An Athollman’s Bagpipe Song in Defense of Gaelic

Gaels all over the Highlands, even as far east as Strathardle, managed to cling resiliently onto their language and culture until the tumultuous changes of the nineteenth century. English pushed aggressively against Gaelic during the nineteenth century, but not without some resistance.

One of those Perthshire Highlanders who defended his native language and urged others to stand fast in this era was Archibald Farquharson (1800-1878), a native of Moulin (close to Pitlochry). He became a minister, settled in Tiree, and remained a steadfast champion of his native tongue until his death.

One of his publications, printed in 1868, is a 40-page booklet entitled An Address to Highlanders Respecting their Native Gaelic. Towards the end of the booklet, he includes a three page song-poem inciting the Gaels to stay true to their language. He includes an interesting note to this poem which begins by explaining a traditional taunt of rivalry that the Athollmen used against  the men of Strathardle (a couplet with internal rhyme). He then uses this jibe as a starting point for a new song-poem which remains strikingly authentic in its form and content. It is a wonderful example of how tradition can be creatively reshaped in the defense of Gaelic.

Farquharson reshapes the traditional taunt to mock the Strathardle folk for forsaking Gaelic in favour of English, thus becoming unslaved to the language of their former enemies. This demonstrates what is so clear in many other sources, that the Gaelic language was absolutely central and key to Highland identity.

It is also interesting that this song is described as being played on the bagpipes, another example of the common belief that the bagpipes were able to imitate the human voice (and hence that any musician aspiring to play the music of the Highlands needed to understand the Gaelic language).

This provocation quickly turns the Strathardle men back toward their natural Highland allies and goads them to be faithful to their native language. The animosity quickly melts: they are reunited in brotherly love, and share in the bounty of their culture with music, conviviality and nourishment. Lowlanders are depicted in contrast as lying literally in darkness, shivering with the cold. This is one of many examples of temperature being used metaphorically in Gaelic (not unlike in English) as corresponding to emotional state: warmth (affection and kindliness) in opposition to coldness (lack of welcome and friendship).

I give below the original text with my translations into English in square brackets.


The Atholites used to provoke the Ardleites with a tune which they played on the bagpipes when leaving them—Bodaich dhubh Srath Àrdail, gun d’fhàg sinn ’nan cadal iad—The black churls of Strathardle, we have left them asleep.

In the Free Church of Kirkmichael, Strathardle, there has been no Gaelic preached for several years, and it is going and almost gone in the Established Church. I wish with all my heart that a company of the Atholites would cross over with a piper at their head, and play the following on the street of Kirkmichael :—

Bodaich dhubh’ Srath Àrdail,
Cha Ghàidheil iad ach Sasannaich!
Thréig iad mar na tràillean
Cainnte bhlàth an athraichean.

[The black churls of Strathardle,
They are no Gaels, but Englishmen!
Like slaves, they have abandoned
The warm language of their forefathers.]

And that they on their part would play the following:—

Tosdaibb, bithibh sàmhach!
Chan àill leinn sibh bhith magadh oirnn;
Bheir ar cridh do’n Ghàidhlig,
’S a-chaoidh gu bràth, cha dealaich ri’;

’S nuair thig [i] rìs do ar tìr,
Le ceòl pìob is cridhealas,
Aran grinn, ’s comhdach’ ìm’
Agus cìr-mheala leis,

Gheibh sibh uainn gu càirdeal
A shàsachadh ur stamagan;
Is seinnibh do’n Ghàidhlig
Na h-Àrdlaich ’s na h-Athalaich.

Nuair bhios Goill mar na doill
Is an oidhch a’ laidhe orr’, 
Gu ro thruagh, crith gu luath,
Is le fuachd ’gam meileachadh,

Bidh sinne air ar blàth’chadh,
’S a’ Ghàidhlig ’gar teasachadh,
Is caoimhneas, gean is càirdeas

Sìor fhàs ann ar n-anamaibh.

[Hush, be quiet!
We don’t like for you to be mocking us;
Take our hearts to Gaelic
And never ever leave it;

And when it returns to our land,
With bagpipe music, and merriment,
Elegant bread with a coat of butter,
And a honey-comb with it,

You will get enough from us, kindly,
To satisfy your stomachs;
And sing to Gaelic,
The people of Strathardle and Atholl,

When the Lowlanders are like blind-people
As the night-time falls on them,
Very pathetically, shivering madly,
And fainting with the cold,

We will be warmed up,
With Gaelic providing our heat,
And kindness, goodwill and fellowship
Constantly growing in our souls.]

Although my native country, I am quite ashamed of them.

Gaelic Song on Culloden’s Carnage

There are quite a few Gaelic song-poems that provide us with eyewitness testimony about the 1745 Jacobite Rising and its tragic conclusion on Culloden Moor. These texts are extremely important in relating the Highland point of view on these events, especially because texts written by anglophones predominate and they generally convey rather negative, biased and misleading views about Scottish Gaels and what the latter actually felt and thought about the historical events that had such a dramatic effect on their lives.

Many of Gaelic texts were edited and translated in the volume Highland Songs of the ’45 by accomplished scholar John Lorne Campbell back in 1933. An excellent overview of the material and how to interpret it was written by William Gillies in his article “Gaelic Songs of the Forty-Five” in Scottish Studies 30 (1991). Somehow the following powerful poem seems to have eluded the attention of previous scholars of this Jacobite material. It was printed (along with other miscellaneous Gaelic song-poems) by Domhnull Mac-An-Roich in his volume Orain Ghaidhealach  (Edinburgh, 1848), pp. 172-4.

I give three versions of the text below, in the following order: my English translation; my edition of the Gaelic text; and the original text as printed verbatim in the book. I’m providing the original as well as my edition of the Gaelic sources given that there are some irregularities in spelling and I’m open to feedback on my attempts to regularize the text and interpret it. (The very last line of the text in particular seems defective – it should end on ò – and I have attempted an emendation.)

I am not familiar with the identity of the poet (Eóghann Dubh MacLachainn, “Black-haired Ewan MacLachlan”) and would be glad to hear from anyone who knows anything about him.

His poem provides an emotionally compelling view of the battlefield and its casualties, not least Lachlann MacLachlainn, the seventeenth chief of the clan, a staunch Jacobite who fought and died at Culloden. This personal view of the death of the chieftain can be expected, given that the poet undoubtedly knew him personally. But it also touches on the terrible human losses to all involved in the Rising: the death of the handsome Gaelic warriors and the vulnerability of families in the brutal treatment of the Highlands by the Hanoverian troops after the great warriors of the clans lay in defeat.

The idea that the Jacobites lost through some kind of witchcraft (found in stanza 2) can also be found in other poems about Culloden, giving the impression that this was a rhetorical strategy shared by a number of the Jacobite literati (see discussion in Gillies, p. 42).

My English Translation

A Song by Black-haired Ewan MacLachlan after the Battle of Culloden

1. Dearly did we pay for [Prince] Charles, coming to gather us from across the ocean, against England while he was strong; this is what happened: thousands of our clansmen have fallen and those who remain alive have lost their rights.

2. Tragic is the news we’ve received from the calamitous battlefield of misery: we lost so many of our nobility; troops have surrounded us in the hour of our misfortune, who, through witchcraft, have conquered us for the rest of our lives.

3. There is many a courageous hero – blooming, young, high-spirited, light-stepping, excellent when needed if it were a fair fight, who would race with each other – who will never come home, being called to meeting.

4. One of them was Colonel MacLachlan, a great-hearted one who knew no cowardice; he was handsome, sitting on a horse when giving commands to the gorgeous warriors; they found a way to kill you, woe is me!

5. Your hand would share out the money in the market-town; you were esteemed by many who are grieved by the way that you departed, never to return home to your children who have no one to whom they can be entrusted for their rest of their lives.

6. The news of the beautiful corpses who would not retreat wounds my heart, as they (linger under) the cries of the ravens and as our kin do not come to give a proper burial, while our enemies’ guard occupy our area.

7. The state of the Lochaber-men, lying in the ditches, pains me; no bagpipe or battle-banner can awaken them as the clangor of the (government) pillagers pass by so that the government’s side can destroy you: terrible is the loss that you cannot see our condition.

My Gaelic Edition

Òran Le Eóghann Dubh MacLachainn an déidh Blàr Chuilodair

1. ’S daor a cheannaich sinn Teàrlach
Thighinn gar togail thar sàile;
’N aghaidh Shasgann is e làidir;
’S ionnan sud is mar tharladh:
Thuit na mìltean d’ar càirdean,
’S chaill na dh’fhuirich an làthair an còir,
’S chaill na dh’fhuirich an làthair an còir.

2. ’S bochd an naidheachd a fhuair sinn
O bhlàr dosgach na truaighe,
’Mheud ’s a chaill sinn d’ar n-uaislean;
Thàinig trupa mu’n cuairt oirnn
Ann am mì-fhortan uaire:
Fhuair le buidseachd an uachdar oirnn beò,
Fhuair le buidseachd an uachdar oirnn beò.

3. Liuthad lasgarra treubhach,
Ùr, òg, aigeanntach, eutrom,
Bu ro math ’n àm feuma
Nam b’e comhrag na Féinne,
Bhitheadh eadar-ruith le chéile,
Nach tig dachaigh ga éigheach aig mòd.
Nach tig dachaigh ga éigheach aig mòd.

4. B’ann dhiubh ’n Còirneal MacLachainn,
Cridhe mór ’s nach robh ’ghealtachd;
Bu loghmhor air each e
’N àm an t-ordugh ’thoirt seachad
Do na seòid a bha reachdmhor,
Fhuair iad seòl air cuir as duit, mo leòn!
Fhuair iad seòl air cuir as duit, mo leòn!

5. Làmh sgapdh an airgid
Ann am bailtidh a’ mhargaidh,
’S lìonmhor neach aig ’n robh ainm ort
Leis nach b’ ait mar a dh’fhalbh thu
Gun tighinn dachaigh gu d’ leanabaidh
’S gun ann neach ris an earbar iad beò,
’S gun ann neach ris an earbar iad beò.

6. Sgeul tha cràiteach le ’m chridhe
Air cuirp àlainn gun ruitheadh,
’S iad fo ghàraich nam fitheach;
’S gun ar càirdean a’ tighinn:
Gar càradh fo dhlighe,
’S geard ar naimhdean ’na shuidhe ’gar còir.
’S geard ar naimhdean ’na shuidhe ’gar còir.

7. ’S olc leam càradh nan Abrach,
’S iad ’nan sìneadh ’s na claisean;
Cha dùisg pìob iad, no bratach,
’S foirm na creach’ a’ dol seachad,
Taobh a’ Chrùin a chur ás duibh:
’S mór an diùbhail nach faic sibh ar còir,
’S mór an diùbhail nach faic sibh ar còir.

Verbatim Transcript

Òran Le Eobhan Dubh Mac Lachuin an Deigh Blar Chuilodair

’S daor a cheannuich sinn Tearlach
Thighinn gar togail thar Saile;
’N aghaidh Shasgunn is e ladair;
’S ionnan sud is mar tharladh;
Thuit na miltean d’ar cairdean,
’S chaill na dh’fhuirich a lathair an coir.
’S chaill na dh’fhuirich a lathair an coir.

’S bochd an naigheachd a fhuair sinn
O bhlar dosgach na truaighe,
Mheud sa chaill sinn d’ar ’n uaislean;
Thainig trupa mu’n cuairt oirn:
Ann am mio-fhortan uaire,
Fhuair le buidseachd, an uachdar oirn beo.
Fhuair le buidseachd, an uachdar oirn beo.

Liuthad lasgura treubhach
Ur, og, aigeantach, eutrom
Bu ro math ’n am feuma;
Nam be comhrag na Feine:
Bhith’dh eadar ruidh le cheile,
Nach tig dachaidh ga eigheach aig mod.
Nach tig dachaidh ga eigheach aig mod.

Ban dhiu ’n Coirneal Mac Lachuin,
Cridhe mor ’snach robh ghealtachd,
Bu logh-mhor air each e;
Nam an t-ordugh thoirt seachad.
Do na seoid a bha reachd mhor,
Fhuair iad seol air cuir as duit, mo leon!
Fhuair iad seol air cuir as duit, mo leon!

Lamh scapdh an airgiod,
Ann am bailtidh a mhargaidh,
’S lion-mhor neach aig ’n robh ainm ort;
Leis nach bait mar a dh’fhalbh thu.
Gun tighinn dachaidh gu d’ leanabaidh,
’S gun ann neach ris an earbar iad beo,
’S gun ann neach ris an earbar iad beo.

Sgeul tha craiteach le ’m chridhe,
Air cuirp alluinn gun ruitheadh,
’S iad fo gharaich nam fiach;
’S gun air cairdean a tighinn:
Gar caradh fo dhlighe,
’S geard air naimhdean na shuidhe ga’r coir.
’S geard air naimhdean na shuidhe ga’r coir.

’S olc leam caradh nan Abrach,
’S iad nan sineadh ’sna claisean,
Cha duisg Piob iad, na Bratach;
’S foirm na creacha dol seachad;
Taobh a chruin a chuir as duibh,
’S mor an diubhail nach faic sibh air cair.

British Empire-Building after Culloden

The Battle of Culloden – April 16, 1746 – was a brutal and fateful event. Not just because of the ethnocidal impact it had on the native Gaels of the Highlands, but because it removed the last internal obstacle to hegemony for an anglo-British empire and facilitated more brutal and oppressive forms of colonial rule. The unrestrained ability to coalesce and focus all of the human resources at the disposal of the British Crown was equally lethal to people much further afield.

The impact of European empires on peoples in the Americas – especially native peoples and people brought unwillingly as slaves – is the topic of impassioned discussion, especially because the negative consequences are very much still with us in the form of institutionalized and racialized privilege, not to mention the compromised sovereignty of First Nations.

Too many people assume, however, that the practices and ideologies that inform domination, exploitation and dehumanization – especially in the anglophone realms of the US and Canada – were virtually invented in the encounters of North American imperialism when “white people” came into conflict with “people of color.” While racial polarities are certainly dominant now and go a large way to explain the disparities of power and privilege of the present, categories we now take for granted (“white,” “black,” “Indian,” etc.) all took generations to form and settle. What is clear from analyzing historical events and conflicts in the generations and centuries before English colonization of North America began is that all of the concepts, values, structures and practices of imperialism had a long gestation time in the British Isles themselves as anglophones sought to conquer and dominate neighboring Celtic societies (see some discussion here).

There has been a long-running controversy in Nova Scotia about the monuments built to celebrate the victories of the brutal military leader Edward Cornwallis, whose colonization schemes involved violence and brutality against the native Mi’kmaw (see WikiPedia article here). This controversy is an echo of debates about the representation and monumentalization of colonial figures all over the world. It is surely significant that Cornwallis’s formative experience was at the Battle of Culloden.

An English soldier, Michael Hughes, wrote A Plain and Authentic Journal of the Late Rebellion (London, 1747), in which he describes his actions in the Jacobite Rising of 1745-6 as an English soldier who fought for the Duke of Cumberland. The following section (pp.52-3, 54, 55) concerns the Hanoverian troops sent to wreak vengeance and destruction on the Jacobites in the Highlands after their defeat on Culloden Moor.

The last Command, consisting of 800 Men, was given to Lord George Sacville, and Lieut. Colonel Cornwallis; with full Commission to plunder, burn and destroy thro’ all the West Part of Innernesshire called Lochaber, from the Glens above Knoidart, down to Arasack, Moidart, and Swenard, opposite to Mull; and positive Orders to bring no more Prisoners to the Camp. The Body divided themselves different Ways, with a full Resolution to finish their Work; and for better managing the Persuit, they have Orders to take nothing but their Firelocks and Ammunition.
Our party was 320 Men under Colonel Corwallis, a brave Officer of great Humanity and Honour. When we first set out, twas intended to march all Night, but a great Rain caused us to halt. […]
From hence the Party marched along the Seacoast through Moidart, burning of Houses, driving away the Cattel, and shooting those Vagrants who were found about the Mountains. Lord George Sacville was another Way with 480 Men. We camped in a Valley 12 Mile from the Ile of Mull, and detached Parties about their Sheils and Glens, who did great Execution among those who were still in Arms, obstinately refusing to submit and accept of Pardon. […]
At a Fortnight’s End, Lord George’s Part returned to Fort Augustus with near a thousand head of Cattel; and for fifty Miles round there was no Man or Beast to be seen. His Lordship finished his Commission with that Fidelity and Conduct as becomes a good Officer; for it ought to be known, that this last part of the Campaign was of the greatest Consequence to the Public, tho most troublesome in the Performance.

The best discussion that I’ve yet found about the consolidation of imperial power and colonial force that followed Culloden is the book Rebellion and Savagery: The Jacobite Rising of 1745 and the British Empire by Geoffrey Plank 2006. It is well worth reading at length, but these excerpts from the conclusions are indicative of these patterns:

The dispute over the meaning of the army’s actions in the Highlands paralleled other, ongoing conversations over the governance of Britain’s colonies. Cumberland’s officers, after they were stationed in colonial posts, differed from their predecessors in their zeal for advancing British civilization. In a variety of contexts, in the Mediterranean as well as in North America, they sought to promote the use of the English language, serve the cause of Protestantism, and encourage commercial exchange. They also generally hoped to establish English-style law courts, though their interest in legal reform was subordinated to an overriding concern to assert the supremacy of the British government under George II.

Fionn and the Post-colonial Fian

Surely the most popular narratives in the Scottish Highlands in the early modern period were the heroic tales and ballads relating to the warrior Fionn mac Cumhail and his band of superheroes, the Fian (variously called An Fhian, An Fhéinn, na Fiantaichean, etc., in Gaelic). There was a huge selection of material, and on any particular occasion, a performer might recite or sing only a small portion of the adventures that related to the “Ossianic cycle” (or “Fenian cycle,” as it is sometimes called).

It is always the case that once a body of narrative becomes intimately known by an audience, it serves as a vehicle for multiple rhetorical purposes. In other words, it can serve not just as an imaginative story about far-away people and places, but as a means of social commentary about the here and now. Think of “Romeo and Juliet,” for example, and how it has been retold and repackaged to comment on youth gangs in California (as in the 1996 film with Leonardo DiCaprio) or 1960s New York (West Side Story). The many, many retellings of the Arthurian legends provide another example of how the well-kent characters and plot structure have enabled skilled storytellers to comment on power and corruption.

The same was true for Gaelic storytellers in Scotland and Ireland. Although folklorists have emphasized the Gaelic penchant for telling texts exactly as they were heard, we have probably not allowed for, looked for, and paid adequate tribute to the creativity of Gaelic storytellers and singers in adapting texts for their audiences and circumstances.

Although there are many variants and episodes in the Ossianic texts that are worth studying in detail, I think that this particular text is strongly indicative of the sense of injustice and oppression that Highlanders experienced in the aftermath of Culloden. And in fact, I’ve argued elsewhere (in Warriors of the Word and in this extensive article on prophecy), elaborating an argument from Iain MacAonghuis, that some of the popularity of Fionn mac Cumhail in the Highlands was due to his role as a savior figure who would restore Gaels to their proper place in the Scottish kingdom.

This particular text, Iain òg Ìle (John Francis Campbell), tells us, is a synthesis from the recital of three different storytellers tapped between the 1860s and 1870s (see Celtic Review vol. 1 (1905), pp. 363-4 for background information; the text itself is in Celtic Review vol. 2 (1906), pp. 255-8).

It’s hard to read this text without thinking of how much the conditions described in the narrative relate to exactly the conditions of the people reciting it as well as those listening: people who had usually been evicted from their original home areas, dumped on the beaches to fend for themselves, often making a wretched living on the seashore, who sometimes resorted to poaching deer and fish for survival (and were afraid of being caught by the landlord’s officers for so doing), who had once been proud defenders of their own land and tradition (and were reminded of their decline in stature by their own Gaelic traditions), who awaited someone to champion their cause.

== Translated Text below ==

At that time – as MacIsaac said in Uist – people were few in Scotland. There were great empty glens with a man in them here and there, not as it is today when men abound in Scotland. There were many deer in these days, and men hunted them.

Fionn knew by his (psychic) knowledge that his father’s men were there and in dire straits. So he set off to seek them. They were on the land of the king of Scandinavia, as it appears; and the king would not feed them any meat. They had oaken skewers in their bellies to keep them out from sticking to their backs, they were so gaunt, and thin, and starved. They had to hunt for the king, but he did not give them enough to eat. They lived in a cave, or, according to others, in a sheiling.

Fionn, with his sword under his arm and the hound Bran at his heels, walked to the dwelling and looked in.

“I will come in and stay,” said he, “unless I am forced out.”

There was no living thing there but the fire. Swords were there leaning against the wall, rusty old swords and spears, and there were beds and benches. As no one was there to hinder him, Fionn leaned his sword, Mac an Luinn, against the wall, and stretched himself on the floor beside the fire, and Bran lay down beside him and went to sleep.

They had not been long thus when Fionn heard a murmur of voices, and trampling and rattling of feet and arms coming towards the dwelling, but he lay long still and pretended to be sleeping. He looked secretly and saw great, wild, tall, stalwart, terrible, strong men coming, unlike the others in the land of giants, who were under enchantments and spells, and who were phantoms. Seven of them came home, and they had a hind with them, which they killed. They flayed the hind and tossed it into the great kettle that was on the fire, and when it was cooked it provided them with only a morsel apiece.

When they had the kettle ready for the fire they noticed the lad and the hound and the sword, and they began to talk.

“Is not that hound the most similar to Bran that ever was in the world?” said one.

“Did ever man see a sword that is more similar to Mac an Luinn?” said another.

“But look at this lad,” said a third, “who is sleeping there: are not these the two eyes and the cheeks and the very face of Cumhal?”

Then they awoke him and asked him to share what they had, even though it was only a morsel for each.

“It is little enough for yourselves,” said Fionn.

“My lad,” said one, “eat your share, we are ever thus since the terrible day.”

“But who are you?” said Fionn. “I never saw men like you for stature and for grand frightful looks.”

One of them sighed, and then another. And then one said, “We have seen the day when we were not ashamed to tell who we are, but you are a stranger, I swear.”

“Yes,” said Fionn, “I never trod on this ground before.” And that was true.

“Did you ever hear of the Fian?” said one.

“Yes,” said Fionn, “I have heard about the Fian from my foster-mother, that they were the grandest men that ever were seen in the world.”

“So we were on a day,” said the warrior. “But that day is gone.”

And then he told how the kings of Scandinavia and Ireland had slain Cumhal by treachery, how they had shared Scotland between them and turned the Fian into slaves and [text missing] for them, all as it has been told already at the beginning.

“But will the Fian ever be better off than you are now?” said the lad.

“Little jewel,” said the warrior, “under the leadership of Fionn son of Cumhal we will be twelve times better than we ever were, for it was said in the prophecies that he will come and recover the land.”

“We shall never see him,” said one.

“Ay! Ay!” said another, and so they sighed and lamented.

They did not know who he was, but he knew them.

And so they talked all night of the ancient glories of the Fian and their sorrows and hardships and their woes, and then they fell asleep about the fire, the old warriors of Cumhal and Fionn son of Cumhal, whom they did not know. In the morning they had nothing but a gulp of venison broth; they had no proper meal, nothing.

He had a venomed claw which had a sheath upon it that he lost in the realm of the giants in fighting the monster, as I have told you already, and there, as they could not make another like the one he had lost, they made a golden sheath for it. There was a golden boot upon the venomed spur of Bran.

Bran always killed more than Fionn. If Fionn killed 600 men or beasts, Bran killed 700, always a hundred more than his master.

When Bran came from the dwelling, Fionn loosed the golden sheath from his foot, and he set him at the herd of heavy stags. When he had gone Fionn followed, and before they stopped he and the great hound had killed nine nines.

Then the old soldiers started talking. One said: “Is not that like Bran?”

“This one is as good as Bran any day,” said another.

“That is not Bran’s colour,” said a third.

“They had the same mother,” said Fionn. “But take up the deer and let us go home. If men come to blame you I will take the blame.”

They took nine great stags, and they feasted so that one of the oaken skewers broke in the belly of each of the old warriors that night. Next day they took nine more home, and so day by day, and nine by nine they brought home the nine nines, and feasted so well that all the oaken skewers broke in their bellies.

As each one ate his meal the splintering was heard of the oaken skewers that they had in their bellies to keep them from their backs.

A Gaelic Poem on the Massacre of Glencoe

There are few events in the history of the Scottish Highlands more notorious than the Massacre of Glencoe, which happened on this day (February 13) in 1692. Although the incident has been the subject of numerous scholarly studies based on anglophone sources, Gaelic sources have not  received adequate attention. The most significant Gaelic commentaries about the event in the form of song-poetry are Iain Lom’s ‘Nam faighinn mar dh’iarrainn’, Am Bard Mucanach’s ‘Mìle marbhaisg air an t-saoghal’, and ‘’S mi ’am shuidh’ air a’ chnocan’. While the first two of these have been edited and translated, the third has not previously been given a scholarly treatment.

Some years ago I started on an effort to edit, translate and analyse the last poem of the three in collaboration with Dr. Nancy McGuire. That joint project has not been completed; she has further materials and suggestions which we have yet to integrate into a complete text. I offer at present my initial attempt at an edition and translation, without all of the editorial apparatus included and with the caveat that this edition is tentative until further work is completed. My edition is based on variants in the Dornie Manuscripts, the Northern Chronicle newspaper, Records of Argyll, the Mac-Talla newspaper, and the Celtic Monthly.

First, the original Gaelic (each stanza numbered); Second, the translation, Third, a few interpretative comments.

Original Text

1. ’S mi ’am shuidh’ air a’ chnocan
Chaidh mo léirsinn an olcas
Is mi mar aon mhac an trotain air m’ fhàgail.

2. Tha mi coimhead a’ ghlinne
Far am b’ aighearach sinne
Mur bhith mì-rùin na fine ’s an robh an fhàilinn.

3. Rinn na Duibhnich oirnn leadairt
Ar fuil uasal ’ga leagail
’S bha Gleann Lìomhann ’na sheasamh mar cheannard.

4. Ach nam b’ ionnan d’ ur macnas
’S nuair bha mise ’nur taice
Nàile! Rachadh iad dhachaidh ’nan deann-ruith.

5. Bhiodh MacFhilip le ’bhrataich
Air tùs na fine neo-ghealtaich
Ged a fhuair iad an nasgadh le ainneart.

6. A MhicEanraig nam feadan
’S tric a bha mi ’s tu beadradh
Leis a’ mhuinntir a ghreas don taigh-shamhraidh.

7. Clann Iain nan gadhar
Rinn na h-uaislean a thadhal
Gu moch Di-Sathairn’ a’ chuthaich gun chàirdeas.

8. Dh’fhàg sibh marcaich’ an eich uaibhrich
Reubt’ air ruighe nan ruadh-bhoc
Ann an sneachda trom fuar nam beann àrda.

9. Dh’fhàg sibh làraichean dubha
Far am b’ àbhaist duibh suidhe
’N comann luchd an fhuilt bhuidhe chais amlaich.

10. Fhir Bhail’ Fearna nam badan
Bu cheann-fheadhn’ thu air brataich
Is chaidh smùid a chur ri t’ aitreabh ’na smàlaibh.

11. Bha do cho-bhràthair guailte
Deagh fhear Bhaile nam Fuaran
Leam is goirt e, ’s an uair air dhroch càradh.

12. Ach mas deònach le’r Rìgh e
Bidh là eile ’ga dhìol sin
Agus Maighdeanan lìobhte ’cur cheann diubh.

13. Bidh na Tuirc air an dathadh
’S bidh Rìgh Uilleam ’na laighe
’S bidh cùird mhór air an amhaich dhen an-toil.

14. B’ e mo rogha sgeul éibhneis
Moch Di-Luain is mi ’g éirigh
Gun tigeadh Rìgh Seumas ’s na Frangaich.

15. ’S gum biodh iomain ball-fhaiche
Air fir mheallt’ nam balg craicinn
Loisg ar n-arbhar ’s ar n-aitreabh ’s a’ gheamhradh.

English Translation

(1) I sit on the hillock, my eyesight has failed me, as I am left behind like a toddling only son.

(2) I gaze at the glen where we would be merry, if not for the ill-will of the blemished clan.

(3) The Campbells massacred us, our noble blood being shed, as (Campbell of) Glenlyon stood as commander.

(4) If only you prospered as you did when I was with you, they would go homeward in a rush!

(5) MacKillop would have his war-banner in the vanguard of the indomitable clan, even though they were hemmed in by violence.

(6) O Henderson of the (bagpipe) chanters, often did we sport and play with those folk who hastened to the summer abode (i.e., sheiling).

(7) Clan Donald of Glencoe, (owners) of greyhounds, were visited by the nobility until the early Saturday of brutal frenzy.

(8) You left the horseman of the proud spirited chargers gored on the sheilings of the roe-bucks in the cold, heavy snows of the great mountains.

(9) You left charred ruins where you were once seated in the company of the people of flowing, ringleted, blonde hair.

(10) O tacksman of Baile Fhearna of the thickets, you were the war-bannered war-leader, and your abode was burnt to ashes.

(11) Your dear companion, the goodly tacksman of Baile nam Fuaran, was charred (by fire): an ill hour it was that makes me sore.

(12) But if our King grants it, there will be another day to avenge that, when the sharpened Maidens will behead them.

(13) The boars (i.e., Campbells) will be stained (with blood) and King William brought down, and there will be heavy cords around their necks bringing them misery.

(14) It would be my choice of good news, awakening early on Monday morning, that King James and the French would come.

(15) And that the deceiving men of haversacks, who burnt our corn and our homes in the winter, would be driven back (as though playing) a ball-game.

Notes and Interpretation

It may be inferred from the text itself that the author was a native of the area who was away during the massacre, perhaps for an extended period of time, but composed this song-poem upon returning to see the devastation. It is not surprising for a song circulating for this length of time in oral tradition to become detached from reliable information about its authorship and to gravitate towards a poet of great stature with some connection to the narrative or area. It seems to me most likely that this is the work of an otherwise unattested poet.

Some details in this song-poem can be confirmed by other sources. It implies that the massacre was perpetrated early on a Saturday (verse 7), which was indeed the day of the week of 13 February 1692. Houses were burnt by troops, as mentioned in several lines (9a, 10c, 11a). The harsh weather concurrent with the event is also well known and is reflected in the text.

On the other hand, it is curious that notable victims of the massacre – the lairds of Achnacone and Achtriachtan, and poet Raghnall na Sgéithe – are not mentioned at all in the poem. It may be that the poet had a close personal relationship with the two tacksmen named, Fear Bhaile Fearna and Fear Baile nam Fuaran, but few others. I have not been able to locate Baile Fearna or Baile nam Fuaran, and it may be that these are alternative names for nearby villages where murders did occur, perhaps Achnacone and Achtriachtan.

It is noteworthy that, unlike the two other songs about the Massacre, this song is in iorram metre, normally used for the praise of clan élite and the celebration of noteworthy clan events. The poem seems to reflect the antagonistic relationship between Clan Donald and Clan Campbell in a simplified and polarized manner: na Duibhnich (a reference to the founding figure Duibhne) are shedding ‘our’ blood (verse 3); na Tuirc (a reference to Campbell heraldry as well as their association with Diarmaid of the Fenian cycle) will suffer from future vengeance (verse 13). The association of Clan Donald with Jacobitism, on the one hand, and of Clan Campbell with Hanoverian allegiances, on the other, is also implied by these polarities.

In an article about the seventeenth-century Gàidhealtachd, Allan Macinnes has wisely cautioned that the discourse of clan rivalries in Gaelic poetic sources often masks the complexities of national and international politics which formed the actual backdrop and dynamic of contemporary events. Gaelic poetry as a rhetorical system reflects the highly localised, kin-oriented society of which it was a product; it is not surprising that its discursive practices and literary conventions, well established by the seventeenth century and reinforced by poets in that contemporary ‘crucible’ (as Thomson deems it), could not but reframe the expression of complex contemporary historical events in the terms most natural and traditional to it, i.e., inter-clan rivalry and warfare. It may also be the case that Gaels, especially the non-élite, understood events like the Massacre of Glencoe in these terms, or were at least most easily motivated or mobilised if events were explained in such terms.

Nonetheless, cracks in this traditional literary code do appear in the song: although the poem is a bitter indictment of the Campbells, the ‘vengeance’ called for by the MacDonald poet is capital punishment via the ‘Maiden’ (a guillotine) under the supervision of the civil authorities; he wishes that King James VII would return and depose William and hang the guilty party. These are appeals to the mechanisms of law and order, not the perpetuation of clan feuds.

The likening of the rout wished upon the soldiers (characterised by their leather haversacks) to a field-game  played with a ball – most likely camanachd – is an unusual metaphor in Gaelic song-poetry (although it does occur in Iain Lom’s ‘Latha Inbhir Lòchaidh’).

Bardic Visions in North Dakota

The song-poem by this Scottish Gaelic poet, Domhnall Aonghas Stiùbhart, who spent the latter part of his life in North Dakota, harkened back to the idyllic days of his youth in the Highlands. Like many of his contemporaries, his life’s path consisted of many stages of migration: he was born on the Isle of Skye in 1838, but his family moved to Prince Edward Island (Canada) in 1841. He went to work on the railroad as an adult and eventually settled in North Dakota, where he died in 1914.

Domhnall sent his poem to at least two different newspapers in 1909 (the Oban Times in Scotland and the Casket in Nova Scotia). It echoes the fitful course of his life, recounting in reverse the long journeys he had undertaken across land masses and oceans earlier in life. His text is, to a degree, a reflection of the ancient role of the poet in Gaelic tradition as seer: his mind’s eye traverses the trail home that his heart so much wants to follow. Like many other Gaelic poems expressing a strong attachment to ancestral territory and sense of place, the almost ritualistic enumeration of place names has a strong emotional power. (See Warriors of the Word, 89, 296-304.) These literary devices also feature prominently in another of his surviving song-poems (“Chì mi uam, uam, uam”).

Although Domhnall mentions the Scottish Lowlands (line 54) and names a few places on the Highland-Lowland boundary with names well established in Gaelic tradition (lines 53-6), the majority of the place names he mentions, and the places in which he imagines spending time, are in the Highlands. Gaels’ sense of belonging did not generally extend beyond the Highlands in any strong sense (see lines 24 and 60 in particular).

In his correspondence to the newspapers, he names his current place of residence as “Steuartdail,” which was known in English as “Stewartdale.” It was close to modern Bismark. I assume, but am not certain, that he coined the place name himself to signify his own homestead area. Did he knew any of the Gaels in Manitoba who threatened to move to the Dakotas, dissatisfied with the extreme difficulties they faced in railroad settlement schemes (see Seanchaidh na Coille, 170-5)?

It is perhaps ironic that, like so many of his contemporaries, he laments his exile from his kin and his family’s explusion from their ancestral home (lines 7 and 12), but at the same time defers to the supremacy of the British Empire, only seeking validation for his people as loyal warriors of that authority (lines 61-64). The vision of most Gaelic poets had become highly constrained by imperial conditioning (see discussion in Seanchaidh na Coille, 68-78, 187-9). At least his depiction of the native peoples of the area, the Sioux (line 18), is not overtly negative.

It is noteworthy that this song was modeled on an older Jacobite song. Jacobite songs provided a solid bedrock of song models for many Gaelic poets in North American immigrant communities and he even mentions Prince Charles by name (line 28), suggesting that the choice of this song model was a conscious one. Despite the catastrophic defeat of Jacobite forces at Culloden and the symbolism of that battle in Gaelic tradition as the last independent act of defiance against a hostile, anglocentric state, songs of the Jacobite movement were firmly entrenched in the musical-poetic canon and provided the melodies and choruses (and notes of determination and defiance) used by many “New World” poets.

An informant of the School of Scottish Studies, Johanna MacDonald (1880-1973) of Smiorasairidh, Gleann Ùige, Mùideart / Moidart, sang a portion of this song to Calum Maclean in 1954. (Thanks to my friend Dr. Tiber Falzett for finding this recording and sending me the reference.) You can hear the recording online at this link.

This poem has never received any previous scholarly attention and a few of my interpretations of geographic references are tentative. I would welcome any alternative suggestions about these interpretations.

Original Gaelic Text

Tìr an Fhraoich

Air Fonn — “Ho, ho, rachainn is mi gun rachadh // o-chòin fhéin, le Tearlach”

1 Ho! ho! is mi gun rachadh
O-chòin fhéin, ’se b’ àill leam
Rachainn fhéin gu tìr mo shinnsir
Null a-rithist do thìr nan Gàidheal.

5 Rachainn fhéin a-null do dh’Albainn
’S ann oirr’ dh’ainmichear do ghnàth mi
Is ged is fhada on chaidh ar tearbadh
O! gu dearbh, is tìr mo ghràidh i.

Tha mo dhachaigh ’s an Iar-Thuath seo
10 Le fearainn, taighean, buar is barr innt’;
Is ged a tha, bidh [mi] tric fo ghruaman
Is mise fuadaicht’ o mo chairdean.

Mi ’n tìr fharsaing àrd an fheòir seo
Far am bheil gach seòrsa tàmhach
15 Iad as gach cinneach ’s an Roinn Eòrpa
Is dhe gach seòrsa, dòigh is cànain.

Mi muigh aig abhainn mhóir Missouri
An tìr nan Sioux bha ùdlaidh, gàbhaidh,
Nuair a thàinig mi d’ an dùthaich
20 Is a shuidhich mi air tùs ’s an Dàil seo.

Thionndaidhinn-s’ an-sin air uilinn
Mach gu Muile nam beann àrda;
Dhèanainn tadhal anns an Òban
Is dhèanainn comhradh riu’ ’s a’ Ghàidhlig.

25 Shiubhlainn thairis troimh na Morairne
Is Àrd na Murchan nan stùc àrda
Is bheirinn sùil gu ceann Loch Mhùideart
’S ann a stiùir am Prionnsa Tearlach.

O cheann Loch Seile gu Caolas Shléite
30 Gu Baile ’n Stream is troimh Chaol Acain
An sin gu tìr MhicGilleChaluim
Is ’na sheann chlachan, dhèanainn dàil ann.

Sin bheirinn sùil gu Rubha Thùineis
Is bheirinn sùil gu Rubha Ghearrloch;
35 Ach stiùrainn fhéin staigh gu Port Rìgh
Is an tìr mo shinnsir rithist a tà mi.

Eilean Sgitheanach a’ chèo seo
Nam beanntan móra ’s nan lochan àlainn;
Ris an cainteadh Tìr MhicDhomhnaill
40 Is Tìr MhicLeòid, is cha b’ i bu tàire.

Dh’fhàgainn fhéin tìr àrd Dacòta
Troimh Mhinnesota is gu Chicàgo
Thairis air na Lochan Móra
Is thar Chòmhnaird Chanada as airde.

45 An sin troimh Chanada Ìochdrach
Is sìos Abhainn Naomh Labhrainn;
Thriallainn-s’ troimh na Roinnean Ìosal
Is air Prionnsa Ìomhair, chuirinn fàilte.

An sin rachainn thairis air a’ chuan
50 Tha stuadhach buaireasach do ghnàth,
Marcachd air a tonnan uaibhreach
Gus aig Abhainn Chluaidh ’n tàmhainn.

Chithinn Glaschu, chithinn Grianaig
Is an Tìr Ìosal, iomadh àite:
55 Rachainn fhéin do’n Eilean Bhóideach
Air Rothasaidh chuirinn fàilte.

Ás a sin a-mach gu Arainn
Ach cha b’ fhada chuirinn dàil ann;
Stiùirinn-sa mach gu Cinn Tìre
60 Is Eilean Ìle ’n Tìr na Gàidhlig.

Tìr nan gaisgeach, treuna seòlta
Gu buaidh-chomhrag anns na blàraibh;
Is bu tric a chuidich ris a’ ghlòr
Tha nis a’ comhdach seann Bhritannia.

65 Ged a tha mi an Dacòta
B’ e bhith ’n seann Scotia b’ àill leam
Bhith rithist measg an fhraoich is nan neòinean
Far an robh mi ’n òig mo làithean.

EDITORIAL NOTE:

Line 30: This is printed in the original as “Baile ’n Stream” which I take as a typo for Baile an t-Sròim, although I could be mistaken.

My English Translation

The Land of Heather

(1-4) Ho! ho! I would go, o-chòin, it is what I would like to do, I myself would go to the land of my ancestors, back over to the land of the Gaels.

(5-8) I myself would go over to Scotland, I will talk about her constantly; and although we were parted long ago, o! indeed, she is the land of my love.

(9-12) My home is here in the North-West, with its land, homes, livestock and crops; even so, I am often gloomy, having been driven away from my kin.

(13-16) I am in this expansive, high land of grass where all types [of people] live; they belong to every ethnic group in Europe, from every origin, way of life and language.

(17-20) I am out on the great Missouri river, in the land of the Sioux who were surly and dangerous when I first came to the country and settled in this dale.

(21-24) I would lean back then [and imagine going] out to Mull of the great mountains; I would visit Oban and I would speak to them in Gaelic.

(25-28) I would travel over through Morven and Ardnamurchan of the high peaks; and I would gaze out to the head of Loch Moidart where Prince Charles was directed.

(29-32) From the head of Loch Shiel to the Sound of Sleat, to Strom Ferry [?] and through Kyleakin; thence to the land of MacGilleChaluim [MacLeods of Raasay], and I would visit the old village there.

(33-36) And then I would gave out to Rubha Thùineis and over to the Point of Gairloch; but I would direct myself inland to Portree, and I am back in the land of my ancestors.

(37-40) This misty Isle of Skye of the great mountains and the beautiful lochs which is called “The Land of MacDonald and of MacLeod”: she is not the worst [i.e., she’s pretty good].

(41-44) I myself would leave the high land of Dakota through Minnesota and go towards Chicago, across the Great Lakes and over the plain of Upper Canada.

(45-48) Thence through Lower Canada and down the St. Lawrence River; I would travel through the Lower North Shore [?] and I would welcome Prince Edward [Island].

(49-52) Thence I would go across the ocean, which is always full of swelling walls [of water] and in ferment, mounted on her high-spirited waves until I would come to rest at the River Clyde.

(53-56) I would see Glasgow, I would see Greenock, and many places in the Lowlands; I would myself go to the Isle of Bute and I would welcome Rothesay.

(57-60) From there out to the island of Arran, although I would not tarry there long; I would direct myself out towards Kintyre and the Island of Islay in the land of Gaelic.

(61-64) The land of the warriors who are brave and well-trained for achieving victory on the battlefields and who often augmented the glory that now ornaments ancient Britannia.

(65-68) Although I am in Dakota, I would greatly like to be an auld Scotland, to be again among the heather and the daisies where I once lived in the days of my youth.

Bibliography

Michael Newton. Warriors of the Word: The World of the Scottish Highlanders. Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2009.

Michael Newton. Seanchaidh na Coille / Memory-Keeper of the Forest: Anthology of Scottish Gaelic Literature of Canada. Sydney: Cape Breton University Press, 2015.

Understanding the legend of the Grey Hound of Meoble

Traditional stories passed by word of mouth can be wonderful vehicles for transmitting culture and discussing history. They are a far more sophisticated genre than many people realize.

There is a legend that still circulates in oral tradition amongst the Gaels of Nova Scotia that originates in the western Highlands and purports to explain the manadh bàis (“death omen”) of a branch of the MacDonalds (the Sìol Dhùghaill of Mórar). Before the death of one of this family, Cù Glas Mheòbail (“the Grey Hound of Meoble”) makes an appearance to someone. This legend gained greater recognition amongst anglophones due to being worked into the short story “As Birds Bring Forth the Sun” by the Canadian author Alistair MacLeod.

Such compelling narratives naturally cause us to ask questions: What does the legend mean? What themes does it discuss and how might have contemporary Gaels understood it? Where does it come from? Exploring this seemingly simple legend allows us to see how complex such oral narratives can be, how they are transformed and adapted by successive storytellers, how they carry culturally-specific allusions and how they offer particular functions and meanings to the audiences that keep them alive.

It seems that the earliest recorded text of the legend was published in a small and very rare book entitled Tales of the Highlands published in 1907 by James MacDonald, who grew up near Mallaig. Unfortunately, his English adaptation of the tale does not at all reflect Gaelic storytelling style even if is a useful reference point for the tale.

When Meoble and other places were fecundated [fertilized] by man and cattle and sheep instead of the antlered tribe [deer] that presently inhabit these noble hills and glades, there lived a shepherd at Ruigh Fheàrna who had a hound that, on looking into his master’s face, or on giving ear to his voice, would read the latter’s slightest wish.

Young MacDonald, after growing weary of smearing, clipping, gathering and whistling [work associated with sheep], betook himself to soldiering. So, after saying goodbye to Ealasaid his dog, he donned the scarlet coat and the tartan trews [of the army] while the plaidie [of shepherding] was hung on the barn rafters.

After a seven-year ordeal in the fighting of Inkerman [1854], Balaclava [1854], and sundry other [military] engagements, young MacDonald retraced his steps [home]. The dog was nowhere to be found.

Shortly after the disappearance of its master, the faithful canine grew disconsolate, refusing all sustenance and eventually disappearing altogether. The soldier, however, obtained an inkling that a dog answering to the description of the lost Ealasaid had taken up its abode on a certain island in the middle of a hill-lake called Dubh-Lochan, two or three miles beyond Meoble. On reaching the banks of the lake, he swam for the island.

No sooner did he effect a landing than he was attacked by old Ealasaid’s progeny. These by now had waxed [grown] into huge and ferocious beasts, and ere the mother could interfere the ill-fated man was gruesomely masticated [chewed up].

On discovering the identity of her master before he was quite dead, she gave vent to an agonizing howl.

Years passed, but the Meoble people were mostly every night at the same hour startled by the dolorous bark and shrill howl of the Cù Glas alternatively reverberating from different corries in the mountains.

One night, however, as the family and their visitors at Ruigh Fheàrna beguiled the wintry night with those tales and legends peculiar to sons of the glens, including the fate of the shepherd-soldier MacDonald, what should appear in the middle of the floor but the Cù Glas itself. After slowly eyeing each member present, the dog wagged its tail, and after most sonorous howling, turned and disappeared.

Calum Maclean was a folklorist who collected materials from all around Scotland from 1946 to 1960. In his book about the Highlands and the people and traditions there, he provided a short summary of the legend, based on several variants which he collected in Morar himself.

The Grey Dog of Meoble makes its appearance when any one of the MacDonalds of Morar, the seed [descendants] of Dugald, is about to die. There are several people still living who maintain that they have really seen the mysterious dog. It appears only before the death of members of that particular branch of the MacDonalds.

Over two hundred years ago, a MacDonald of Meoble had a greyhound. He had to leave home to take part in some [military] campaign and at the time of his leaving, the hound was in pup [i.e., pregnant].

When he left, the bitch swam out to an island on Loch Morar and there gave birth to a litter. Months went by and MacDonald returned home again, but his greyhound was missing. He happened to go to the very island where the bitch had her litter. The pups had now grown up into huge dogs, and not recognising their master, attacked and killed him before the mother appeared on the scene. Ever since that time, the Grey Dog has appeared as an omen of death.

The narrative in Nova Scotia, as collected by John Shaw (and others), has been somewhat simplified, as we might expect from the growing distance in time and space between Scotland and Canada in the generations subsequent to emigration. Not only does the incident get shifted in time to the Battle of Culloden (which loomed larger on the historical horizon than these other battles), but folklore motifs from other legends entered the retelling of the tale and began to reshape it.

So, how do we approach a story like this and understand what it may have meant to Gaels who told it and heard it? It should be understood, first, that like any text, there is no single and definitive meaning to a story. It can have multiple meanings for every individual let alone audience. We can appreciate new layers and aspects of these narratives as we learn more about the historical settings and cultural allusions in these tales. Even the semantic fields of the specific words used to convey the tale can impart meanings and resonances that add to its message(s).

The hound is a particularly significant animal in the lore of Celtic peoples, including the Gaels. There were many personal names and collective names (tribes, families…) that included terms indicating canine species, the most famous being that of the Ulster warrior Cú Chulainn.

The dog appears to be the first species that humans ever domesticated. People sought to harness the aggressive power of canines to threaten and attack potential enemies or hunt mutual prey, so some element of “wildness” had to be retained in order for dogs to remain effective partners. The somewhat ambiguous status of dogs – both within the human community but not entirely of it, domesticated enough to be honorary members of it but potentially dangerous if their wildness reasserted itself – is frequently remarked upon in folklore and mythology. These aspects of canines provided powerful imagery and symbolism for warriors who exhibited these same kinds of traits, as they needed to be ferocious and aggressive to enemies, but they were dangerous to their home community itself if violence was not controlled and directed properly.

Two primary themes of these aspects of the history of the domestication of the hound – the boundaries of the in-group (us) and the out-group (them), and the unstable boundary between wildness and domestication – appear in much Gaelic folklore and tradition. I believe that these two themes are key to understanding the legend of the Grey Hound of Meoble.

It is also relevant to note that cú glas (“grey hound”) was a technical term in early Gaelic law denoting someone who came into the kin-group (particularly through marriage) from outside of it but was not fully protected and enfranchised because of his external origin (Kelly, A Guide to Irish Law, 6). The resonance of this term is clearly relevant in unlocking the meaning of the story, which seems to have taken shape in the 19th century during the time that the Highland élite were abandoning their former kinsmen (of lower rank) by assimilating to the norms of Anglo-British society. Service in the military was a common career path for those wishing to find and climb such socio-economic ladders.

Structurally and symbolically, then, the legend represents a young man who was born as an insider to his kin-group. When he left his home and kin-group, he became an outsider and exile. Perhaps to protect themselves from hostile external forces, the local inside-group took shelter on an island (see the usage and symbolism of the crannog, for example). When the young veteran returned, he was no longer recognizable to the next generation of other insiders, and thus it was inevitable that he be attacked as an external threat. His death was also a tragic loss, doubly so.

It is relevant that the ferocious ghosts of grey hounds were also associated with the MacDougalls (Clann MhicDhùghaill) of Lorne (see Campbell, Records of Argyll, 166-69). The similarity between these groups’ names may have easily allowed these motifs from Clan Dougall legend to be transferred to the Sìol Dhùghaill branch of the Clan Donald in Mórar.

This set of legend variants, then, is a window into the mental and literary world of 19th-century Gaels. By examining such materials, we can begin to understand and appreciate the way in which Gaels represented and discussed their history and culture, using their own symbolic resources and literary techniques. There is no shortage of such Gaelic materials in both North America and Scotland – what there is is a shortage of support for scholars to explore and interpret them.

Bibliography

Lord Archibald Campbell. Records of Argyll. Edinburgh: Blackwood and Sons, 1885.

Fergus Kelly. A Guide to Irish Law. 1988.

Finbar McCormick. “The Dog in Prehistoric and Early Christian Ireland.” Archaeology Ireland 5.4: 7-9.

James MacDonald. Tales of the Highlands. 1907.

Calum I. Maclean. The Highlands. London: Batsfords, 1959.

Calum Maclean Project blog. “The Grey Dog of Meoble.” 14 July 2015.

John Shaw. Na Beanntaichean Gorma / The Blue Mountains. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2007.