Deich bliadhna fichead a's còrr, 'S cha bhuineadh an seors' ud dhuinn. 'S e 'm barr-iall bu bhoiche leinn, Fhuair sinn an cothrom an dràst, Chuir sinn a suas an deise, Am bitheadh a' charnaid dlù, Osan nach ceangail ar ceum, 'S nach ruigeadh mar reis an glùn. The garb was now, however, so long forbidden, and the habits and circumstances of the people so much changed, that, even after the repeal of the Act, the dress was not universally resumed. The younger generation had, by force of habit, become reconciled to the change, while the older portion could hardly be expected to resume the costume after thirty-five years of proscription. The "March of Progress and Civilisation" which followed the suppression of the rebellion, had brought so many changes in its wake, that now, the people found themselves in such altered circumstances that they could hardly resume the dress, however willing they might be. These changes were accelerated by the measures introduced by Government for the abolition of hereditary jurisdictions, and the consequent overthrow of the power of the chiefs, who now found time hanging idly on their hands. They had no further use for the faithful clansmen by whose claymores they had held their lands; their ideas had become modernised and their expenditure had increased to such an extent that to keep pace with their Saxon compeers, their limited incomes must be increased, and to this cause may be traced the many painful changes which subsequently took place. The trusty clansman, who lived contented, comfortable, and happy on his small patch of land, tending his flock and herds with fearless confidence in the equity of the leader of the people, had to make way for the speculative capitalists and land jobbers from the South, to whose promises of large increase of rents, the chiefs lent a willing ear. Thus began those changes which have since exerted a most baneful influence on the character, comfort, and independence of the Highlanders. Need we wonder then, that the repeal of the Act found the Highlanders so much altered in spirit as to prevent the dress again coming into general use. "Considering the severity of the law against the garb," says General Stewart, "nothing but the partiality of the people could have prevented its going entirely into disuse. The prohibitory laws were so long in force, that more than two-thirds of the generation who saw them enacted passed away before their repeal. The youth of the latter period knew it only as an illegal garb, to be worn only by stealth, under the fear of imprisonment and transportation. Breeches, by force of habit, had become so common, that it is remarkable how the plaid and philabeg (Feileadh-beag) were resumed at all." J. G. MACKAY. DONALD OG MACAULAY. DONALD OG MACAULAY, great-grandson of the famous Donald Càm Macaulay, was left an orphan at the early age of fifteen, by the death of his father, and on this child depended the welfare of all the rest of the family. But notwithstanding the hardships and cares of his youth, he became, when he grew up, a man of gigantic size and corresponding strength, and of this latter attribute many stories and songs are still extant in the Western Isles. He had one defect, however—his swordmanship—which, in comparison with the skill displayed by some of his contemporaries, was quite indifferent. He was too proud, however, to acknowledge that he lacked the skill, or that he was second to any man in the Highlands in the handling of the weapon. At that period there lived at Berneray, in Harris, a farfamed swordsman named Donald Roy Macleod, and a report of some prodigious sword feats performed by him having reached Donald Og Macaulay, the latter sent him a challenge. He proposed that Macleod should meet him with twelve men at Tolmachan, then a hamlet between Amhainnsuidh and Bun-amhainnader, in Harris, on a given day. "Tell Macleod," said Macaulay to the messenger, "that I hear he is an expert swordsman, and that I am determined to try his skill." "Tell your master," answered Macleod, "that I never considered myself an adept in the handling of that weapon, and that I thought, now that I am old and grey-haired, I should go down to the grave without any little skill I may possess being called into requisition. But, little as my knowledge of swordmanship is, I accept Macaulay's challenge with pleasure, and will meet him at his own time and place." Early on the morning of the day appointed for the duel at Tolmachan, Donald Roy and his twelve men took boat to Rodel, and travelled thence to Torgabost, whence they again took boat for Loch Meabhag-a-chuain-there is a Meabhag-achuain and a Meabhag-nam-beann in Harris-a loch close to Tolmachan. At the time there lived at Torgabost a man called Aonghas 'ic Dhonachaidh 'ic Aonghais, or Angus, son of Duncan, son of Angus. He was not much to look at, being slender of build, and small in stature, but what Angus wanted in size he possessed in skill, especially as a swordsman. Angus's house was close to the shore, and seeing Donald Roy and his men passing, and fearing that some evil might befall them (for he knew where they were going), he ran into his house, and bid his wife put a creap, i.e., a lump of dough, into the fire at once, while he would get his sword ready, as he was going to Tolmachan to fight a duel for Donald Roy of Berneray. The creap, which was a common lunch carried by persons going a journey in the Highlands in those days, was only half cooked when Angus was ready, and taking it out of the fire, and putting it into his pocket, he started for Tolmachan. Angus had to go by Tarbert, so that he had more than eighteen miles to travel to the rendezvous. He was, however, so light of foot, that he was at the place almost as soon as Donald Roy and his party. On seeing Angus coming up, Donald Og Macaulay, who had arrived with his men a short time before, enquired of Donald Roy, Who was that insignificant creature approaching them? "He will speak for himself when he comes," said Donald, who at once recognised Angus, and guessed his purpose. As soon as he came up to them, Angus said to Macaulay: "S mise do dhuine (I am your man.) And I am sure I am the smallest of all the men Donald Roy brought here. The Harris motto is, 'The weakest to the front,' so here I am -guard yourself!" Macaulay, stung by the taunt, rushed at Angus furiously, and a sharp fight followed. For some time Angus confined himself to simply warding off Macaulay's blows; but, at length, observing an oportunity, he made a slash at his adversary's face, taking the whisker clean off his right cheek. Macaulay now struck at Angus more recklessly than ever, but the latter by another skilful pass, cut the button from the neck of Macaulay's shirt. "This is your last chance, Macaulay," said Angus, "your head shall come off by the next stroke." On this, Macaulay thought discretion the better part of valour, threw down his sword, and frankly acknowledged that he had met his match and had been defeated. Donald Og Macaulay parted with Donald Roy and Angus on the best of terms, and this state of matters continued until Macaulay's death, which took place soon after in the following manner :-Donald Og had occasion to go to an island off the coast of Lewis, and for this purpose he ordered his boat to be ready at a certain time. From some cause or another his orders were neglected, which, it is said, excited his feelings so much that his heart burst, and he died almost immediately. The following dirge was composed to his memory: 'S luath a thainig an fhras oirn, 'S og a rinn i ar 'n àbhan aiseag o thiom; Is tric am bàis oirn a bagairt, 'S e ri tighinn mar ghadaich san oidhche ; Am fear as fearr tha air fhaicionn Tha e diobradh a bhrachd anns' gach ni ; Eadar 'n Timbirn, an fhaidhe, 's an Righ. Dhomhsa b'aithne do nadur, Nuair a bha thu na d'ailleagan og; Sud a ri is bi' tu araidh, Cha robh cron ort ri arach, Aig aon duine don àlach tha beo; Do aon duine air na chaireadh an dorn. 'S beag an t-iognadh do cheile 'Bhi gu dubhach, trom, deurach, fo leon; C' ait am faighear fear t'aogaisg, Ann a fursuingeachd chuildean do shloigh? Far an stadadh an eucoir 's a choir; 'S tu b'urrainn ga'n reiteach Le uirigleadh ghleusta do bheoil. Cha bu sgair' air mo naigheachd, Gu'm bu tu fear-tighe nach gann; An an gliocas is tuigse, Thug Dia dhuit mor mhisneachd na cheann. 'S bha tlachd air do chosnadh, 'S cha 'n fhaca' thu riamh cosgais no càll; Bu tric iomradh do phailteis An a cearnaibh nach fhacas thu ann. Cha b'ann air islead a ghàraidh Bu mhaith leat bhi bàrcadh a steach; 'S cha b'e spiocaire 'n airdean Bha stri ri' do nadar 'na gleachd. Ann a bhi 'g ionndran do mhaitheas, 'S cha bhitheadh an tuagh mu do shroil. Cha'n eil sinne dheth 'm buannachd Ach se dh -innseas sin fathast, Am fear is faide gheibh latha dhinn beo. We have often heard this lament sung in the West Highlands to a beautiful and melancholy air. We do not think it was ever written out in full until we did so between the years 1860-64. MACIAIN. |