A Tune with four stories—The Carles wi’ the Breeks—The Mac Gregor’s Gathering—Scott’s verses—Caber Feidh—The Camerons’ Gathering—Well-matched chiefs—The Loch of the Sword.

The first tune to be noticed in this chapter is peculiar in this respect, that whereas to many are ascribed two origins, to this there are ascribed three or four. More than one cannot possibly be correct, unless we conclude that different pipers at different times in different places and without any co-operation, composed the same tune. That is rather too much, however, but we will give the stories as they are to be found in many books of Highland history and tradition.

In the first place, then, this tune has three names. It is known as

(or March), “Wives of this Glen,” and Bodaich nam Briogais (“The Carles wi’ the Breeks”), and each name applies to the air as it is associated with a certain district of Scotland. As “Lord Breadalbane’s March” it is noticed in an old hymn-book by Iain Bàn Caimbeul, first published in 1786, and afterwards in 1834. This book associated it with Coll Kitto, mentioned in a previous chapter, and gives a long story of raiding and plundering in which this worthy was engaged about 1644. At one stage in the exploits, when his enemies were fleeing, the Baronet of Lochawe ordered his piper to compose a march tune suitable for the occasion, and to keep playing all night. This the piper did, and his tune was Bodaich nam Briogais. There is certainly an air of authenticity about the story, and the details bear the stamp of probability if not of truth.

As the “Breadalbane Gathering” it is a Perthshire tune, and well known. The story is that it was played in 1762 at a battle in Caithness, in which the first Earl of Breadalbane was victor, but the air belonged to an earlier period, for Seumas-an-Tuim, the reiver referred to in the melody flourished at the beginning of the century:—

The tune, then, although Breadalbane’s raid into Caithness may have given it a new lease of life, under a new name, must have been in existence before that time. The raid itself, for that matter, is somewhat mythical, and the chances are that this is only a bowdlerised version of the next story, which is thoroughly authenticated.

It is as “The Carles with the Breeks” that the tune really hails from Caithness. Sir John Campbell of Glenorchy received in 1672 from George Earl of Caithness an assignment of all his lands and possessions on condition that he would take the name of Sinclair. Glenorchy agreed to this, and on the death of the Earl in 1676 he took the title. His right was, however, disputed by the heir male, George Sinclair of Kiess, and Sir John went to Caithness with a force of Campbells, and defeated the Sinclairs at Altimarlach, a spot on the banks of the Water of Wick, and a short distance from the county town. The Campbells, a Highland clan, of course wore the kilt, and like all true Highlanders—of that age—they despised those who did not. The Sinclairs, never a Highland clan, but only a county family at best, wore the trews, and when Findlay Mac Ivor, Glenorchy’s piper, saw them wavering, he poured forth the voluntary:—

And to experts in pipe music the tune does appear to articulate very plainly the sentiments of Bodaich nam Briogais. Another set of words, given in the Killin collection of Gaelic song, seems more like a defying challenge to the Sinclairs than a song of victory:—

Glenorchy, however, did not obtain a very firm hold in the county, and the Sinclairs held the great bulk of the lands until within the lifetime of the present generation, when it seems to be drifting into other hands because of the want of heirs male in the direct line. Neither did the contempt expressed by the piper do much to make the trews unpopular, for the late Caithness Fencibles, raised and commanded by Sir John Sinclair, were dressed pretty much as were their ancestors at Altimarlach. Caithness, of course, was, and still is, not very Highland, except in the matter of latitude, and it is very noticeable that the only pipe tune associated with the county was played by a Perthshire piper on a warlike excursion, fighting against the natives. Caithness has no pipe music of its own.

Again, the tune is known in Argyllshire as “Wives of this Glen.” Tradition says it was played by Breadalbane’s piper just previous to the massacre of Glencoe, in 1692, in the hope of warning the Mac Ians of their danger, and that one Mac Ian wife heeded the warning and fled to the hills with her child, saving his life. Glencoe is one of the wildest places in the Highlands, gloomy and desolate, ten miles from any other inhabited district, and through it the Cona, a wild, rugged stream, on the banks of which Ossian is believed to have first seen the light, tumbles its way to the sea. Towards the north-west end the terrible tragedy, which left an ineradicable stain on Scottish history, took place, and there the piper is supposed to have stood when he played:—

Iain du Beeroch du was a noted Highland cattle-lifter, and corresponds to Seumas-an-Tuim, of the Perthshire origin of the tune. Probably they were one and the same person under different names. The only theory on which the three stories can be reconciled is that the tune originally belonged to Perthshire, but was taken to Caithness and to Argyllshire by different pipers, accepted in each place as new, and given a new name. In those days, when communication between districts of Scotland which had nothing in common was very restricted, the tune could exist in one county as new for many years without the people knowing that it was familiar to those of another. And naturally they continued to associate with it the circumstances in which they themselves first heard it. It was this tune, by the way, that on the morning of Quatre Bras, was played through the streets of Brussels to wake the slumbering Highlanders.

Although the Clan Mac Gregor was one of the most famous in Highland history, there is not very much even of reliable tradition concerning the music of the clan. There is—or, at least, was—enough of tradition; but as it does not seem to have been committed to paper, it is now probably lost. Of the origin of “The Mac Gregors’ Gathering” we know nothing beyond the fact that it was included in Captain Mac Leod of Gesto’s manuscript book of pibrochs as having been taken down in pipers’ language, that “syllabic jargon of illiterate pipers” referred to at length in a former article, from the performers, most likely from the Mac Crimmons. From the Gesto book it was translated in 1815 into ordinary notation by Alexander Campbell, editor of Albyn’s Anthology, and this gave it a place in published pipe music. The notation of Captain Mac Leod, says Mr. Campbell, he found, to his astonishment, to coincide exactly with regular notation, so it cannot have been such jargon after all. Scott thoroughly caught the spirit of his tune in the song:—

One of the most stirring of pipe tunes is Caber Feidh, composed by Norman Mac Leod, a native of Assynt, Sutherlandshire. The Earl of Sutherland gave a commission to William Munroe, of Achany, who, with a large body of retainers, descended on Assynt and carried off much plunder. His excursion was in the latter end of summer, when the cattle were grazing in distant pastures, and Achany plundered the sheilings and stole a considerable amount of butter and cheese. Indignant at this, Mac Leod composed the tune and song which became the clan song of the Mac Kenzies. He made it the vehicle of invective and bitter sarcasm against the Sutherlands and Munroes. The “victims” were very sore about the production, and Munroe threatened the bard’s life if they should meet. They were personally unacquainted, but they did meet in Ardgay Inn. Mac Leod was enjoying bread and butter and cheese and ale, and he knew Munroe by the colour of his bonnet, which was always grey, though Munroe did not know him. Mac Leod drank to Munroe with great promptitude, and then offered him the horn, remarking in Gaelic:—

Achany was pleased, drank the ale, and when he had discovered who the courteous stranger was he forgave him Caber Feidh, and ever after they were good friends. Years later the poet’s young son, Angus, then a licentiate, waited on Achany relative to the filling up of a vacancy in Rogart Parish Church. “And so you really think,” said Munroe, “I would use my influence to get a living for your father’s son. Caber Feidh’s not forgotten yet.” “No, and never will,” replied Mac Leod, “but if I get the parish of Rogart I promise you it will never be sung or recommended from the pulpit there.” “Thank you,” said Achany, “that is one important point gained. You are not so bad as your father after all, and we must try and get the place for you.” And he gave young Mac Leod a letter to Dunrobin which got him the living.

There is a good story associated with “The Camerons’ Gathering:”—In the seventeenth century a dispute arose between Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel and the Earl of Atholl about their respective rights to grazing on lands on the borders of Rannoch. The two chiefs met at Perth, and it was agreed that the dispute should be settled amicably at a meeting on the ground in question. On the appointed day Lochiel started early, accompanied by a single henchman and his piper, Donald Breac of Muirshiorlaich. On the way, however, he met an old woman—Gorm’uil Mhor of Moy—who warned him emphatically not to proceed further without more attendants:—“Go back, Ewen of Lochiel, go back! Take along with thee three score and five of the best men of thy name and clan. If their aid is required it is well to have them to appeal to, if not, so much the better. It is Gorm’uil of Moy that advises it; it is Gorm’uil of Moy, if needs be, that commands it.” Lochiel went back and chose three score and five picked clansmen whom he took with him. Before meeting Atholl he concealed his men in a hollow within a few hundred yards of the trysting-place, and arranged with them that until they saw him turn his cloak, which was dark grey on one side and bright red on the other, they were to lie still. Whenever he turned his cloak it was a sign to them that Atholl was treacherous, and they were to come to their chiefs assistance.

At noon the chiefs met, and after discussion they found that neither was disposed to yield his claims. The Earl at last threatened Lochiel, and at a signal fifty Atholl men sprang from a copse near by and awaited orders.

“Who are these, my lord?” demanded Lochiel.

“These,” replied the Earl of Atholl, with a smile, “are only a few of the Atholl hoggets come across the hills with me to eat and grow fat on their own grazings.”

Lochiel in the meantime had turned his cloak scarlet side out, and at the signal his three-score-and-five men rushed into view.

“And who are these, Lochiel?” said Atholl, rather taken aback.

“These, my lord,” said Cameron, “are a few of my Lochaber hounds, sharp-toothed and hungry, and oh! so keen to taste the flesh of your Atholl hoggets.”

The Camerons were nearer than the Atholl men, and could have made the Earl a prisoner before his own men could prevent them. So he gave in as gracefully as possible, and, drawing his sword and kissing it, he renounced there and then all claim to the grazings; and, in proof of his faith in Lochiel, he tossed the sword into the loch near by. The loch since then has been called the “Loch of the Sword.”

Lochiel’s piper meanwhile had been deeply interested in the scene, and the idea of the Lochaber dogs tearing the Atholl sheep inspired him to a new melody. Accordingly, he struck up and played for the first time Cruinneachadh nan Camaronach, “The Camerons’ Gathering.”

The tune is considered one of the best pieces of pipe music extant; and, in corroboration of the story, it is said that in 1826 a herd-boy fished out of the loch, then almost empty, a basket-hilted sword, but the men of Lochaber coming to hear of it, asked that it should again be deposited in its place, as it was a token and pledge of a very solemn transaction. So with due formality the sword was again thrown into the loch, the bard of the party repeating a Gaelic rhyme, which has been translated:—

This story, on almost similar lines, is told of two other Highland chiefs, but in that case there is no pipe tune connected with it, and it is as the origin of “The Camerons’ Gathering” that it is most generally accepted.