Tales from Barra

by John Lorne Campbell

  Now, after Colonel Roderick MacNeil of Barra came home in 1821, he sent for Neil MacNeil – and I may tell you that he was a blood relation of MacNeil of Barra. And they began to exchange news and MacNeil told how he escaped from the prison, and Colonel Roderick MacNeil explained how he fought his share in the Battle of Waterloo, and after they exchanged news they had a dram together and afterwards MacNeil of Barra gave MacNeil the prisoner a croft on the west side of the island – one of the best crofts on the island – and after, he was there until the estate of Barra fell into the hands of Colonel Gordon, and all the crofters in the township of Greian were removed to the east side of the island, where the worst lands were, to make room for sheep. And there were a lot of emigrants about that time, but MacNeil never went out of the island. He had a family of six daughters and two sons, and one of the daughters was my own grandmother, and Mary was her name. And she is buried under one of the Iona stones at Eoligarry.

  MacNeil of Barra and the butler, the gardener and the groom

  After the Napoleonic wars were over, General MacNeil, the second-best-looking man on the field of Waterloo, settled at Eoligarry9 and he employed a groom, a butler and a gardener, as the garden was very much neglected. After the long period of years that it was not looked after it was in very bad condition. So it happened that the butler, the groom and the gardener were staying in a bothy of their own.

  One night they planned together it would be a good idea to go into MacNeil’s cellar and steal a quantity of whisky. Well, first the gardener had to be consulted, as the cellar window was looking on to the garden and they must have the key of the garden before they would get near the whisky at all. And he agreed to give the key and to supply a ladder to climb to the cellar. Well, that was settled and it went all right. The butler went up on the ladder and put a considerable quantity of straw on the bottom of the wooden bucket, in case the transferring of the whisky to the bucket made a noise. The groom was supplying the buckets. He took over three buckets and he wanted to take more, but the butler would not allow him, he said the stock was so low.

  Now they had the party and they were drinking merrily – in fact it reached a bad stage, almost a disaster. There was an old man there: he was the harper that MacNeil had, and he was a man – although blind – of great bodily strength. The groom went over to him and offered him a dram, and he was not believing him, and he asked him – ‘Give me your hand,’ he says, and the groom gave him his hand, and, to give you an idea of how strong he was, in grasping the other man by the hand he squeezed blood out of his fingertips. And the groom could not yell, and he could not let on he was suffering pain, in case MacNeil would hear the commotion.

  Now they went to bed and slept quietly. Then the groom began to imagine a sort of court – what would happen if it were discovered they had broken into the cellar and raided the whisky. And the gardener got the wind up that he would get the brunt of the fine if it was discovered that he gave the key of the garden so that they could climb up to the cellar. They were for several days planning what to say and what not to say – but fortunately nobody ever knew what actually did happen and nobody ever found out that the whisky was stolen.

  However, then they were dry again and still safe after that – the cloud was over and they were beginning to forget about it – and they made up their minds to go to see the gardener about the use of the key into the garden, and the ladder to go and raid the cellar again. But unfortunately he sat down on the stool of repentance and he said, ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I gave you the key already, and take it from me, boys, I will never do it again.’

  So they dispersed, and I must not omit to tell you that the gardener was my own grandfather.10

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  1 The look-out man at Kismul Castle.

  2 The Feast of the Assumption. 3 ’The sight of Roderick, the sight that banished sorrow from me.’

  4 Recte ‘Du Teillay.’ 5 i.e. the Gigha in Barra Sound. 6 ‘The Prince’s Shore.’ 7 This house existed until comparatively recently; Miss Goodrich Freer refers to its destruction (1902).

  8 Possibly Iain Bàn, grandfather of the late Seonaidh Caimbeul, the Gaelic bard, of South Lochboisdale.

  9 He succeeded in 1822. He was in the second regiment of the Life Guards.

  10 i.e. Robert MacLachlan, see p. 13.

  The MacLeods of Dunvegan

  Dunvegan Castle

  The caretaker of the Castle of Dunvegan knew the history of the MacLeods well, of their clan battles and their fights with other clansmen who were attacking them, and she told me stories in this connection too numerous to mention.

  Inside the castle are many trophies taken from all parts of the world by the famous chiefs of the MacLeods, including the Fairy Flag and many other interesting articles. There is the famous dungeon, and it is said that one of the MacLeods, Hard-Hearted MacLeod he was called, threw his wife into the dungeon for the reason she told her father in Sleat that MacLeod was going to raid him, and when MacLeod arrived at Sleat, all MacDonald’s cattle were safe and the raid was a failure. When he came back in a fury he threw the wife into a dungeon. And any time she screamed for food or drink he used to throw down into the dungeon chunks of salt beef. Latterly the good lady died, and there is a very handsome painting of her in the castle, along with many others.

  The castle and the surroundings are the most interesting to visit and one of the special corners about it is on the south-east side, the port-cullis, where you could land if you only knew the way to do it. I was shown that. And for anyone visiting Dunvegan, I would say it is a most interesting sight to see the castle.

  [The dispute between MacLeod and his wife occurred in 1733, see the Book of Dunvegan, II, 19. She was Janet MacDonald of Sleat. She objected to her husband’s sisters living with them at Dunvegan. According to the editor of the Book of Dunvegan, in 1733 she ‘posed as a prisoner because she had no money to furnish a house, a statement which may be the basis of the charge that he [MacLeod] put her in a dungeon.’ The editor adds that he disbelieves in this story. Janet went to live in Edinburgh in 1733 or 1734, and eventually was reconciled to her husband, on the condition that his sisters were not to be allowed to live at Dunvegan Castle, in 1740. She died in 1741.]

  MacLeod of Dunvegan and the Duke of Argyll

  In olden times it was customary for the Highland chiefs to visit each other. This time MacLeod of Dunvegan decided to visit the Duke of Argyll. So one day he got on his horse at Dunvegan and rode across to Kyle of Lochalsh, over the Kyle of Lochalsh he went, all the way to Inveraray. On arriving at Inveraray he discovered that it was a deserted town, and interviewing an old lady at the castle, she told him that everybody in the district, in the whole area, was out at a bull-fight today. And MacLeod said: ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I am very surprised to hear that there is a bull-fight at Inveraray and I shall be glad to hear from you what is the reason.’

  ‘There is a young good-looking fellow,’ she said, ‘who was accused of some crime – I cannot fully explain – and the magistrates of the area decided that he was to be put to death today by a bull.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said MacLeod, ‘and how far is that away?’

  She gave him a description how far and he jumped on his pony and rode to the park.

  On arriving, and the Duke of Argyll hearing that the MacLeod of Dunvegan had arrived, he sent for him immediately, and they both had a consultation about the death of the young man. MacLeod demanded that the young man should be brought to him, and after he had seen the young lad he was very much in sympathy with him – he was a Campbell – that such a good-looking fellow would be killed by a bull – and the reason a very frail one.

  They began to argue the point very much and then MacLeod said, ‘He won’t go through with it – I will fight the bull and you can exempt the young lad. His life would be short if he faces that beast, but I shall conquer him.’

  Argyll now spoke very strongly against MacLeod’s decision, and he said, ‘What will happen,’ he says, ‘to your te
rritory in Skye, if you are killed?’

  ‘Ah,’ he says, ‘I am not the least afraid of that, Argyll. You let me to the bull and I will do the rest.’ And still Argyll was not willing to give in.

  * * *

  Now he got ready and he jumped into the park, and he wore nothing but the kilt and bare socks, and going straight to the bull, and before the bull could do any performance, MacLeod had the bull by the horns, and his feet well tucked round the bull’s neck. Now started the great excitement. The bull went roaring and at a furious pace round the park and the more he roared the firmer MacLeod would hold his horns. Latterly he lay down for a time, snorting and rolling abut, turning the side on which he lay down. And for nearly a solid hour he continued going round and round the park. A second time he fell to the ground again with furious anger, and his bad nature getting the better of him every time. This time he was getting short of breath – but however he made a third attempt. And he did not continue the third round so very stubbornly; he was on the decline all the time, and on the third round he lay down on the ground and could not walk or run another yard, or another inch, I should say. And when MacLeod could see he was stretched out, and gasped for the last – the bull was dead – he let go his horns and came to the ground. Immediately he got to the ground he got his sgian dubh and with the sgian dubh penetrated the bull to the heart.

  Now the bull was dead and MacLeod alive and the people all over the park clapped their hands. Now MacLeod took his breath and looked at the bull stretched out, and his next thought was, as proof of what he did, he would take the bull by the horn and pull the horn by the root out of his head. And this he did.

  And then he went over to talk to Argyll who congratulated him, and so did everyone in the arena. And he wanted the boy in his presence, and shook hands with him very affectionately, and the boy thanked him very kindly. And MacLeod asked him, ‘Will you come with me to the Isle of Skye?’ And the reply was ‘Yes, sir,’ he says, ‘I will go with you anywhere.’ And after a pause it was finally decided that he would take the horn with him to the Isle of Skye, and the boy to the Isle of Skye.

  To the day I heard the story, in the Island of Skye, descendants of that boy were at Dunvegan, and MacLeod gave an order to convert the horn into a drinking cup, so that whenever any MacLeod was proclaimed a chief he had to drink out of the drinking cup. I have seen the horn myself in the Castle of Dunvegan. I collected this story from the shoemaker not far from the castle in 1911.

  [This would be the famous drinking horn of Rory Mór MacLeod of Dunvegan who died in 1626. At that time the chiefs of Clan Campbell had not yet been raised to a Dukedom.]

  The Laird of Boisdale

  The Laird of Boisdale and the bag of meal

  After the failure of the potato crop in 1846 times were very thin on all the Outer Islands, but especially on Barra. And the harvest of this particular year which I am going to talk about was very dark. The only place where crops were successful was in South Boisdale. Now there was a man in Brevig called Donald MacDonald, crofter, and early in April he said to his wife, ‘Well, Mary,’ he says, ‘I don’t think that we shall have as much corn as will do us until we reap the next harvest, and so my suggestion is that I should go across to Boisdale to see the Laird of Boisdale.’

  ‘Well, if you think that is the right thing to do,’ she said, ‘Donald, I don’t object to it. You get up tomorrow morning early, and that is the bag, and that is the last guinea in the house. And I hope you will take every care of yourself and come home with the bag full.’ So he made for Eoligarry, from where the ferry was leaving.

  Later on, it was decided that the ferry was not going across that day. Unfortunately, now, Donald came across one of the loafers1 which are often met with at a public house. He invited Donald in to have dram and he had a sixpence – this man who invited him inside. Now they had a mutchkin, and so Donald partook of the dram and so did the other fellow, and then when it began to warm him up he felt inclined to call a drink himself. And this he did, and he broke the guinea that was going to buy the bag of grain. And every drink that Donald was calling they were drinking, and the toast was ‘Here’s to your very good health, Donald, and I don’t think that a man of your heart will ever want.’

  And so the boys went on, and Donald not being accustomed to take whisky but very rarely, it made him very free with his money. This continued until the evening, and they went home to their dinner, and the wife of the Eoligarry lad was very much annoyed at taking the poor man who came to go to the mill for his wife into the public house, and starting him to drink. ‘Never you mind,’ she says, ‘the meal will be all right.’ And the dinner was a great favourite of your own – fresh spotted flounders and potatoes. So they both had a good feed and after a rest they went back to the bar again – and they came home late at night and the guinea was spent, unfortunately.

  Next morning the boat was going to leave for Boisdale, and Donald said: ‘I can’t go,’ he says – ‘and it is very difficult for me to go back home after spending the guinea and going home with no meal.’

  ‘Well,’ MacNeil said, ‘you will go over to the Laird of Boisdale, Donald, and tell him that you met me here, and that we spent a happy day together; and ask him that I told him to give you a bag of meal and to send one to myself. And as sure as you are sitting there,’ he says, ‘The Laird of Boisdale will do that at my command.’

  * * *

  Now they were aboard the boat crossing the Sound and they had a comfortable trip across the Barra Sound, and when they arrived in Boisdale it was their dinner hour. Well, Donald sent word to the grieve and the grieve came to see him.

  ‘I am Donald MacDonald,’ he says, ‘and I have a message to the Laird of Boisdale.’

  ‘Well, just wait for a few minutes,’ he says, ‘and I will go over and give the Laird of Boisdale the message. And you walk round to the front door and he will come out without much delay.’

  Now there is Donald standing at the front door, and Boisdale comes out, and he says, ‘Did you come from Barra?’

  And Donald says, ‘I did, and I have a message for you from John MacNeil of Kilbar.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he says, ‘and what is the message?’

  ‘This is it,’ says Donald. ‘I came from Brevig yesterday morning and the ferryman didn’t come across, and I spent the day with MacNeil in the pub at Kilbar – and I spent also the guinea I had for getting a bag of meal. And MacNeil got the lion’s share of it. And he told me,’ he says, ‘to come over here and see the Laird of Boisdale and tell him to give me a bag of meal and send him one also.’

  ‘Oh well,’ says Boisdale, ‘that is very like a thing MacNeil would do. You go to the grieve and tell him to give you two bags of meal – and that is all you need do. You take one for yourself – the other one give to MacNeil when you arrive on the other side.’

  I need not describe to you how pleased poor Donald was and how gratefully he thanked the Laird of Boisdale for his enormous kindness to him and wished him every blessing of the season and a bumper of a crop the next year. Those were his prayers on his departure.

  Now everything was said, and all the meal was sent aboard and the boat sailed for Eoligarry. And on their arrival who was awaiting them but MacNeil, and he hailed out, ‘How did you get on, Donald?’

  Donald replied boldly, ‘Very well, ‘he says, ‘and I got a bag for you, too.’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you,’ says MacNeil, ‘that a man of your big heart will never want?’

  Now Donald got his pony ready and put the sack on his back, and came home to Brevig, and his wife was glad to see him – but she was never any the wiser that Donald spent the guinea.

  [The date ascribed to this story is impossible. The last Laird of Boisdale, Hugh, who succeeded in 1818, was an absentee, and the estate was sold to Colonel Gordon around 1840. The incident may have happened in the days of Colin MacDonald of Boisdale who was Laird from 1768 to 1799. See Fraser Mackintosh, Antiquarian Notes, pp. 323, 324.]

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  1 ‘Sgimileir’ in Gaelic.

  Stories of olden times

  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 láir bhán 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 he 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.