Hunter-Bard: Donald MacKinlay of the Lays

Possibly one of the greatest ever songs to have been composed in Gaelic was the production of a hunter-bard known as Dòmhnall mac Fhionnlaigh nan Dàn. This song is, of course, Òran na Comhachaig (The Song of the Owl). A central role is given to the hunt in the song and is the only surviving work) of the hunter-bard. It has been described as “one of the most remarkable poems in the Gaelic or any other language” and as “by far the most powerful of all our poems about hunting.” There is no general agreement concerning Dòmhnall mac Fhionnlaigh nan Dàn or, indeed, the manner in which Òran na Comhachaig was composed. Donald C. MacPherson (1842–1880) claims that the hunter-bard’s wife was a Keppoch MacDonell who died at a young age, after which he is said to have been looked after by his daughter. Others say he married a young woman who often despaired of her choice and commenced to maltreat the hunter-bard and his dog. She found an injured owl and thought this a suitable companion for him. Either way, there was a great deal of stories told about this famous son of Lochaber as shown by the following legendry accounts of the hunter-bard that were taken down by Calum Maclean from John MacDonald of Highbridge and from John MacLeod of Glenfinnan. Each of these narratives offer three distinct yet interrelated traditions: when the hunter-bard went poaching in Argyllshire; when he met the supernatural hag of Ben Breck and, finally, the circumstances of his death:

Dòmhnall mac Fhionnlaigh nan Dàn, Dòmhnall Dòmhnallach, Dòmhnall nan Dàn a theireadh mòran ris. Bha e a’ fuireach an Loch Trèig, an ceann Loch Trèig. Agus bha e uamhasach math air a’ bhogha-saighead. Cha robh mòran anns an dùthaich ri linn na b’ fheàrr na e air an t-saighead. Agus smaointich e gun gabhadh e cuairt sìos gu Earra-Ghàidheal a dh’fhaicinn dè seòrsa dùthaich a bha sin. Chaidh e sìos air a thuras. Dè a chunnaic e ach damh-fèidh cho breàgha ’s a chunnaic e riamh. Agus leis gun robh de mheas aige air an damh agus air a bhith a’ marbhadh nam fiadh, cha b’ urrainn dà leigeil leis. Ach dh’fheuch e an t-saighead is mharbh e am beothach. Cò a bha a’ gabhail beachd air ach na daoine aig Earra-Ghàidheal. Agus dh’innis iad don bhodach e, do dh’Earra-Ghàidheal. Agus duine sam bith a bha a’ dol a mharbhadh fiadh an uair sin ’s e’ a’ chroich a bha a’ feitheamh air. Ach chaidh innseadh gun d’rinn e urchair uamhasach mhath leis an t-saighead is nach fhaca iad riamh a leithid. Is thuirt am bodach ris fhèin, Earra-Ghàidheal: “Bidh an duine ud math na mo chuideachada, ma thig na nàmhaidean teann orm. Agus feucha mi ri bhreugadh cho math is b’ urrainn domh, feuch an cum mi e dhomh fhìn.”

Thug iad an duine seo air beulaibh Earra-Ghàidheal:

“Chuala mi,” thuirt e, “gun robh thu feadh a’ mhonaidh.”

“Bha,” thuirt Dòmhnall.

“Mharbh thu fiadh is tha e glè fhada nad aghaidh. Ach bidh e maithte dhuit, ma dh’fhanas tu air an talamh agam fhìn.”

“Fanaidh,” thuirt Dòmhnall.

Dh’fhuirich e ann treis. Ach bha e a’ fàs sgìth ann mu dheireadh. Is thuirt e ris fhèin:

“Tha mi a’ falbh. Chan eil mi a’ dol a dh’fhuireach idir na do chuideachda na air an talamh agad.”

“O! tha mi glè dhuilich,” thuirt e. “Bheir mi dhuit an còrr talamh.”

“B’fheàrr aon sgrìob. B’fheàrr taobh Loch Trèig na na bheil agad uile.”

Is dhealaich iad. Chaidh e an àirde do Loch Trèig.

Donald son of Finlay of the Lays, Donald MacDonald―Donald of the Songs as many would call him. He stayed at Loch Treig, at the head of Loch Treig. And he was very skilful with the bow. They were not many in the country of his day that were better than him at archery. He thought to himself that he would take a trip to Argyll to see what sort of country it was. He went down (there) on his journey. What did he see but the most beautiful deer he had ever seen. Because he had such a love for the deer and killing them, he could not let this one go. He shot the arrow and killed the beast. Who saw this but Argyll’s men. They told this to the old man: Argyll. Anyone who killed deer at that time would be hanged. He [Argyll] was told that he had made an amazingly good arrow-shot that they had never seen the like. And the old man said to himself, Argyll: “That man would be good in my company, especially if my enemies came close at hand. And I will try to flatter him as best I can to make sure that I will have him for myself.”

They took this man into the presence of Argyll:

“I have heard,” he said, “that you were in the deer-forest.”

“Yes, I was,” said Donald.

“You killed a deer and that goes very much against you. But it will be good for you to stay on my own land.”

“Yes, I’ll stay,” said Donald.

He stayed a while. But, at last, he grew tired of it. And he said to himself:

“I am away. I am not going to stay at all in your company or on your land.”

“O! I am very sorry,” he said, “I will give you more land.”

“I would prefer one strip [of land]; I would prefer Loch Treig side than all you have.”

And they parted. He went up to Loch Treig.

Thuit do Dhòmhnall Fhionnlaigh gun robh e an latha seo ann am Beinne Bhric anns a’ Choire Odhar. Agus aig an àm a bha sin, bha a’ bhana-bhuidseach, Cailleach Bhò a’ Bheinne Bhric agus gràinne aighean aice còmhla. Bha an seann-fhacal ag ràdhainn gun robh i a’ bleoghan nan aighean is a’ dèanadh gruth is ìm is càise is ga chreic. Agus a-measg nan aighean, bha agh sònraichte aice ris an abradh iad agh bàn. Chunnaic ise Dòmhnall Fhionnlaigh a’ tighinn a-staigh air na h-aighean agus chuir i stad air:

“Dè tha a dhìth ort?”

“Tha tè dhe na h-aighean,” thuirt Dòmhnall Fhionnlaigh, “agus gu sònraichte an tè bhàn.”

“Chan fhaigh thu an tè bhàn.”

“Gheibh mi an tè bhàn,” thuirt esan.

“Chan fhaigh tu an tè bhàn,” thuirt ise.

“Gheibh mi an tè bhàn” thuirt e.

“Fàg an tè bhàn,” thuirt ise, “is bheir mi dhut guidhe sam bith a tha a dhìth ort.”

Choimhead e orra agus smaointich e:

“An toir thu an t-sròn dith,” thuirt e.

“Bheir mi sin, a Dhòmhnaill,” thuirt a’ Chailleach¾na Beinne Bhric. “Fàgaidh mi i agad leis, bheir mi fhìn an t-sùil dhùil dhith.”

Tha na sean-fhacail ag ràdhainn nach d’fhuair agh na fiadh riamh on latha sin gaoth air Dòmhnall MacFhionnlaigh.

It fell upon Donald Finlay that he was one day at Ben Breck in Corrour. At that time there was the Cailleach of Ben Breck who had her herd of hinds along with her. The old saw says that she milked the hinds and she made crowdie, butter and cheese and then sold it. Among the hinds she had an exceptional one which they called the white hind. She saw Donald Finlay coming near the hinds and she stopped him:

“What do you want?”

“One of the hinds,” said Donald Finlay, “and especially the white one.”

“You can’t have the white one.”

“I will have the white one,” he said.

“You can’t have the white one,” she said.

“I will have the white one,” he said.

“Leave the white one,” she said, “and I will grant you anything you wish.”

He looked at them and thought:

“Will you take away their sense of smell?” he said.

“I’ll do that, Donald,” said the old woman of Ben Breck.

“I will leave her with you, and I will take her right[?] eye.”

The old saw goes that neither hind nor deer from that day henceforth ever got wind of Donald Finlay.

Bha e a’ fàs sean agus glè shean. Ged a bha a bhean na b’ òige na e, chaochail i air thoiseach air. Agus bha e gu h-àrd taobh Loch Trèig na shuidhe ann am bothan agus e a’ coimhead a-mach air an uinneig. Bhiodh e an uair sin ceithir fichead bliadhna is a h-ochd. Agus bha nighean ag obair air aran a dhèanamh, air fuineadaireachd taobh an teine. Leig an duine osna:

“Dè a th’ ort, a dhuine,” thuirt i.

“Tha mi a’ faicinn ùdlaiche a’ tighinn a-nuas ann an sin agus cho breàgha is a chunna riamh. Agus ’s e a bha a’ cur caimir-inntinn orm agus dragh nach urrainn domh a chumail leis an t-saighead.”

“Och, na bithibh a’ coimhead air rudan mar sin, a dhuine,” thuirt i.

“Thoir thusa an t-saighead a-nuas bharr an fharadh. Tha i treis ann a-nise agus am bogh’. Faic am bheil an taifeid fallain. Agus faigh an t-saighead is fheàrr smeòir. Agus ma tha i garbh anns an roinn, suath i ri clach an teinntein.”

Rinn an nighean seo. Leag e a thaice ris an uinneig. Agus tharraing e an t-saighead agus leig e air falbh i. Agus thuit am fiadh. Agus cha mhòr nach do thuit am bodach taobh an teine leis an briosgadh a thug e air.

“Agus seo agad m’ iarratas,” thuirt e.” “Sin agad an damh mu dheireadh a thilgeas mise. Agus ’s e seo e. Feannaibh e agus cuiribh an t-seiche aige air dòigh agus thèid mo th`iodhlaiceadh an seichidh an daimh sin ann an Cille Choirill. Is na cuiribh air mo dhruim idir mi. Ach cuiridh mi m’ aghaidh air Loch Trèig is air na monaidhean air a bheil m’ inntinn a’ siùbhal a h-uile latha.”

Tha e air a thìodhlacadh ann an Cille Choirill gus an latha an-diugh teann air an eaglais aig Ailean nan Creach a chaidh a thogail ann an 1484. Chaochail am bodach ann an 1560.

He was growing old, very old. And although his wife was younger than he was, she died before him. He was up beside Loch Treig sitting in a bothy and looking out of the window. He would have been about eighty-eight years of age. His daughter was kneading some bread, baking beside the fire.

The man sighed:

“What’s wrong, man” she said.

“I see a stag coming down there and it’s as beautiful as [any one] I have ever seen. And what’s making me anxious and troubling me is that I can’t shoot at it.

“Och, don’t pay any attention to those things,” she said.

“Take down the arrow from the bier. It’s been there a while as well as the bow. See if the bowstring is supple. And get the arrow with the best shaft. And if it is rough in the cleft then rub it on the hearthstone.”

The daughter did this. He supported himself on the window. He drew the bow and let it go. And the deer fell. And the old man nearly fell beside the fire with the aftershock it gave him.

“And here is my wish,” he said. “That is the last stag which I will fell. And here it is. Skin it and put the hide in such a way as I will be buried in the deerskin in Cille Choirill. And do not put me on my back at all. Instead put me facing Loch Treig and the moors with which my mind will travel every day.” Until this very day he is buried in Cille Choirill near to the church built by Allan Cameron of the Forays in 1484. The old man died in 1560.

The hunter-bard’s grave can be seen to this day in Cille Choirill. Unfortunately, an iron fence post was struck through his flagstone by forestry workers in the latter half of nineteenth century. Perhaps they should have paid more heed to the hunter-bard’s epitaph said to have been attributed to him:

               Fhir a chéumas thair mo lic,

               Seall a rithist as do dhéigh;

               ’S cuimhnuich ged tha mi ’s an uaigh,

               Gu’n robh mi uair cho luath riut fhéin!

  O man who steps over my gravestone

  Look again – behind in to the past;

  And remember that though I’m in the grave

  I was at one time as quick as yourself.

References:

Donald C. MacPerson, ‘Cailleach Beinn a’ Bhric’, An Gàidheal, leabh. II, air. 26 (Apr., 1874), pp. 369–71

––––, , [Diarmad], ‘Donull Mac Fhionnlaigh agus Oran na Comhachaig’, An Gàidheal, leabh. V, air. 59 (Nov., 1876), pp. 328–34

Pat Menzie, ‘Oran na Comhachaig’, in Michel Byrne, Thomas O. Clancy & Sheila M. Kidd (eds.), Litreachas & Eachdraidh: Rannsachadh 2: Papers from the Second Conference of Scottish Gaelic Studies, Glasgow 2002 (Glasgow: University of Glasgow, Dept. of Celtic, 2005), pp. 83–96

Robert A. Rankin, ‘Oran na Comhachaig: Text and Tradition’, Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Glasgow, vol. V (1958), pp. 122–71

––––, ‘Place-names in the Comhachag and Other Similar Poems’, Scottish Gaelic Studies, vol. XVII (1998), pp. 111–30

SSS NB 1: pp. 43–46; NB 8: pp. 770–72

Image:

Owl / Comhachag. Licensed through Creative Commons