ANTIQUARIAN NOTES ON THE

MACKAY COUNTRY.

BY REV. ANGUS MACKAY, M. A., Westerdale.

U

II. STRATH-HALLADALE.

(Continued from page 49.)

NTIL within the last three or four years Strath-Halladale, including its sea-board townships of Melvich and Portskerray, was in the anomalous position of being in some respects a part of Caithness, and in other respects a part of Sutherland. Ecclesiastically it formed part of the Parochia of Reay, and pertained to the Presbytery of Caithness. Its teinds and taxes went to Reay, its modicum of local self-government it enjoyed in common with the other Caithness inhabitants of Reay; but as to civil government Strath-Halladale, since the year 1631, was under the jurisdiction of the Sheriff of Sutherland, and constituted a part of that county. In the Royal Charter of 1631, defining the bounds of the County of Sutherland, the following is the description given :

Beginning upon the north at the Strype called Faehallodail, which divides Strathnaver from Caithness, and fra that south-east by the top of the hills to the Ord upon the sea coste, including the hail bounds of the Ord, and thair fra south-west till the mouth of the water of Tayne, alias Portnacutar; and fra that west to the water of Oikill, comprehending therein the hail lands and country of Fairincostar, alias Sleischeillis; and fra that west till Lochbrome and Coygathe (Coigach), so far as the diocese of Caithness extends, comprehending thairin the said lands and country of Assynt into the west sea, and fra thence north up the sea coste till the northmost point of the land called Arduriness; and fra thence east to the river and water of Hallodaill; and fra that east to the said strype called Faehallodaill."

Before 1631 the present geographical unit, "County of Sutherland," did not exist it was described as Sudrland and Strath-Naver. Then Strath-Halladale, and the rest of what is now called the Mackay Country, had as much in common with Caithness as they had with Sudrland. Nay, but their connection with Caithness was closer, for the Earldom of Caithness included old Strathnaver, as we know from the fact that Johanna, the daughter of Earl John of Caithness, who died in 1231, of the Norse line of Paul, got as her dowry Strathnaver. The clause in the charter of 1631, "Faehallodail which divides Strathnaver from Caithness," as well as abundant other evidence to the same effect, makes it clear that Strath-Halladale, and the intervening districts, formed of old a part of the territory of Strathnaver. In a local sense Strathnaver meant the Strath along the river

Naver, but in a general sense it meant the whole country from Durness to Druim-Holstein.

ORIGIN OF THE NAME STRATH-HALLADALE. Strath-Halladale is generally supposed to be named after a Norseman who was slain and buried there. The Rev. Alexander Pope of Reay says in a note to his translation of Torfæus in 1776 :

"Halladus is said by some to have been slain in battle, in that part of the parish of Reay which lies in Sutherland, and which is called Strath-Halladale. It is a valley ten miles in length, divided into two sides by a river called the river Halladale, running from the south to the North Sea at Tor. About the middle of this strath, and near a place called Dal-Halladha, the country people show a spot where, they say, a bloody battle was fought between the Scots and Norwegians. It was on the side of a hill on the east side of the river, now covered with small cairns or heaps of stones, where the slain are supposed to have been buried, and there, they say, Halladha, the King of Lochlin's son, was slain. Not only so, but they show the place where he was buried, on the opposite side of the river. It is a circular deep trench twelve feet in diameter, and there is a large stone erected in the midst of it. They assert that Halladha and his sword were laid there."

I have been told by most intelligent people on the strath that Mr. Pope, and Mackay of Bighouse, afterwards opened this ancient tomb, and found a Norwegian straight-bladed sword which was brought to, and preserved as a relic in, Bighouse House. Possibly that sword may still be in the possession of some member of the Bighouse family.

The typical Norwegian sword

has a peculiar hilt and pommel, as described so clearly by Dr. Anderson in his "Rhind Lectures," and can easily be identified. It may be mentioned that the Norse Sagas make no reference to the slaying of "Halladha, the King of Lochlin's son in this district, but the tradition may record an actual fact for all that.

THE IMPRINT OF THE NORSEMAN.

It is a notorious fact that though the Norsemen held the north, or claim to have held it, according to their sagas, for 300 years, they left very few traces of their occupation in the interior of the country save graves, battlefields, place-names, and a few loan-words. Their angular, irregularly-built strongholds or castles are found right round the rugged coasts of Caithness and Sutherland, but scarcely any are to be found inland. The interior is dotted with round Pictish, or Celtic, towers; the sea-board is held, at commanding positions, by the angular strongholds of the Norsemen. Throughout all Caithness, which they greatly hankered after because of its rich, fertile soil, I know of only one forti

fied place of theirs in the interior, viz., Brawl Castle, on the Thurso river, five miles from the sea. In the Mackay country I do not know of a single Norse fortified building, except those perched on the sea rocks, and to which due reference will be made. The native Celts appear to have held the hills and hill forts; the pirate Norsemen held the fortified sea rocks, whence they issued, as opportunities presented themselves, to plunder the flocks and corn fields of the aborigines.

In some cases they married

with the natives, but their hold on the country was much more slender than their historians would have us believe: and this is very evident, they did little to elevate the moral or religious life of the natives. On the contrary, they crushed out the infant Christianity of the north, burning and plundering, in a most ruthless manner, the primitive settlements of the devoted Culdees, who, since the sixth century, laboured among the people with a growing measure of success. On the east bank of the Halladale, and just where it enters the sea, there is a place called Bighouse, or in the vernacular Bigas. This word is a Gaelic corruption of the Norse compound big hus, meaning "big house." It is also called An Tor, which is the Gaelic for " heap." From this it appears there was of old a Norse habitation here, which may have been fortified, but not likely. The Norse name for a fortified place is tun, the equivalent of the Gaelic dun. The present modern house of Bighouse stands on the site of the old Tor. Further up the river there is another place-name Bighouse, but not a stone of the building can be seen, and from its position it does not appear likely that a stronghold would be reared there. It was more probably the private dwelling of some Norseman who settled down among the people of the place.

CELTIC TOWERS AND PLACES OF INTEREST.

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There is a magnificent specimen of the old Celtic round tower on the heights to the east of the river, and nearly opposite Craggy. Its external circumference is fully three hundred feet. Its height, in some places, is about nine feet, and the walls are about ten feet thick. It is built of dry unhewn stones, some of which weigh half-a-ton, perhaps more. There is the usual passage running round through the body of the wall, from which the winding staircase rose to its summit. The tower is peculiar in that it has two exits; the larger facing the east, the smaller the south. Opposite the southern exit, and in contact with the tower, traces of an irregularly shaped building are to be seen, which give a clue to the object of having a second outlet. It is very likely the occupants of the tower were

in the habit of storing their corn and folding their cattle in this building when danger threatened. Close to one of the towers at Keiss, lately opened and cleared by Sir F. T. Barry, a similar irregular structure is seen, which is declared, by competent authorities, to have been an ancient covered cattle fold. The Keiss building is very much less massive than the Strath-Halladale tower; the former is built of comparatively thin flagstones, which have seriously decomposed through weather action; the latter of whin and granite, solid as a rock. Some distance further down the strath, at Bunna-houn, where the Dyke water falls into the Halladale, there is another round tower on an eminence close to the river. It is not so imposing as the former, and very little of it now remains. I am told its stones were used in building dwelling houses, and in rearing a wall round the burial place of Bun-na-houn, which stands in its near neighbourhood. I may remark, in passing, that this burial place is comparatively modern, and that it became a place of sepulture by what may be called an accident. About the beginning of this century the maternal aunt of Ensign Joseph Mackay died at Dyke, and she being a native of the Strath of Kildonan, her friends and neighbours set out in wild, wintry, weather to bury her at Achaneckan; but by the time they reached Bun-na-houn the storm grew so furious that they were compelled to halt and leave the coffin in the old tower. There it lay for some days without any abatement of the snowstorm, the friends meanwhile keeping a "wake" in the old tower, to show their respect for the dead, as was and is their custom. But a prolonged "wake" in a roofless old tower, with the thermometer under zero, will wear out the devotion of even warm-hearted Highlanders. The end of it was they had to bury their dead in the haugh close to the tower, and to remove the stigma of giving her a dishonourable interment, resolved to make it a permanent burial place, which resolution they have religiously kept ever since by regularly burying their dead there. Still further down the strath, and on the same side-the west side Cnoc an Fhreacadain (the watch hill) lifts its bold shoulder to the skies. On its summit, and within a fortified place prepared for the purpose, the guards of Strathhalladale kept a sharp eye on the marches, lighting a fire at the first sign of danger, which would be seen on the "watch hill" above Tongue, 30 miles away, and thus warning the chief to gather his men and prepare for action. With fire signals and fiery crosses, it did not take long to muster the clansmen in those wild, unsettled days, when fighting was a pastime, especially if there was a prospect of securing plunder..

THE FENCIBLES AND THE WATER HORSE.

Near the foot of the strath, and quite close to the public road leading from the river to Melvich Inn, Loch More is to be seen on the left-it is a misnomer to call such a small lake Loch More ; but that is by the way. What signifies a name? It was bigger by a long way when it got that name, for then no canal had pierced its bowels to drain away six feet of its clear limpid waters, as is the case to-day. Shrunk and shrivelled as it is, shorn of its ancient expansive glory, let us not begrudge it the old time honoured name Loch More. This loch could tell a story had it a tongue, but since it has not-and small wonder, with a constantly draining wound in its bowels-I will try to relate what it might tell. On an artificial island within this loch there stood an old Celtic round tower, whose ruins are to be seen to this day, but in a very dilapidated and stranded condition. The level of the loch having fallen six feet, the old tower lies high and dry; and to make matters more wretched, the greater part of its old stones were carted away some years ago to build an embankment at the river side. At the time of my story the loch was at its proper level, and the tower sat snugly on its island, like an old man asleep. We were at war with France, and while most of our young men were away grappling with Bonaparte, those who could not be spared from home, like true Britons, formed themselves into a regiment of Fencibles, A company was raised in Strath Halladale, captained by Mackay of Bighouse. Now, Loch More with its old tower had a bad reputation, I am sorry to say. People did say that the water horse, or water kelpie-call it what you will-dwelt in that loch, and was seen o' nights, much to the discomfort of passers by. Captain Mackay of Bighouse, a cultured, philosophical, far-travelled gentleman, would not believe a word of it. Determined to clear the reputation of the loch, and to prove to his superstitious clansmen their mistake, he called out the company one evening, armed them with a certain number of rounds of ammunition, and said the company must mount guard round the loch during the whole night. The great majority of these loyal fencibles did not at all relish the job-they would far rather, any day, charge the legions of Bonaparte than mount guard on Loch More for a night. But orders were orders, and especially with Mackay of Bighouse in command. As the shades of evening were falling, the guards were posted at regular intervals right round; Captain Mackay taking his stand at the sunk causeway leading from the shore to the island tower. All went well till midnight-that dread hour-and when it was past the men drew a sigh of relief. They

gradually began to smile at the idea of a water kelpie being in the loch; and one, more frisky than the rest, drawing off his shoes and hose, and lifting his kilt, began to wade out by the causeway towards the old tower. Just as he was about to set foot on the island, a wild duck and her brood nestling there, startled, raised a tremendous quack, quack, and rushed away through the water flap, flapping. The kilted fencible turned, fled, stumbled, and yelled with terror. The posted guards heard the din, came to the conclusion that it was the water horse sure enough, fired wildly, then cast away their arms and ran pell-mell. Even Bighouse was seized with the general panic, took to his heels like the rest of them, and never drew breath till he found himself within the door of his own house, after wading the river up to the armpits. Mercifully no one was hit during the firing, but some had narrow escapes. In the morning men were sent out to gather up the dropped muskets and accoutrements. Bighouse felt so vexed at the fiasco, that he could not till his dying day endure a bare reference to this military exploit. It is even possible that one reason for the draining of the loch was revenge, but that is only a suspicion of my own. Of one thing I am very sure, neither the loch nor the old tower prospered since that unfortunate night. The one is drained, the other is spoiled, and even the water horse has now, I am told, forsaken both. (To be continued.)

THE MAD LAIRD'S WILL.

HE laird was dead and buried, with the peesweeps and the whaups crying over his grave in the glen; and Evander Macdonald, the penniless heir, walked out at the door of the House of Nevis for the last time, with an empty sporran, a dour mouth, and the pride of twenty generations gnawing and burning in the heart of him. He was a shapely lad, tall and straight, with the masterful swing about him when he walked. The world was before him and a ruined fortune behind him, and over the water at Ardgour a fair lady sat weeping for the black prospect of her lover. But all the weeping of a Maclean lady, and one of Ardgour forbye, could not fill the sporran of Evander Macdonald, the young laird, as the good folks in Nevis called him.

"A curse on their ill-mannered ways!" he hissed, as he swung down the avenue with a fine straight back and his head cocked high. He could hear the laugh of the newcomers, who with their lowland moneybags were now to sit in the halls of Nevis House, where a Macdonald had reigned for time out of mind.

Then he thought of the Maclean lady over the water, and the eyes of him grew wet, and he breathed hard, and swallowed something in a haste as he went.

When he came to the Roaring Mill he went down to the river and sat on a rock above the fall, and took out a letter from his breast and began to read it for the twentieth time. The salmon were leaping up the fall, and turning somersaults in the spray, and falling back again to avoid the jagged rocks. The rock on which Evander sat was wet with the splashing of the linn, and round about him everywhere the hills and bens were laughing in a wealth of April sunlight. But his eyes only saw the queer mad words before them

Evander, son of my heart, take the way by the kirkyard and spiel the braeface till you reach the shieling on the hill, and when you swing back the door it is no more you will need to ask what to do. Mind your father's last words and haste ye to join him where he is in a queer place. Farewell, Evander, and if ye turn back from the shieling ye are lost, and all the House o' Nevis. Written by me, Ranald Macdonald, laird in Nevis, this fifteenth day of November, seventeen eighty three."

"A queer will for a Macdonald to be leaving -with ne'er a single bag o' siller!

And Evander rose and took the way, not by the kirkyard, but down to Linnhetown. He stepped into his boat, set the sail, and made down the loch for Ardgour. And long before he was there, a dark-haired girl was at the jetty waiting for him, with the white lovelight shining in her blue-grey eyes that is the sign of true love in Highland hearts, and will be for ever and a day.

"Evander!"

Do you think that a Maclean cares for siller? Are not ye the laird of Nevis, though there be not a single gold piece in your sporran? Ob, Evander, there is something more. Tell me. For the love of our hearts, tell me.'

"Fine

Then he told her about the letter. you know, Mary, that the laird that was my father was queer in the way he spoke and did before he died. Aye, we were poor, bitter poor, but at least it was some sort of a will I was looking for, and here is all the laird left me-a mad scrawl o' a pen that was held by an old man who had ta'en leave o' his wits long syne. Many a time have I been for throwing it into the Roaring Mill. Well, well, if ye have done reading it, my lass, we'll end the joke and light a fire on the shore with it. For I am off to the wars now to win a fortune for my love."

Evander, you will go this very night to the shieling."

"No, Mary, and that is what I will not do. Once have I been made a jest of by the old laird, and to day I heard the lowland hounds laughing at me and my fine will. By God! I am poor, but I am proud. And I will not go."

"Evander, my own, it is I that am asking you. You will go to the shieling. I knew the old laird, it seems, better than his ain laddieand he was wiser than he liked to show. Evander, for my sake, you will do it?"

And she kissed him.

"No, I will not. God! do I not hear them laughing even now?"

"Evander is this how you keep your promise to me? And will you refuse to do the first thing I will be asking you? Evander, do you love me?"

"Mary-don't."

But it fell out as it has aye fallen out since the world began, the man could not stand against the maid, and the lass had her way in the end, and a smother of kisses forbye.

That night Evander Macdonald took the way by the kirkyard in the glen, and when the moon was filling the corries of the hill of heaven with a pale misty light, he came to the old ruined shieling. The walls were standing, and the roof was still there, but the nettles were growing every where like brackens for thickness, and he had to push his way through them to the door. He was for turning away and going down to the glen again, when he minded the promise he had made to Mary, and he pushed open the door.

"God keep us!"

And Evander, for all his big ways, trembled in the very limbs.

The moonlight lit up the interior of the hut and shewed a gallows standing in the middle of the floor, with a rope and a noose hanging

ready! It was an awesome sight.

And it was a shortish while before the big man came to himself again.

Then the bitter anger brought the blood back to his face, and he saw how complete and how cruel had been the old laird's jest. And was it to this that Mary had brought him with her coaxings? Lands gone, fortune gone, kinsfolk gone, and the last of them away to the narrow house with nothing but a mockery left for the son that was to follow him. Again he heard the laughing of the lowland folks who had bought the old house, and were even now filling the halls with their revels and debauchery. What was left for him but beggary and shame and-pride? Aye, pride was a poor thing to live on, but it was a fine thing to die on. They Isaid his father was mad. And he was his father's son. Aha! He began to laugh now. And the laughter of him would have made a bairn scream with fright.

"A curse on life and an end to it!" cried Evander Macdonald; and with one spring he leapt on the gallows and the rope closed round his throat.

Then! A turf from the roof fell, and the rope was hanging loose upon the mud floor. Here was a foolish man and no mistake. The young laird of Nevis standing in the moonlight in the shieling with a rope dangling from his neck as harmlessly as the tether of a cow. Evander laughed. But this time his laugh would have made a bairn crow with delight. For he was in his senses again. He thought of Mary the Maclean lady in Ardgour-and took the rope from his neck. Then he lifted the turf, and a small white packet fell from it. And Evander laughed again.

He opened the packet and found a key in it, and round the key there was a bit of paper rolled and fastened with a string. On the paper, as he smoothed it out in the moonlight, he saw his own name written in the old laird's shaky handwriting, with these words below

"Take this key to the south-east corner of the hut and lift the stone. Then cease from cursing thy father."

Evander went to the south-east corner and found a great stone. It needed all his strength to roll it away. And there in a hole he found a chest. How his fingers trembled as he felt for the lock!

The key turned, and when he lifted the lid and put in his hand he felt-gold. Heaps of gold. Then Evander Macdonald ceased from cursing his father.

That same night as Evander went down the glen by the House of Nevis, he saw lights in the windows, and a sound of high revelry caught his ear. It was a fine clear night in April and

the trees stood still and quiet, casting great shadows in the moonlight. Through the windows of the hall he could see the lowland hounds who had laughed at him, sitting leering over their wine cups.

Evander stepped straight into the lighted hall and stood glaring at the revellers. They welcomed him with a roar of drunken laughter, and the host at the table end hurled a mouthful of jeers at the tall lad, as he stood there staring with the anger in his eyes.

"Ho! thou penniless laird, welcome to the house of thy fathers. Art thou at home, rags and tatters, in the hall of Nevis? Come, read us thy father's will. Ha, ha! See how he winces, friends. Evander of the empty purse, come, I will make thee an offer. Wilt thou buy this leaky old house back again for thine own money? There now. Witness my offer, good friends all. Never say that I did not give the penniless laird a chance. Wilt close with the bargain, rags and tatters? Come, wilt sign the bond?" "I will," answered Evander.

Another roar of drunken laughter greeted this speech, and in the fever of his wine the tipsy host cried for pens and parchment to carry through his madcap jest. The inkhorn was brought, the compact drawn, and amid a wild howl of derision Evander saw the host sign his name with a shaking hand.

Then with his bond in his sporran, he made his way, amid the jeers of the revellers, out of the hall again, and when he was standing in the quiet night he knew that the very turf he was pressing with his feet was his own again. For the devil's bargain had became the honest man's bond. And this is how it came about that the Maclean lady became mistress of the House of Macdonald of Glen Nevis.