If I were more closely related to Lachie than to Uncle Chuck’s other matches, then Lachie’s ancestors who fled from Glencoe might have been my ancestors, too. Did my MacDonald line branch off from Lachie’s line after 1692, with one brother remaining in the Highlands and the other leaving for America?
In order to answer that question, I’d first have to uncover my immigrant ancestor, and that meant returning to the mystery of my ancestor John McDonald of Warren County, Kentucky.
Bill Danlon, the genealogist in Warren County, had discovered the 1828 records about my John’s estate, along with all those clues linking John to Allen and Angus McDonald. From Bill, I suspected that John was the brother of Allen and Angus.
Still, Bill hadn’t finished looking at the county’s records. What if there were still some piece of paper at the courthouse in Bowling Green revealing my John’s parents, or at least saying something about his family?
So I emailed Bill and asked if he’d be willing to look some more. Sure, he replied, he’d be happy to.
He did his searching in a few stages, but each time he had the same truth to report: He’d been unable to find anything in Warren County that shed light on my John’s origins. John and Angus were ordered by the court to view a proposed road in 1816, and John bought some goods from Angus’ estate in 1819, but there was nothing else linking John to any other McDonalds. John didn’t leave a will, and the records detailing the administration of his estate had been lost. Bill had looked at everything, he assured me. The records just weren’t there.
But at the same time I was emailing back and forth with Bill, thanking him and waiting for results, I was coming onto another path. Maybe no one would ever find a document saying who my John’s parents were, but I had reason to believe that John was the brother of Allen and Angus. What if their parents were known?
Google took me to the McDonald forum at Genealogy.com, where I typed in “Allen.” There I found a post, and then another, and then another, all saying the same thing: Allen and Angus McDonald of Warren County, Kentucky really were brothers, and their father was a man named Angus McDonald, Sr. This Angus McDonald, Sr. left a will in Garrard County, Kentucky in 1826, naming his wife Nancy and his daughters Elizabeth, Nancy, Patsy, Polly, Peggy and Sally.
The names of his three sons? Allen, Angus, Jr., and John.
This just had to be my ancestor John.
Still, the 1826 will didn’t mean a thing unless I could be certain that the people posting at Genealogy.com were right. How could I know for sure that Angus McDonald, Sr. of Garrard County was the father of Allen and Angus McDonald of Warren County, the probable brothers of my ancestor John?
I started by looking through the census records at Ancestry.com. In 1810, there were only three Allen McDonalds in the entire United States who fit the age profile of our Allen—the one who lived near my ancestor John—and one of those three Allens just happened to be in Garrard County, Kentucky, the same county where Angus McDonald, Sr. lived. From Bill’s research, I knew that our Allen didn’t appear near my ancestor John in Warren County until 1812, which suggested that he was identical to this Allen McDonald who was in Garrard County in 1810.
Now I looked at the 1820 census, and sure enough, there was no Allen McDonald in Garrard County that year, when our Allen was recorded in Warren County. The facts hinted at a story: Our Allen lived near his father Angus McDonald, Sr. in Garrard County in 1810, but soon moved away to live near his two brothers Angus Jr. and John in Warren County.
Then I got an email from Jim McDonald, a patrilineal descendant of Allen who’d posted at Genealogy.com. Jim revealed that Angus McDonald, Sr.’s 1826 will didn’t just list the names of his three sons; it also said that Angus, Jr. had passed away, while Allen and John were still alive. I knew that Angus McDonald of Warren County—the one who lived near Allen and my ancestor John—died before 1826, and so he was almost certainly the same man as this Angus, Jr., the deceased son named in Angus McDonald, Sr.’s will.
The online posters were right: Allen and Angus McDonald of Warren County really were the sons of Angus McDonald, Sr. of Garrard County.
Still, even though the records showed that my ancestor John probably was the son of Angus McDonald, Sr., I couldn’t eliminate the possibility that my John was an unrelated McDonald who just happened to live near Angus McDonald, Sr.’s two sons. But if a patrilineal descendant of Allen or Angus, Jr. closely matched Uncle Chuck’s DNA signature, then I’d have no doubts.
I’d get to go trawling for DNA, after all.
I emailed back Jim McDonald and asked if he’d be willing to do the cheek swab. Jim was from Arkansas, but had lived in Houston for more than thirty years, and had been researching the McDonalds for a while. Yes, he told me, he’d submit his DNA.
And it was about two months later that I got the email from the DNA company. Jim was a perfect match with Uncle Chuck, the only perfect match out of tens of thousands of DNA samples. Every DNA marker in Jim’s signature matched Chuck’s. No one in the U.S. even came close to matching the two of them.
My great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was the man named Angus McDonald, who left his will in Garrard County, Kentucky in 1826.
From the later census records, I could tell that he passed away before 1830, and that Nancy, his wife at the time of his death, was born in the 1770s—which meant she was too young to be my John’s mother. So my McDonald family tree now looked like this:
Another of the online posters, Leroy McDonald, knew that my ancestor John’s brother Allen was born on December 6, 1774, and Allen probably wasn’t even the youngest of his siblings. So Allen’s father, my ancestor Angus, was probably born before 1750, and almost certainly before 1755. Relatively few Scottish Highlanders emigrated to America before the late 1740s, but from then until the beginning of the Revolutionary War in 1775, thousands of them left, often headed for Maryland, North Carolina, or Virginia.
Was Angus my immigrant ancestor?
Now I was ready to contact Alistair MacDonald of Glencoe, who might be able to tell me more. My Canadian cousin Brundage had mentioned that he knew Alistair, and in my email, I let slip my DNA connection to Brundage. I asked Alistair whether he might have any suggestions about uncovering my ancestor Angus’ parents. Then I looked over my email, made sure I didn’t sound like a crazed fan, and clicked “Send.”
A few days later, there was a response from Alistair: “You appear to have got back some way in your genealogy. We have the family tree which Brundage sent to us some time ago, do you have the same?” He said that my ancestor Angus’ father—if we just knew his name—might have fought in the rebellion of 1745. He said that his and Rosalin’s son Alexander had transcribed all the gravestone inscriptions on the burial isle, and that he had some lists of passengers on ships leaving Scotland after 1745.
“If this is of any help, please let us know,” he finished.
It’s a big help, and much appreciated, I wrote back. I told him about the Clan Donald DNA Project and the few things I knew about my Angus, and he responded by letting me know of the records that existed in the glen before 1800.
As I emailed him back, I didn’t want to seem like I was inviting myself over. But Penny and I had already booked our flights, and we were almost done packing, and we’d made plans to meet up with my new cousin Lachie and his wife Diane. So, in my email, I just told Alistair that if he wanted to contact me for any reason, he could find me at the Clachaig Inn, in Glencoe.
CHAPTER 18
DUINE UASAL
Bha beartas Alasdair MhicDhòmhnaill ’na shùilean.
The wealth of Alasdair MacDonald was in his eyes.
He saw the green lying about the wild flowers, and the salted venison above our fires, the salmon carried up from the waters. He saw our piper’s fingers. He saw the melted snow coming down the mountains, turning and following the carved paths, as te
ars might flow down an old one’s face. He saw that the grave of his many grandparents was now the grave of his father.
He had been in Paris long enough that he could sketch the curls of each of her streets, and yet it took little time for him to know, again, the smaller gnarl in the rowan tree where Buachaille Etive Beag first slopes up from Lochan na Fola. He quickly remembered the colours of the stones beneath the water of the Coe, the drawn pace of the waves upon the shores. He knew the wavering shape of the entrance to the cave of Oisín, high up in Aonach Dubh, as the mists passed across it.
Soon after his return in 1650, he married the daughter of our kinsman Alasdair Buidhe MacDonald, the fourteenth chief of the MacDonalds of Keppoch. She was the niece of Angus MacDonald of Achnancoichean, too, the very man who had died alongside Alasdair’s father fighting against the Campbells, and she came to live with Alasdair in his house at Polveig, by Loch Leven. There, they kept a steady fire for visitors to the glen, and received clansmen and clanswomen who requested justice or aid.
There, as well, Alasdair MacIain and Lady Glen Coe often spent evenings with their duine uasal, known by your tongue as tacksmen. These men were Alasdair’s cousins, the grandsons of Iain Dubh, Black John, nephew of our seventh chief. Alasdair could call upon four of them, and they were his lieutenants in every battle, every foray. For most of the while, however, they served as his gentry, taking care of each of the farms, paying their rents to their chief.
The first of the tacksmen was Alexander MacDonald of Achtriachtan, son of the eldest son of Black John. The MacDonalds of Achtriachtan were the principal family of Glen Coe, beside the family of MacIain himself, for their lands not only encompassed their namesake meadow and loch in the southeast of the glen, but also the field of Achnacon, with its cattle and village stretching toward the northwest, where the Coe gathered strength.
Farther north, and farther west, lived MacDonald of Inverrigan, the only one of the tacksmen whose first name has been forgotten. Inverrigan resided within his woods, by his stream, and though fewer of our people abided there, there were several families who took their water from Allt Fhiodan, and knew the dark of the shade at daybreak.
To the south lay the lands of Alexander MacDonald of Dalness, in Glen Etive, which begins beneath the arrow peak of Buachaille Etive Mòr and then follows the pebbled and rocky River Etive for miles under the mountains, away from all things. Alexander was well esteemed, but so, too, was his younger brother Aillean Dubh nam Fiadh, Black Allan of the Deer, called by this name because of his talents at the hunt.
The final tacksman of Glen Coe was John MacDonald of Laroch, whose stone house sat at the western bound of our clan’s lands, where the River Laroch flows into Loch Leven across from the burial isle, where the village of Ballachulish would come to be. One story, which is still recounted in the glen and elsewhere about the Highlands, best tells of John.
Together with Big Archibald MacPhail and a few other Glen Coe men, John once went north and east into Strathspey, where he and the others relieved the chief of Clan Grant of some cattle he surely would not need. They left with a great number, heading back toward Glen Coe, and stopped for the night beside a loch. Soon, however, several of the Grants, led by their chief’s son, appeared upon the hill.
John walked up to the Grant’s son, holding his sword by the point, the hilt dragging upon the ground as though he were about to surrender. But at the last moment, he flipped the sword into the air, grasped it at the hilt, and struck down Grant in one blow. Seeing this, the Grants fled, and the MacDonalds went back to driving the cattle home.
After a time, however, John came to worry. He knew that he had not killed Grant immediately, and yet Grant had been left there, with no one to treat his wounds. John could not let Grant die like that, so he left the others and returned to the lochside, where he found Grant still alive. John filled his own shoe with fresh water for Grant, and began walking.
Grant proceeded to shoot him with a pistol. Now John lay bleeding, his thigh bone smashed, while Grant lay bleeding just several paces away. They both gritted their teeth, and gasped as they tried to bring themselves up.
After several moments, John suggested that they continue the fight, and of course Grant agreed. John struggled to stand, but he could not. Grant, in the meanwhile, had recovered sufficiently that he could stand upon both feet. Grant knew that he could kill John with one stroke if he wished, but he would not so take advantage of a man, and thus he proposed friendship instead. John was taken to the home of the Grants, where was he given hospitality for a full year, recovering completely from his wound.
John’s younger brother, too, was trusted by our chief Alasdair MacIain. His name was Ranald, and he was known quite as well as John.
Several years earlier, while Alasdair MacIain was yet in Paris, young Ranald had been with the rest of his clansmen fighting against the English and Lowland opponents of our King Charles I. An Englishman was taken prisoner, and soon learned that Highlanders had not been trained to fight with a sword alone, but with a sword and shield together. Quite sure that a man would require a shield only because he needed to conceal his inferiority at swordsmanship, he boasted that, armed only with a sword, he could defeat any Highlander who bore both sword and shield.
Ranald heard this and spoke to him in his language: “Man, do you think any Highlander would take such an advantage in fighting you?” Ranald said he would only fight if he gave the advantage to the Englishman, and thus he insisted that his opponent be allowed to fight with a sword, while Ranald would only have his shield and his large knife, known as a dirk.
The Englishman agreed, but Ranald’s cousin of Dalness, Black Allan of the Deer, came over. Allan not only was known for his skills at the hunt, but was considered to be the finest swordsman in the whole of the army, and he offered to take Ranald’s place, to meet the Englishman on equal terms. Yet Ranald refused, and prepared to fight.
It was then that Allan turned away from the Englishman, looked at Ranald and said: ’S fearr an claidheamh gu mór na bhiodag ’s an targaid. Gabh mo chomhairle, oir cha ’n ’eil fios ’de dh’ eireas dhuit. (The sword is much better than the dirk. Take my advice, or there is no knowing what may happen to you.)
Ranald responded: Cha ’n ’eil fios ’de dh’ eireas dhomhsa ach eiridh an diabhull fein dhasan. (There is no knowing what may happen to me, but the very devil will happen to him.)
The Englishman swung his sword, practicing and showing to all, and then readied. Ranald gripped a dirk in one hand, a shield in the other. They circled, I am sure, for a number of moments before they met, and the thing ended with the Englishman upon the ground. From that time, the brother of Laroch was known as Raonull na Sgéithe: Ranald of the Shield.
For all of these stories of fighting, Alasdair MacIain’s tacksmen provided him with counsel, for the greater part. There were many times, during his first years as our chief, when Achtriachtan, Inverrigan, Dalness and Laroch sat with Alasdair by the hearth at Polveig and weighed the news of events, not just in the Highlands and the Isles, but also in the Lowlands and in England.
They were not surprised, of course, by the Campbell’s newly found support for Charles II, the son of our King Charles I. The execution of King Charles I by Oliver Cromwell and his Puritan allies in 1649 was so unpopular in Scotland that Campbell would have courted his ruin if he had stood to his principles, and this he was congenitally unable to do. In June of 1650, Charles II landed in Scotland.
Neither were Alasdair MacIain and his tacksmen surprised when, just a few weeks later, Cromwell invaded Scotland, having left to his generals the remaining task of crushing the people of Ireland. Highlander was divided from Lowlander, however, and the English won victory upon victory until, by the close of 1651, the country was under their thumb. English troops were garrisoned at Inverlochy, just twelve miles from Glen Coe.
Even so, Cromwell’s rule over England came to be nearly as unpopula
r as his rule over Scotland and Ireland, and within two years of his death, in the summer of 1660, Charles II was crowned king of all three countries. There were great celebrations throughout England and in many of the parts of Scotland, while in Edinburgh, the Campbell was executed for his collaborations with Cromwell. The fort at Inverlochy, near us, was demolished, and the English troops were ordered away.
For the next quarter of a century, the MacDonalds of Glen Coe accepted Charles II as our king, out of expedience rather than loyalty, just as we had accepted his father and his grandfathers. To our satisfaction, indeed, Charles tread more lightly within the Highlands and the Isles than had been expected, handling matters through his Privy Council in Edinburgh. The members of the council did not leave us to ourselves, of course, for they could rely upon Campbell’s chastened son Archibald, the new Earl of Argyll, to police and conquer in the name of good order. Yet for all of the clan battles of these years, for all of the territorial clamouring, the king and his council brought no armies onto our lands.
Perhaps they held back only because they were rather occupied with the king’s many opponents in England and the Lowlands. Charles’ younger brother James was next in line to the throne, as Charles had no legitimate children, and James’ adherence to the Catholic faith raised a very outcry among so many of the English and the Lowlanders. A Catholic, it was said, would follow the Pope in Rome rather than recognise the authority of Parliament. He would ally himself with Catholic France and Spain, long the enemies of England. Popery was the root of tyranny, it was said, and Charles’ conduct intimated that he was quite as much of a papist as his younger brother and heir.
So it was that when Charles died in 1685, the new King James faced suspicion, and scorn, in much of England and the Lowlands. You may know from your school days that just three years later, in 1688, James was deposed, and his Protestant daughter Mary came to the throne with her husband Willem van Oranje, a Dutchman who was quite suddenly known in Somerset and Lincolnshire as William of Orange. The English and their textbooks call it the “Glorious Revolution.”
Reunion: A Search for Ancestors Page 13