|
AS NARRATED BY A HIGHLAND
PIPER.
[This chapter is translated from the first Gaelic magazine ever
published, which was conducted by my father, the late Dr MacLeod, of
Glasgow. The account of these Highland customs, though bearing the
signature of "Finlay the Piper," was written by himself, and is now
offered, along with a few illustrative notes, as a Reminiscence of the
"Parish," and also as a characteristic specimen of the narratives of the
Highland peasantry.]
ACCORDING to promise, I
will give you a true account of the manner in which we used to part with
the old year, and welcome the new, during my younger days in the family
of Glendessarie. The last night of the year was, as you know, called
oidhche Challuinn, (the night of Calluinn.)
[The derivation of this
word has sorely puzzled Celtic antiquaries; and it is enough to show the
straits to which they are reduced, to mention that some derive it from
Kalends, and others from the name of the goddess Kalydon, said to have
been worshipped by some tribes of Sclavonians on the shores of the
Baltic. We consider the explanation given by the piper fully as good as
either of these. Let it be remembered, however, that the corresponding
term Hagmana, used of old in England, (possibly still in some parts of
it,) or Hogmanay, universally used in Scotland, is of equally uncertain
origin—some deriving it from the Greek "Hagia mene," sacred month, while
others resolve it into the French, Homme est ni, "the man is born,"
referring of course to our Saviour's nativity. And we may remark,
without going into antiquarian dissertation, that, with the view of
discovering the derivation of the word Yule, used in England and
Scotland, almost every language from Hebrew to Danish has been
questioned and tortured, all to little purpose.
The Gaelic term Calluinn,
then, is not alone in the mystery of its origin. The Cainnual, or
Coinneal, used to denote the first day of the year, has also exercised
the ingenuity of linguists. Its simplest solution is, however, probably
the nearest to the truth. It literally signifies candle, and in all
likelihood refers to the illuminations customary at that joyous season.
Nalluig, or Nollaig, the
Gaelic term for Christmas, is evidently of the same origin with the
French Noaille, derived from Natalis.
We need say nothing about
the highlanders observing the season of the New Year as a festive and
joyous one. Almost all nations, Pagan and Christian, have done so,
visiting their friends, feasting on the best, and giving a liberal
supply to their cattle as well. The piper giving a sheaf of corn to his
cows reminds one of Burns's well-known lines to his old mare Maggie, on
New Year's Day.
The expression of their
joy through rhymes was also common to other nations as well as to the
Highlanders. Abundant specimens both of French and English verses used
on occasions are to be found in our older books, nor are we aware that
the Gaelic rhymes deserve any special mention. We have heard many which
were more doggerel —others, again, through which a vein of satirical
humour ran, well fitted to rebuke any churlish tendency in those who
were addressed; but the great majority of them, like the English ones,
expressed kindly wishes towards the households visited, while they all
craved a good Callueun for the rhyming visitors.
The carrying about of the
hide, beating on it with sticks, and surrounding the house three times,
going always in the direction of the sun, or Deas-hil, is at least in
modern times peculiar to the Highlanders. Till very recently it was
generally observed, and is, we believe, in remote localities still
practised. Some writers imagine that the thus walking around the house,
clothed in the skin of a slaughtered animal, has reference to
sacrificial and propitiatory rites. We learn, however, from "Brand's
Popular Antiquities," edited by Ellis, that this is a remnant of the
wild fantastic orgies of the old Roman Saturnalia, where men often
disguised themselves in the skins of wild beasts, and abandoned
themselves to the wildest enjoyments. Early Christian writers state that
many of their flocks followed after these heathenish customs, saying
expressively-
"vestiuntur pellibus
pecudum "—" they are clothed in the skins of cattle."
We read of slight traces
of this strange transformation being discernible in Yorkshire till a
comparatively recent date; but, like many other old customs, it found
beyond the Grampian mountains a more lasting abode than anywhere else.
One other observance we
mention which we believe was peculiar to the Highlands. The Caisein
tic/id, or the piece of skin covering the breast bone of sheep or
cow—more especially the former, with its short curly wool—was kept as
carefully as was the hide ; and on New Year's Eve, after being well
singed in the fire, was applied to the nose of every one within the
house, visitor or dweller. There- after it was carried to the byre, and
the offactories of the cattle also regaled with its fragrance. All we
can say of this practice is, that it was observed with the view of
conferring some benefit on man and beast. Pennant mentions that the
cattle in the North highlands were, on the evening in question, made to
smell burnt juniper.
We gather from the old
Statistical Account that in some parts of the Highlands Hogmany is
called oidhche dasr na Coille—i.e., "The night of the fecundation of the
trees," and that according to the direction of the wind on this night
the character of the following season might be predicted. The west wind
promised fish and niilk. The south, warmth and general fruitfulness. The
north, cold and shivering—literally, dinning And the east wind, even as
in the land of Pharaoh, the withering of the fruit.
For several statements in
the foregoing long note, see "Brand's Popular Antiquities."]
They tell me that this
word signifies noise, or rattling; and that the Highlanders so
designated this night from the noisy mirth with which they celebrated
it.
Well, my father was piper
to Glendessarie, as was his father before him, and every son of mine
has, as soon as weaned, taken to the pipe-chanter just as naturally as
the young kid takes to scrambling up the rocks. It was the habit of this
family to gather for Calluinig 1st (New Year's Eve) all the tenantry on
their lands, young and old, especially all the foster-fathers, mothers,
brothers, and sisters, and according to wont, Evan dun maor (Fair-haired
Evan the ground-officer,) went round amongst them a few days before the
time. "It is the wish of the family," says he, "that we should observe
the Calluinn as of old; and see, my lads, that you have your Camain (shinties,
or clubs) right and ready for New Year's Day." The piper set off in his
full Highland garb about the height of the evening, (as the sun was
beginning to decline.) We reached the great house; and can I expect that
my heart will ever be as light and joyous as it was on that night? The
young ladies of the family met us with bows of ribbon for the chanter of
the pipe. The piper played a round on the green before the door, as the
men gathered.
The time of Calluinn
came, when some one had to carry the dry cow hide on his back and run
round the house, and every one that could tried to get a stroke at it
with his stick. "Who will carry the hide this year?" says Evan Ban. "Who
but Para Mor?" (Big Patrick) says one. "Who but Broad John?" says
another. "Out with the hide, Para Mor," says Evan Ban; "and you, Broad
John, stand by his shoulder in case he may stumble." Para Mgr drew the
hide about his head, taking a twist of the tail firmly round his fist. "coth
om eta F nnl," (i.e., fair play as among the Fingalians, or Fingalian
justice,) exclaimed he, as he drew near the door of the house where the
Laird (Fear a' bliaile, the man of the place) was standing with his
Caman (shinty) in his hand, "Calluinn here !" says he, giving the first
rattle to the hide. Para Mor set off, but swift of foot as he was, the
men of the Glen kept at his heel, and you would think that every flail
in the country was at work on the one threshing-floor, as every mother's
son of them struck and rattled at him, shouting, "A Calluinn here! The
Calluiun of the yellow sack of hide! Strike ye the skin! A Calluinu
here!" Three times they went Deas-iut (in a southerly direction,
according to the course of the sun) round the house. "Blow up, piper," (Seid
seas) said Evan Ban, "and when the company are in order, let them
assemble in the rent-room." My father played Failt' a' Plzrionnsa, (the
Prince's welcome;) for though there was not in the kingdom a man more
leal and loyal to the family which then sat upon the throne than
Glendessarie, yet he loved to listen to this tune; and often have I seen
him shedding tears on hearing that thrilling music which had stirred his
forefathers to deeds of manliness on these renowned battle-fields, where
alas! they lost their men and their estates.
We went into the chamber
where the family and the neighbouring gentry were assembled. He himself,
the graceful president of the feast, stood in the midst, and his mild,
winsome lady by his side. The lovely young branches of the family were
around them, though, woe's me! few of them are alive to-day. The Laird
(good man) of Carrie was standing at the door to guard against any one
slipping in without saying his Calluinn rhyme, and John Ban, of the
casks, (the butler,) beside him with a bottle in his hand. Every one had
a rhyme that night except Lowland John and a young conceited fellow from
the Glen, who had been for a year or two in Glasgow, and affected to
have forgotten his native tongue, as well as the customs of his native
land. John Ban dealt round the drink, and the bread and cheese, piled up
plenteously, were distributed freely.
After a short time the
songs began. He himself gave us an iorram, (boat song,) and well could
he do it. Many a sweet song, lay, and ditty was sung, as well as those
which were historical and commemorative. The fox-hunter gave us Dina a'
chain ghlais, (the song of the gray dog,) and Angus of the Satires
repeated a tale of the Fingalians. After the songs the dancing began,
very different from the slow, soft, silken steps of the present day
First came in a smart dame, dressed like a housekeeper, with a bunch of
keys jingling by her side; strong, sturdy, and active she looked. The
woman sang Port tz Beul, (i.e., a tune from the mouth,) selecting
Cailleach an Dimdain, (the old wife of the mill-dust,) and it was she
who capered and turned, and sprang nimbly. After this they danced the
Daubli-Luidneaclr, (Black Sluggard.) But the best fun was when the "
Goat Dance," "Weave the Gown," (Figli an Gun,) and the Thorny Croft
(Civit an Droighin) were danccd.
[We have preserved these
names in the hope that some one more learned than we in Hi-bland
antiquities may explain them. The singing called Port d !ieul, a tune
from the mouth, we have ourselves heard, and heard with high pleasure.
In the absence of musical instruments, persons trained to it imitate
dancing-music with the voice, and when they sing in parts the imitation
is remarkably happy. We have seen a company dancing for hours to this
primitive music.
As to the dances, there
are some of them we can give no account of. A poor remnant of the "Sword
Dance" is still preserved among us, and may be often witnessed on the
stage; sometimes on the decks of steamers, and even on the streets of
our large towns, burlesqued by idle vagabonds who assuredly disgrace
"the garb of Old GauI," by exhibiting it in such contemptible
performances. We learn from Brand, that among the Northern nations, and
of old in England, the Sword Dance was practised on the most public and
solemn occasions, and in a way that put the skill, the strength, and the
nerve of the performers to a very severe test.
We know that in one or
other of those mentioned in our text—the Thorny Croft—there was much
pantomimic acting, as well as very dolorous recitative. A farmer, whose
Iot it was to be located on ground covered with thorns and briers, gives
a woeful account of the hardship of his fate—with the view, we believe,
of exciting the compassion of some fair spectator—and we believe there
was a considerable amount of dramatic acting in all of them.
The Duch-Luidizeach—Black-Sluggard,
or black clumsy one—we may observe, is the name by which the native; of
Lochaber still designate the yacht in which Argyle sailed away on the
day of the battle of Inveilochy—Ieaving his men to the fury of 'Montrose
and the MacDonalds. Of the dance so called we can give no account.]
The time of parting at
length came. The gentry gave us the welcome of the New Year with
cordiality and kindliness, and we set off to our homes. "My lads," says
he himself, "be valiant on the field to-morrow. The sea-board men (Leththiri.e,
Halfland) boast that they are to beat us Glen-men at the shinty match
this year." Thus we passed the last night of the year at Glendessarie,
and neither I nor my father ever saw a quarrel, or heard an improper
word at such a gathering. It is since the gentry have ceased thus to
mingle freely with the people that disgusting drunkenness has become
common in these black tippling-houses, which prove the highway to almost
every vice. The people of each estate were as one family—the knot of
kindness tying every heart together, and the friendly eye of the
superiors was over us all.
I might here give many
useful advices to our lairds; but they do not understand Gaelic, and
they would not take the counsel of the piper, so I must hasten to tell
you about our way of passing the first day of the New Year.
On this New Year's morn
the sun was late of showing his countenance; and after he came in sight
his appearance was pale and drowsy. The mist was resting lazily on the
hill-side; the crane was rising slowly from the meadow; the belling of
the stab was heard on the mountain; the black-cock was in the
birch-wood, dressing his feathers, while his sonsie mate—the gray-hen—was
slowly walking before him.
After I had saluted my family, and implored the blessing of the Highest
on their heads, I prepared the Christmas sheep, (Caora Mallaig,) gave a
sheaf of corn to the cattle, as was customary, and was getting myself in
order, when in walked Para Mor, and my gossip Angus Og, (young Angus.)
They gave me the welcome of the New Year. I returned it with equal
heartiness. Then Para Mor produced a bottle from his pocket. "A
black-cock," says he, "whose gurgling voice (crowing, Celtic, gogail) is
more musical than any roar (ran) that ever came out of the chanter of
thy pipe." We tasted to one another, and then Mary, my wife, set before
us a small drop of the genuine Ferintosh, which she had stored up long
ago for great occasions in the big chest.
It was my duty to gather
the people together this morning with the sound of the pipe. So we set
off, going from farm to farm up the Glen, making the son of the cave of
the rock (i.e., echo) answer to my music. I played "A Mhnathan a'
Ghlinne so;" [This still popular pipe tune, known, we believe, as
Breadalbane's March, is said to have been composed on the following
occasion:—The father of John Glas, i.e., Gray John, of Breadalbane, to
whom frequent reference is made in the present case of disputed
succession (the Breadalbane Peerage case, 1864), was married to a
daughter of the Earl of Caithness. The promised dowry was not paid to
him, and he, apparently content with his wife herself as his portion,
lived and died in peace with the Sinclairs. His son, John Glas, however,
was of a different mind. Collecting a hardy band of Campbells from the
age of thirty-five to that of fifty, he made a secret and sudden raid on
the land of the Sinclairs, gathered as much spoil as would cover the
amount of his mother's tocher, utterly defeated the Caithness men, who
were unprepared for such an invasion, and, as he was leaving their
territory, early in the morning, he summoned the poor women to arise,
telling them that their cattle had been lifted, and their husbands
wounded.] and if the pipe had been dry that day it had ample means of
quenching its thirst
"I'he company continually
increased its numbers until we came down by the other side of the Glen
to the ground-officer's house, where it was appointed for us to get our
morning-meal. The lady had sent a three-year-old wedder to his house. We
had a roebuck from the corrie of yew-trees; fish from the pool of
whitings; and such quanties of cheese, butter, and solid oatcake, sent
by the neighbours round about, as would suffice for as many more—though
we were fifty men in number, besides women and children. Grace was said
by Lachlan of the Questions, (Lachuun ceistear,) the Bible reader. Evan
Ban well sustained the hospitable character of the house which he
represented. We had an ample and a cheerful feast.
Breakfast over, I set off
and played the tune of the Giasmlzeiir, while Red Ewen, the old soldier,
was marshalling the men. We reached Gualanancarn, (the shoulder of the
cairns,) where the gentry were to meet us; and before we knew where we
were, who placed himself at our head but our own young Donald, the heir
of the family! He had reached home that very morning, having hastened on
without sleep, or rest, all the way from Dun-Edin, (Edinburgh.) Dear
heart! he was the graceful sapling. I could not for a while blow a
breath into the pipe. "Play up, Finlay," says Para Mor. "What sadness
has seized you" "Sadness!" said I; "very far is it from me." The people
of the sea-board then came in view, and Alastair Roy of the Bay at their
head. When the two companies observed each other, they raised a loud
shout of mutual rejoicing. We reached the field, and many were the
salutations between friends and acquaintances exchanged there.
The sun at length shone
forth brightly and cheerfully. On the eminences around the field were
the matrons, the maidens, and the children of the district, high and
low, all assembled to witness the Camanaclid, (shinty match.) The goal
at each end of the large field was pointed out, and the two leaders
began to divide and choose each his men. "I claim from you!" ('Buailidli
vii ort, literally, "I will strike on thee,") says young Donald. "I
permit you," (Leigidh mi leat,) says Alastair Roy of the Bay. "If so,"
says young Donald, "then Donald Ban, of Culloden, is mine." This was by
far the oldest man present, and you would think his two eyes would start
from his head with delight as he stepped proudly forth, at being the
first chosen.
When the men were divided
into two companies —forty on each side—and refreshments set at each
goal, Alastair Roy flung his shinty high up in the air. "Bas, no Cas,
Donald of the Glen," said he (i.e., Head, or Handle.) " Handle, which
will defy your handling till nightfall !" replies Donald. Alastair
gained the throw, (toss,) and was about to strike the ball immediately,
when the other exclaimed, "A truce, (Deisde;) let the rules of the game
be first proclaimed, so that there may be fairness, good-fellowship, and
friendship observed among us, as was wont among our forefathers." On
this Evan Ban stepped forth and proclaimed the laws, which forbade all
quarrelling, swearing, drunkenness, and coarseness; all striking,
tripping, or unfairness of any kind ; and charged them to contend in a
manful, but friendly spirit, without malice or grudge, as those from
whom they were descended had been wont to do.
Alastair Roy, as he was
entitled to do, gave the first stroke to the ball, and the contest began
in earnest; but I have not language to describe it. The sea-board men
gained the first game. But it was their only game. Young Donald and his
men stripped to their work, and you would think the day of liar na Leine
(Battle of the Shirt) had come again. Broad John gave a tremendous blow,
which sent the ball far beyond the goal. We thus gained the day, and we
raised the shout of victory; but all was kindness and good feeling among
us.
In the midst of our
congratulations Para Mor shouted out, "Shame on ye, young men! Don't you
see these nice girls shivering with cold? Where are the dancers? Play up
the reel of Tullochgorum, Finlay." The dancing began, and the sun was
bending low towards the Western Ocean before we parted. There was many
a, shin and many a cheek of the colour of the Blaeberies (i.e., black
and blue) that day, but there was neither hate nor grumbling about these
matters.
We returned to the house
of nobleness, as on the preceding evening. Many a torch was on that
night beaming brightly in the hall of hospitality, though dark and
lonely in its state today. We passed the night amid music and enjoyment,
and parted not until the breaking of the dawn guided us to our own
homes.
And now you have some
account of the manner in which your ancestors were in the habit of
passing New Year's Eve and New Year's Morn—Calluinn and Cainneal—in days
not long gone by.
I know that people will
not now believe me, yet I maintain that many good results followed from
this friendly mingling of gentles and commons. Our superiors were at
that time acquainted with our language and our ways. The highest of them
was not ashamed to address us by name, in our native tongue, at kirk or
market. There were kindness, friendship, and fosterage between us; and
while they were apples on the topmost bough, we were all the fruit of
the same tree. We felt ourselves united to them, and in honouring and
defending them we respected and benefited ourselves. But, except in the
case of the one family under whom I now am,
"All this has passed as a
dream,
Or the breaking of the bubble on the top of the wave."
Our superiors dwell not
among us ; they know not our language, and cannot converse with us; and
even their servants many of our Lairds scorn to take from among their
own men. They must have them from the Lowlands—spindle-sharked
creatures, with short breeches and white stockings, but without pith or
courage enough to rescue the young heir of the family from the beak of
the turkey-cock! Not so were thy men, Donald of the Glen, on the day
when "thy king landed in Moidar!'' |
