|
BIG DUNCAN the Fool was called "Garth's
Fool"
in Edinburgh, and in the Highland glens and straths
and Isles beyond his own district, "Big Duncan the
Piper." His home district was the land between Logierait and Drumalbane, watered by the Tay and
its tributaries the Dochart, the Lochay, the Lyon,
the Tummel, and the Garry. Duncan and his sister
were twins and both of them were born naturals.
Their misfortune could not be attributed to any
hereditary cause. Their father and mother were
not even distantly related, and were healthy people.
The two sons born to them after the unfortunate
twins were two as bright lads as could be found
anywhere. The father of this family of four was a
tailor and crofter who prospered by his industry in
a humbly comfortable and most respectable way,
until he was struck down by fever and died, when
the youngest was still a babe on the knee. His
young widow was left heavily handicapped by the
twins, and with little means beyond her own
spinning industry and general resourcefulness. She
had her reward for bearing with courage and hope a
burden under which many in her position would
have helplessly sunk, for she lived long after she saw
the elder of her two younger sons a well-placed and
deservedly popular minister of the Church of Scotland, and the other a worthy parish schoolmaster.
The boys were clever, ambitious, and persevering.
The parish school of Fortingall was taught, when
they entered it, by crippled Neil Macintyre, who,
if peppery and a strict disciplinarian, was quick to
discern merit, and to give instruction out of school
hours to pupils who wanted to go to the University,
and shared his own enthusiasm for classical learning.
"When Neil died his successor found the widow's two
clever boys at the top, or nearly at the top of the
school. This successor was Archibald Menzies, a
probationer of the Church of Scotland, who some
years later, by the influence of his Chief of Weem,
was appointed to the parish of Dull. The widow-mother of the boys was a Menzies also, and that fact
made, I suspect, a clannish connection which helped
them on. They certainly could and did make a good
fight on their own hand, but when the parish school
of Dull became vacant, there can be no doubt the
minister of Dull and the Chief of the Menzies clan
helped to appoint Robert, the elder of the brothers,
schoolmaster of that parish. As Robert wanted to
make the school a stepping-stone to the Church,
and his junior, Alexander, nourished a similar
ambition, the notable expedient was hit upon of
making them colleague schoolmasters, so that they
could in alternate sessions be at St Andrews
University. Robert compassed his ambition, but
Alexander, after a session or two at college, married
and settled down as schoolmaster of Dull, which
position he most honourably held for nearly half a
century. Both these Macgregor brothers were good
Gaelic poets and very ardent patriots.
"When Napoleon's banners at Boulogne
Armed in our islands every freeman,"
they jointly composed a warlike appeal to
the Highland clans, which had no small rousing and recruiting
effect throughout the Highlands. It begins:
Eiribh suas anns an am so,
Gach ceannard tha fo'n chrun;
Cumaibh thall na Frangaich,
Na leigibh 'm feasd a nail iad;
Ged robh sibh arm an teanndachd,
Na tionndaibh 'ur cul
Gus an coisinn sibh Ian bhuaidh,
'S am faigh sibh duals is cliu.
Glcidhibh taobh na fairge,
Is earbaibh ris na suil;
Bibh trie gu clis gar dearbhadh fein,
Nach tig iad ann an anamoch oirbh
Gus an ruig na sealgairean
O gharbh-bhcannan nan stuc;
'S iad na Cinnich as gach ionad
A philleas iad gu dluth.
After that rattling general call on
Highland
patriotism, each clan is separately invoked to come
forth in force for the national defence.
When children, Duncan and his sister were
both obedient to their mother. Duncan always
remained so, but Margaret when she grew up was a
handful to the poor widow. She took violent fits of
lunatic disobedience, and on more than one occasion
assaulted her mother, who had to be rescued by the
villagers. The rescuers had no compunction about
binding Margaret in tethers until she recovered
what portion of sense she possessed. Duncan, who
adored his mother, and was never violent to anybody, strongly, if silently, resented Margaret's
assaults on their mother. When Margaret died and
was buried, he went to the churchyard to see where
they had put her, for he never went to any funeral
and always kept away from wakes, and when the
bell-man showed him his sister's grave he danced on
it with joy, and shouted exultingly, "Feuch an
gabh thu air do mhathair a nise!" ("See if you can
now beat your mother!").
In childhood, Duncan and Margaret perambulated Fortingall together. As long as Dr David
Campbell of Glenlyon, on whose land they were
born and their mother had her cottage, was alive
they were constant visitors to the Glenlyon House
kitchen, with excursions also to that of Robert
Stewart of Garth. When the last Campbell Laird
of Glenlyon died, and his property passed to his
grand-nephew, Francis Gardyn Campbell of Troup,
who was a non-resident, the Garth House kitchen
became their objective. The Laird of Garth had a
lawyer relative, another Robert Stewart, in Edinburgh, whom his children, and the whole local population
in imitation of them, called "Robbie Uncle." One evening the twins came
rushing through the field to the house with the announcement that Robbie
Uncle was coming in a coach, and that they had cut through the field to
bring the news before he could get round and go up the drive. They were
believed, although the visit was not expected. Robbie Uncle and his coach,
however, were never seen by anybody else. The twins were truthful, but this
story of theirs was thought to be a concoction or strange joint hallucination, until soon
news came from Edinburgh that Robbie Uncle had
died there on the very day on which the twins said
they saw him and his coach.
Duncan's early and lasting desire was to
be
ranked among pipers. It was said that he could detect
the mistakes and shortcomings of trained fiddlers
and pipers. If so, he must have had a good ear for
music, although he could never play anything
through himself. He played bits of laments and
marches and reels all mixed up in comical disorder
and disharmony. But he admired his own performances, and this made him proud and happy,
especially when at weddings he could, apart from
the general company, get a lot of children on a
green mound to dance and shout about him in an
ecstacy of mad fun and frolic. In his early teens he
somehow managed to get old pipes. He then began
to widen the circuit of his roamings, and to expect a
piper's welcome and even fees. From a gentleman he
expected a silver coin, but from a common person a
copper farthing, halfpenny, or penny, would quite
content him if the coin given him had a king's head
on it, his motto being, "Is bonn nach fhiach bonn
gun dealbh," ("A coin without an image is a worthless coin "). He never consorted with tinkers, mealpoke beggars, or any other gangrel bodies, for in his
own estimation was he not a strolling piper and
gentleman? He never paid for anything, and never
spent a penny in purchases or gifts. But as long as his
mother lived he allowed her, under whining protests
to turn out his pockets and take his money. He
had the gathering and hiding instincts of a raven or
a magpie, and after his mother's death took to the
habit of concealing his coins in holes in trees and
walls, and never took them out again. Several of
his hoards have since been discovered, and more of
them yet may be found, for although small in value
they were numerous.
When George IV. visited Scotland, Duncan
went
to Edinburgh to see him, and on coming home
reported that the King was a "duine reamhar
tlachmhor" (a fat handsome man). He was in the
habit of going annually to the Caledonian meeting
in Edinburgh, and on the road and in the Capital
was treated generously as "Garth's Fool," while in
his own opinion he was Garth's piper. At Queensferry a change of ferryman had taken place. A
Pharaoh had arisen there who knew not our innocent
Joseph. The old ferryman passed Duncan back and
forward without ever asking him to pay for the
passage. The new ferryman turned him off the
boat because he would not pay, although probably
he could easily have done so had not paying for
anything been totally contrary to his fixed principle.
On being turned off, Duncan went down to the
beach beside the boat, and having looked at the
sea, shouted out in a defiant tone, "Ged tha e
leathann cha'n eil e domhain; togaidh mi m' fheile,
's theid mi troimhe!" ("Though it is broad it is not
deep; I'll lift my kilt and go through it!"). There
were Highlanders on board who put his words into
English, while Duncan was making visible preparations for carrying out his declared intentions.
Several offered to pay Duncan's fare, but when
matters were explained to the new ferryman, he took
Duncan on board, and made him the free passenger
he had been in the time of his predecessor.
After having officiated a time at Braemar,
Duncan's minister brother was appointed to the
parish of Kilmuir, in Skye. Duncan used to visit
the minister when he was at Braemar, but Skye lay
outside the circuit of his roamings and the bounds
of his topographical and social knowledge. The
people there, with the exception of the minister and
his wife, would be all strangers to him, and he
would be a stranger to them. So he let some years
elapse before he set his face towards Skye. But
one midwinter, such a longing to see his brother
came over him, that he went forth with his pipes on
that pilgrimage without telling anyone at home.
He must have had some share of the instinct of the
birds of passage, for he managed to make his way to
Portree through districts hitherto unknown to him,
and to obtain free ferry passage. Between Portree
and Kilmuir, he was overtaken by a wild snow and
wind storm. Stranger as he was, he always kept
his face the right way, although he finally strayed a
little from the proper road. He did not know it,
but he was pretty near the manse when his half-
frozen legs failed him, and he sat down to die. He
had some breath left yet, and he used it to blow the
pipes for his own coronach. His brother heard the
skirling between the gusts of wind, and said at
once: "That is Duncan if he is alive, and if he is
not it is his ghost. I feel he is in extreme peril.
Let us go and search for him." They marched
rapidly in the direction of the sound, but as that
was soon hushed, they lost some time in rinding the
place where poor Duncan had laid himself down to
die. When discovered he was speechless and helpless. They carried him to the manse, where on
being thawed and regaining power of utterance, he
said, as if in apology for his unwonted breakdown: "Mar bhitheadh a ghaoth cha d' thoirinn
baol air a chathamh" ("Were it not for the wind I
would not care the skin of a bean for the drifting.")
General David Stewart, the historian of the
Highland regiments, who, on the deaths of his
father and his elder brother, succeeded to the Garth
estate, was Duncan's hero of heroes and earthly
providence and deity. Duncan often carried messages
and letters between lairds' houses, and always carried
out his instructions with the greatest promptitude
and fidelity. General Stewart, in conversation with
Sir Neil Menzies, declared his belief that it was
impossible by any temptations to make Duncan
break a promise or cause him to deviate from the
literal performance of his instructions. Sir Neil
said, "Let us put him to a hard test. Send him
down to me next week with a note and an empty
basket, tied and sealed. Tell him that I will send
something else back in the basket, and make him
promise that he will deliver it to you as I gave it to him
without opening it by the way." The proposed test
was carried out. Duncan gave his promise to the
General, and delivered note and basket to Sir Neil,
who sent him to the Castle kitchen to be well fed
there, while he put the mysterious something in the
basket, and tied and sealed it very carefully. He
solemnly gave Duncan a note to the General and the
sealed basket, and made him promise again that
nothing should tempt him to open the basket by the
way. The day was hot and Duncan was well fed,
and very likely had been on one of his restless
roamings the previous night. So when he reached
Callwood he went over the wall to have a nice sleep
in the shade of the bushes among the ferns, keeping
a hand still on the basket. But his repose was in
a short time disturbed by movements and noises in
the basket. Between sleep and wakefulness
curiosity made Duncan forget his double promise.
He opened the basket, and out jumped a hare, which
in a moment got out of his sight among the bushes.
At Garth House he delivered an open basket and
the accompanying letter to the General. The latter,
having looked at the empty basket, read the note
and said, "Duncan, in this letter there is a hare."
He was not allowed to finish his sentence by the
word "mentioned," for Duncan, cutting a caper,
cried in huge delight, "Dilliman! Dilliman! she
has got into the letter though she jumped out and
ran away when I opened the basket in Callwood!"
At the General Election which followed the
passing of the Reform Bill, the Whigs of Perthshire
brought out Lord Ormelie, the son and heir of the
very popular first Marquis of Breadalbane, to oppose
the farmer Tory member, and they had a meeting to
promote his candidature at Fortingall, which all the
local Whig gentlemen attended. Among these was
Boreland, who not long before had been tried for
manslaughter. In a dark night Boreland fired with
small shot at a man who had broken into his house,
and when challenged and threatened, neither stopped
nor spoke. Some of the pellets intended for his legs
hit him in vital parts; and although he was not killed on the spot, he
subsequently died of the injuries. Duncan of course was present at the
gathering, and, in the pauses of the oratory, interjected some skirls of his pipes. At the close he
went round, hat in hand, for his piper's fee, and
made a great haul of sixpences and shillings. Boreland, having no smaller coin, threw a half-crown
into the hat. Amazed at getting such a big silver
coin, Duncan inspected it on both sides, and on
finding that its "dealbhan" or "images" were all
that could be desired, looked up at Boreland and
said in a loud voice, "Dhia!'s math nach do chroch
iad sibh" ("O God! it's well they did not hang you!")
Duncan's ideas of what should be his full
dress
as a piper were peculiar. In one thing he never
varied. He always wore on his head no Highland
bonnet but an old chimney-pot hat. He got their
discarded ones from gentlemen and ministers. His
jackets were well bedizzened with buttons. He
wore a girdle and shabby sporran. His kilt was
less like a kilt than a woman's short petticoat.
Brogues and either hose or stockings, as necessity
decreed, completed his attire. Very often he was
restless at night, and would sleep outside in the
daytime. It was lucky for himself and others that
he was strictly honest, for had he not been so he
might have been very troublesome, since when the
night-roaming fit was on him it was his habit to go
to bed in one place at the usual hour, and ere
morning to be found scaring sleepers at another
house miles away, and reassuring the scared ones
by saying it was only himself, "'S mi fhein a th'
aim." These house-breaking night surprises were,
it is said, made easier for him by the fact that dogs
took him for a friend and would not bark at
him. He seems to have had a brotherhood relationship and mysterious influence over most animals.
Although it is well vouched for, the following story
about that mysterious influence of his is hardly
credible. But it gained local belief in the district
of which it was the scene, and even was pictorially
represented. Here it is as far as I can recollect
it:-
The Laird of Duntanlich had a fine young
bull,
for which he got summer-grazing in the Duke of
Atholl's deer forest. The animal became rampagious
in the forest, attacked dogs and men, and nearly
killed a forester. Word was sent to the Laird that
the bull would be shot if he did not instantly take
him away. Taking him away alive and safe was too
risky a task to be readily undertaken by ordinary
men. Knowing of Duncan's reputation for having
a mysterious influence over animals, the Laird sent
for him, told him his difficulty, and asked him if he
would go for the wild beast. Duncan said he would
on these conditions, that a horse and some lengths
of cord should be given to him, and that he should
be let into the forest to spend a night there, and
that the foresters should not interfere with him.
Having before night-fall been let into the forest,
and the place where the bull was to be found having
been pointed out to him, the foresters left him to
his own devices. Next morning, when people were
rising and lighting their fires, they saw Duncan,
with tall hat and pipes, riding down the highway
on the back of a quietly marching bull, with the
horse, its halter tied to the bull's tail, placidly following. Whether or not the tale received ornamental touches of fiction in the popular version of
it, there is, I believe, no doubt as to the fact that
Duncan safely brought home a dangerous animal,
which was ever afterwards as tame as any of its
kind.
Had Duncan, like persons of
his sort in the present day, been shut up in a workhouse or an asylum, he
would soon have died of a broken heart, and the places of his perambulations
would have been deprived of a long, lasting source of amusement. He had such
a horror of death that it kept him away from wakes and funerals. He loved
wedding festivities, and, invited or uninvited, contrived to be present at most of those which took
place within two or three parishes. He lived and
roamed about till between seventy and eighty years of
age. His legs at last suddenly failed him, and he was
taken to his brother the schoolmaster's house, where
some months later he died. The parish minister
used to visit him and speak to him about the present
life and the after-death life. Duncan did not much
care about either life. The word "aiseirigh," the
"re-arising," which is the Gaelic for resurrection,
aroused his keen attention. "Do we all rise again?"
he eagerly asked. "The Bible, which is the word
of God, says so," replied the minister. Duncan
raised his head, clapped his hands, and cried out,
"Dilliman! Dilliman! I'll see my General again!"
meaning General Stewart of Garth, who died at
St. Lucia, of which he was Governor, many years
before. To poor Duncan, seeing his General meant
heavenly bliss and the fulfilment of his highest
desire. |
