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
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
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