Mac Crimmon’s Lament—Best known of all pipe tunes—Its story—Blackie’s poetry—Scott’s—The war tune of Glengarry—A tragic story—The pibroch o’ Donuil Dhu—Too long in this condition—Pipers and inhospitality—Oh, that I had three hands—Lochaber no more—Allan Ramsay’s verses—An elated Mac Crimmon—Rory Mòr’s Lament—Clan Farlane pibroch—Pipers, poetry, and superstition.

There are several reasons why “Mac Crimmon’s Lament” should be the best known of all pipe tunes, but the most important is the fact that it is, and must ever continue to be, inseparably associated with the famous pipers of Dunvegan. The tune was composed by a piper who was leaving home, and had a presentiment that he would never return, but it has often been used in other circumstances. In the evicting days, when Highlanders were compelled to emigrate from their native shores, the favourite air when they were embarking was

(I’ll return no more), and on many other mournful occasions the lament of the Mac Crimmons was made the means of expressing the feelings of Highlanders. It was composed in 1746 by Donald Bàn Mac Crimmon, then piper to Mac Leod of Dunvegan. Donald Bàn was considered the best piper of his day, and when the clan left Dunvegan to join the Royalists in 1746, he was deeply impressed with the idea that he himself would never again see the old castle. The parting of the clansmen with their wives and children was sad, and Donald Bàn, thinking of his own sweetheart, poured forth his soul in the sad wail of the Lament, as the Mac Leods were marching away from the castle. The clan afterwards took part in a skirmish, which, from the peculiar circumstances, is known to history as the “Rout of Moy,” and Mac Crimmon was shot close by the side of his chief.

The Gaelic words usually associated with the lament are supposed to have been sung by Donald Bàn’s sweetheart, but they are in all likelihood of much later date. The chorus, however, is probably as old as the tune, but the complete verses first appeared in print in 1835, in a collection of Popular Gaelic Songs by John Mac Kenzie, of the Beauties of Gaelic Poetry, where the words are said to have been taken from an old Skye manuscript. Translated into English they lose much of their plaintive melody, and make but a poor means of conveying an idea of the tune to the non-Gaelic reader:—

This is perhaps too literal a rendering. Let us try Professor Blackie’s version. Blackie was an enthusiast for everything Celtic, and beautified everything in Celtic literature that his pen touched. A comparison of the two translations shows this:—

The story of the origin of the tune which I have given is that generally accepted as historically accurate. There is, however, a tradition that after the passing of the Heritable Jurisdiction Bill in 1747 practically abolished the office of hereditary piper, Donald Dubh Mac Crimmon, the last of the race, who died in 1822 at the age of ninety-one, composed the lament on his departure for Canada. The sentiment is hardly that which one might expect from a departing emigrant, but rather what a piper might give expression to on leaving for the wars, a fact which tells against the tradition. Nevertheless, the tune has been turned into an emigrant’s farewell on many occasions, and the last verse of Sir Walter Scott’s composition connected with the tune, shows that the poet accepted the air as such, to some extent at least:—

Some stories, by the way, state that Mac Crimmon himself composed the words to suit the air, and others that they were composed by his sweetheart at Dunvegan on hearing him playing the new lament when the clan was leaving the castle. Still others would have it that the sweetheart’s song was another, composed in response to that of Mac Crimmon.

The phrase, Cha till mi tuille, is also associated with the story of the piper who tried to explore a cave in Mull, which was given in a previous chapter. The people of Skye claim the story, and say this piper was a Mac Crimmon, but the legend is not supposed to give the origin of the phrase. Cha till mi tuille was used on many occasions as an extempore expression of feeling on the part of a piper without any reference to the particular tune, “Mac Crimmon’s Lament.”

If “Mac Crimmon’s Lament” is associated with a departure for the wars, there is another tune associated very closely with war itself—so closely, indeed, that, according to the accepted story of its origin, it was composed while one of the most cruel deeds ever done in the name of warfare was being perpetrated.

is the war tune of Glengarry, and its origin—mythical according to some writers—is as follows:—

About the beginning of the seventeenth century there lived in Glengarry a famous character named Allan Mac Ranald, of Lundie. He was a man of great strength, activity, and courage, and, living as he did at a time when the feuds between the Mac Kenzies and the Mac Donalds were at their height, he invariably led any expedition that set out from Glengarry. In these fighting days young Angus Mac Donald, of Glengarry, anxious to distinguish himself, determined—though against the advice of his father—to lead a raid into the country of the Mac Kenzies. He surprised and defeated the Mac Kenzies, but on their way home by sea the Mac Donalds were in their turn attacked by the Mac Kenzies, and defeated with great slaughter. Angus Mac Donald was among the slain, and Allan of Lundie only escaped with his life by leaping into the sea at Loch Hourn, where the battle took place, and swimming ashore at another place. Allan was determined to be avenged, and not long after he led a strong party of Mac Donalds to the lands of Killychrist, near Beauly. He found the Mac Kenzies totally unprepared, burned their lands, destroyed their crops, and finally mercilessly set fire to a church in which a large congregation were worshipping, driving back at the point of the sword all who attempted to escape. Meantime he ordered Alister Dubh, his piper, to play so as to drown the cries of the perishing people. Alister thereupon blew up loud and shrill, and, after making his instrument give utterance to a long succession of wild and unconnected notes without any apparent meaning, he began his march round the church, playing extemporaneously the pibroch which, under the name of “Killychrist,” has since been used as the war tune of the Mac Donells of Glengarry. For a short time the terrible sounds from the inside of the church mingled with the music of the pipes, but they gradually became fainter, and at last ceased altogether.

Allan and his comrades had little time to enjoy their victory, for the Mac Kenzies soon gathered in overwhelming numbers, and, finding the Mac Donells resting on a flat near Mealfourvonie, known as “the marsh of blood,” they attacked them with great fury, and pursued them to Loch Ness. Allan was again one of the few who escaped.

The story of the burning in the church has been altogether discredited, but it is admitted that there was a raid, and that a large number of cottages, as well as the manse of Killychrist, were burnt. None of the earlier writers, however, mention the burning of the congregation. The music itself also contradicts somewhat the traditional origin of the tune, for when it is properly played the listener can fancy he hears the flames rustling and blazing through the timbers, mingled with the angry remonstrances and half-smothered shouts of the warriors, but there is no representation of the more feeble plaints of women and children, as there would surely have been had these been among the victims. However, I give the story for what it is worth.

is one of the oldest and best known of pipe tunes. It is said to have been played at the Battle of Inverlochy in 1431, and it is first found on paper in Oswald’s Caledonian Pocket Companion, published in 1764, where it is entitled Piobaireachd Mhic Dhonuill. Afterward it appeared in the book compiled by Captain Mac Leod of Gesto, from which it was translated in 1815 into ordinary notation by the editor of Albyn’s Anthology. Its first printed heading strengthens the title of the Mac Donalds, who claim the tune for their clan, but the words Donull Dubh are accepted as referring to Cameron of Lochiel, and the tune is known as “Lochiel’s March.” The chief of the Camerons bears the name Mac Dhomhnuill Duibh, or son of Black Donald. The air, which is the march of the 79th or Cameron Highlanders, is a call to arms, and is inseparably associated with Inverlochy, but whether composed and played on the field or only in commemoration of the battle cannot now be determined. The English words are by Sir Walter Scott, and first appeared in 1816:—

which may be translated “Too Long in this Condition,” is an old pibroch, dating from about 1712. It was composed either by Donald Mòr Mac Crimmon or by Patrick, his son. Donald was compelled at one time, because of some depredations of his own, to flee for his life into Sutherlandshire. There he put up unrecognised at the house of a relative named Mac Kay, who was getting married that day. Mac Crimmon sat down in a corner almost unnoticed, but when the piper began to play he unconsciously fingered his stick as if it were the chanter. The piper of the evening noticed this, and asked him to play for them. Donald said he could not, and the whole company asked him, and he again refused. At last the piper said: “I am getting seven shillings and sixpence for playing at this marriage. I’ll give you one-third if you will play.” Donald then took up the pipe and began:—

These lines he repeated three times, and concluded by adding—

He played so well that all present knew him to be the great Donald Mòr Mac Crimmon, and as he made his pipes speak to them they understood his complaint, and he was then royally entertained.

The pibroch is also said to have been composed by Patrick Mòr Mac Crimmon on his being taken prisoner, along with many others, at the battle of Worcester, and being left in a pitiable state. It is also associated with the same piper and the battle of Sheriffmuir, where he was left stripped of all his clothing, but it is impossible to say which, if either, is right.

Want of hospitality towards a piper gave rise to another tune. It is called

and its origin, as told to the late “Nether Lochaber” by an old Loch Awe-side piper, was as follows:—

Some two or three hundred years ago, when the great Clan Campbell was at the height of its power, the estate of Barbreck was owned by a Campbell, who was brother or cousin or something of another Campbell, the neighbouring laird of Craignish. Craignish kept a piper, but Barbreck did not. Barbreck could afford to keep one, but he grudged the expense, and his stinginess in this respect is commemorated in an Argyllshire saying—“What I cannot afford I must do without, as Barbreck did without a piper.”

Barbreck one day was on a visit to Craignish, and as he was leaving he met the piper, and said to him—“The New Year is approaching. On New-Year’s Day morning, when you have played the proper salute to my cousin, your master, I wish you would come over to Barbreck and play a New-Year’s salute to me, for, as you know, I have no piper of my own to do it. Come and spend the day with us.” This the piper promised to do, and on New Year’s Day morning, after first playing his master into good humour, he went to Barbreck. He played and played until the laird was in raptures, but the piper became hungry and thirsty, and hinted as much to Barbreck. He got some food, but it was not satisfactory, either in quantity or quality. The drinkables were no better, and long before the sun set the piper was anxious to go home. “Give us one more tune before you go,” said Barbreck. “That I will,” said the piper, and there and then he struck up impromptu Tigh Bhroinein—the House of the Miserly One. The following are some of the lines attached to the tune from the very first, whether by the piper himself or by another is not known:—

The translation is too literal to be poetry, but one can imagine how Barbreck must have felt. He had better have done without that last tune.

is associated with at least two incidents in Highland history. Towards the end of the thirteenth century a dispute arose between Mac Cailein Mòr, chief of the Clan Campbell, and Mac Dougall of Lorne, chief of the Mac Dougalls, with reference to the boundaries of their estates. The parties met at a spot where two streams unite, and fell to recrimination and ultimately to fighting like tigers. The slaughter was terrible, and the streams ran with blood and were crowded with the bodies of the slain. Ultimately Mac Cailein Mòr was killed, and his followers ceased the fighting to carry off his body. Close to the battlefield there was a small conical hillock—called in the Gaelic Tom-a-Phiobair, the Piper’s Hillock—on the top of which the piper of the Campbells stood and played while the battle raged. Sympathising with the Mac Dougalls, and regretting the havoc made among them, he composed on the spot a pipe tune, the purport of which was:—

This hardly indicates whether the piper would, had he three hands, have fought with the Mac Dougalls against his own clan, but, at anyrate, the Campbells, seeing that this was not one of their own tunes, were so enraged that one of them ran to the piper and chopped off his head. It is said that the piper’s fingers played three or four notes on the chanter while his head was toppling to the ground.

This story belongs to the same class as those relating to the battles of Philiphaugh and Bothwell Bridge, given in a previous chapter. The resemblance, indeed, is too striking to be a coincidence, and the three have probably at some time or other been one story. The other incident connected by tradition with the tune is that already related of a cave in either Skye or Mull, into which a venturesome piper entered. He never returned, but the last wailing notes of his pipes told that he was being hard beset with wolves, who threatened to tear him to pieces should he stop playing. So he played mournfully:—

the inference being that in that case he could have kept on playing and fought the wolves at the same time.

The tune nearly always played at Highland funerals is

It was composed to Jane, daughter of Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel, by a young English officer on his being ordered back from the Highlands to join his regiment. Jane Cameron was afterwards married to Lachlan Mac Pherson of Cluny, thus bringing over the tune to the Mac Phersons. The traditional account is entirely different. According to it a party of marauders from Lochaber, consisting of forty to fifty men, reached, one autumn afternoon, the summit of a hill immediately above Glenesk, the most northerly parish of Forfarshire. They meant to make a raid on the valley, but lay down to rest until after dusk. They were, however, seen by some shepherds, who gave the alarm, and in the evening the inhabitants of the glen were all under arms for the protection of their property. After dusk the invaders descended, and in the battle that ensued five of the defenders were killed and ten taken prisoners. Prisoners and cattle were driven to the Highlands. The men returned next year after a ransom of fifteen merks had been paid for each, but the cattle were never seen again. A ballad giving these particulars was long popular in the glen, but nothing now remains of it except the last words of each verse—“Lochaber no more.” Allan Ramsay wrote lines for the air, but they contain nothing of the spirit of the traditional origin. They are obviously based on the historical account:—

It is only fair to add that the tune, under another name, is said to have been a favourite Irish air in London in the time of Queen Elizabeth. If this was so, the explanation probably is that the Irish who came to Scotland, and the Scots who went to Ireland, each carried their music with them, and that there are many tunes common to both peoples.

Pipers of old times always had “a guid conceit o’ themsel’s,” and Patrick Mòr Mac Crimmon, who flourished in 1660, was no exception to the rule. His master, Roderick Mac Leod of Mac Leod, went to London after the Restoration to pay his homage to Charles II., and was very warmly received. He had taken his piper with him, and the King was so pleased with his fine appearance and his music that he allowed Mac Crimmon to kiss his hand. Patrick was highly elated over this, and commemorated the honour that had been paid him by composing the tune Fhŭair mi pòg o laimh an Righ, which, to those acquainted with the language and music, seems to speak forth the pride and gratitude of the performer, the words expressed by the opening measure being:—

Sir Roderick Mac Leod of Dunvegan, who died somewhere about 1630, was a man of noble spirit, celebrated for great military prowess and resource. His hospitality was unbounded, and he was in all respects entitled to be called Mòr or great, in all the qualities that went to constitute a great Highland chief and leader of men. The Gaelic bards were enthusiastic in his praises, and his piper, Patrick Mòr Mac Crimmon—the same Mac Crimmon presumably—taking his death very much to heart, could not live at Dunvegan afterwards. Shouldering his great pipe, he made for his own house at Boreraig, composing and playing as he went Cumha Ruaraidh Mhoir (Rory Mòr’s Lament), which is considered the most melodious, feeling, and melancholy lament known. The following are some of the words, translated by “Fionn”:—

A Faust-like story is told of Andrew, chief of the Clan Mac Farlane, and the supposed composer of the “Clan Farlane Pibroch.” Andrew and Alastair, chiefs of the Mac Donells of Keppoch, were credited with having “the black art.” They were said to have sold their souls to the devil in exchange for their supernatural powers. They seem to have driven a rather peculiar bargain, for the understanding was that the devil should get only one of their souls, the chiefs to decide between themselves which it would be. The appointed day and hour came on which the debt was to be paid, and still the chiefs, though they had come to the trysting place, had not decided which soul was to be given up. When the devil came he was in a desperate hurry, and at once exclaimed, “Well, and whose soul do I get?” On the spur of the moment Mac Donell pointed to Mac Farlane’s shadow, saying, “That’s he,” whereupon the devil snatched up the shadow and ran off with it. From that day Mac Farlane was never known to cast a shadow.

As to the tune itself, Sir Walter Scott supposes it had a close connection with the predatory excursions of the clan into the low country near the fastnesses on the western side of Loch Lomond. The pibroch, Thogail nam bo, seems to indicate such practices, the sense of the music being:—

The tune was almost lost, but about 1894 some enthusiasts gathered it from several who knew it, and committed it to paper, thus ensuring its preservation. The credit of this laudable effort, it should be added, is mainly due to Provost Mac Farlane of Dumbarton, who, with the help of Pipe-major J. Mac Dougall Gillies, Glasgow, had the complete tune taken down from the playing of John Leitch, an old man who lived in Glendaruel. The Faust-like story of its composer is also told of a Donald Mac Kay of Lord Reay’s country, but not in connection with a tune.

Connected with “John Garbh of Raasay’s Lament,” one of the most famous of pibrochs, and a favourite with most pipers to this day, there are stories of pipers, poetry, and superstition. John Garbh Mac Leod of Raasay met his death about 1650 at the early age of 21. He was a man of fine appearance and great strength. He had been to Lewis on a visit to a friend, and when he was returning home to Skye the day was so stormy that his crew were very unwilling to put to sea, being afraid they would lose their lives. Raasay thereupon exclaimed to the boatman in the Gaelic:—“Son of fair Muireil, are you afraid?” and the man at once threw his fears aside, and with the reply—“No, no, Raasay, we shall share the same fate to-day,” began to prepare for the voyage. All went well until off Trotternish, the people of which anxiously watched the boat. The wind increased still more, and a heavy shower hid the vessel from their sight. When it cleared off the boat was nowhere to be seen. Mac Leod’s untimely fate was deeply mourned, and Patrick Mòr Mac Crimmon commemorated the sad event by composing the famous and pathetic pibroch. A celebrated Skye poetess also composed a touching lament, and a sister of Mac Crimmon’s composed an elegy, the English of which goes as follows:—

Tradition says that John Garbh of Raasay was drowned through the machinations of a witch. She bore him a grudge, and while the boat was at sea she sat in her hut rocking a basin of milk in which there was a clam shell to represent the boat. When she sank the clam shell the boat sank, the story being that a crow alighted on the gunwale, and that Mac Leod, in trying to kill it with his sword, cut the boat to the waters’ edge. There are several improbable things about this tradition, not the least obvious of which is the impossibility of knowing how the boat sank when no one was left to tell the tale. However, it is a tradition—that much at least is true.