnteach gun robh, nuair a bha mo sheanair na bhalach beag, bhiodh iad a’ cruinneachadh ann a shin Latha Fhèille Mìcheil, a h-uile duine bha san dùthaich o cheann gu ceann, sean is òg, bhiodh a h-uile duine cruinn ann ach seann duine, na seann bhean, na pàisdean beag’…agus cha robh mac duine leis an t-saoghal dhuibh sin, aig an robh each a-staigh, nach robh toirt leotha nan each, agus bhiodh iad a’ tol trì uairean leis an h-eich mun cuairt an teàmpuill airson urram a thoirt do Naomh Mìcheil, oir ’s e Mìcheal nan Steud an t-ainm a bh’ air Mìcheal, agus gum b’e sin na steud – Mìcheal nan Steud – è – na h-eich, mar chanadh iad, an cota-fairm a bh’ aig Naomh Mìcheil. Bha iad a-rithist a’ seinn laoidh – a h-uile duine aig am biodh i – agus a’ dol trì uairean mun cuairt an teàmpuill a’ gabhail na laoidh a bha sin – laoidh a bh’ air a’ dèanamh mar urram do Naomh Mìcheil. Tha cuimhn’ agams’ air feadhainn aig an robh pìosan dhith, ach cha robh mòran sam bith aig an fhear nach maireann dhith ach beagan fhaclan, ach bhiodh I ag feadhainn a bh’ ann roimhe sin.

 

Calum MacGilleathain: Agus chan eil fhios agaibh air facal a bh’ aig an fhear nach maireann – cha do thog sibh e?

 

DM: Well, chan eil cuimhn’ agams’ ach gun robh mar a bha i tòiseachach, gun robh

 

A Mhìcheil nan aingeal

’S na fìrinn à Flathanas

Cuir dìonachd ar m’ anam

Le faileas do sgèith.

Cuir dìonachd air m’ anam

Le faileas do sgèith.

Air...

 

…o chan eil cuimhn’ agam oirre, cha dearg mi air a dhol leatha. Cha dearg mi air a dhol leis an laoidh idir, ach gur h-ann mar siud a chaidh a tòiseachadh, ach bha i uamhasach fhèin fada, an laoidh a bha seo. Bha ri ràdha gum biodh – gum biodh – daoine ann, fhios agaibh, nach biohd aig an taighe Oidhche na Mìcheil, na Latha Fhèille Mìcheil – gum biodh iad air falbh on taigh air turas, agus ma dh’fhaodte gum biodh iad seachdainnan gun tighinn dachaigh. Bha srùthan – bha e ri fhàgail a-staigh gu cùramach gus an tigeadh iad. Neo, nam biodh iad tuilleadh ’s a chòir fada gun tighinn, bha fear ùr ga dhèanamh, agus dh’fheumadh iad pìos dhan srùthan fhaighinn a h-uile bliadhna, oir bhiodh iad mar leanaban gus am faigheadh iad am bàs, ged a bhiodh iad ceithir fichead bliadhna dh’aois. Bha sin a’ chleachadh a’ dol as an eilean a tha seo am bith an robh e as na h-eileannan agaibh. Chan eil. Cha d’fhuair mise mach sin idir. Tha iad a’ toirt urram mhòr, mhòr do Naomh Mìcheil seach gin eile dha na naoimh. Agus bha do dh’ùrnaighean aca, agus do ranndail ’s do ghorraidhean timcheall air an naomh a bha sin, rud nach urrainn dhòmhsa a chunntais, ged a bhiodh fios agam orra – tha – chan eil cuimhn’ agamsa, gun dearbha, air gin dha na h-ùrnaighean a bh’ aca.

 

CM: Agus…an cuala sibh robh iad a’ falbh le eich, robh ros (race) each aca an latha sin?

 

DM: Bhiodh ros each aca cuideahchd, tha fhiso agaibh; nuair a dhèanadh iad na h-ùrnaighean ’s an t-adhradh a bha seo, bha iad an uair sin a’ tòiseachadh air ros leis na h-eich, agus bhiodh iomain aca, agus bhiodh bàl an oidhche sin as a h-uile baile, cha mhòr, o cheann gu ceann dhan dùthaich. Bha fasan eile ac’ a-rithist, bhiodh na h-igheanan òga, bhiodh iad a’ cruinneachadh churran, agus bhiodh dòrrlach do churran aig a h-uile tè riamh. Chan eil cuimhn’ agam gu dè ’n t-ainm a bh’ air an fhacal a bh’ aig na seann daoine, mar a chanadh iad air a’ phairseil churran a bhiodh aca. Ach cha robh ann ach na rachadh eadar an òrdag mhòr agus a’ mheur. Dh’fheumadh sin a bhith làn, daonnan, aig a h-uile nighean, do churran. Agus nuair a thòisicheadh am bàl ’s an dannsa, ’s ann a-muigh a bhiodh aca falach. Nuair a thòisicheadh am bàl ’s an dannsa, bha iad a’ dol a-mach a dh’iarraidh nan curran, gu bith an robh iad dhan toirt a-staigh air fad ’s cò nach robh. Sheasadh i seo agus chanadh i, “’S ann agams’ tha na currain, ge bith cò ’s urrainn an toirt bhuam.” Bha nist cuideigin, tha fhios agaibh, a’ leum oirre sin agus a’ toirt bhuaipe nan curran, air bith an toireadh e bhuaip’ iad ’s cò nach toireadh, bha ’n cleachdadh a bha sin ann. Agus bha iad ag ràdha gur h-ann mar chleachdadh airson sonas a bha sin, a thaobh ’s gun robh iad ga dhèanamh mar urram do Naomh Mìcheal a bha seo. Nuair a bha iad a’ tòiseachadh as a’ mhadainn, gun robh bhuaidh a bha Naomh Mìcheal a’ cur orra, gun robh bhuaidh a bha sionach orra gus an stadadh iad anmoch san oidhche. Agus ge bith gu dè bhiodh iad ris, eadar leannanachd na dad eile, gun robh sean a’ tighinn gu buaidh, agus ma bha fear ann a bha toirt nan curran bho thè sam bith, gun robh e mar comhtharra ma dh’fhaodte, gur h-i bhiodh aige fhèin; agus gu rachadh an gnothach gu math leotha nam pòsadh iad; agus cinnteach gu leòr, ma chaidh aige air na currain a thoirt bhuaipe, gum biodh teaghlach mòr aca, le chèile. Sin agaibh beachd eile a bh’ aca. Nan rachadh currain a thoirt bhuaip’ air fad, agus gur h-e siud tè bhiodh aige fhèin mar bhean, gum biodh iad uamhasach fortanach as an t-saoghal. Sin agaibh na chuala mi mu dheidhinn, gu bith an cuala sibh fhèin guth riamh air a leithid rud, ach bha e dol ann a-measg nan seann daoine bha seo. Bho chionn fhada, tha fhios agaibh, cha robh daoine ga innse. Cha bhiodh daoine ga innse dhan t-seòrsa agaibhse ann, tha fhios agaibh – ’n fheadhainn a bha falbh ag iarraidh naidheachdan is òrain is òirdean dhan h-uile seòrsa, cha bhiodh iad a’ toirt sìon, tha fhios agaibh, a bhuineadh do chreideamh. Tha mi cinnteach gur h-e sin an reason, agus gum bheil e, air bàsachadh a-mach, nach eil duin’ ann aig a bheil cuimhn’ air mòran dheth. Chan e gum bheil cuimhn’ agamsa mi fhìn air mòran dheth, ach dìreach beagan an siud ’s an seo mar a bha mi cluinntinn. Sin agaibh nas urrainn dhòmhsa ràdh ma dheidhinn an Naomh Mìchael. Dh’fhaodte gun cuimhnichinn air tuilleadh uaireigin fhathast, ach chan eil cuimhn’ agam an-dràsta air co-dhiù ach siud.

 

Tha an naidheachd seo ri chluinntinn aig an t-seòladh shìos. Cha robh Mac an t-Saoir buileach ceart na thuirt e mu na luchd-cruinneachaidh bheul-aithris a thàinig a dh’Uibhist oir fhuair Alasdair MacGilleMhìcheil an t-uamhas mu chreideamh is eile bho na h-Uibhistich anns an naoidheamh linn deug. Agus tha na chruinnich e fhathast ri fhaicinn anns na leabhraichean air a bheil Carmina Gadelica. Fhuair e cuideachd mòran stuth mu na cleachdaidhean a bha aig na seann Ghàidheil an lùib Latha Fhèill Mìcheil a bha aig an àm ud an impis air a dhol à bith.

 

Tobar:

SA1960.21.A1 [http://www.tobarandualchais.co.uk/fullrecord/36803/1]
 

Dealbh:

Dòmhnall ‘Larry’ Mac an t-Saoir. Tasglann Sgoil Eòlais na h-Alba, Oilthigh Dhùn Èideann. Chaidh an dealbh seo a thogail san Òg-mhìos 1958 le Calum an Tàilleir ann an Loch Aoineart, Uibhist a Deas.

Iain Lom, the Keppoch Bard

Iain Lom, Bàrd na Ceapaich, or plain John MacDonald (c. 1624–c. 1710) is doubtlessly one of the most famous poets of seventeenth-century Gaeldom. He lived through turbulent times and witnessed the second battle of Inverlochy (1645) which saw the complete drubbing of the Clan Campbell. There was absolutely no love lost between Iain Lom and the Campbells; he would take every opportunity that came his way to demean and mock them. It is sometimes easy to forget that Iain Lom MacDonald was a great grandson of the deposed Keppoch chief Iain Àlainn (or ‘Handsome John’). His full patronymic, showing his descent, is Iain mac Dhòmhnaill mhic Iain mhic Dhòmhnaill mhic Iain Àlainn. Notwithstanding his outstanding verse such a noble background could have only bolstered his status among his clansfolk. This, however, did not help him when his outspoken political verse, in the wake of The Keppoch Murder (1663) made it expedient for him to leave the Braes until the situation had ‘cooled’ down. The following biographical sketch was collected by Calum Maclean from John MacDonald of Highbridge on the 21st of January 1951:

 

Thug e treis gu h-àrd ann am Bràigh Loch Abar. Chaidh e an sin a-mach gu deas agus nach robh e na bhàrd aig Teàrlach a Dhà, a thàinig air a’ chrùn dà bhliadhna na deaghaidh do Chromwell coachladh. Chaochail Cromwell anns an sia ceud deug agus a h-ochd thar an leth-cheud. Thàinig am fear eile ann dà bhliadhna an deaghaidh sin is thug e ceithir bliadhna fichead ann. Nuair a chaochail e dh’fhàg e duais aig Iain Lom. Is bha siud aig Iain Lom gus an do chaochail e.

Bha e na adhbhar a-rithist Iain Lom aig Murt na Ceapaich gun rachadh na daoine ann an Inbhir Làire a rinn am murt. Agus thachair sin ann an 1663. Agus bha Iain Lom an uair seo a’ tighinn gun a làthainean mu dheireadh aige fhèin agus e a’ fuireach gu h-àrd ann an Allt a’ Chaorainn. Chaidh a mhac a mharbhabh le Dòmhnall Donn Mac Fear Bhoth Chunndainn, far am biodh iad a’ togail nan creach. Bha iad ann an Srath Spèidh an dithist dhiubh, Dòmhnall Donna agus Mac Iain Luim. Agus a h-uile taigh anns an robh e a’ dol a-staigh, bha iad a’ faighneachd dheth:

“Cò am fear a tha leat an seo, a Dhòmhnaill?”

“Tha mac do dh’Iain Lom.”  

Ach mu dheireadh thàinig an rud gu connsachadh agus thuirt e:

“Dh’fhaodadh tu mise innseadh na b’ fheàrr na siud, na Mac Iain Luim ag ràdha.”

“O! ma-tà,” thuirt e, “na gabh nàire a t’ athair idir,” thuirt e, “ged a tha e cho lom sin is nach fhàsadh feusag air. ’S ann mar sin a thug iad Iain Lom air.”

Ach co-dhiù mharbh Dòmhnall Donn, mharbh e Mac Iain Luim leis a’ bhiodag. Agus rinn Iain Lom òran dà, aoireadh. Agus bheir mi dhuibh earann dheth:

 

“Is truagh nach fhaca mi air creag thu,

  Agus seillean nad chluais,

  Agus luch nad achlais,

  A’ cur a h-achanaich suas;

  Agus clach air a sparradh

  Nad bheul tarsaing mhì-stuaim,

  Nan tigeadh an fheannag

  Is bàrr na teangaidh a thoirt bhuat.”

 

Chaochail e ann an 1710 agus chaidh a thìodhlacadh ann an Cille Choirill. Theireadh iad Tom Aingeal ris. Latha an tìodhlacaidh cò bh’ ann ach Aonghas Alasdair Ruaidh à Gleanna Comhann, bàrd ainmeil.

“Cluinneam dè th’ agad ri ghràitinn,” thuirt Gilleasbui’ na Ceapaich ris a’ bhàrd Thuirt e na briathran seo:

 

“Bha mi an-diugh ann an Tom Aingeal

  Is chunna mi crìoch air m’ fhear-cinnidh;

  Iubhair nam bàrd, Righ na Filidh,

  A Dhia, a dhèanamh sìth ri t’ anam;

  B’ fhuath leat Màiri, b’ fhuath leat Uilleam,

  B’ fhuath leat luchd Siol Dhiarmaid uile.

  A h-uile neach nach biodh rìoghail.

  Dh’innseadh tu dhaibh e gun iarraidh:

  Gaol an leoghainn is fuath an tuirc

  Anns an uaigh ’s a bheil do chorp.

  Dhia thoirt mathanas dhut,

  Bha thu dioltach anns an olc.”

 

And the translation goes something like the following:  
              

He spent a good deal of time in Brae Lochaber. He then went down south and he was the poet laureate of King Charles II, that came to the crown two years after the death of Cromwell in 1658. The other one came two years after that and he spent twenty-four years [on the throne]. When he died he left this prize for Iain Lom and he had this until his own death.

It was a reason enough for Iain Lom at the time of the Keppoch Murder that men would go to Inverlair to avenger the murders. That happened in 1663. And Iain Lom was coming to the end of this days and he was staying in Allt a’  Chaorainn. His son was murdered by Donald Donn the son of the Taksman of Bothuntine when they were cattle raiding. The two of them were in Strathspey, Donald Donn and Iain Lom’s son. And every house that they visited they asked:

“Who is the man along with you, Donald?”

“It is Iain Lom’s son.”

But eventually things reached a head and he said:

“You could introduce me better than that, than by saying the son of Iain Lom.”

“Oh, then,” he said, “don’t be ashamed of your father at all even though he is so bald he can’t grow a beard. That’s way they called him Iain Lom (‘Bare John’).

But in any event Donald Donn murdered the son of Iain Lom with a dagger. And Iain Lom composed a song to him, a satire. And I’ll give you a bit of it:

 

“It’s a pity that I have not seen you on a rock

With bees buzzing in your ears

And a mouse in your oxter

That would force your armpits up,

And a stone thrust

Across your immodest mouth

And if a raven came

It would take the tip of your tongue off.”

 

He died in 1710 and was buried in Cille Choirill in a place they named Tom Aingeal. On the day of the burial who made an appearance but Aonghas Alasdair Ruaidh from Glencoe, a renowned bard.

“Let me hear what you have to say,” said Archibald of Keppoch to the bard. And so he related the following verse:

 

  “I was in Tom Aingeal today

                           Where I saw the end of my kinsman;

                            Key of the bards, King of the Poets,

                           God, let his soul rest in peace;

                           You hated Queen Mary, and you hated King William,

                            You hated the whole of Clan Campbell.

                           Every one who was not royal.

                           You would tell them without asking:

                           Love of the lion and hatred of boar

                           In the grave there lies you corpse

                           God have mercy on you,

                           You were ever spiteful in vengeance.”

 

A monument was placed by the Liberal MP Charles Fraser-MacKintosh to commemorate the bard's memory in the early part of the twentieth century. Unfortunately, it was mistakenly placed over the grave of another Lochaber bard, Dòmhnall Mac Fhionnlaigh nan Dàn, which lies near the entrance to Cille Choirill. Iain Lom MacDonald’s grave which was pointed out many years ago, further up on the hill known as Tom Aingeal, has been forgotten now. This is verified by the following information that Calum Maclean collected which he later wrote about in his book The Highlands (1959):

 

Farther on to the right is the church of St Cyril (Cille Choirill). It stands high on the slope of a hill overlooking the railway line. Here it is that lain Lom, the Bard of Keppoch, has found his last resting-place. The tradition is that he expressed a wish to be buried with his face towards his beloved Corrour. A stone taller than all others in the graveyard has been raised in his honour. All other headstones face due east; lain Lom’s headstone looks southwards to Corrour. The actual spot where his remains lie is not known now. It will never be known, for the last tradition bearer who knew for certain is long dead. My kind friend, Mr Archibald Maclnnes, caretaker of the graveyard and the most accurate authority on the history of Lochaber, does not know where lain Lom lies although he knows every other grave marked and unmarked in St Cyril’s.

 

References:

Anne M. MacKenzie (ed.), Òrain Iain Luim: Songs of John MacDonald, Bard of Keppoch (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1964)
Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (London: Batsford, 1959)

Donald C. MacPherson, ‘The Clan Donald of Keppoch’, The Celtic Magazine, vol. 4 (1878), pp. 368–75

SSS NB 22, pp. 118–21

Rev. Allan Sinclair, ‘John MacDonald, The Lochaber Bard, and his Times’, The Celtic Review, vol. V, no. LI (January 1880), pp. 97–104

 

Image:

Iain Lom MacDonald’s headstone, Cille Choirill, Brae Lochaber.

Tobar nan Ceann / The Well of the Heads

The following very short historical anecdote was taken down by Calum Maclean from the recitation of Duncan Chisholm (b. c. 1859), who belonged to Foyers, Stratherrick, on the 31st of October 1952:

 

Tha feadhainn agus rinn iad mur^st agus bha feadhainn air son a mar^aadh, tha fhios agat. Agus bha Ionbhar Gharadh, an fheadhainn aig an robh Gleanna Garadh air an taoi’. Agus dh’fhal^abh iad seo agus ghearr iad na cinn dhiubh a's a' Cheapach agus chaidh an ceangal ann an gad. Chaidh an toir’ leis gu Ionbhar Gharadh, agus ghlanadh anns an fhuaran iad. Bha fuaran fo’n an àite uras agus…They were going to carry them and put them at Mac ’Ic Alasdair’s front door, the heads.

 

And the translation goes something like the following:

 

There were those that committed the murder and there were those who were out for revenge, you know. And MacDonell of Glengarry, those that were on Glengarry’s side, they set off and they decapitated them in Keppoch and they tied them on a withie. They took them back to Invergarry and they were washed in a spring. And the spring was under the place below and…They were going to carry them and put them at Mac ’Ic Alasdair’s (Glengarry’s) front door, the heads.

 

A more detailed account of the Keppoch Murder was given in an earlier blog and also in Glen-Albyn or Tales and Truths of the Central Highlands reproduced in full as follows:

 

Directly opposite Invergarry station on the edge of the loch there stands a small monument commemorating one of those deeds of blood so common in the Highlands. Beneath the monument there bubbles up a little spring of clear, cold water, whilst the top of the shaft is crowned by a hand grasping seven heads transfixed with a dagger. Few stories are better known in the Highlands than this tale of the seven heads, yet seldom has so well-known a fact been confused with such a mass of conflicting details. 

 

The case is characteristic and throws a singular sidelight on the manners of the north at the time of the Restoration. 

 

One of the chiefs of Keppoch had sought a bride outside the limits of his clan and had married “a woman from the south,” as she was contemptuously styled, one of the Forresters of Kilbaggie, in Clachmannan. The two sons of this marriage were sent abroad to be educated in Rome, and while there the father died, leaving his brother in charge of the clan till such time as his son should have Completed his course and attained his majority. Five years after their father’s death the two youths, Alexander and Ranald, returned to Lochaber and took up the leadership of the clan.

 

With all the enthusiasm of youth and a liberal education, Alexander set about improving the condition of his people and made it his endeavour “to drive all thieves and cattle-lifters from his boundaries. This running counter to all the dearest traditions of Lochaber brought a certain amount of discontent and disaffection in its wake. The uncle, Alastair Buidhe, an unscrupulous and ambitious man, turned this dissatisfaction to account and fanned the spirit of rebellion till a widespread conspiracy was formed against the youthful chieftain. Finally the head of one of the minor septs, who had long cherished a secret grudge against the family of the chief, set out one night with his six sons and some other retainers, and having wade the river below Keppoch Castle, entered the house “with the water of the Spean still in his shoes.” Finding the young chief defenceless in his bed they plunged their dirks into his body, killing him on the spot. 

 

Ranald, the younger brother chanced to be out at the moment of attack, and hearing of the disturbance hastened to the rescue; but on entering the castle he was instantly seized and overpowered. He cried to his uncle, Alastair Buidhe, who was present, to assist him, but instead of Trying to defend him the uncle plunged the first dagger into his breast. The other conspirators followed suit and then fled to their own homes. The clansmen quickly gathered, and John Macdonald, the famous poet, better known as Ian Lorn, the bare or biting bard of Keppoch, had the bodies carefully laid out and honourably buried.

 

No one thought of seeking redress at the hands of the Government, and had it not been for Ian Lom the incident would probably passed unavenged. As it was, the bard poured forth such a torrent of bitterest invective against the perpetrators of the deed that he had to fly the country and take refuge in Kintail. Glengarry, though loving the name of Superior of Clan Donald, evidently thought that charity began at home, and his love of justice was not sufficiently strong to make him risk burning his fingers by attempting to call the culprits to account.

 

Finally, Sir James Macdonald of Sleat dispatched a party of his clan, under command of his brother, to try and bring the murderers to justice. The conspirators expected an avenging party to come from Glengarry, and kept a sharp look out upon the castle from a little bothy on the summit of one of the hills of the southern range. But Ian Lom skilfully outwitted them, and brought the little party of Islesmen up the valley of the Spean to Inverlair, where they surprised the father and six sons in bed. The sons were instantly dragged out and slain and the house set on fire. In the scuffle the father almost escaped unnoticed, when Ian Lorn cried out, “the six cubs are here but the old fox is still in the den.” At once a number of men dashed into the blazing house and dragged out the father, dispatching him on the spot. The bard then severed the heads from the bodies and putting them into a sack carried them by a circuitous route to Invergarry. Before reaching the castle he washed his gory trophies at this little spring. Then, after taunting Glengarry with bitter sarcasm on the inactivity which left the avenging of this foul murder to his distant kinsman, the poet laid the seven heads at his feet, and they were afterwards buried in a little glade not far from the present mansion house of Invergarry.

 

It is worthy of note that the mother of these murderers on whom the beardless bard executed such summary vengeance was his own sister. This monument was erected and the inscription upon it invented by Colonel M’Donell, the last chief of Glengarry, in 1812. 

 

Some years ago an antiquarian enthusiast in Fort William sought to prove the truth of this tradition, and dug up the mound at Inverlair where the bodies were supposed to have been buried. The skeletons were found buried without a coffin, whole and entire, excepting that each one lacked a skull, thus confirming the main facts of the story current in Lochaber.

 

Later, the heads were sent to Edinburgh and ordered to be “affixit to the gallows standing on the Gallowlie between Edinburgh and Leith.” However, if the original list of the names are compared with the heads displayed on the 7th December, 1665, a telling discrepancy arises for the Tutor’s sons’ names are wanting as they had escaped decapitation, although they were still outlawed.

 

The inscription, containing some half-truths, that appears on the monument reads as follows:

 

As a memorial of the ample and summary vengeance which in the swift course of feudal justice, inflicted by the orders of the Lord McDonnell and Aross, overtook the perpetrators of the foul murder of the Keppoch family, a branch of the powerful and illustrious clan, of which His Lordship was the chief. This monument is erected by Colonel McDonnell of Glengarry XVII. MacMhicAlaister his successor and representative in the year of our Lord 1812. The heads of the seven murderers were presented at the feet of the noble chief in Glengarry Castle, after having been washed in this spring: and ever since that event, which took place early in the sixteenth century, it has been known by the name of “Tobar-nan-Ceann”, or the Well of the Seven Heads.

 

References:

Catriona Fforde, The Great Glen: From Columba to Telford (Castle Douglas: Neil Wilson, 2011)

Andrew J. Macdonald, Glen-Albyn or Tales and Truths of the Central Highlands (Fort Augustus: The Abbey Press, 1920), pp. 48–51

Calum I. Maclean, The Highlands (London: Batsford, 1959)

Donald C. MacPherson, ‘The Clan Donald of Keppoch’, The Celtic Magazine, vol. 4 (1878), pp. 368–75

SSS NB 22, pp. 27–28

 

Image:

Tobar nan Ceann / Well of the Seven Heads, Loch Oich, Invergarry

Murt na Ceapaich / The Keppoch Murder (1663)

Three-hundred and fifty years to the day one of the most ‘heinous’ crimes was committed when two brothers, Alexander (Alasdair MacDhòmhnaill Ghlais) and Ranald (Raghnall Òg) were murdered by around 30 assailants – judging by the number of wounds said to have been inflicted on Alexander (35) and Ranald (28) – each dirk stab corresponding to a signature on the “black bond” signed at Tòrran nam Mionn, just south of Bohuntin in Glenroy. Iain Lom MacDonald, Bàrd na Ceapaich, explicitly names the guilty party in Cumha do Mhac Mhic Raghnaill na Ceapaich agus a Bhràthair:

 

’S ann air madainn Di-h-aoine

                Rinn na mèirlich do reubadh

 

                Dà mhac bràthair t’ athar,

                Gum bu sgrathail leam féin sud,

 

                Agus seachd de Shìol Dùghaill,

                Luchd a spùilleadh nan ceudan.

 

               It was on Friday morning

  that you were murdered by the robbers:

 

  By two sons of your uncle

  horrible indeed do I deem that deed,

 

  And seven of the Seed of Dugald,

  despoilers of hundreds.

 

Calum Maclean recorded on the 17th of January 1951 a version of the events leading up the murder from the recitation of Allan MacDonald or MacDonell (1870–1954), a native of Bunroy then residing in the village of Inverlochy:

 

Bha da ghille òg Mhic ’ic Raghnaill, bha iad air tighinn dhachaigh às an Fhraing. Chaidh iad a dh’Inbhir Làire a choimhead air piuthar an athar is air an teaghlach is air an t-seann duine, e fhèin. Thuirt e nach robh e uamharaidh slàinteil is bha e às an leabaidh. Rinn iad fuaran mòr dar a ràine na gillean. Thuirt piuthar a mathar:

 

“O! seallaidh sinn na pàipeirean dhaibh airson nan cùmhannan a th’ againn airson Inbhir Làire.”

 

Sheall i na pàipeirean dhaibh. Bha na pàipeirean, na cùmhannan a bh’ aca air a bhith seachad deich bliadhna roimhe sin. Thilg fear dhiubh na pàipeirean anns an teine:

 

“Chan eil feum idir annta a bhith gan cumail,” thuirt e.

 

Rinn ise glaodh agus thuirt i: “Carson a rinn thu sin?”

 

Chuala an seann duine a bha san leabaidh e agus thuirt e:

 

“Dar a gheibh mise,” thuirt e,” air mo chois thèid siud a phàigh’.”

 

Dh’fhalbh na gillean dachaigh. Cha robh còrdas uamhraidh maith eatorra an dèidh na pàipeirean a dhol san teine. Chaidh iad dachaigh don Cheapaich. Thug iad bliadhna ann. Bha iad a’ toirt leotha nan claidheamhan aca an àirde dar a bhiodh iad a’ dol a chadal. An oidhche bha seo cha tug iad an àirde na claidheamhan. Chaidh iad air adhart sìos ro Inbhir Làire is ràinig iad Clianaig. Dar a ràinig iad Clianaig, bhruidhinn iad ri Dòmhnall Gorm, bràthair an athar airson e a dhol leotha.

 

“Cha tèid, cha tèid,” thuirt e. “Cha bhi gnothach idir agam ris.”

 

Thàinig iad thairis air Bun Ruaidh. Chum iad air adhart ri taigh na Ceapaich. Cha robh fada aca ri dhol. Fhuair iad a-staigh is dh’fhairich na gillean gu h-àrd. Thug fear de na gillean gu h-àrd, thug e leum le bruthach an staighre. Chuir iad an claidheamh roimhe mun d’fhuair le bruthach. Bha e airson a’ chlaidheamh fhaighinn. Chaidh am fear eile a mharbhadh.

 

Ach, co-dhiù, Sìle Nic ’ic Raghnaill, bha i ann Tìr an Drìs. Bha Tìr an Drìs aca còmh’ ris a’ Cheapaich. Dh’èrich i. Thug i sùil suas air a’ Cheapaich. Cha robh fhios aice air nitheann. Chunna i nach robh smùid san taigh agus thuirt e:

 

               “Dh’èirich mi moch madainn Dhòmhnaich,

               Chunna mi taigh m’ athar gun cheò ann.

               Fàth mo lionn dubh o hao o ho,

               Is goirt a bhuail iad san dà thaobh sibh,

               A ghràidhean mo ghaoil o ho ill ò.

               Dh’fhosgail mi doras an t-seòmair,

               Hi ri ’s na lu o rò,

               Bha fuil Alasdair agus Dhòmhnaill

               A’ tighinn thairis air bheul nam bròg.”

 

And the translation goes something like the following:

 

MacDonald of Keppoch had two young sons and they had come home from France. They went over to Inverlair to visit their paternal aunt and the family as well as the old man himself. He said that he wasn’t terribly well and he was in bed. The lads were given a great welcome when they arrived. Their maternal aunt said [sic].

 

“Oh, we’ll show the deeds to them for the contract we have for Inverlair.”

 

She showed them the deeds. The deeds, the contracts they possessed had been given to them over ten years before. One of the lads threw they deeds into the fire:

 

“There’s no need at all to keep them,” he said.

 

She gave a cry and she then asked: “Why did you do that?”

 

The old man lying in bed heard this and he said:

 

“When I get on my feet this will be paid for.”

 

The lads went home. There was not a terribly good relationship between them after the deeds had put in the fire. They went home to Keppoch and stayed there for a year. They used to take swords with them when they were going to sleep. On this particular night they didn’t take swords with them. They went down to Inverlair and reached Clianaig. When they got to Clianaig they spoke to Donald Gorm, their paternal uncle to asked if he would go with them.

 

“No, no,” he said. “I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

 

They went over Bunroy and they kept going to Keppoch House. They had not far to go. They entered and noticed that the lads were upstairs. One of the lads upstairs leapt down the stairs. They put a sword through him before he get down the stairs. He had wanted to get a sword. They other one was murdered.

 

In any case Cecila MacDonald (Sìlis na Ceapaich) was in Tirnadris; they owned Tirnadris as well as Keppoch. She got up and she took a look over to Keppoch. She didn’t know anything about it. When she looked she noted that there was no smoke coming out of the house and she said:

 

               I rose up early Sunday morning,

               I saw my father’s house without smoke.

               Cause of my sorrow o hao o ho,

               Sorely they struck you in both sides,

               Oh dearest of my loves o ho ill ò.

               I opened the door of the bed chamber,

               Hi ri ’s na lu o rò,

               Alasdair and Donald’s blood

               Swept over the mouth of my shoes.

 

The story behind the crime is a rather complex one but it involved an internecine clan struggle for power, property and land. The culmination of this bloody act had been generations in the making and centred around a family struggle between Sliochd an Taighe, founded by Iain Dubh MacDonald and Taigh na Ceapaich, the MacDonalds of Keppoch House. To cut a long story short, Alasdair Buidhe, styled the Tutor, came to be the new power in the Braes in 1646. His rise to power came by way of some rather dark political machinations. During the next eleven years, the Tutor consolidated his position by gaining leases for the vast majority of the Braes. With the coming of his nephews Alexander and Ranald, in the summer of 1661, the scene was set. The two brothers settled into Keppoch house – the only property which they actually owned – once they had the Tutor removed to his own residence Tom an Taigh Mhòir, Bohuntin. An action which raised the ire of the Tutor’s eldest son, Ailean Dearg, who saw himself as rightful heir according to the old law of Celtic tanistry. The Tutor and his sons waited for a false move to be made. The false move, eagerly awaited by the Tutor, came when the young Keppoch moved against Alasdair Ruadh mac Dhùghaill, Inverlair, the head of Sìol Dùghaill.

 

Alasdair Ruadh refused to pay rent to Keppoch, instead paying it to the Tutor who leased the land from Gordon of Huntly. The young chief resented this blatant disregard of his authority and refused to acknowledge any titular deeds other than Keppoch’s own to these lands. The bitterness between the two branches soon led to punitive measures: “Early the following year, on 30th January 1662, a complaint was lodged against him by Alexander MacDonald, tacksman of Inverlair, for having invaded his lands the previous month, accompanied by sixty of his dependants, and conducting himself in a most riotous and barbarous manner, as a result of which he himself was forced to seek refuge among strangers.  He further stated that Keppoch boasted that he would eject him from his lands, and that before they would be satisfied ‘one of them tuo must dy.’” By this action the young upstart Keppoch lost the little respect that he had among the Braerians. All but one of the cadet branches came when summoned. Sliochd an Taighe remembering their murdered kindred stood apart. Strange to relate that they stood with the Tutor’s sons, who had the very same grandfather, but they too were of Bohuntin blood. The Tutor's wife was also of Bohuntin stock, a sister of the bard Dòmhnall Donn of Bohuntin. The young chief was now in a quandary. Turning to the chief-worshipping advice of Iain Lom MacDonald, was probably a mistake. His forthright views were not unanimously shared among the Braerians especially concerning the troublesome young Keppoch.

 

Alasdair turned to his superior, the Tutor, for redress. Any prevarication on the Tutor’s part would have been negated by his brother Donald Gorm, described as “the fiend incarnate.” Spurred on by Donald Gorm and his own eldest son, Ailean Dearg, the plot of murder was soon hatched. What then was the real motive? Annie M. MacKenzie, editor of Iain Lom MacDonald’s poetry, favours the contemporary accounts: “With regard to the motive which prompted the murder he [Iain Lom] is also very specific, and states explicitly that it was committed solely on account of the attempt made by the young chief to curb the unruly habits of his assailants … It seems clear that an attempt was made to raise the general standard of conduct within the clan ... it is probable that they were resented by the MacDonalds of Keppoch, who were a predatory clan by tradition and economic necessity.”

 

The young Keppoch’s ill-conceived and somewhat naive conception for the introduction of new order in the Braes, together with the inherited mistrust of Keppoch House as seen by Sliochd an Taighe, sealed his fate.

 

The following is the oft-quoted conversation that it said to have been held (although most certainly were not the actual words) between Sir James MacDonald and Iain Lom:

 

He turned to Sir James MacDonald of Sleat:

“Where have you come from?” asked James.

“From Laodicea,” replied the Bard.

“Are they hot or cold in that place?” asked James.

“Abel is cold,” said the Bard, “and his blood is crying in vain for vengeance: Cain is hot and red-handed, and hundreds around are lukewarm as the black goat's milk.”

 

The persistence of Iain Lom MacDonald’s campaign for justice, especially through the effective use of his muse, entreated Sir James MacDonald of Sleat, which subsequently resulted in a commission of fire and sword issued by the Privy Council on the 29th of July, 1665, listing the following names:

 

               Allan MacDonald, son of the Tutor of Keppoch;

               Donald MacDonald, brother of the said Allan;

               Alexander MacDougall in Inverlair;

               John Roy MacDougall, brother to the said Alexander;

               Donald Orie McCoull there;

               Dugall McCoull in Tallie;

               Patrick Dunbar.

 

These are the men who were executed by the posse, numbering around fifty, who arrived under the leadership of Sir James’s brother, Archibald MacDonald of North Uist, better known in Gaelic tradition as An Ciaran Mabach. The Isles men arrived in the Braes on Sunday at dawn after four days’ march and immediately set about their business. After a brief fray, the so-called perpetrators of the Keppoch Murder were executed on the spot and beheaded. Iain Lom MacDonald then had the rather grizzly task of taking the decapitated heads, after which he cleansed them in the Well of the Seven Heads (Tobar nan Ceann) by Loch Oich, before presenting them to MacDonell of Glengarry.

 

What in the end did Iain Lom MacDonald’s so-called cry for justice achieve? The status quo remained as Alasdair Buidhe was re-elected chief, no doubt as a benevolent despot, until the river Roy finally claimed him c. 1669.  None of the real perpetrators of the crime were brought to justice. And in reality the action instigated by Iain Lom MacDonald was really a massacre of scapegoats. Perhaps Iain Lom MacDonald had a personal vendetta against Inverlair; and perhaps, Alasdair Ruadh, was unwittingly manipulated by the Tutor, as a disaffected member of the clan, who shared the common purpose of wanting to get rid of the troublesome young Keppoch. The Tutor had been vindicated with his re-election thus partially exonerating him of any guilt for the crime. Not so for Iain Lom MacDonald who found it expedient to remove himself from the Braes of Lochaber, to seek shelter under the MacKenzies of Seaforth, Kintail, returning many years later from this self-imposed exile, after his kinsmen's hostility had cooled, to die in extreme penury at Allt a' Chaorainn, near An Urchair, where his great-great-grandfather, the deposed 4th Chief of Keppoch, Iain Àlainn, ended his days. 

References:

Catriona Fforde, The Great Glen: From Columba to Telford (Castle Douglas: Neil Wilson, 2011)

Rev Angus J. MacDonald & Rev. Archibald MacDonald, The Clan Donald, vol. 2.  (Inverness: 1900)

Stuart MacDonald, Back to Lochaber (Edinburgh: The Pentland Press, 1994)

Anne M. MacKenzie, (ed.), Òrain Iain Luim: Songs of John MacDonald, Bard of Keppoch (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1964)

Donald C. MacPherson, ‘The Clan Donald of Keppoch’, The Celtic Magazine, vol. 4 (1878), pp. 368–75

SSS NB 1, pp. 27–28

Image:

Tobar nan Ceann / The Well of the Seven Heads, Loch Oich, Invergarry.