4h\m ^^M^^^m ■^Wj' ,;¥\ THE STORY OF =^\ ^> — -y -—^ and Ot n e r !^\ u '•iy.9- Class _^?i^5JIl Book -/im^ i CofiyiightW llil. COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. ■fjlcyn^e: V^S^^ thp: story of glencoe and other Poems • By GEORGE TAYLOR Glfficoe NEW YORK CALEDONIAN PUBLISHING CO. BIBLE HOUSE 1909 LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Cooies Received JAN 13 1909 OopyriKfit entry LASS Gw XXO. No, OOPV 8. Copyright, n^oS By George 1 aylor r CONTENTS Dedication Introduction Invocation I Call to the Chiefs, Rehearsed by Angus, the Bard of Glencoe, and Denounced III The Exiled King IV The Messenger V The Abbe VI The Clansman's Story. He describes the Battle of Killiecrankie, and Death of Lord Dundee VII The Midnight Conference IX The Abbe's Advice XI The Messenger's Return XII The Journey to the Fort XV Mac lan's Conference with His Sons XIX The Disappointment XX Mac Ian Takes the Oath XXI The Conspiracy XXIII Glenlyon Seeks the Hospitality of Glencoe XXV The Seer's Warning of Treachery XXVII Ossian's Cave XXVIII The First Night in Ossian's Cave XXIX Ossian Speaks to Angus the Bard XXXI Chief John Challenges Glenlyon Page 5 7 13 15 i8 19 20 21 25 28 31 32 36 41 42 43 44 49 54 55 56 59 CONTENTS Page XXXII The Irish Corporal's Significant Hint 60 XXXIII The Midnight Massacre 61 XXXIX The Last Song of Angus the Bard 67 XLIII Conclusion 71 APPENDIX TO THE STORY OF GLENCOE Facsimile of Major Robert Duncanson's Order to Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon 74 .Who was the Heavy Villain in the Glencoe Tragedy? 75 The Men of Glencoe. Fifty Years After the Tragedy 83 LAYS OF THE OLD LAND Scotia 89 God Bless the Dear Auld Land 91 Fareweel to Bonnie Scotland 92 A Wee Sprig o' Heather 94 O Lassie, Mind Yer Mither's Words 94 On Dundee Law. A Picture from Memory 96 An American Scot's Coronation Salutation 10 1 The Siege of Berwick 104 An Appeal for the Auld Brig o' Ayr iii SCOTS WORTHIES John Knox 117 Samuel Rutherford 117 Jennie Geddes 1 19 Archie Armstrong, the Last Court Fool 122 CONTENTS Page Robert Burns 126 Sir Walter Scott 129 William Craig 130 The Uncrowned King 131 SALT WATER SONGS The Old Salt's Soliloquy- 135 Falling Stars 137 The Wreck of the Stella 139 Sing Me a Lullaby, Dark Rolling Sea 140 No More Sea 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS When the Pilgrim March is Ended 147 The Mourners 149 Memorial Day 153 Morning, Noon and Night 154 Hobbies 155 Ode to Spring 158 The Three Graces 160 The Slump in Poetry 161 DEDICATION In June, 1902, there appeared In the "New York Caledo- nian" a poem entitled "The Men of Glencoe," which attract- ed considerable attention among the members of the "Order of Scottish Clans." My friend, John H. MacDonald, of New York, after read- ing it, expressed the opinion that no fitting memorial had yet been written of the men, the women and the children who died in that night over two hundred years ago, in the Valley of Glen- coe, and that the spirited interest I had manifested in the sad story seemed to point to me as the one on whom the task should be laid. I shrank from the task as one unfitted for such a theme, but it haunted me and grew upon me, till after a lapse of two years I began to note down the thoughts in that connection that came to me in the leisure hours of an othen\ase busy life. The result of my labor of love is now with great diflSdence, presc"nted to the descendants of the heroic old race, represented by the Highland Clans of Scotland, whose names have adorned the pages which record the heroism and progress of the world's his- tory for hundreds of years. The Poem I here respectfully dedi- cate to the Order of Scottish Clans. George Taylor. INTRODUCTION The Massacre of Glencoe, which occurred February 13, 1692, stands out as the ugh'est blot on the pages of Scottish History. Conceived in secret for private ends, planned by a traitor under the pretense of public policy, consummated under the guise of friendship by a guest living under the sacred obliga- tions of hospitality, it remains pre-eminently one of the most dastardly outrages ever perpetrated against the instincts and tra- ditions of the Scottish people. The number slain in cold blood, many while asleep in their beds, is stated to have been thirty-eight, and there is a strong probability that a greater number perished on the mountains dur- ing the snow storm then raging, for many persons missing from that vicinity have never been accounted for. The monstrous act was so cunningly contrived that three years elapsed before suspicions of it had sufficiently leaked out to arouse the Scottish people to demand an investigation of the circumstances. A Royal Commission was then reluctantly appointed and the principal participants were exposed. The report named the Secretary of State, Stair, as the instigator, and the various mili- tary officers employed by him as the perpetrators. It also sug- gested that Parliament should address His Majesty requesting him to recall Glenlyon, who was then on foreign service, and that he and the other murderers should be brought to trial. But 8 INTRODUCTION the fact remains that King William neither ordered them to be brought to trial, nor did he dismiss them from the public service. The MacDonalds of Glencoe were the actual victims, but the plan of the massacre had a much wider scope, as was shown by the investigation. As a matter-of-fact record of events, Macaulay in his History of England, Scott and others have per- haps, done justice to the affair. But touching the deeper springs of human nature, the heart motives, the old loyalty, the hopes and aspirations of the Highland nature, these, so far as the pres- ent author knows, have never been considered. Nor has the policy inaugurated under the government of William of Orange ever been abandoned or discouraged; it has only been changed in its methods. From the time of the massacre to the present day, the Highland regiments have been made to bear the brunt of every campaign. They are the first to be ordered out, the last to be recalled, and almost invariably are given the longest terms of service at the deadly foreign posts. The straths and the glens of the Scottish Highlands, which were once the abode of a brave, lo3^al people, have (in a large measure) become merely the grazing run of sheep and cattle, and sporting grounds for the aristocracy. If conditions were otherwise this present effort to vindicate the rude old heroic-race, w^ho were worthy of a better fate than that meted out to them, had never been made. For the enlightenment of readers unfamiliar with Highland customs, it may be necessary to state that such names as Mac Ian of Glencoe, Mac Cullom of Argyle, Lochiel of Clan Cameron and others were not individual names, but hereditary titles, and INTRODUCTION 9 in many cases the name of the chief or of the clan, or the lands held by the clan, were interchangeable. Thus, Breadalbyn, Glen- lyon, Lochiel, etc., were called by the name of their lands. Charles II. died February 6, 1685. His brother, the Duke of York, ascended the throne as James II. of England and James VII. of Scotland. Mary, daughter of James, was married to William, Prince of Orange, who thus became joint heirs to the English and Scot- tish thrones, unless a son should be born to James. James was zealous for the re-establishment of the Roman Catholic faith, and was in communication with the Vatican with that object in view. William of Orange was an adherent of the Protestant faith. A son was born to King James on June 10, 1688. Wil- liam, who had hitherto been cautious and conciliatory in British politics, seeing himself excluded from the desired succession to the throne, became bolder and took an active part in the affairs of State. With the aid and sanction of the States of Holland, he collected an army of fifteen thousand men, and a fleet of five hun- dred sail, and, on November 5, 1688, landed at Torbay, Devon- shire. There was an immediate and general desertion of King James and his cause, so completely had the British sovereign weaned away his people by his false policy, and his only safety was in flight. He escaped to France, where he died September 16, 1701." William of Orange and his wife, Mary, were crowned April II, 1689. The only active opposition to the new dynasty in Scotland was carried on under the leadership of John Graham of 10 INTRODUCTION Claverhouse, better known as Viscount of Dundee. He was idol- ized by the Jacobite clans, and by their aid, on June 17, 1689, won a splendid victory over William's forces at the Pass of Killie- crankie, where he fell mortally wounded, and his army disbanded, simply for want of a trusted leader. At this juncture of affairs, a scheme was concocted by Sir John Dalrj'mple, Secretary of State, or Master of Stair, as he was called. He and his intimate friend (the Earl of Breadalbyn) persuaded King William that the allegiance of the Highland Chieftains could easily be bought, and that on account of their unmistakable poverty and high military spirit, they could readily be formed into a very efficient auxiliary force for his support. Breadalbyn, the head of a powerful branch of the Argyle clan, was a person of great power and influence. In furtherance of this plan, he was entrusted with a sum variously estimated to have amounted to ten thousand or twenty thousand pounds. It has always been doubted whether any of this blood money ever found its way into the hands of the Highland Chiefs, whom it was in- tended should thus be won over to King William's service. In August, 1 69 1, a Royal Proclamation was issued ordering the Highland Chiefs to swear allegiance to King William before the first day of January, 1692. It was stated that after that date all who had not submitted should be subjected to the extremities of fire and sword. Breadalbyn should have been the last man to be entrusted with such a fund, or such a mission, for not only was he the hereditary foe of the MacDonalds and the Lochaber Clans generally, but he was hated and distrusted by all. INTRODUCTION ii Such was the man who invited the Jacobite Chiefs to a con- ference at his residence in Glenorchy, which ended in a quarrel. It has been shown by correspondence and by State papers that a reconciliation of the clans was not so much desired as their destruction, and that Sir John Dalrymple, Secretary of State, con- spired with Breadalbyn and others with that end in view; and when driven to desperation and vindictiveness by the fact that all the Chiefs, with the one exception of Maclan of Glencoe, had taken the oath within the specified time, they eagerly settled upon that clan for destruction. This extermination would gratify their implacable hatred ; so they withheld from the Council the fact of Maclan 's subsequent allegiance and also the note of excuse for delay^ which was sent by the Sheriff of Argyle, who had admin- istered the oath. The Story of Glencoe INVOCATION Glencoe, O Glencoe! there is woe! there is woe! That comes like an echo from days long ago; And the mists hang a veil o'er the Valley of Weeping,* And the winds sob and sigh where the clansmen are sleeping Who died in the night, long ago, long ago, And the Cona leaps down from her sorrow-fed fountains To chant her wild song to the rocks and the mountains; The song that she learned in the night long ago, When the sons of Diarmid, with crafty Glenlyon In guise of a friend, sought the home of Maclan, The heart and the head of the tribe of Glencoe. But who shall essay to rehearse the sad story, Or chant the Coronach in alien tongue? The bards who of old shrined their heroes in glory Have died with their Chief, and the song is unsung. O, spirit of song that flowed down through the ages, Inspiring to valor the heroes of old; Shall ye nevermore stir the heart's throbbing pages, And wrongs of Glencoe be forever untold? *Glen-Coe in Gaelic, means Valley of Weeping. 14 THE STORY OF GLENCOE Shall OssianV spirit be silent forever? The mountains of Fingal resound nevermore? The clan have no bard but the wild rushing river And wail of the wind on its desolate shore? O come ye proud spirits of days long departed, Whose mission and pride was to weave into song The deeds of the mighty, the brave hero-hearted. Whose virtue was courage and hatred of wrong, Give voice to a scion of the race still undaunted, Whose bosom still swells with its ancient renown, Whose heart, like the old Scottish glen, is still haunted And fired with a passion that seas cannot drown. Give voice as of old, when untrammeled by measure The heart had a voice for the message it bore, Now soft with the rhythm of love's tenderest treasure Or wild as the tempest that sweeps Skerryvore.* And thus would I sing of the days long departed, With withering scorn for a treacherous foe, And send from afar from a son loyal-hearted A garland of song for the graves of Glencoe. *A storm centre reef on the west coast of Scotland. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 15 CALL TO THE CHIEFS Angus, the bard of Strath-Coe, rehearses the general tenor of Breadalbyn's call and then denounces its hypocrisy. Gather ye! Gather ye! Chiefs of the Highlands! Come from Lochaber, Strath-Earn and Braemar, Come from Glengarry, Lochiel and the Islands, Verdant Strathmore, and the wild Loch-ny-gar! Chiefs of the clans that are famous in story, Worthy the sires that were famous of yore; Bulwarks to stand for the old Scottish glory, Sons of the heather that swing the claymore. Think of the days when your fathers united, BafHed the Roman, the Saxon, the Dane, Shall their proud laurels be withered and blighted By such vain feuds as your sires would disdain? Shall we immure in our self-isolation Men who were born to be leaders of men? Chiefs who should lead in the van of the Nation, Dwarfing their powers in their own narrow glen? i6 THE STORY OF GLENCOE Shall it be said that our courage is waning? Shall it be said that our honor is dead? Shall we, the old martial spirit restraining, Shrink from the fields where our forefathers bledPl Turn from the vain petty feuds that defame us, Foster the pride of our fathers of yore ; Fan the old fires lest our children should shame us, Shrinking in fear from our dear Scottish shore. See our fair land that hath long been distracted. Torn and dissevered by factional strife; Take of the bounty the King hath enacted. Rise for the King! Let old Scotland have life! II Heard j'e the slogan that comes from Breadalbjm? What are the tidings his messengers bring? Come to the Council, ye Chiefs of old Albyn, Pledge your allegiance to William, the King. This is the slogan that comes from Breadalbyn! Come, sell your honor, j^our men and your lands. Stifle the old independence of Albyn, Perjure your manhood and fetter your hands. Come to Glen-Orchy, to council of cravens; Pledge ye your sons like your herds to be sold; THE STORY OF GLENCOE 17 Stair, the sly fox, spreads a feast for the ravens, Baiting his traps with the Sassenach's gold. Shun ye Breadalbyn! The guide to disaster, Death and dishonor lurk under his wing. Touch not his bounty, nor choose for your master The icicle heart in the robes of a King. Go, crafty Stair, to thy cold-blooded master; Go, base Breadalbyn, who covets our lands; Honor may weep o'er the grave of disaster, But we shall not die with your bribe in our hands. Go tell your master his gold cannot buy us; The King of the Highlands is over the sea; O for a spirit to lead us and try us. Like gallant Montrose or our Bonny Dundee. Then would the step of the clansman be sprightly, Brave hearts would bound for the cause we adore; Then would our claymores from scabbards leap lightly, Then should ye see "Killiecrankie" once mor:?. Fair flowers may cover the pathway to ru'n, Foul deeds be covered by words fair and bland: — Men of the Highlands! there's mischief a-brewing; Look to your honor, your lives and your lands! i8 THE STORY OF GLENCOE III THE EXILED KING King James, an exile o'er the sea, sat pensive and alone; An alien from his regal line was seated on his throne; And gazing on the flickering fire before him on the hearth. Old fancies of the past came back from childhood's days of mirth. But fancy now saw other things than those his childhood traced; The glamour and the mirth were gone, the glory all effaced. The tinseled lackey at his door, the forms of regal state. Enhanced the fancies that revealed the irony of fate. "Lost! Lost!" he murmured, "all is lost of that which once was mine; Nought but disaster seems to cling to my disastrous line; Shades of my fathers, must it be that some malignan'c power Shall rule thy regal dynasty down to its latest hour? I backward glance and trace afar its trail of blood and tears, Its Flodden Field, its civic strife and Mary's martyr years; I see a i-egal head discrowned and rolling in the dust, And the rude rabble drunk with power of liberty and lust. They spurn authority and law, and all its powers disown; And flout the 'Majesty Divine' that doth surround a throne. And I the last, the least, to bear the load of this sad line; The burden of three Kingdoms laid on this poor heart of mine! Three Kingdoms! with their three- fold weight of envy, hate and pride, Where Papist, Prelate, Presbyter, like rampant furies ride, THE STORY OF GLENCOE 19 Each in his own embittered heart for plot and treason rife, And clamorings of holy war, O most unholy strife! An exiled King looks o'er the sea with sad and wistful eye: To bring the old land back to God: 'O, I would gladly die.' " IV THE MESSENGER A boisterous stranger at the gate desires to see the King. Whence cometh he? What is his name? What tidings doth he bring? He hath a rude, uncourtly air, and saith with haughty fling — "I have no name; I have no word for any but the King!" "Call out the guard and search him well, and watch for sign of strife, And tell him he shall see the King at peril of his life." Ten stalwart guards with sabres drawn, march in with martial din And to the presence of the King the stranger ushered in. And he, most stalwart of them all, erect with martial pride; Three guards before and three behind, and two at either side. Then with salute he reverent knelt in presence of the King, And silently with outstretched hand gave to the King a ring. The King a while gazed at the ring between his finger tips, Then tremblingly he turned aside and pressed it to his lips. His face took on an ashen hue, his eyes a dreamy stare: — 20 THE STORY OF GLENCOE "Dismiss the guard," he feebly said, and sank into a chair. The guards withdrew, though boding ill from such a strange be- hest. They feared to leave the King alone with such an uncouth guest; But martial law ruled at the court, forbidding such a thing As lingering in the audience room unbidden by the King. THE ABBE Meanwhile wild, anxious fears were spread, and silence reigned within, Till the good Abbe, bold in faith, presumed to enter in: And bowing lowly said: "Oh King, I pray you, pardon me That I so rudely should intrude, but let love be my plea: A boding rumor came to me, your Majesty was ill. And, as in duty bound, I came to learn your gracious will." "Most welcome, and most timely, too," the King then made reply, "For I am ill, and slow of wit, and fateful moments fly: See'st thou, good Father Fergus, this dread relic in my hand? It is a message from the dead, a challenge, a command! Take thou this relic, scan it well, and I shall make it speak, Even though the words should wring my heart, and tears be on my cheek; See'st thou the gold with hair inwrought, dark as the raven's wing? THE STORY OF GLENCOE 21 That hair was on my father's head when severed from the King. And that fair pearl with rubies set, emblem of peace in strife, Is for the soul of her who bore the martyrdom of life, And martyr died by wicked hands, which by that deed alone Kindled a hell in her own heart that seared it on her throne.* And I, when adverse fate pressed hard and all was dark with me. My hopes rose with the rising star of gallant, brave Dundee, And in the fullness of my heart I gave to him this ring, And said, 'When Heaven and thy good sword some brighter days shall bring. Bear this to me, and claim thy right to aught that I can give, And know this pledge shall honored be so long as I shall live.' And now, alas, my pledge is brought, but not by brave Dundee; Oh, would that I, by Gary's side, had glorious died with thee!" VI THE CLANSMAN'S STORY "But time is flying! Great our need! Speak, Highland clans- man, speak! Tell us in thy rude, honest speech the boon that thou dost seek: Tell our good Abbe who thou art and what the news you bring, And how Dundee, with dying breath, gave your brave Chief the nng. The clansman made obeisance low, and blushingly he said: *Queen Elizabeth. 22 THE STORY OF GLENCOE "My name is Ronald, near of kin to the brave Chief who led Your Majesty's most loyal clan, MacDonald of Glencoe, At Killiecrankie on that day of glory and of woe: — Maclan to my father said, 'Forbid that youth's mad pranks, Your son is but a stripling boy; go call him from the ranks. This is a time for well tried men to deal out sturdy blows; We meet no rabble here to-day, for veterans are our foes; Or if his Highland blood is up, and must a battle see, I'll give him for a messenger to wait on Lord Dundee: For he must rule the fight to-day, and with his eagle eye, Shall see our clansmen sweep the field, or see them bravely die.' I stood beside my Lord Dundee upon the rising ground. Lord! how my heart leaped in my breast when rose the pibroch's sound ! And the wild yell of Highland men as down the steep hillside, They threw themselves upon the foe in a resistless tide. Upon the right MacDonald's might broke through the ranks of steel. And down the line swept Keppoch's men. Glengarry and Lochiel! And surging like a raging sea, with clash and yell and scream, The lowland men were swept like sheep into the Gary's stream: But in the centre of their line their solid ranks stood still Unbroken, where our weakened line divided on the hill. Then spurring down to where our men stood panting from the fray, 'Now, brave MacDonald!' cried Dundee, 'come finish up the day. By ancient right you've led the fight on many a bloody field. Now for our country and King James make the last traitor yield: THE STORY OF GLENCOE 23 Charge, valiant clansmen! Charge with me, in such a gallant fight Who would not share this glorious day, though he should die to- night?' Then screamed the pibroch to the charge, then rose the High- land yell, Then rang the claymore on the targe, and on their ranks we fell: And as we closed, their serried ranks poured their last volley in, — We caught their bayonets on the targe, and clove them to the chin. Brief, wild and bloody was the strife, and wild the victor's shout, And not a man dared look behind in all that dreadful rout. And I, true to Maclan's charge, kept at my master's side. 'Twas I who caught him as he fell. I watched him till he died. And as I laid him on the heath, 'Go, call your Chief,' he said. And when he came, 'Kneel down,' he said, 'ere my last breath is sped, For thou hast been my strong right arm in this most glorious day, Wilt thou be faithful to the cause when I have passed away?' With moistened eyes, Maclan said, 'Take thou my bloodstained hand, For weal or woe, henceforth I live, true to the King's command.' Then said Dundee, 'I die content, unclasp my cloak and mail. There is a treasure near my heart which some day may avail To bring great honor to thy house, take thou this sacred ring. And when some boon thou wouldst desire, present it to the King.' Thus having said, from glorious field his brave soul passed away; And I, O King, had mine own grief; my father died that day." 24 THE STORY OF GLENCOE A while he paused with downcast look, then grief gave way to pride. "Thus would I die," he proudly said, "as all my fathers died! Maclan took me for his own, I was his brother's son, And I in turn was mother's stay, I was her only one. And I was absent from the glen, toiling for daily bread. His own sons dared not leave the glen, so I was sent instead: For be it known that since the day we fought by Gary's tide We have been haunted night and day by spies on every side; And our hereditary foes have now a scheme in hand, With one eye set on England's gold, the other on our land: And Stair^ the Minister of State, hath late matured a plan To buy up every Highland Chief and every Highland Clan, And raise an army of the North, fore-sworn to William's will, And base Breadalbyn, trusted chief, their mission to fulfill. And proclamation hath gone forth that every tribe and clan Shall swear allegiance to the King or fall beneath the ban Upon the last day of the year. And thus, O King, we stand : The last clan faithful unto thee in all the Scottish land: For it is said your loyal clans have been absolved by thee, That they might bow before the blast and keep their conscience free Till better days shall come again, and brighter stars arise. When every loyal heart shall leap to shed its base disguise: But no such word was given to us, but shunned by friend and foe, As though some plague by Heaven were sent to hover o'er Glen- coe. Now, O my King, our Chief is old, his message here you see, THE STORY OF GLENCOE 25 The pledge he took at Gary's side he now returns to thee: But that he gave to brave Dundee he never can recall, And that which binds our honored Chief doth bind us one and all; We stand by him whate'er befall, our fate is in your hand. We ask no boon, we make no plea, I wait the King's command." The clansman ceased and for a while the Priest and King were still. As though his words had sealed their lips and paralyzed their will : Then for a time in whispers low they talked in anxious plight. Then called the guard to keep him safe in comfort for the night. VII THE MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE Lx)ng sat the King into the night with his good faithful friend, His chaplain and his counsellor through fortune's downward trend. "When Fortune frowns and friends are few," half musingly he said, " 'Tis sweet to know in darkest hour that honor is not dead : And this brave Chief who sent the ring, it seemeth unto me Hath also caught at Garyside, the spirit of Dundee; For he hath kept this treasure safe and sacred in his hand. Which might an earldom have bought in that distracted land ; And with a lofty scorn of pelf, he doth no favor crave When he restores what I had thought had long been in the grave. 26 THE STORY OF GLENCOE He asks no boon, the young man saith, nor seeketh he release; The pledge he gave a dying man he seeketh not shall cease. O brave, true, loyal Highland heart, would I had more like thee; Would I had such to lead the clans that followed brave Dundee: Then were it joy to see our foes in serried ranks arrayed, But Oh the bitterness of soul to see such friends betrayed ; For this is what I learn to-night from what the clansman saith: Oh pity, Lord, for this exceeds the bitterness of death!" vni "Dost thou remember, Reverend Sire, about a year ago Grave rumors came of vengeful threats against this same Glencoe, And all the clans that bore a part in that most glorious day To be remembered with the name of him who passed away? Now this Breadalbyn, suave and fair, hath favor sought of me, But held aloof from our good cause upon the specious plea That he was bound by clannish ties and treaty to Argyle, Who hath a hungry eye for land by treaty, feud or wile. And he too, hath an itching palm, and wisely trims his sail To speed his way to wealth and power by every favoring gale, His emissaries came to us, but guarded well his name, Lest by miscarriage of his plans, not his should be the blame; But well we knew the schemes of Stair to win each Highland clan ; And in three kingdoms William failed to find a shrewder man THE STORY OF GLENCOE 27 Than this Breadalbyn, But 'twas found, though much they loved the gold, That none of them would take from him a new love for the old. But darker plots were being wrought than were to William known. And dearer schemes were in their hearts than love for William's throne ; For this Breadalbyn and his friend, the Minister of State, Nursed in their hearts a deeper joy — the ministry of hate; And stranger allies never met than they who then joined hands. One hated the Maclan's clan, the other loved his lands, And when they found that there are things that gold can never buy, A viler scheme their perjured hearts were then resolved to try. They issued letters as from me — forged letters, be it known — And with great pledge of secrecy showed them to each alone. Each loyal Chief was thus deceived, unknown to all the rest, And as it seemeth kept the oath a secret in his breast. And thus the villainy appears. The malice of their foe Hath weaved the meshes of the law around the brave Glencoe, And much I fear their base intrigue shall have a bloody end And that the foulest blow shall fall on our most faithful friend. Come, Father Abbe, thou are wise ; pray tell us if you can How we may thwart this base design against our faithful clan." IX THE ABBE'S ADVICE The Abbe rose and paced the floor absorbed in anxious thought; Not of the action, but the means, was that for which he sought — How best to bridge with least alarm the clansmen's direful strait, And best equip the messenger to run a race with fate. For he was wise by Nature's dower and lifetime's varied schools Of threescore years with crafty men, philosophers and fools: He knew smooth statecraft's foul deceits, he knew both how and when To soothe the anxious troubled soul, or fire the hearts of men. So turning to the King he said, "Sire, thou dost see our need; The pressing problem of the hour is one of urgent speed: For it is near to Christmas-tide, and the uncertain sea Gives fickle service at such times between Glencoe and thee: But by God's favor and fair winds he may not be too late To pledge the letter of the law and foil Breadalbyn's hate. The young man brought no written word, in that the Chief was wise, Let none go back save in the heart, the best of all disguise; For by the token which he brought there is no room for doubt, Your message to his Chief is safe till he shall draw it out. To-morrow, ere the break of day, he with a courier guide Shall post to Havre, where our craft doth still at anchor ride. Then trust our faithful service men to spirit him away THE STORY OF GLENCOE 29 And up the coast to some safe cove or unfrequented bay. Once with his foot on Scottish ground and silver in his hand, No earthly power shall bar his way in all the Scottish land. For he hath got a lofty soul though cast in rugged mould, And knoweth well how much to tell, and how much to withhold. And even now at this late hour, though sore he needeth rest, I would recall him by your leave, to take the King's behest; And I in turn your gracious words will unto him impart In Highland speech, which best befits a Highland head and heart. Then speed him off before the dawn, back on his homeward way, And may God's favor waft him there to foil the vengeful day." X The King's assent, a quick command, but not with martial din, From needed rest and sound repose, the stranger ushered in; The Captain of the guard alone, sufficient now to bring The drowsy clansman from his couch to presence of the King; And as instructed by the King, and standing by his chair, The Abbe to the clansman spake in brief and solemn air: "Young man, the message which 3'ou bring from your most noble Chief Hath filled the bosom of the King with gratitude and grief: The threatened evil to your clan admits of no delay, It is in kindness thus in haste we hurry you away. A fleet winged vessel waits for you, and with a trusty guide, You must be off before the dawn as fast as man can ride To board this ship before it sails, and pray all winds that blow 30 THE STORY OF GLENCOE To speed you on your homeward way back to your loved Glencoe, Then hasten to your honored Chief, salute him for the King, And in his name thus shall ye say, in answer for the ring: 'Betrayed! Before the year shall close: Bend to the storm and foil your foes!'" "Betrayed!" he cried, and in his rage he rose to all his height, And like a lion roused to wrath he quivered in his might: He clutched the chair by which he stood, his visage seemed to gloat As though the death grip of his hand clutched on a traitor's throat: — "Betrayed!" he cried, "and I in France a thousand miles away! Oh my poor brain will be consumed by moments of delay; Let me begone, I pray, O King! Waste neither time nor breath, My every nerve is overstrung to run a race with death." The Abbe gently raised his hand forbidding further speech. Well pleased within himself to know the lesson he would teach Had not been lost. The clansman's haste well fitted to his part And showed the King volcanic fires hid in the Highland heart. Then spake the King in kindly words of gratitude and cheer And fervent hope that dangers pass and brighter days appear. "And tell thy Chief I pledge to him the honor of a King That when they come I'll not forget the token of the ring." Then Ronald knelt, the Abbe laid his hand upon his head And prayed that he and all his clan might fill their foes with dread, THE STORY OF GLENCOE 31 And that the good cause might revive and each come to his own, And peace caress the dear old land, with James upon the throne. Thus with a blessing on his head, before the dawn of day With fleet steeds and with eager heart he sped his homeward woe, XI THE MESSENGER'S RETURN Who e'er hath sailed the winter sea from Havre to Montrose, Would never covet such a trip for any but his foes; With biting blasts and chilling haar, and blinding snow and sleet, And choppy seas, where every hour opposing currents meet; The days and nights pass gloomily unlit by sun or star, The laboring vessel buffeted by elemental war. Such was the fate that lay in wait for Ronald on his way, Till he was put ashore by night inside of Lunan Bay: There resting in a fisher's hut, he waited through the night Like an impatient homing bird, to scan with eager sight For landmark bold or well known scene, of mountain, wood or lake, To mark the course his anxious heart and willing feet should take. And following the paths that led back from the Eastern shore, The rising mist revealed to sight the valley of Strathmore, With the low Sidlaws on the left and Grampians on the right. Lifting their snowcaps to the skies, broke on his raptured sight, 32 THE STORY OF GLENCOE Imparting vigor to his heart and strength to every limb To reach the goal that lay beyond the west horizon's rim. With scarce an hour for food or rest he pressed on night and daj^ Through Strath and glen and rugged pass he held his toilsome way; Half frozen bogs and swollen streams and banks of drifted snow Increased his toil by many a mile before he reached Glencoe: And when at last at midnight hour the toilsome march was o'er, His giant strength exhausted, fell inside Maclan's door. "Welcome! My son!" Maclan cried, "what tidings do j'ou bring?" Then Ronald looked him in the eye and cried, "Thus saith the King — 'Betrayed! Before the year shall close: Bend to the storm and foil your foes.' " The old Chief like a statute stood, rigid in form and limb: No word escaped his granite face, so silent, set and grim, And while the ministries of love soothed Ronald's weary form, He silent took his staff and plaid and stole out in the storm. XII THE JOURNEY TO THE FORT Wild was the night when from his door the old chief turned away. With dark forebodmgs in his heart that filled him with dismay, THE STORY OF GLENCOE 33 But not alone he braved the storm of that bleak, stormy night, For not a move nor glance escaped his faithful gillie's sight ; He knew that face in storm and calm, he knew each mood and look. The purpose of his Chieftain's heart was like an open book; So, lithe of limb, and fleet of foot, with desperate race to run, He glided past the Chief unseen and roused the old man's son — "Ho, Alister MacDonald, rise! O 'tis a woeful plight That draws your father from his bed on such an awful night. Ronald fell fainting at our door, and he could only say, 'We are betrayed! Rush to the fort before the fatal day!' Your father now is on his way, and O the woesome sight To see his agony of soul! O woe is me this night! To-morrow and our fate is sealed ! Yes, sealed for weal or woe. And rude and rugged is the way the old Chief now must go! To reach Fort William were a task for a long summer's day, But for a night like this, it seems a thousand miles away." xni Scant were the moments to prepare for such a pressing flight, And scant the words the Chieftain spake; he kissed his wife good night ; Then out into the night they passed, he and the gillie lad, And at their heels unbidden came Flora, with visage sad; A collie wise beyond her breed, and kindly as her race; She understood her master's voice and read his anxious face; 34 THE STORY OF GLENCOE She knew it was no social call, nor young folks' frolic light, Nor raid on moor or mountain side that called them out that night, "Go, Flora, find out where the Chief is floundering in the snow, And when you find him, my good dog, speak up and let us know." Thus spake the Chieftain to his dog, she answering with delight Gave three sharp barks, a mutual sign, and vanished out of sight. Then following the upward way, unmarked by road or path. Save where the Cona's darksome flood came roaring down the Strath, Like inky streak but dimly seen between its banks of snow, Its rumbling o'er the rocky bed the only guide to show The luckless travellers of the night the rough and rugged way To the grim Fortress of the North where hope of safety lay: And as they wrestled with the storm, watchful with eye and ear For Flora's voice to pierce the din or moving form appear; The signal came, three short sharp barks, full half a mile away; With three sharp blasts they started off like clansmen to the fray ; They soon were at the old Chief's side, who, breathless and dis- tressed, Still wrestled with the greater storm that raged within his breast. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 35 XIV Strange silence bound them for a time, the Chieftain and the Chief, As though the power of speech congealed beneath the stress of grief; But filial love was stronger still, and thus the young man spake : — "Speak, O my father! speak to me before my heart shall break; Tell me by whom we are betrayed, or what malignant fate Drives you from home on such a night, or why 3^ou cannot wait For light of day to show the way o'er such a rugged path. When all the elements are out to smite you in their wrath? Donald hath told me Ronald came in sore distressful plight And wildly said, 'We are betrayed; rush to the fort to-night!'" "Hush, hush! my son, you wildly speak; come, let us hurrj^ on, Let Donald hasten on before and call your brother John." "Nay, nay, my father, by your leave, we will abide by you. Here is a fleeter messenger, as trusty and as true: Come, Flora! go call young Chief John, give him the clan haloo! And stay with him that he may know that we are coming too." The faithful messenger sped on more swiftly than the men To where the young Chief's clachan served as outpost to the glen : And soon the canine voice gave out what every clansman knew; In human speech, a voice replied, and echo cried "Haloo!" And when the Chief and escort reached the outpost of the glen, There stood before him half a score of stalwart Highland men. 36 THE STORY OF GLENCOE XV MAC lAN'S CONFERENCE WITH HIS SONS The old Chief and his sons retired into an inner room. In hasty conference to plan against the threatened doom: The young men pleaded for delay, at least till morning light, For it were madness to proceed on such an awful night. "The course lies over rugged ground, where road was never made; A dreary level to the e3^e with neither light nor shade; Sky there is none, but just the night hung over like a tent. A dim monotony of gloom, with neither seam nor rent: Rock, scar and bush lie in the path, torrent and rugged pass, Wild Rannoch moor with pit and howe and treacherous morass. Nay, father, do not go to-night; j^ou will not gain an hour. And should the worst come unto us, defy the tyrant's power, And let us meet the hireling hordes beneath an open sky. And let MacDonalds hold their own, or fighting let us die!" Then spake the Chief, "Once I was young, now I am growing old, But never hath Maclan learned to let his blood grow cold; You are my sons, your blood is hot, your judgment immature. You cannot know the anguish that an old Chief must endure: There was a time when to the field I led five hundred men; The bulwark of Lochaber's clans was in our rugged glen. And from the height of glories past I scan a wider field, The present and the future lie before me unconcealed: THE STORY OF GLENCOE 37 From ancient days we held the name beneath the Scottish crown First to defend a neighbor's right, the last to lay it down; The first and last upon the field to save a tottering throne, Till like deserted forlorn hope, at last we stand alone: Our old hereditary foes stand hungry at our door, And Stair decrees our lands shall nurse the whelps of Cullom Mohr! Oh, think not that my courage fails, or that my blood grows cold. Or that the deeds of later days shall shame our sires of old; Give me again the good old da3's when clansmen were not few. And honor bound Lochaber men and kindred chiefs were true. But now deserted by our friends and pressed by treacherous foes, The glory of our ancient clan may have a bloody close: But rather would I see our foes sweep o'er us like a flood And Somerled's last son go down in glory and in blood Than live to see my children stoop to wear the badge of shame, Or have a craven bow the knee and bear MacDonald's namel We stand the last of all the clans faithful to good King James, All others secretly have pledged their honor and their names To William, the usurper King, who sits upon the throne; We take our orders from King James, and from King James alone ; And we of all the Highland clans obey the King's commands, Bend to the storm and thus retain our honor and our lands. And when King James comes to his own, or any of his line. Our loyalty shall shrive the sin that his command makes mine: I go to-night at his command, and would not lose an hour To make the letter of the law frustrate the tyrant's power: 38 THE STORY OF GLENCOE The time is short, so let us go, defying storm and fate, Let us do all that men can do, God help us, not too late." XVI "You John! hereditary Chief, shall stay here in the glen, Prepare for either friends or foes, and marshal all your men ; And keep your young men well in hand ; let them do nothing rash ; And watch your signals night and day, from every peak and pass; And Allister shall go with me with four of your best men To help us through the heavy drifts and bring us back again: But should the elements conspire to foil us on our track, I know not what foul fate shall fall before you see us back." XVII Thus went they forth into the night, with mingled hopes and fears. With Flora and the gillie first advanced as pioneers; Whose wondrous canine instinct joined to native Highland skill, Combined to shun the icy slopes and snowbanks deep and chill. Thus through the darkness of the night they groped their fickle way, Which to the sight alone revealed impenetrable gray; THE STORY OF GLENCOE 39 The wild winds shrieiced among the crags, and moaned among the pines ; And sank to sobbing and to sighs where the dark river twines Among the gorse and hazel banks, and o'er its rocky bed, As downward to Loch Leven's tide its murky waters sped. But slow and toilsome was their course and rugged was their way, And giant strength was sorely strained before the dawn of day; And with the light the chilling mist swept up from Leven's shore, And day of grace closed while they toiled through forest of Mamore. Hope fluttered in the old chief's heart and faded with the light As all exhausted he sought rest and shelter for the night Within an old turf-cutter's hut, that like a molehill stood Where great Ben Nevis' rugged slopes emerges from the wood. And rears its solemn cliffs on high, enwrapped in Artiq shrouds. And hides its head twixt earth and sky in canopy of clouds: The tenant of the lonely hut, though his domain was small. Had heart of hospitality worthy a castle hall ; His manner and his martial air belied his humble trade And told he had not always been the hero of the spade. His decorations, not all hid, stood out in seamy scars. Mementos of the Highland feud and of the foreign wars: He knew by instinct and by sight he had no common guest, And he surmised by his sad plight, the object of his quest. And soon a bounteous feast was spread unlikely for the place ; But Highland hospitality a humble hut may grace: 40 THE STORY OF GLENCOE The host had learned in war's rude school, in home and foreign land, To use whatever Nature gives with scant or lavish hand; And he could snare the silly hare or trap the timid doe, Or take the wild fowl of the moor on clearings of the snow. And was not this a festive time, the last night of the year. With larder, full and Usquebaugh to crown the Highland cheer? It were but courtesy to aid a stranger in his need, But entertain MacDonald's Chief were privilege indeed ! The guests reclined as best they could around the glowing peat, But Donald knelt and rubbed with snow his master's frozen feet: And when the glow of life returned they all dropped off to rest, And slept as only clansmen can on Nature's naked breast. xvni Before the dawn the men arose all eager to depart; And the old Chief, with aching limbs and with an anxious heart, Could ill disguise the strong desire he struggled to conceal, — To breach the Highland courtesy and slight the morning meal. But the wise host had long outgrown the weak punctilious law. When stern necessity swoops down and desperate chances draw; And had provided sumptuous fare to help them on the way, And he himself should be their guide to where Fort William lay; For he had dealings with the Fort and knew the winding way, And ushered in his weary guests upon the New Year's Day. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 41 XIX THE DISAPPOINTMENT Alas! the bitterness of heart, the sorrow and the cost, When mortals play a stake with fate and find that they have lost. The King's Commissioner had gone on the preceding day, And not a moment's grace was given for weather or delay; The old Chief pleaded long and sore for children of his clan, With the Commander of the Fort, to save them from the ban And cruel edict of the law, even though the time were spent: — To take his pledge, and credit give for effort and intent. The generous martial spirit rose within the soldier's breast. That scorns to trample on the weak or harry the oppressed: He could not take the old Chief's pledge, the malice of the law Would not regard the good intent behind such fatal flaw: The nearest civic officer was distant many a mile, So he a kindly message sent the Sheriff of Argyle Beseeching him for pity's sake to take within the fold "A poor belated sheep detained by tempest, storm and cold." Thus armed with letter from the Fort, without an hour's delay The old Chief and his weary men were on their homeward way; But home and rest were not for them, even within a mile They passed their home in eager haste to reach the far Argyle; Where dwelt the officer of law, how distant few may know. For it was measured not by miles but toilsome march and slow. O'er tangled moor and torrent flood, snowbank and deep morass, By stormy Loch, by deep defile, and rugged mountain pass; 42 THE STORY OF CLENCOE Until at last by dark Loch Fyne; those rugged clansmen saw Their honored Chief bow down before the majesty of law. XX MAC IAN TAKES THE OATH Sir Colin Campbell, of Argyle! Honor be to his name! He knew the bitterness of heart with which the old Chief came: — Traditions of a thousand years, the honor of his clan Rose in rebellion in his heart, and he were less than man Co\ild he forget wrongs unavenged and loyal pledge withdraw, And thus bow down before his foe at bidding of the law: All this and more. Sir Colin knew of Highland hate and pride; He knew MacCullum Mohr himself was dallying with the tide That ebbed and flowed in fickle moods in the affairs of state, - And titles wavered insecure upon the winds of fate: Now William's star was on the rise and James's on the wane. And policy would hail the cause that promised greater gain; And thus with generous, tender touch, unusual in that age, He kindly spake to the old Chief, his sorrows to assuage, And while he ministered the pledge for William and his throne, He knew by fealty to his Chief how fickle was his own: So with assurances of peace he sent him on his way And issued warrants under seal all vengeful acts to stay: And thus assured his clan escaped the menace of their foe. The old Chief and his men returned to their beloved Glencoe. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 43 XXI THE CONSPIRACY Dun Edin! round thy lofty towers, what mingled memories cling! What deeds of glory and of shame from other days they bring! At once they thrill the patriot's heart, and stir his martial pride, And bring the blush for tyrant rule, and martyr's crimson tide. Thou playground of the sycophants who moved their puppet kings, And wrung the majesty of law to gain ignoble things! Thus was foul deed most foully wrought, when in the council hall It was decreed that on Glencoe the vengeful stroke must fall. Maclan's pledge was in his hands, but malice, gain and hate Had steeled the vengeful heart of Stair to wield the sword of State, The cherished scheme of many days, and many a wakeful night, "Shall maudlin pity now," he said, "defraud me of my right? Shall the great schemes of State that brought these furrows to my brow Be set at naught by timid souls, and foiled and baffled now? No! I shall stand upon the law! King's Minister am I! He hath decreed as I advised, all rebel clans should die: But he is lenient of heart, and now delay is crime, The rebel rogues have all come in, save one be}^ond the time: 44 THE STORY OF GLENCOE And he the rankest of them all, Maclan of Glencoe, But his repentance, all too late; the King shall never know. The majesty of law must move in vengeance swift and sure; For this defiant, desperate clan demands a desperate cure." XXII Glencoe's allegiance was withheld, the Sheriff's note ignored. Warrant was issued by the King for vengeance, fire and sword. Like panther crouching for the leap and hungry for the prey, Lord Stair watched the MacDonald clan, impatient of delay. He laid his plans, he chose his tools, he fanned the fires of hate. And gave the mandate "There must be no prisoners of State! Your duty's plain, your hands are free, unfettered by red tape; Now prove your loyalty to the King, let not a wretch escape." Such was the mandate that went out from high Dun Edin's haH; And ere an hour, in eager haste it passed beyond recall. XXIII GLENLYON SEEKS THE HOSPITALITY OF GLEN- COE The cold gray mantle of the sea with fringes trailing low, Spread o'er the mountain and the moor and over dark Glencoe; THE STORY OF GLENCOE 45 When through the mist a straggling band, like spectres grim and gray, In martial form and sullen mood filed up the rugged way, Till entering the deep defile, the gateway to the glen, Athwart the pass stood young Chief John, backed by a score of men. "Halt!" cried the chief, "What seek ye here? Before ye fur- ther go — Glenlyon stand! Declare thyself, come ye as friend or foe?" Captain Glenlyon then stood forth and laughed a loud ha, ha, "Why John, you crack a sturdy joke upon our martial law; Come put your dignities aside, and we shall not be slow To prove the hospitality, far-famed of your Glencoe. Have ye not sworn to serve the King and live a quiet life? Has not your brother Sandy made me kinsman by his wife?* I come to pay you my respects; and these my sturdy men Will gladly stay and rest a while in your secluded glen; For we have tramped o'er moor and hill, by order of Lord Stair, To show off brave King William's men like cattle at a fair: Now we are tired of climbing hills and camping on the moors, And nights like these help not our health by sleeping out of doors ; The Fort is filled with southern troops, and so to serve their ends Our Highland lads are turned adrift, to billet on their friends; And thus King William honors you with visit of his men. Who, doubtless, in a day or two resume their march again." *MacIan's second son was married to a niece of Glenlyon. 46 THE STORY OF GLENCOE XXIV Chief John, with eye and ear alert, in feigned composure stood: Though truth to tell, the sight of steel stirred up no peaceful mood: More to his liking had it been, instead of smiles a frown, And his hereditary foe had thrown the gauntlet down. Instinctive nature was not slow to whisper there and then. Within the pass his little band could bar a hundred men: But prudence whispered "Have a care, and keep within the law; Be not the first against the pact a hostile sword to draw: These are the minions of the King whom we are pledged to serve. And for a time, though not for love, the law we must observe." Advancing then with fearless mien he took the proffered hand And said, "Glenlyon, we welcome you with all your warlike band; Call in your men and rest awhile, and taste our humble fare While I send gillies up the glen your quarters to prepare." Soon came Maclan with his staff, the head men of the glen. Well primed in prudence how to act toward King William's men. For now they needs must play the host to those they did not love, And it is hard to teach the hawk the manners of the dove: But Highland hospitality is strong as Highland hate. And just as sacred in the hut as in the halls of state. A foe beneath its thatch is safe as in the castle hall. And treason to a host is deemed the darkest crime of all; THE STORY OF GLENCOE 47 This was the warrant each man knew should hold a Highland heart ; And bind alike both foe and friend till friend or foe they part. Thus with punctilious care they met; and in the old Chief's heart There rose the pride of Highland host to play a worthy part. And when Glenlyon clasped his hand in smiling merry mood, His fears dissolved, he felt assured his tardy pledge held good. Then every cottage, house and hut was taxed throughout the glen To lodge Glenlyon and his band of well nigh six score men. Then there came social calls by day, and revelry by night; The hosts were liberal, and the guests profuse in their delight. But two unruly inmates dwelt beneath Maclan's roof: Against both threats and blandishments their stubborn hearts were proof: One was old Angus Dhu, the bard, he muttered and he frowned; The other was Sith-Fadda-dubh, a rough and shaggy hoilnd,* Who bristled up and showed his teeth when the new guests drew near. And scarce could be controlled whene'er Glenlyon would appear. The Chief was grieved and sore perplexed to see their surly mood, Yet well he knew their wrath revealed some motive for his good. Though most imprudent were it now to show the old time hate: Old enmities must be subdued to win the smiles of fate. Then sharply to the bard he said: "What spirit haunts you now, To bring the lightning to your eye, the thunder to your brow? *The dark hound of the long stride. 48 THE STORY OF GLENCOE Its mutterings are heard by day, and in the silent night Your wailings like an Ossian dirge for heroes slain in fight. What evil genius wrings your heart and clouds your waning years, And weaves for your declining days a heritage of fears? Thou livest in the past too much; the whirling wheels of time Have brought round many a woeful change since thou wert in thy prime: The heroes of the bj^gone years that charmed thy youthful tongue Have vanished, and their valiant deeds must be no longer sung. The dear old dynasty we loved, for which we fought and bled, Seems overthrown, a stranger reigns, and James's hope is dead. Our ancient foe sits at our board and sleeps beneath our roof, And 'Stair' presumes to strain our pledge by such a bitter proof. And wounds our pride to make our foe his instrument of power, To blast our hopes of future good by one unguarded hour ; But let our patience foil his plans and better serve our own When Scotland's exiled King shall come and take his rightful throne." A moody silence hung a while, like the brief space of dread In which expectant Nature waits the tempest overhead; But not in tempest tones he spake, but husky-voiced and slow. The anguish of a burdened heart began to overflow. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 49 XXV THE SEER'S WARNING OF TREACHERY "Son of Somhairle!* And worthy the name; Heir of the spirit that runs through the years; Chief of the clan that is foremost in fame, Lauded by minstrels and guarded by seers ! From the dim twilight of days long ago Children of Cona have heard the refrain; True heart in friendship, and terrible foe, Strong arm of Scotland and scourge of the Dane. When the high councils of shades of the great Spirits of heroes in days long ago. Gave to thy fathers the care of the gate, Heir of Great Fingal, they gave thee Glencoe! This as thy portion, O son of the rock, Vigilance ever to cunning oppose: Stealthy intrigue and the wild battle shock, Lurk at thy border in treacherous foes. *Somhairle, the Gaelic name, Somerled the English, of the great ancestor of the MacDonalds. 50 THE STORY OF GLENCOE When the proud Southron so vauntingly came, Spreading his legions to cover the land, Bruce, the deliverer, called on thy name — Red was the harvest that fell to thy hand. Dark "Inverlochy" remembers the day When ye went out with the gallant Montrose: Gary's wild waters ran red to the Tay. When brave Dundee saw the last of his foes. Front rank in battle line ever was thine ;* Faithful in council and fearless in war, Steadfast and true to the old regal line. Bound in thy fate to the Jacobite star. Now it Is waning, and dim grows its light, Now the dear name must not rise to our lips; O that mine eyes could be blind to the sight When It goes down In its bloody eclipse! This was thy portion, O son of the rock: Vigilance ever to cunning oppose; Stealthy intrigue and the wild battle shock: — Lo! thou dost harbor thy treacherous foes! *At the Battle of Culloden the MacDonalds were so insulted by their ancient position, "right of line," being ignored, that they did not join in the battle. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 51 Woe to the day when the children of Ian Opened their ears to the craft and the wile, Opened their hearts to the traitor Glenlyon, Opened their doors to the wolves of Argyle! Woe to Strath Cona where feasting is spread, Woe to the dwellings where now there is mirth; Soon shall thy doorsteps be strewn with the dead, Blackened the roof tree and blood stained the hearth! Dim grows my sight, and my heart it grows cold, Tears have no solace for sorrows like mine! Here let me sleep with my fathers of old. Last of the Seers of the Ossian line." The old man's head drooped on his breast, the weight of four- score years Was on his brow, and in his heart the burden of the seers Which few may know, and only they cast in heroic mould Who seek the welfare of their race through sorrows manifold. Such as of old in Judah's land in sorrow wept and prayed O'er pending doom on blinded souls, by their own hearts betrayed. 52 THE STORY OF GLENCOE XXVI The old Chief sat in silence long, his look seemed far away, His reverence for the dear old seer brought fancj' into play. It travelled down the old time paths, and many a valiant deed Stirred up the embers of his heart, and spurred the pulses' speed; He saw once more the battle smoke, he saw the broad-swords gleam. Heard the fierce yell of charging ranks and the wild pibroch's scream ; And ever mingling with each scene and with the din of war The sad refrain of the old bard, "Bound to a waning star." Then shaking of? his morbid mood and blushing for his fear. He strode across the room a while, and thus addressed the seer: "Our lot is cast on evil days, our skies are overcast. And present gloom looks dark against the glories of the past; But you and I are growing old, the world must still move on And brighter days shall come again when you and I are gone. 'Tis true that a usurper rules in good King James's stead. But Fortune's wheel may turn again, and honor is not dead ; By his command I bow the knee, when he revokes that vow He shall repay a thousandfold what pride must sufFer now. Though Fortune frowns upon us now, 'tis not the final cast: By his command we bide our time and bow before the blast. His exiled brother was recalled and set upon the throne, And what hath been, may be again, and James come to his own: THE STORY OF GLENCOE 53 So let not pride disturb your heart, nor fears disturb your rest, Our loyal service to King James makes William's friend our guest. And herein lies our safety now, no weapons in the glen, We give a welcome to our homes to six score armed men. By every hospitable law e'er known on sea or land, No guest could stoop to smite his host with nothing in his hand. It may not be for love of us King William's men are here, But they are men of Highland blood and we have naught to fear. So ease your heart, my dear old friend, and cease to fret and grieve, For doubtless in a day or two our unsought guests will leave. And ere they go I have arranged, Glenlj^on and his chief men, Shall dine with me and my two sons before they leave the glen. So, if such uncongenial guests suit not your present mood, Your absence for a day or two might prove our mutual good; Go you where you are wont to go when fellowship you crave With the great spirits of our clan who meet in Ossian's cave, And my brave Ronald too shall go to guard your every need, And thus your lofty soul shall feast, while grosser mortals feed On the poor husks of sensuous things and know no higher good Than ministering to appetite with Nature's common food." 54 THE STORY OF GLENCOE XXVII OSSIAN'S CAVE The cave of Ossian, hid away in Aonach's rugged breast, Was soon prepared to meet the wants of its most honored guest: Three stalwart men prepared the way, by toilsome march and slow, O'er ice clad rocks and snow packed paths where few would dare to go; They knew each rock and shrub and turn that marked the rugged way, Where in their youthful summer days their venturous feet would stray ; But now disguised in winter garb, no timid heart would crave To tread the path at such a time to Ossian 's mystic cave. There they prepared the old bard's couch with springy heath o'er spread With the soft covering of the doe, and wreathed around the head With the red rowan of the ash, entwined with hazel wood, Combined to bar all baleful sprites and welcome all the good. The glowing turf gave warmth and light, and kindly nature sent The mantle of the Western sea to hide them like a tent. There oft in other days the bard his footsteps did incline To the seclusion of the cave, as to a holy shrine. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 55 There on the eve of great events he dwelt for many days, And thence returning poured his song of counsel or of praise. But in his latter years, he said, no comfort could he bring For a declining dynasty or for an exiled King. And thus he drowsed away his days and muttered in the night: "O that mine eyes could turn away from that which haunts my sight!" XXVIII THE FIRST NIGHT IN OSSIAN'S CAVE The young men slept all undisturbed, as youth and vigor sleeps; The old man half reclining sat as one who vigil keeps With reverent mien as they who watch in presence of the dead. A little while he whispered low, then audibly he said,^ — \ "Speak unto me, ye mighty shades, whom blinded mortals dread. Ye are the living, free as air, and we on earth the dead, We move like misty phantoms rocked by soft winds from the sea, We move by impulse all unknown, and know not what shall be. To-morrow is the great unknown, the past we partly know. Grief cometh soon and lingers long, but wisdom cometh slow: Speak unto me great Ossian; speak, as thou didst speak of yore, To thy heroic sons who dwelt on Cona's rugged shore! Down through the cycles of the years thy spirit moved along. Renewing in Strath Cona's bards the legacy of song; But I, whom thou hast oft inspired to fire the hearts of men, 56 THE STORY OF GLENCOE Stand barren as a blasted tree that blossoms not again. My heart is seared, my lips are sealed, my soul is filled with fears; Calamity hangs o'er Strathcoe and I have naught but tears. O, speak to me ! that I may speak and give my heart relief And warn my people to arise ere wrath be turned to grief; And grant to me before in death my tear-dimmed eyes shall close, That I shall see my children rise triumphant o'er their foes." The old bard's voice sank to a moan, and then he prostrate lay Like fallen tree when through the woods the storm hath died away. XXIX OSSIAN SPEAKS TO ANGUS THE BARD A spectral form then slowly rose like vapor from the ground And slowly rounded into shape; of reverence profound; Bearded and tall, in features strong, cast in heroic mould, Such as devoted fancy paints of bards and seers of old. Pity and love like halo shone about his noble face. And to the bard entranced, he spake with tenderness and grace: — "Son of the sorrowful heart, the burden of years are upon thee, And greater than burden of years, the multiplied burden of sor- row: The wane of the Jacobite star hath passed down beyond the horizon. And they who have worshipped the star and bled neath the sheen of its glory, THE STORY OF GLENCOE 57 The men who shed blood, but not tears, now weep for the glory departed. Gloom settles down on the land and woe in the straths of the Highlands; Flames lick the thatch from the roofs and blood stains the hearths of Strath Con a: Mothers with slain in their arms now press the white snow for a pillow: Lowing of cattle resounds from the glades and bleating of goats on the mountains: Ravens are calling afar on the crags, impatient for light of the morning. Woe ! Woe ! to Strath Cona's wild stream and mountains beloved of Fingal: Woe to the home of my youth where the shades of the mighty assemble ! From the far days of the past, when I dwelt in the garb of the mortal And moved among men chained to earth, I loved thee O rugged Strath Cona ; Thy children have been as mine own, I have watched them down long generations; And peered down the path of the years, and over time's misty horizon : Away from the glory of war, and longed for a brighter transition: And now, O my son, it draws near, but it cometh in blood and in sorrow. 58 THE STORY OF GLENCOE The eagles that dwelt in the cliffs and swooped on the prey from their eyrie, Shall die by a treacherous foe, and not in the glory of battle. And the remnant of them that escape shall be scattered abroad like the eaglets; They shall fly from the ruin of nests, and the tempest shall strengthen their pinions: They shall fly to the lands far away where the shadow at noon leaneth southward: And to out lands o'er the western sea, where the sun in its glory declineth ; And the race that was reared on the rocks and nursed on the gleanings of war, Shall march in the vanguard of peace, and fight for the building of nations. And thou, O my son, full of years, the last of the seers of Strath Cona; Strengthen thy heart for the hour thou shalt sing to the shades of thy fathers." XXX When morning dawned the old bard lay so silent on his bed With dreamy eyes so motionless, the young men thought him dead : With kindly speech and kindlier touch young Ronald made advance THE STORY OF GLENCOE 59 And tenderly by slow degrees aroused him from his trance. The misty clouds swept overhead, — the denser clouds below, And thus shut in, the weary hours dragged tediously and slow. But when the shades of night came down, he moved with nervous pace. As fretted untamed lion moves within his narrow space; And nearing to the midnight hour, his pent up soul gave way, — "Let me begone," he fiercely said, "I cannot longer stay. What ! hear ye not the moaning kine ? the howling of the hound ? And chanticleer's defiant note, down on the lower ground? O men are duller than the beasts when danger draweth near; The very swine predict a storm and sound the notes of fear!" XXXI CHIEF JOHN CHALLENGES GLENLYON Down in the valley far below dark forms moved to and fro, And glint of steel, and whispered words passed through the fall- ing snow: "Ho' who goes there?" cried young Chief John. "Glenlyon, what is this? Why to your men at dead of night, you secret orders hiss? — Why call ye not by bugle call or by the tap of drum? And I perceive by twos and threes your straggling heroes come." "Now my good host," Glenlyon said, "You do me grievous wrong. 6o THE STORY OF GLENCOE You would not have me at this hour parade my martial throng? I summon but a score of men to meet a sudden call To head off raiders on the moor, then why disturb them all? Or why arouse the sleeping glen? Your dark suspicions rise To wrong your guests, and in themselves are neither just nor wise: Shame on you John! If thought of wrong had come into my head Would I not warn my kindred here, and blush to eat their bread? Go to your home and rest content, and second thoughts will show Such dark suspicions ill become a scion of Glencoe." XXXII THE IRISH CORPORAL'S SIGNIFICANT HINT Off half a league another group was crouching in the snow, And sharp ears heard them curse the fate that brought them to Glencoe : Said one, "I am a soldier bold, just for the fun of fighting; But such a dirty job as this I never could delight in; In all the scrapes where I have been I never felt so scary In ten years since I ran away from home in Tipperary; And Sergeant Barbour says to me: 'Now corporal go aisy, An clip their heads off at a blow, as ye would clip a daisy; For if ye fire a single shot ye'U scare away the game. And every mother's son of us will hang up for the same. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 6i Now show your raw Argyle men how to end this bloody scrape; Wait for the word ; the orders are, Let not a wretch escape.' But between you and I my friends, I was not built to shine At playing cut-throat in the dark — that is not in my line — I somehow think shots will be fired ! and if in air I dance, Tim Brady always was the boy to give poor div'ls a chance." XXXIII THE MIDNIGHT MASSACRE Meanwhile throughout the silent glen, when Nature's balmy sleep Should seal the eyes and ears of men, and all their senses steep In sweet repose: A strange unrest, a dark, suspicious dread, Which moving in a Celtic mind will keep a wakeful head: Such was the mood that ruled that night, a sense akin to fear — A premonition in degree that blossoms in the seer. Thus some were watchful through the night, of every move and sound, They marked the stealthy footfalls tread upon the snowclad ground : They saw the phantom like deploy, in silent files of four, Creep up and crouch, like beasts of prey, beside each cottage door, And round the old Chief's home were hid a score of chosen men. Eager for the initial sign of carnage in the glen: 62 THE STORY OF GLENCOE When Hark! A tapping at the door, a drowsy voice within: "Who's there?" it said. A voice replied, "Make haste and let me in, 'I have a message for the Chief. Glenlyon begs to say He has an order from the Fort, to move without delay; He sends his greeting and farewell!" — But through the opening door Speech was cut short by rush of men upon the cottage floor; The words of welcome that were meant were in his throat sup- pressed By half a score of bayonets, thrust into the old Chief's breast. The women's screams, the gillie's shout, the brave hound's gallant fight, Were quickly silenced, and the men went out into the night. "Now, move ye cautiously, my men," the cool assassin said; "The old fox has run his last raid, make sure his cubs are dead ; Then pass the word to fire the roofs along the sleeping glen. And leave no hut nor living thing to mark the robbers' den." XXXIV But the suspicions once aroused were not so soon allayed. Maclan's sons were on their guard, and quick provision made For hasty flight. They watched their guests with jealous ears and eyes, And passed the word where'er they could, to guard against sur- prise. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 63 The guest of honor in their home — the second in command, Suspiciously hilarious, proposed they take a hand In their accustomed game of cards, to while away the hour, With usquebaugh accompaniment, of potency and power; And while dissembling to their guest, to cover up their fear. They felt within their inmost hearts some foul event was near. It was a game of mutual bluff, and O the stakes ran high. For in their hearts the players felt the losing side must die: And as they played, with spurious glee, the soldiers lounged about, With furtive glances and strained ears, for signal to turn out. When suddenly, a scattering fire of crackling muskets spake. And in a moment all was dark, and every eye awake: — "To arms, my men!" the soldier cried, "Meet me outside the door." Then as by lightning stroke he fell, all senseless on the floor. The soldiers rushed to reach their arms, stacked in an inner room, And chieftains, wives and children all, passed out into the gloom, While strong arms held the door outside, till all in safety stood Upon the neighboring mountain side, hid by the moaning wood. XXXV Nearby, within a veteran's home, a sergeant and six men. Moved by the firing premature, that echoed through the glen, Poured out a volley on their hosts and laid the inmates dead. All save the veteran, who alone in pleading accents said. 64 THE STORY OF GLENCOE "Ye men arrayed in soldier's garb, grant me a soldier's boon. All that were dear to me are dead, and I must follow soon. I too am soldier undismayed; I do not fear to die; Grant unto me a soldier's death, beneath an open sky." Then spake the sergeant to his host, "Now, by the wheel of fate, And by the bed whereon I slept, and for the bread I ate, A soldier's boon be unto you! File out, men, and prepare. And let us pay the score in full out in the open air." Four men stept out to pay the debt. The clansman undismayed, Stood forth, and seemed to fold his arms beneath his tartan plaid ; "Come near me, men," he calmly said. "Kind death I would embrace." The word was given, and like a flash his plaid spread o'er each face ; The men fired wild; he, crouching low, like wildcat slipped behind. And in a moment disappeared, as trackless as the wind. XXXVI Glenlyon, when he heard the shots, grew furious with rage, And cursed the blundering lubberheads, whose folly should engage In senseless sounds, when sure success demanded silence grim; And every rebel that escaped meant censure upon him: He vowed and swore a fearful oath that he who fired a shot Would swing upon the nearest tree convenient to the spot. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 65 "Now fire the roofs!' he wildly cried, "and ply the naked steel, And woe betide the craven wretch who fails to make them feel The righteous vengeance of the Law. Heed neither sex nor age, Nor puling child, nor woman's scream, nor man's impotent rage: The stern necessity of law forbids all human speech. And let your muskets only speak to those beyond your reach." But vainly did he curse and rave to his excited men, For few could hear while fire and din ran all along the glen: Death held high carnival that night. The huts with furnace roar, Gave choice of fiery death within, or cold steel at the door. And they who baffled fire and steel, how many? None may know, Slept their last sleep on mountain side, beneath the falling snow. XXXVII But to return to Ossian's Cave. The young men ill at ease By the persistence of the bard, and with desire to please His fevered fancy, left him there, to Ronald's tender care. For he alone could soothe his heart and all his fancies share. When suddenly a ruddy glare lit up the mist below, Like that which crowns the mountain peaks when summer sun- sets glow; Swift rose the crackling musket shots, the shouts of struggling men. The women's screams, — the children's cries, along the narrow glen! 66 THE STORY OF GLENCOE Through all that night in wild Strath Coe defenceless blood was shed By those who half a month had shared their bounty and their bed. Then silence fell upon the glen, and all the morning gray The sunlight struggled through the mist, to semblance of the day, But mist and smoke commingled lay o'er the appalling sight, As if to cover from the day the horror of the night. XXXVIII Up at the cave brave Ronald strove with pity, rage and grief His duty kept him with the bard, his heart was with his chief. And all night long the old bard cried with broken prayer and moan: "O give me light that I may go and mingle with my own ; O let me see my chief once more before mine eyes shall close, And let me bless Strath Cona's men and curse their brutal foes!" And soon as light sufficient came to show one step ahead, Adown the steep with many a slip, o'er dangerous paths they sped. And when at last at noontide hour to Cona's stream they came. The bard exhausted, paused to rest on rock that bare his name; For often here in summer nights he sat as in a dream And taught his muse to mingle with the music of the stream. And Ronald from his charge released, then bounded like a roe To where Maclan's home had been. He paused and stooping low THE STORY OF GLENCOE 67 To pass the ruined lintel — .he peered within the room To make his eyes familiar with the darkness of the gloom — There lay the chief upon the hearth, his wife upon the bed, And hungry ghouls tore with their teeth the jewels from the dead ; He rushed upon the foremost wretch and felled him with a blow, The others met him on their swords, and Ronald was laid low: A clansman's glory came to him, through service bright and brief; He served his clan and country well, and died beside his chief. XXXIX THE LAST SONG OF ANGUS, THE BARD The old bard sat upon the rock, his eyes gazed all around, As if to take a last fond look at memory's hallowed ground; But narrow was the prospect now, for mist and smoke hung low, And mortal eyes could not discern the dull clouds from the snow; But not with mortal eyes he gazed, for every wtU known scene Was on the tablets of his heart, and memory kept them green; He looked in fancy on the cliff, where in his boyish pride He climbed up to the eagle's nest on Beall's rugged side; And standing on the giddy height he cast a wondering look, When nature opened to his eyes, her wondrous picture book; He thought upon the raptured hour, when with a fluttering heart, He heard old Ossian whisper low, "Come, learn the minstrel's art." 68 THE STORY OF GLENCOE He thought of one he wooed and won, and loved with tender care, Robina! of the lovelit eyes, and of the raven hair, Who drooped and died, when three brave sons marched with Strath Cona's men, To fight for country and King James, and came not back again. And thus the old bard vaguely mused around his loved Glencoe, As old men's minds will wander off to scenes of long ago. — When suddenly his dreams dissolved by sound of pipe and drum, And struggling o'er the rugged way, four hundred soldiers come. They were belated from the fort, impeded by the snow; Their purpose was to bar each path of exit from Glencoe. Their orders were to "close the trap, and make sure of the game" — "Let not a rebel wretch escape that bears MacDonald's name." And when he saw the murderous band so swiftly march along The narrow Strath, he raised his voice, and broke forth into song — XL "Farewell, O Strath Cona! the land of my love! Thy dark whispering pines, and the mountains above, Where the misty clouds rest, and the thunderbolts dwell, Are dear to my heart. O Strath Cona, farewell! Farewell, O my kindred! Ye sons of the rock Who revel in tempest and wild battle shock; THE STORY OF GLENCOE 69 The thunder of war! it hath long been our knell, But it bringeth no terror, O kindred, farewell. Ye mountains of Fingal's and Ossian's pride. Where spirits of heroes and bards still abide. When summer winds whisper, or winter blasts shriek; The dull ear of mortals know not what ye speak. But soon I shall join them and meet with my own, The hearts that have loved, and the eyes that have shone; And then in their councils of this day I'll tell, Till then, O Strath Cona, Strath Cona, farewell!" XLI The old bard's quavering voice was hushed, still with prophetic air, He crouched with head upon his hands, as one who weeps in prayer ; Then looking round ; an idle group drawn by their curious mood, Paushed by the stream, and back a space, Captain Glenlyon stood. A thrill of vigor shook the bard ; he bounded to his feet ; His voice broke out in thunder tones; his eyes flashed lightning heat : — "And thou, O Glenlyon! Accurs't be thy name! Thou prince among traitors the blackest in fame; The brand of old Cain on thy brow have a place, That time's slow erosion shall never efface! 70 THE STORY OF GLENCOE Of men be ye scorned, and by women abhorred: Proud honor disown thee, and break thy foul sword ;* May thorns be thy bed when thou liest to rest; And barren the wife who takes thee to her breast; This horror of night haunt thee still when awake: The peace thou shalt crave may you never o'ertake: Thy sickness, thy death, may no mortal bemoan: Thy soul go unshrived, and thy grave be unknown." XLII Glenlyon trembled where he stood ; grim terror blanched his cheek : — "Ye cowards!" he cried, "Why stand ye there to hear the dotard shriek ? Obey your orders. Sergeant! — Fire, and stop this horrid din!" — A flash, a moan, and Cona leaped to take the old bard in: In glad embrace enfolding him, it kissed his brow with spray; The surging waters rushed along and bore him far away, Far from the hands of cruel foes, and from the haunts of men — The bard of Cona sleeps no more in Cona's haunted glen ; The waters were his funeral train; they bore him to the sea; Old ocean chants his coronach; his spirit roameth free. *The breaking of the sword is the last act in degrading a soldier. THE STORY OF GLENCOE 71 XLIII CONCLUSION Glencoe! O Glencoe! In the gloom of thy woe Stands the deathless reproach of a treacherous foe! There the gray clouds shall weep, and the dark pines shall sigh, And the lone owl shall screech, and the raven shall cry In the haunts and the homes of the heroes of yore, Where the voice of the clansman is heard nevermore. And the sons of the stranger shall come from afar, The captains of peace, and the heroes of war; And with uncovered heads they shall look on the scene Where the humble abodes of their fathers have been. They shall look on the mountains beneath whose dark shade Foundations of strength and endurance were laid In the race still undaunted, whose sword, tongue and pen Proclaim them afar to be leaders of men. XLIV O sons of the Somerled! Heroes of old! Whose line hath descended through ages untold: Through long generations undimmed shone thy star, The truest in friendship, the bravest in war: 72 THE STORY OF GLENCOE The nurslings of hardship, so quick to discern, So swift to avenge, and so slow to unlearn. The rude honest impulse of stern mother's breast, Whose scanty resources ne'er wooed thee to rest; Thy lullaby song was the harp of the pines. When stirred by the breeze when the twilight declines: And the crooning of deeds that j^our fathers had done On the red fields of strife, where their laurels were won O rude was thy homeland, and rugged thy life, With man and with nature, unending thy strife; And true to thy mission, and true to thy day, The Fates ne'er designed thee for lingering decay. But woe to the traitor who sat at thy hearth, And smote thee unguarded and bore thee to earth. Be theirs the foul stain of an undying shame, And thine the proud boast of an untarnished name. And Cona's dark waters shall chant the refrain Of requiem unending for them that were slain; Whose bones lay un-graved on the bleak mountain side, Or charred in the ruins of homes where they died: O cruel was the pathway by which thou hast trod. Through the malice of men, to the mercy of God. — A son of the race that was wronged long ago Lays a garland of song on the graves of Glencoe. APPENDIX Facsimile of Major Duncansons Order to Captain Robert Camp- bell of GlenlyoTij for the Massacre of Glencoe. The sup- posed original was sold in London for $7,000, May 29, 1907. <.ms^ '^m