Gairloch In North-West Ross-Shire Part 26

Wood pigeon, mavis, and night jar, Make music sweet both near and far; Full joyously the redb.r.e.a.s.t.s call, Perched on the rock high o'er them all.

Hurrah, &c. &c.

"Coo, coo," the cuckoo cries aloft, The chaffinch sings in tones more soft, The fieldfare, t.i.tlark, and the wren All swell the chorus of thy glen.

Hurrah, &c. &c.

No symphony can rival thine; Nor elsewhere do more clearly s.h.i.+ne The works of G.o.d in nature's face, Harmonious in every place.

Hurrah, &c. &c.

Would that we two were wandering now Where these wild woods could hear our vow!

Ne'er could we roam midst scenes more grand Than in this rugged northern land!

Hurrah, &c. &c.

Alexander Bain, who is a crofter, thatcher, and d.y.k.er at Lonmor, was born about 1849. He has composed a number of excellent poems and songs in his native tongue. He is a much-respected and very worthy man, and is a sergeant in the Gairloch volunteers. He is of middle height and good physique.

Alexander Bain has composed the following elegy on the late well-known Dr Kennedy of Dingwall, who died in 1884, and who might be termed the bishop of the Free Church in the north-west Highlands. The doctor's fervid eloquence was often to be heard during sacramental services in the Leabaidh na Baine at Gairloch. Appended is an English rendering of the elegy, mainly contributed by Mr Good:--

MARBH-RANN.

Thainig sgeul gu crich, Tha na bhochdainn do'n tir muthuath; Fad's a mhaireas an linn's, Bithidh luchd-aidmheil fo sgios le gruaim.

Thainig smal air an or, Ged tha'n Soisgeul air doigh mur bha, Bho'n chuir iad fo'n fhoid, Doctear Iain bu bhoidhche cail.

Thainig freasdail mu 'n cuairt, 'S thug e rionnag nam buadh gu lar; Bithidh a Ghaidhealtachd truagh, 'S cha dean gearan dhoibh suas am bearn.

Sguir an sruthan bu bhoidhche, Bha toir misneach do dhoige nan gras; 'S bithidh an cridheachan leoint', Gus an ruig iad air gloir 's aird'.

'S ann tha lot anns a Chleir As an-d-imich a reult a baild', Bha na cobhair do 'n treud, G'an tabhair thairis gu freumh na slaint'.

Bha do bhuaidhean gu leir, Air an unga le seula graidh, 'S cha n-fhaic sinne as do dheigh, Fear a sheasas cho treun na d-ait'.

Thainig dubhar, 'us neul, Air an Eaglais, nach clear dhi 'n drasd; Thuit a geata fo priomh Ged tha a bunnait cho fial 's a bha.

Am measg a cedair thu dluth, 'S thusa a meangan bu chubhraidh dhasan; Bha thu taitneach fad d'uin'

Gu bhith labhairt air run fear daimh.

Bha do phearsa gun ghiomh An's gach rathad an iarrte fas; Ann an tuigse, 's an ciall, Thug thu barrachd air ciad do chach.

Bha do sholus mur a ghriann Cuir gach onair air Criosd amhain, 'S be sin toiseach do mhiann Dol troimh ghleanneanaibh ciar a bhais.

ELEGY ON DR KENNEDY.

Sorrow overwhelms the Highlands; Saintly Kennedy is dead!

Christian souls in woe bewail him Sleeping in his narrow bed.

Though the truth s.h.i.+nes 'midst the darkness, Dimly burns the golden flame Since beneath the sod they laid him, Lovely in his life and aim.

Death's dark angel hovers o'er him; Low our star of goodness falls; Wild laments are unavailing,-- 'Tis the Master gently calls!

Dried up is that fount of beauty, Quenched that welling stream of grace; Our sad hearts will bleed with anguish Till in heaven we see his face.

All the elders, broken-hearted, Mourn their guiding star; his flock Mourn their pastor, him who helped them To confide in Christ their Rock.

Bright above his many virtues Shone the seal of love divine; None can equal his brave spirit,-- None such n.o.ble powers combine.

Clouds and gloomy shadows gather O'er the church for evermore; Yet, though shaken are her bastions, Her foundations still are sure.

In the grove of stately cedars Thou the sweetest branch hast stood; Eloquent thou wast, when preaching Life through Christ's most precious blood.

Blameless was thy life-long journey, With the choicest goodness blest; In thy wisdom, sense, and knowledge Thou wast high above the rest.

Like the sun thy light was s.h.i.+ning, Praising Jesus day by day: Truly thou wast ever ready Through death's vale to take thy way.

Chapter XXIV.

THE POOLEWE ARTIST.

There are few, if any, traces of the existence of artistic knowledge or skill to be met with in the history of Gairloch or among her inhabitants. True some of the ancient weapons display a little artistic decoration, but these or their patterns may have come from other parts.

One or two silver brooches of old Celtic designs are to be met with in the parish, and may perhaps be considered evidence of native taste. The arts of architecture, sculpture, and painting, however, have never been practised in Gairloch, at least there are no remains that shew it.

In these later years of the nineteenth century an instance has occurred of an intense love of, and feeling for, the art of drawing and painting in a native of Gairloch, so remarkable as to call for special mention here.

The instance referred to is in the person of a young man barely yet "of age," named Finlay Mackinnon, a crofter at Poolewe. Whilst doing his duty as a crofter he struggles to progress in art, and has in fact made painting his profession. Enthusiasm for art is his absorbing pa.s.sion. He is a fine well-built and well conducted young man, above middle height.

In manner he is modest and una.s.suming, and his native Highland courtesy is conspicuous. He has been educated at the Poolewe Public School, and lives with his mother at Mossbank, Poolewe.

In the autumn of 1877 I was going out for a sail on Loch Ewe; the boatmaster, requiring a boy to a.s.sist, engaged Finlay Mackinnon (then a little barelegged lad), who happened to be standing by, and with whom I was scarcely acquainted at the time. During our trip I got into conversation with Finlay, and asked him whether he was to become a fisherman or sailor. He answered, "No." "What have you a fancy for?" I inquired. The quaint reply in his then rather imperfect English was, "All my mind is with the drawing." He afterwards shewed me his childish efforts with his pencil, and some very humble attempts in water-colour achieved by the aid of a s.h.i.+lling box of paints! I started him in a course of instruction, and Mrs Mackenzie of Inverewe gave him great a.s.sistance. He progressed rapidly. About 1881 it was his good fortune to come under the notice of Mr H. B. W. Davis, R.A. (who has so splendidly rendered some of the scenery and Highland cattle of Loch Maree), and Mr Davis kindly helped him forward, and in 1883 had him to London where he gave him a session's teaching at South Kensington. Other gentlemen, including Sir Kenneth Mackenzie, Bart. of Gairloch, the Marquis of Bristol, Mr O. H. Mackenzie of Inverewe, Mr John Bateson, lessee of s.h.i.+eldaig, Mr A. Hamond, also lessee of s.h.i.+eldaig, and Mr A. W. Weedon, the artist, gave Finlay Mackinnon material aid, and he was enabled to spend the winter session of 1884-5 at South Kensington.

Some of Finlay Mackinnon's sketches in water-colour already display considerable merit, and there is every prospect of his becoming an able delineator and interpreter of the beauties of Gairloch and Loch Maree.

Chapter XXV.

JAMES MACKENZIE'S GAIRLOCH STORIES.

The following stories have been related to me by James Mackenzie of Kirkton, along with many traditions and facts embodied in other parts of this book. James Mackenzie is an enthusiastic lover of family history and local folk-lore, and whilst disowning superst.i.tious fancies is quite alive to the charms of romance. I have endeavoured to preserve the words and phrases in which he communicated the stories, and where the p.r.o.noun of the first person is used in the following tales, it must be taken as coming from his lips.

James Mackenzie was born in 1808, and consequently remembers several of the bards and pipers already mentioned. His elder brother was John Mackenzie, so celebrated amongst Gaelic speakers as the compiler of the "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry," and James shared with his brother the fund of old stories which, in the days of their youth, they loved to listen to at the "ceilidh," or social meetings, then so generally held during the long winter nights.

James Mackenzie, who is a direct descendant in the sixth generation from Alastair Breac, fifth laird of Gairloch, has been a sailor during much of his life, and still affects the blue neckerchief and dark serge clothes of the sea-faring man, topped with a Highland bonnet of the Prince Charlie type. He is short in stature, and has very expressive features. He has the true Highland _esprit_, combined with refined courtesy and faithful attachment to his chief,--qualities which many think are destined soon to become extinct.

Nearly all the following stories are strictly Gairloch tales, relating incidents about Gairloch people. The anecdote of Rob Donn James Mackenzie wished to be included, lest it might otherwise be lost.

WILLIAM ROY MACKENZIE.

"William Roy Mackenzie was stopping at Innis a bhaird. This was in the eighteenth century, before they commenced making whisky in Gairloch.

William used to go to Ferintosh with his two horses with crook saddles, carrying a cask of whisky on each side. He always went there about Christmas. At that time Christmas was observed in Gairloch; now its observance is given up. William had two horses, a white and a black; one of them was fastened behind the tail of the other, the white horse foremost. On the other side of Achnasheen there was an exciseman waiting to catch William on his way home with four casks of whisky. The exciseman hid himself until William came past. Then he jumped out from his hiding-place, and caught the white horse by the halter, saying, 'This is mine.' Says William, 'I do not think you will say that to-morrow; let go my horse.' 'No,' says the exciseman. 'Will you let him go,' says William, 'if you get a permit with him?' 'Let me see your permit,' says the exciseman, still dragging at the white horse. 'Stop,'

says William; 'let go the horse, the permit is in his tail.' He would not let go; so when William saw that, he loosed the black horse from behind the grey, that he might get at the permit. Then he lifted his stick and struck the old grey so that he plunged and jumped, and in the scrimmage one of the casks of whisky struck the exciseman and knocked him down on the ground. Says William, 'There's the permit for you.' The exciseman lay helpless on the ground; so William Roy got clean away with all the whisky, and came home with it to Innis a bhaird."

KENNETH AND JOHN MACKENZIE OF RONA.

"One of the Mackenzies of Letterewe had a daughter who was married to a man in Badfearn in Skye. A daughter of theirs became the wife of William Mackenzie of Rona, who was one of the Mackenzies of s.h.i.+eldaig of Gairloch. He had a son named Kenneth; and Kenneth had two sons, called Kenneth and John. They were out fis.h.i.+ng in a smack of their own, when they were attacked and taken by the press-gang. They were carried off, and placed in a hulk lying in the Thames below London. One night they were together in the same watch, and they then made a plan to escape. A yacht belonging to a gentleman in London was in the river; she was out and in every day, and always anch.o.r.ed alongside the hulk. The gentry from the yacht were going ash.o.r.e every night, and leaving only a boy in her. The night the two brothers Kenneth and John were on the watch, the boy was alone in the yacht. What did they do but decide to carry out their plan of escape there and then! So they went through the gun-ports, one on each side of the hulk, and swam to the yacht. Then they got the yacht under weigh, the boy sleeping all the time. They got safe away with the yacht, and worked her as far as to Loch Craignish, on this side of Crinan. There they went ash.o.r.e in the night, and left the yacht with the boy. They left the yacht's gig ash.o.r.e in Loch Craignish, and set off on their way home. When the laird of Craignish saw the gig, and the yacht lying in the loch, he went out in the gig to see what kind of yacht she was. The brothers had left the papers of the yacht on the cabin table, that it might be found out who she belonged to. So the laird of Craignish wrote to the owners in London, and advised them to send orders to him to sell the yacht and send the boy home with the money. The owners did so, and the yacht was sold. She became the mail-packet between Coll and Tobermory. I saw her long ago on that service.