Of all the boats,
vessels or ships that sailed the high seas around the coasts of the Highlands
and Islands perhaps none are quite so famous as An Dubh-Ghleannach. Not a few traditions were preserved about her
and about the poet, Alasdair
MacKinnon, who composed a song in praise of her. The following is an
anecdote recorded by Calum Maclean on 21st of January 1951 from the recitation
of John
MacDonald of Highbridge, Brae Lochaber, and transcribed shortly thereafter:
AN
DUBH-GHLEANNACH
Chaidh
bàta a thogail leis na Dòmhnallaich shìos ann an Gleann Aladail. Agus ’s iad a
thog an tùr thar a bheil am Prionnsa Teàrlach an sin. Agus ’s e An
Dubh-Ghleannach a b’ainm dhan bhàta a bha seo. Agus cò rinn òran mu dheidhinn
ach Alasdair MacFhionghuin, an corpalair MacFhionghuin, a chaidh a leòn glè dhona
san Èiphit, dar a bha e anns an arm. Agus cha d’fhuair e riamh seachad air an
dochann a bha sin. Agus bha e a’ dol ga thìodhlacadh comh ri càch. Ach thug a
chompach an aire dhà gun robh e beò agus ghiùlan e dhachaigh e. Rugadh an duine
seo, MacFhionghuin shìos ann an Bun na Caime an Àrasaig. Agus chaidh a
thìodhlacadh anns a’ Chreagan sa Ghearasdan ann an 1814. Agus bha am bàta a bha
seo ainmeil na latha, An Dubh-Ghleannach, an t-òran:
Ach
bheartaich iad gach ball neo-chearbach
Ullamh,
allamh, deas gu fairge.
Tharraing
i le gaoth bhon eara-dheis,
Thog
i an caol is, a Rìgh, bu doirbh.
’S
ann sìos mar sin a chuir e am briathran e agus Gàidhlig mhath air An Dubh-Ghleannach.
Bha i aca airson bhliadhnaichean An Dubh-Ghleannach aig Cloinn Ghlinn Aladail
airson bhliadhnaichean. Chreic iad i ri fear shìos ann Sròn an t-Sìthein a bha
a’ gabhail an aiseadh a-nunn an sin Loch Suaineart, portair. Agus bha e ochd
bliadhna fichead a’ gabhail an aisidh a bha sin. Agus bha e air a chunntas na
sheòladair cho math agus a bha shìos as na h-àiteachan sin. Ach dè thachair an
latha a bha seo ach seann-daoine agus gille òg ag iarraidh an aiseadh. Is dè
bh’ annta ach daoine a-mach às na taighean-cusbainn a bha a’ coimhead feuch am
biodh feadhainn ris a’ bhriuthas mu na bruachan. Cha robh fhios aig an duine a
bha seo cò bh’ annta. Agus dh’fhaighnichd iad am faigheadh iad an t-aiseadh:
“Gheibh.”
Chaidh
iad a-nunn leis as a’ bhàta ach cha deach iad fada dar a thoisich i air toirt
a-staigh an uisge.Thuirt an gille òg a bha seo:
“Cum
tioram i, a laochain,” thuirt e. “Agus tha do mhac tuillidh is lag airson a
bhith a’ coimhead as deaghaidh an aodaich.”
“Tha
mi a’ dol ochd bliadhna fichead a-nunn an seo,” thuirt e.
“Cha
do thill mi riamh. Ach tha an t-eagal orm gun iomair mi tilleadh an-diugh.”
“Is
cunnart dhut tilleadh,” thuirt e, “ach thoir dhomhsa am bàta air no bidh sinn fodha.”
Cha
robh e toileach seo a dhèanamh, is thug an gille òg bhuaithe am bàta mu
dheireadh:
“Coimhead
as deaghaidh an aodaich,” thuirt e, “agus oibrichidh mise an ailm.”
Dh’iarr
e air pàirt den bhallaiste a chur a-mach is rinn e sin, mar a bha e ag iarraidh
air. Ghabh e fhèin an t-eagal gum biodh iad caillte:
“Cuir
am ballaiste mar siud is cuir mar seo e is cuir a-mach clach eile is clach eile.”
Is
dar a fhuair e ceart i:
“Nì
sin an gnothach,” thuirt e. “Dèan suidhe a-nis an sin agus thoir dhomhs’ a-nise
am bàta ri làimhseachadh agus chì mise sàbhailte thall sibh.”
’S
ann mar seo a bha.
Ghabh
am balach òg a bha seo an ailm. Agus thug e nunn i. Agus cha tàinig aon deur
a-staigh ’us an d’fhuair e thall. Agus chaidh e a-mach às a’ bhàta agus thuirt
e ris mar seo. Chuir e tàmailt glè mhòr air.
“Tha
bàta math agad nam b’aithne dhut a h-oibreachadh.”
Agus
chan eil fhios aige gus an latha an-diugh cò bha sa bhalach òg ach gun robh e
a’ falbh a-measg nan taighean-cusbainn. Agus chreic e i bliadhnaichean an deaghaidh
dhith a bhith aige. Agus am forfhais mu dheireadh a chaidh fhaotainn air a’ bhàta
sin aig cho ainmeil is gun robh i air an cunntas aig MacFhionghuin, bha bha i
air a cuir air beul-fodha air bruaich agus air cladhach foipe. Agus bha i na
taigh-chearc. ’S i a bha na mullach air an taigh-chearc.
And
the translation may be rendered as follows:
THE
DARK LADY OF THE GLEN
A
boat was built by the MacDonalds of Glenaladale. It was they who built the
tower where Bonnie Prince Charlie is. And they named the boat An
Dubh-Ghleannach [The Dark Lady of the Glen]. And who composed a song about her
but Alexander MacKinnon, Corporal MacKinnon, who was severely injured in Egypt
when he was serving in the army. He never fully recovered from his injuries.
And they were about to bury him with the rest when a companion noticed that he
still alive and he carried him home. MacKinnon was born down in Bunacaimbe in
Arisaig. He was buried in the Craigs cemetery in Fort William in 1814. This
boat was famous in her day and here is the song about An Dubh-Ghleannach:
But
they rigged every new rope
Quikly,
smartly, ready to go to sea.
She
drew the southeasterly wind,
Through
the narrows, oh Lord, it wasn’t easy.
That’s
how the words went and An Dubh-Ghleannach contains excellent Gaelic. The MacDonalds
of Glenaladale owned An Dubh-Ghleannach for many years. They sold her to a man
over in Strontian who used her as a ferry in Loch Sunart; he was porter. For
twenty-eight years he used her as a ferry-boat. He was reckoned to be one of
the best mariners they had over there. But what happened one day was that this
old man and a young lad wanted to get over in the ferry and they were from the
excise who were trying to find out if there were any illegal stills along the
banks [of the loch]. This man didn’t know who they were. And the asked if they
could take the ferry across:
“Yes.”
They
went over in the boat but they hadn’t gone far when it started to take in
water. The young lad said:
“Try
to keep it dry, my little hero,” he said. “For your son is too weak to look
after the sail.”
“I’ve
been going across for twenty-eight years,” he replied.
“I’ve
never had to return before. But I’m afraid that I’ll have to return today.”
“It’s
dangerous for you to return,” he said, “but give me control of the vessel or
else we’ll sink.”
He
wasn’t too pleased to do this but eventually the young lad took control of the
vessel:
“Take
care of the sail,” he said, “and I’ll steer with the rudder.”
He
asked that some of the ballast be thrown overboard and he did this as was
requested.
He
took fright that they were going to drown:
“Arrange
the ballast like that and place like that with a stone and yet another stone.”
And
by the time he correctly arranged it thus:
“That’ll
it do,” he said. “Take a seat now and give me back control of the vessel and
I’ll see you safely across.”
That’s
how things turned out.
The
young lad took hold of the rudder and took her across. And not another drop
came in until they got her over. And when he got out of the vessel he said something
that greatly embarrassed the other man.
“You’ve
got a good boat if only you knew how to work her.”
And
he wouldn’t have known to this very day who the young lad was other than he
travelled around the custom houses. He eventually sold her many years afterwards.
And the last thing known about that vessel which was so famous in her day as
celebrated by MacKinnon, was that she turned upside down on a shore bank. She
was turned into a hen-house and she was its roof.
Perhaps not all of
the above it totally accurate as it seems that An Dubh-Ghleannach was not recovered at that time and it seems
highly unlikely that she met the ignoble end of becoming the roof of a
hen-house. The man who commissioned the boat was Alexander
MacDonald, styled Alasdair an Òir
(Alexander of the Gold). As a young man Alexander MacDonald had gone to Jamaica
where he made a vast fortune and thus acquired his sobriquet. On returning to
Scotland, around 1771, with his new found wealth he purchased two estates,
namely Glenaladale and Glenfinnan, from a debt-ridden cousin.
His
son and successor was called Alasdair Òg
(Young Alexander) who financed the building of the magnificent tower,
commemorating the failed ’Forty-five Jacobite Rebellion, that stands at the
head of Loch Shiel. He died in Edinburgh on 4 January 1825 at the untimely age
of twenty-eight.
A
Gaelic bard and soldier, Corporal Alasdair MacKinnon (1770–1814), born at Bunacaimbe
in Arisaig, composed a eulogy to Alexander MacDonald of Glenaladale’s Loch
Shiel pleasure-boat and is a well-wrought sea poem considered to be one of the
best nautical songs to have been composed in the language. Joining the army in
1794, he served in the 92nd Gordon Highlanders and also in the company raised
by Captain Simon MacDonald of Morar. MacKinnon would later compose a lament for
his military patron.
After
being raised to the rank of corporal, MacKinnon saw action at the Battle of
Egmont-op-Zee or Bergen in 1799. Two years later MacKinnon was serving in Egypt
when he suffered severe wounds that were nearly fatal during the Battle of
Alexandria in 1801. His seemingly lifeless corpse was found on the battlefield
and if it were not for the intervention of his good friend, Sergeant MacLean,
then being buried alive—however barely—would have been his fate.
MacKinnon
was immediately conveyed to a hospital ship and recovered, though not fully,
and on arrival back in Britain was discharged from the army with a pension. On
eventually recovering from the effects of his wounds, MacKinnon joined the
Royal Veteran Battalion some time afterwards at Fort William where he died in
1814 and was buried in “The Craigs” with full military honours.
Although
MacKinnon only composed very few Gaelic songs they are nonetheless remarkable
for their quality. He composed at least one other great Gaelic song, namely Blàr na h-Òlaind (The Battle of
Holland). It seems that battles were the very thing that stirred his poetic
imagination.
John
MacGillivray mentioned in the opening of An
Dubh-Ghleannach was a piper as well as a fellow-poet who famously penned
the still popular song Thug Mi ’n Oidhche
Raoir san Àirigh (I Spent Yestreen at the Shieling):
Latha dhomh ’s mi an cois na tràghad
Chuala mi caismeachd nan Gàidheal.
Dh’aithnich mi meòir grinn a’ Bhràthaich
Air sionnsair ùr bu lùthmhor gàirich,
’S thuig mi gun do ghluais an t-àrmann,
Fear thogail nan tùr uasal, stàtail.
One day as I walked by the shore
I heard the warlike music of the Gaels.
I knew the nimble fingering of MacGillivray
On a new chanter of vigorous note,
And I knew that the hero had put to sea
The builder of the noble, stately towers.
The opening musical prelude sets the scence as she
is launched on her voyage but then a storm is raised against her as she makes
hear way along Loch Linnhe, through the treacherous Corran Ferry and up the
Sound of Mull:
Nuair ghabhadh i ’m fuaradh na sliasaid,
’S guala ’n fhasgaidh chasadh dian ris,
Ghearradh i ’n linn’ air a fiaradh,
’N aghaidh gaoithe, sìd’ is lìonaidh —
Dh’èignich i Corran an dìorrais,
’S leum i air iteig mar ian as.
When the windward took her sternside,
Her bow bend turned keenly,
As she cleaved apart the waves,
Against wind, weather or tide—
She wrested through obstinate Corran Narrows
And jumped by as a bird on the wing.
The poet rather effecively then uses a poetical
affectation that the very Gods (from the
classical Pantheon) are so taken aback
by the sight of such a beautiful ship under sail that they are determined to
see her destroyed by the elements which they then unleash just as she was about
to sail by Ardnamurchan Point:
Mhionnaich Neiptiun agus Aeòlus,
Bhon chaidh gaoth is cuan fon òrdugh,
Nach do mhaslaicheadh cho mòr iad,
Bho linn na h-Àirce a bha aig Nòah,
Gun robh an Rìgh as àirde còmhnadh,
A’ dìon ’s a’ sàbhaladh Chloinn Dòmhnaill.
Neptune
and Æolus swore
As they’d
control of wind and wave,
That
they’d never been so scorned,
Since the
time of Noah’s Arc,
As by the
King of highest succour,
Protecting
and saving Clan Donald.
Given
the fate which she was later to meet, there is something rather prophetic when
MacKinnon describes the maelstrom that surrounds the faltering ship with only
her young captain—Alasdair Òg—managing
to keep a cool head and being able to steer her to safety despite the best
efforts of divine retribution:
Bha
Neiptiun agus Aeòlus eudmhor —
Dh’iarr
iad builg nan stoirm a shèideadh,
Dh’òrdaich
iad gach bòrd dhith reubadh
’S na
siùil a shracadh nam brèidean,
Le
borb-sgread is fead na reub-ghaoith,
’Cur
siaban thonn na steòil sna speuran.
Neptune
and Æolus were jealous —
They
ordered the storm-bellows blown,
Commanded
each plank of her torn
And the
sails to be ripped into shreds,
By the
wild howl of whistle of the tearing wind
Sending
spindrift of waves in a spout to the heavens.
It
is likely that the she took shelter at Kilchoan as it would have been rather
foolhardy to have attempted passing by Ardnamurchan Point. MacDonald of
Glenaladale was so pleased with the poem that he gave MacKinnon a reward of £5.
It is said that a neighbour of MacKinnon’s, on hearing of such a large sum, was
so taken aback at such a prize that he said: “It is a bonny song, to be sure,
but faith, neighbour, you have been as well paid for it!” “I tell you, sir,”
replied the poet, “that every stanza of every timber in An Dubh-Ghleannach’s side is worth a five-pound note!” No doubt
this witty retort silenced the other man.
Encountering
a sudden squall as she rounded Kildonan point, the ship foundered off the coast
of the Isle of Eigg at Bogha nam Partan
very near to Sgeir an Taigh’ in 1817. She was on her way back from an autumn
cattle sale in nearby Arisaig, drowning her new owner Dr Donald MacAskill of
Kildonan as well as the minister of the Small Isles. All hands were lost apart
from Angus Òg, the great-grandfather of Hugh MacKinnon, a famous Eigg tradition
bearer, and a tailor from Arisaig who managed to escape drowning by catching
hold of a cow’s tale and clinging on for dear life until they both made it
safely ashore. Ever after the tailor was known as Tàillear a’ Mhairt (The Tailor of the Cow). Hugh MacKinnon,
recorded in 1964, describes graphically the exact moment when the ship sank:
And, you
know, the ship was coming in Pollnampartan and they were tacking and…darkness
had fallen on them and she was taken aback…Here’s the mast. The sail goes from
the mast like this – on the side like this. But as she came round she was taken
aback and the sail went and struck the mast and turned her over. She was taken
aback. And she went down.
After
this tragedy, what remained of the ship was allegedly towed to Galmisdale Bay
where glimpses of it have been recorded ever since when the tide is
exceptionally low. A plank was taken out and revealed to be hard wood, probably
oak, with square nail holes and one wooden dowel, also showing evidence of adze
work. If the wreck is effectively that of An
Dubh-Ghleannach, then what may have been found are the remains of a classic
eighteenth-century Hebridean galley or bìrlinn.
References:
Alasdair
MacFhionghuin, Dain agus Orain le
Alasdair MacFhionghuin, ed. by Alexander Maclean Sinclair (Prince Edward Island: Charlottetown,
1902).
Hugh
MacKinnon, ‘An Dubh Ghleannach’, Tocher,
no. 15 (Autumn, 1974), pp. 250–57; http://www.tobarandualchais.co.uk/en/fullrecord/44636/1.
Fionn
(Henry Whyte), ‘An Dubh-Ghleannach’, The
Celtic Monthly, vol. XII, no 10 (July, 1904), p. 189.
SSS
NB 2, pp. 148–51
Images:
Portrait
of John MacGillivray, MacDonald of Glenaladale’s Piper.
Galmisdale
Bay, Isle of Eigg.
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