A Mysterious Light on Hasgeir: The Teine Mór or Big Fire - Part 2

We’ve promised you another article about the ‘mysterious light’ seen on the rocky islet of Hasgeir off North Uist in October 1867. Here it is, as printed in the Inverness Courier, 14 November 1867, on the page directly following the article printed in our last blog. As you can see, it’s quite a length, but we think that, despite the generously upholstered Victorian prose style, it’s so fascinating, taking in everything from gory and, for us today, rather upsetting details concerning local seal-hunting to the intriguing teine mór or big fire, that it’s worth quoting in full.

The Mysterious Light at Hasker –

A Legend Revived.

We have mentioned elsewhere in a paragraph from North Uist that a wreck was supposed to have taken place on the rocky island of Hasker, as a light was seen on one of the headlands. A correspondent refers at greater length to the subject in the following communication: –

   ‘North Uist, Oct. 26, 1867. – The weather must have been bad enough at Nether-Lochaber last fortnight when it suggested to your correspondent in that quarter the woeful picture of Lear and his slender retinue on that fearful night, which ‘pitied neither wise men nor fools,’ when his unnatural daughter turned him away from her door. Here, also, the rains and storms have been foul and furious. Had we never heard of Old Lear, the elements are often fierce enough to draw largely on our fears and sympathies.

   ‘In a former communication I had occasion to mention that on our western shores the water is shallow and dotted over with rocks and shoals. A reference to a chart of these parts, however, will show that the coast of North Uist presents a more formidable array of rocks and rocky islands than any other point of the whole Long Island.

First, there is Monach Island, where a lighthouse has been lately erected, and which has been the scene of many a painful spectacle – where many a noble ship and gallant sailor finished their career for ever. Then, there is St Kilda, which, though standing thirty-five miles out to sea, may still be considered merely as a spur or continuation of the inner rocks; and nearly in a line with St Kilda, and some twelve miles from land, there is another huge rock, or rather a range of rocks, rising sheer up from a great depth to a height of upwards of two hundred feet above the watermark, and forming, as it were, a rampart or outpost for the protection of the throng of low-lying rocks in its rear, and which in its presence hide their diminished heads.

This rock, which is called Hasker, is irregular in shape: three sides present an unbroken line of steep precipitous cliffs, which utterly defy any attempt to scale them even in the finest weather. On one side, however, there is a ledge, where landing can be effected under favourable circumstances. Hasker is the resort of innumerable seals and sea-birds.

Thither, till of late years, the natives of this island have been in the habit of repairing occasionally to shoot, and, apart from its profitable aspect, this was considered a bit of adventure, and a good deal of preparation, excitement, and rivalry where displayed on such occasions. As a rule, the best boats, the fairest weather, and the stoutest men in nerve and limb were selected. They usually arrived at the rock about midnight, and having gone through some preliminary arrangements, inter alia, that of substituting for their boots several pairs of stockings to protect their feet from the mussels, with which every stone is incrusted, they commenced their march noiselessly, in perfect order, and armed with huge clubs, in quest of their intended victims.

About half-way up the rock is a broad, shallow pool, which, under the friendly shelter of tall, overhanging cliffs, and surrounded with smooth ledges, might well have figured in Homer as a favourite resort of Nereids, but which more probably has served the seals as sleeping berths for countless ages. To this spot the storming party bend their steps. The poor unsuspecting seals, roused by this unexpected intrusion, only succeed in getting into the grandest confusion in their frantic efforts to find their way to the sea.

Finding themselves hemmed in on all sides, the instinct of self-preservation inspires them in many instances with sufficient courage to face their assailants. Meanwhile, the wholesale slaughter goes on mercilessly, and, according to all accounts, it requires a firm footing, a steady nerve, and considerable dexterity in wielding the club to hit the grinning monster at the right moment and on the most vulnerable point. But I digress; I will now turn to the weather once more.

   ‘One night last week some keen-sighted persons observed a light at Hasker, as they thought, and next day, with the help of a spying-glass, sure enough three or four men were seen stalking about on the loftiest ridge of the rock. The report spread with electric speed and produced the greatest sensation throughout the country. Many were the manifestations of sympathy and the expressions of anxiety lest the poor castaways should succumb to want and exposure before they could be rescued. But, to support hope, like Whang the miller’s dream, the light was seen again in the same spot for several consecutive nights, though there were, indeed, a few obstinate persons who, from some defect or other in their visual faculties, could not manage to see it at all.

The westerly gales which had continued to blow all this time with provoking pertinacity at last calmed down, when several boats set out, amply provided with food and clothing, for the forlorn outcasts. After struggling long and bravely with the Atlantic billows, the party at length arrived at their destination; but what was their disappointment and surprise at discovering no trace of human beings. The question, of course, naturally arose – how to account for the light! Some gently hinted that possibly there was no light, or, if there was, that it may have been more imaginary than real. Others, not much disposed to be sceptical in such a plain case, scouted this heresy, and accounted for it on more reasonable grounds. But the true solution was reserved to a conclave of wise matrons, who declared in the most decided terms that it was the Teine mòr – big fire – and nothing else.

   ‘The history of this singular phenomenon is curious, and as it does not exactly partake of the same character with the other legends and traditional lore of this part of the country, inasmuch as its first appearance, which was connected with a mysterious and rather extraordinary occurrence, is of comparatively recent date, perhaps it may not be much out of place to give a brief account of it.

A narrow strip of land immediately bordering on the west sea-coast consists entirely of sand-banks which abound in madder root. This root was largely used by our great-grandmothers as a dye stuff; but as the holes and burrows formed in digging for it helped materially to perpetuate the non-cultivation of the land, it was in due season prohibited under heavy penalties. As might be expected, the more refractory of these worthy dames did not submit to this curtailment of their liberty with a good grace; but as they could get madder root no more by fair means, they did not scruple to take it under the friendly shades of night.

It was in the island of Benbecula, some fifty years ago, one Sunday night, that a young woman went to dig this root, despite the warm remonstrances of her mother, who, the story says, cursed her daughter as being always a perverse stubborn creature. This young woman was never seen again. A few traces of her, however, were discovered, such as some loose articles of clothing and stray bits of the roots she had been digging, which were found, not in one place, but marking out a line, in the direction of the sea-beach. Not the faintest footprints could be seen along this track, but scratches were observed in the sand, as if a person were dragged along rapidly, and at the same time held aloft, but not so high but that his toes at intervals came in contact with the surface.

It was on the night following this tragic occurrence that the Teine mòr, or, as it was styled in English, Spunkie, put in its first appearance. The mystery was now cleared up to the satisfaction of all sensible persons. It was evident that the adversary of mankind had danced away with the ill-fated woman, and that her spirit was condemned to wander, in this shape visible to mortal eyes, around the scenes of her former misdoings, both as a punishment to herself and a warning to all young women to abstain in future from madder root digging on Sunday nights, and from incurring the curses of their mothers. No wonder, then, that this phenomenon should at all times inspire an uncommon amount of superstitious awe and terror.

At first it confined itself for several years to Benbecula, roving about dark lakes, marshes, and arms of the sea, a fit representative of the disconsolate shades wandering on the slimy banks of the Styx, vainly craving a passage of grim old Charon till the term of their penance had expired. Gaining courage by experience, it subsequently extended its peregrination to the neighbouring islands, and many and various are the stories told of its antics. It often indulged in a mischievous trick of waylaying the wayfarer in the most lonely and out-of-the-way places, such as crossing fords and moors. Of late years, however, it has begun to lose credit and a goodly share of its former terror, on discovering which it made several excursions across the Minch: and the last that was seen of it has been already recorded, when it was enlightening the scarts [cormorants] and seals on the wild rock of Hasker!’

The story of Whang the Miller, from Oliver Goldsmith’s The Citizen of the World, remained a stalwart of the school curriculum through the Victorian era and beyond.

As many readers will know, spunkie is a widespread dialectal word for the Will o’ the Wisp. In the next blog we’ll present some other accounts of the teine mór: how it first came into this world, what it looked like, where it was seen, and the people it haunted.

Bibliography:

Inverness Courier, 14 November 1867, p. 5 [with extra paragraph breaks added for legibility's sake]

Image:

Hasgeir from a helicopter (Denise van den Brun)

A Mysterious Light on Hasgeir: The Teine Mór or Big Fire - Part 1

Following on from our last newspaper column blog, we’re going to print two very different pieces from the Inverness Courier, about the same strange phenomenon: a mysterious light seen on the rocky islet of Hasgeir, eight miles into the Atlantic off the west coast of North Uist. We then hope to print a few accounts of the intriguing teine mór: if you don’t know the story of the ‘big fire’ yet, we can promise that it’ll be worth the wait!

 

Although the event the articles describe apparently took place some time in October 1867, both of them were printed in the same edition of the Courier, on 14 November. The first one – the more straightforward account – was reprinted in the Dundee Advertiser two days later, while the second was partially copied by the Elgin Courier the next day. To begin with, here’s the first article as it appeared on page 5:

 

North Uist. – A Mysterious Light. – A light having been seen for several successive nights on the rocks of Hasker, the general opinion prevailing was that a ship’s crew had been cast away there and had lost their boat. The circumstance of a number of fresh deals [planks of fir or pine] being washed ashore on the beach opposite to those rocks increased the current belief to such a degree that a boat should be sent to rescue any lives that might be there. Alexander Mann, and five other fishermen, volunteered to make the attempt. They started from the Bay of Hoglan [Bàgh Hogha Glan, beside Taigh a’ Ghearraidh], and succeeded in landing on the rock. These rocks are difficult of access even in summer, but no trace of any landing on the rocks or of any people having been there lately, was found. Whether the light was an unusual star, or the reflection from the lighthouse on the rocks in Hasker, is not known. The Rev. John. A. Macrae, minister of North Uist; Dr Macdonald, J.P.; and Capt. Macrae, J.P.; have recommended, by a memorial to the Board of Trade, that these hardy fishermen should be rewarded for the risk of their voluntary efforts in proceeding to the rocks, as the service occupied several days, and was performed at great risk. Mr K. Groom of Stornoway, receiver of wrecks for the Long Island, has forwarded the memorial to the proper quarter, after strongly recommending that the prayer of the memorial may be granted.

 

The boat crew were given a reward for the dangers they underwent: five pounds, ‘to be divided amongst them’, out of the Mercantile Marine Fund. Local genealogists might be interested in their names: according to information in the RCAHMS Canmore site, as well as Alexander Mann there were Roderick Macaulay, A. McLellan, L. McLellan, J. McDouglas, and A. McIsaac. We would be very interested to hear more about them.

 

In our next blog, we’ll print the second, much longer article that appeared in the Inverness Courier. Although it deals with the same event, it’s rather more colourful...

Bibliography:
Inverness Courier, 14 November 1867, 5.

Image:
Hasgeir eight miles off Rubha Ghriminis [by Sean Morley, www.riverandocean.com]

Highland Newspapers online - and an obituary of Father James MacGregor

It’s been a long time coming, but a new age is slowly dawning for Highland history. At long last, Highland newspapers are being digitised and put online – for a price! So far, the British Newspaper Archive has made available a complete run of the Inverness Courier up until the end of the 1860s, and just a single year, 1879, of the Oban Times. When all newspapers from the Highlands (and further afield) are finally digitised and accessible on computer, it will revolutionise our understanding of the history of the region, allowing us to search and browse not only the news being reported in their pages, but also all the fascinating columns, letters, lore, poetry, song, and advertisements they contain: all this without having to travel to libraries and wade through fiddly, noisy, eye-aching reels of microfilm.

 

There are, of course, problems. Firstly, Optical Character Recognition is still not good enough to allow accurate and comprehensive searches of what we’re looking for: over and over again coarse, irregular newspaper fonts and smudged ink (to say nothing of curled page edges or poor digitised images!) play havoc with our investigations. We can never be sure that we haven’t missed that crucial piece of evidence: in the end, hit-and-miss searches are still no substitute for comprehensive, methodical, page-by-page trawls. When it comes to searching for Gaelic words, of course, these problems multiply exponentially – though, as the language has historically used Roman letters, Scottish Gaelic is not so unsearchable as its Irish cousin (at present, though this may well change).

 

A more serious problem, one maybe needing to be addressed as soon as possible, relates to different editions of single newspapers. Newspaper runs, of course, have always been altered and adjusted as fresh news comes in during the evening and the night. Again, newspapers have printed and continue to print different editions for different areas. There is no such thing, then, as an official, canonical, single specific issue of, for instance, the Inverness Courier or the Oban Times for a particular day.

 

A major problem for us in the Highlands is that different newspaper editions might offer local news, local columnists, or local occasional literature (particularly material in Gaelic) that might not have been printed in the ‘main’ edition. As we might expect, such local editions have a particularly low survival rate, and it would be rather catastrophic if old numbers from these runs were to end up in a skip because the main edition of the newspaper was now ostensibly ‘safely online’. In the future we shall still have to consult hard paper copies (no matter how fragile), trawl through microfilms (no matter how exasperating), or browse newspaper cuttings-books (of which we have a plethora, from several different owners, in the Carmichael Watson Project).

 

Over the next few blogs we’ll print some Carmichael-related material (and maybe some non-Carmichael-related material too) culled from newspapers in the Highlands and beyond. Here, to begin with, is an obituary for Father James MacGregor, Roman Catholic priest at Ardkenneth, an t-Ìochdar, South Uist. The piece was printed in the Inverness Courier for 25 April 1867. Maighstir Seumas had died some time previously, on 15 February, of what appears to have been a painful kidney infection.

 

Obituaries are fascinating in what they tell us of how contemporaries viewed the deceased, and the little glimpses and hints they give into personalities. As a search for his name in the Carmichael Watson Project, the Calum Maclean Project, or Tobar an Dualchais  demonstrates, Father James MacGregor remained well-known in tradition for well over a century after his death, not just as a local character, but also for his reputation as a healer, occasionally employing somewhat unorthodox methods.

 

Notes from Uist.

   A correspondent in the Long Island writes as follows: –
   ‘Two persons have lately died in this quarter who will be much missed – the Rev. Jas. Macgrigor, Roman Catholic priest, South Uist, and Mrs Macdonald, Scolpaig, North Uist. Both died at the age of seventy-seven. Mr Macgrigor was a native of the interior of Perthshire. He studied at the Roman Catholic College of Lismore, Argyllshire, before that seminary was removed to Blair, Aberdeenshire. After leaving Lismore he was appointed to the mission station of Lochaber, where he remained for ten years. Thence he was transferred to Iocar, South Uist, where he laboured for the long period of thirty-nine years. Mr Macgrigor was a man of humour and cheerfulness, and endowed with much sound common sense. He was tolerant towards all, and lived in peace and charity with all men. It was be safely affirmed of him that he was equally beloved and respected by all classes and all denominations. He had a good knowledge of medicine, and the people had great confidence in his skill. Like the noble Fingal of old, of whose son’s poems he was fond to the last, his door was never closed. His greatest delight was to see people at his house, and as far as in his power to administer to their comfort and happiness. If Mr Macgrigor had a predominant weakness, it was land-improving and iron gates. He had tons of iron rails and iron gates about him. On the short approach leading to his house at Aird-Choinnich he had no fewer than three or four ponderous iron gates, each more complex than the other in its construction and fastenings. This, upon one occasion, led to a witty remark from the late Bishop Murdoch, of Glasgow, himself a man of much humour. Upon his coming to Aird-Choinnich on one occasion rather unexpectedly, and experiencing some difficulty in getting through the gates, he remarked that ‘if Father Macgrigor guarded the way to heaven as effectually as that to his house, it would be no easy task effecting an entrance.’ Mr Macgrigor was a man of great integrity, and at heart a thorough gentleman. With the exception, perhaps, of the funeral of the late greatly-beloved and regretted Dr Maclean, of Milton, so large a concourse of people as that which attended Mr Macgrigor’s funeral has not been seen in this quarter for many a day. Protestant widows were there, equally demonstrative in their grief as their Roman Catholic sisters; and Protestant ministers were there, who united with Roman Catholic priests in saying that they had all lost a friend whose equal they were not likely soon to see again. – Mrs Macdonald, Scolpaig, was a native of Skye. She was a lady of a fine presence and personal appearance, and of much culture and intelligence. Although none could escape feeling that he was in the presence of a lady of superior attainments, her unassuming modesty prevented her revealing the rich stores of her mind to any but her intimate friends. Mrs Macdonald was highly respected by all, and greatly beloved by the poor.’

Mrs Macdonald, Scolpaig, was Barbara née Tolmie (1789–1867), daughter of John Tolmie (1742–1823), Seoc Tolm, tacksman of Uiginish in Skye. She was the widow of Captain John Macdonald (d. 1843), tacksman of Scolpaig in North Uist, and mother of John Macdonald of Newton (1824–88), factor of North Uist from 1855 and a close family friend of Alexander Carmichael.

Bibliography:
Inverness Courier, 25 April 1867, 7
Mackenzie, Hector Hugh. The Mackenzies of Ballone (Inverness: Northern Chronicle, 1941), 94–9.

Image:
St Michael's, Ardkenneth.

Prayers, blessings, charms, and incantations: What Carmichael did and didn't print before Carmina Gadelica - II

In this blog and the next one we’d like to take a look at how Alexander Carmichael was first inspired to publish charms he had collected, in the ‘Nether-Lochaber’ column of the Inverness Courier, compiled by his friend the Rev. Alexander Stewart (1829–1901).

Stewart was always looking for fresh material for his newspaper column, a compendium of local anecdotes and observations, mainly concerning natural history and folklore, whose lively conversational style and curious subject matter had won a wide readership throughout the country. For many readers, ‘Nether-Lochaber’ was the Inverness Courier. Among the myriad topics broached by Stewart were proverbs, riddles, songs, and charms: short, unusual items which could fill a column and were almost guaranteed to elicit a response from readers, encouraging them to send in examples of their own.

From September 1871 ‘Nether-Lochaber’ began to mine a productive lode, printing a series of Gaelic riddles and other linguistic curiosities together with English translations. Among them was a healing charm, ‘taken down for us a short time ago by a gentleman in a neighbouring district from the recitation of an old woman on his property. It bears internal evidence of being intended for use only in the case of sprains, bruises, and dislocations.’ This was printed, together with a translation, in the Inverness Courier for 9 November 1871:

Esan a mharcaich gu stòld’,

Air an asail dheas òg a bha grinn;

A leighis gach creuchd ’s gach plàigh,

’S a dh-aisig gu slaint’ na bha tinn;

Leighis E sùilean an doill,

Do’n bhacach rinn rathad réidh;

Le Peadair ’s le Pàl, ’s le Muire bean àigh,

Biodh dlu an drasd’, a leigh[e]as nan cnamh ’s nam féith’.

Suathadh a’s sile a’s luibh Challam-chille

   (’An ainm an Athair),

Suathadh a’s sile a’s luibh Challam-chille

   (’An ainm a Mhic),

Suathadh a’s sile a’s luibh Challam-chille

   (’An ainm an Spioraid Naoimh),

Suathadh a’s sile a’s pòg ’o bhilibh –

      Amen!

He that rode with dignity

On the fine young ass that was handsome;

Who healed every wound and plague,

And restored the sick to health;

He healed the blind man’s eyes,

And made a level path for the crippled man;

With Peter and Paul, with Mary, blessed woman,

May [He] be near now, to heal the bones and sinews.

Rubbing and spittle and Saint Columba’s wort

   (In the name of the Father),

Rubbing and spittle and Saint Columba’s wort

   (In the name of the Son),

Rubbing and spittle and Saint Columba’s wort

   (In the name of the Holy Ghost),

Rubbing and spittle and a kiss from the lips –

      Amen!

On 20 June 1872, after the interest in riddles had run its course, Stewart published another four charms, including the two taken from Caraid nan Gàidheal. These were Rann Galar nan Sùl (‘A Rhyme for Sore Eyes’); Eòlas air a’ Ghréim-Mhionaich (‘A Charm for the Colic’); Eòlas an t-Snìomh (‘A Charm for a Sprain’); and Eòlas an Tairbhein (‘A Charm for the Tairbhean’). One reader in particular was inspired by the column to send in some charms from his own collection: Alexander Carmichael.

References:

‘Nether-Lochaber’, Inverness Courier, 9 November 1871 & 20 June 1872.

Image:

Rev. Alexander Stewart, ‘Nether-Lochaber’, Celtic Monthly, ix (1901), 19.

Nether Lochaber: The Rev. Alexander Stewart – III

Here is the third and final excerpt of the appreciation of the Rev. Alexander Stewart contributed by Donald Ross to the Inverness Courier where the minister’s interest in the natural world is highlighted, some background to his character, his interests in literary criticism and his final fortnightly column preceding his death. There can be little doubt that he achieved a great deal during his lifetime and his literary efforts were recognised by the University of St Andrews, his alma mater, with the award of the degree of LL.D. in 1884. Previously in 1876 he had been elected, just as Alexander Carmichael had been, a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, and he was also made a Fellow of the Royal Physical Society of Edinburgh, and of the Geographical and Natural History Societies of Glasgow. He was also a corresponding member of several learned Societies on the Continent. In addition to all of this he also managed to find time to devote his attention to editing Logan’s Scottish Gael, a two-volume tome of substantial portions. Perhaps the inscription on his memorial best sums up the man and his achievements: “In memory of Rev. Alexander Stewart, LL.D., F.S.A. Scot. For fifty years minister of Ballachulish and Ardgour. Died 17th January, 1901, in the 72nd year of his age. Scholar, naturalist, seanachie, and bard. Distinguished for the variety and charm of his writings; dear to all how knew him, and most dear to those who knew him best.”

A LOVER OF BIRDS

Perhaps Stewart was at his best and happiest when discoursing on the habits, trials, and charms of the songsters in his glebe. Not only were his descriptions accurate; they were often amusing, provoking a smile or outright laughter. One of the most hilarious letters to the “Courier” in 1890 (alas printed in no book) is about an inveterate tearer-up of books, Jack the Ripper, his pet jackdaw, who was excused the complete destruction of a Book of Common Prayer in an Episcopalian home in Onich because “he had been brought up a Presbyterian.” He was equally at home with fishes and people brought to his manse all the odd infrequent creatures of the deep, caught or cast ashore, for his learned identification.

He was in other ways a curious mixture of convention and unconvention. He had no Victorian inhibition about stripping in a boat and enjoying a swim in Loch Leven. He writes without embarrassment or apology about sly allusions in a Gaelic poem to the significance of the loss of the maidenly snood. Yet he was against “innovation.” He would not tolerate any interference with the established texts of his Church. He protested against the new translation of the Scriptures, and he would have no truck with the replacement of the Paraphrases by hymns. As for the emancipation of the fair sex, he was convinced that women’s supremacy should be limited to the nursery or the kitchen!

A WELL-LOVED MINISTER

In his pastoral life he had the full confidence and warm affection of the people: not only the established of his own flock, but also the adherents of all the many other sects in the district. They all called him “Nether.” He was a popular preacher, equally fluent in Gaelic and English, but happier and freerer in his mother tongue. He had no clerical starchiness, and said that on occasions a song with a moral was better to be used than a sermon.

Men and women living to-day in Onich were christened by “Nether”; those who cannot remember him a vivid picture of his personality handed down on by their parents. His memory is green — a memory of a vigorous, eager and buoyant character. If he had never written anything, he would be remembered as a first-class sailor, a good swimmer and horseman, a successful fisherman with a rod and line, a hill-walker. As pater-familias, he instructed his three children in the natural history of the sea, shore and land. He was a farmer, like many country ministers, busy tilling, sowing, and harvesting his glebe, managing the byre and poultry-house.

KEEN LITERARY CRITICISM

For all his love of the classics, Stewart was a keen critic of modern literature. And in the field of Gaelic song, original and translated, he has a right to be classed with Pattison of Islay, Sheriff Nicolson of Skye, and his friend John Stuart Blackie. If he contributed less than these, he had the gift of introducing the Gaelic bards to English readers. Fourteen of his songs, favourites at mods, are preserved for posterity in Malcolm C. Macleods’ “Modern Gaelic Bards, Second Series” (1913): they include a translation of Robert Tannahill’s “Gloomy winter’s noo awa’.”

Nether’s final contribution to the “Courier” appeared in the issue which briefly announced his unexpected death on 17th January, 1901, suddenly after an illness brought about by an accident a year before. It was a typical letter on folk-lore and Highland custom, about the Black Art and the playing of the trump or Jew’s harp at ceilidhs.

THE MEMORIAL CROSS

Two-and-a-half years after the say day of his burial another great concourse assembled on the 18th July, 1903, by the lochside road at Onich, again to pay homage to the beloved pastor and man of letters. A public subscription organised by the Stewart Society had provided a memorial in the form of a 20-feet high Celtic cross. It was unveiled by Stewart of Achnacone, and Stewart of Ardvorlich pronounced the address to the memory of a great clansman, “venerable divine, a learned doctor, a great Celtic scholar, a lover of nature, a true Highlander well versed in the lore of his country.”

The cross was removed for safety from quarrying operations in 1955 to the new village cemetery at Innis a’ Bhiorlinn, secluded on the sloping hillside near Corran Ferry. Facing towards the gates of Ardgour, the inscription is from 1st Kings IV, 33, in Gaelic and English, aptly from the record of one other who, too, was a singer of songs and the embodiment of wisdom—“and he spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: he spake also of beats, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.”

Reference:
Ross, Donald ‘Nether Lochaber: Memories of a Well-known Highlander’, The Inverness Courier, no. 11943 (20 Jan., 1961), p. 3
Image: Portrait of Nether Lochaber from The Celtic Magazine, vol. IX, no. 5 (1901), p. 19

Nether Lochaber: The Rev. Alexander Stewart – II

Continuing with the second excerpt from the appreciation of the Rev. Alexander Stewart contributed by Donald Ross to the Inverness Courier, more detail emerges of Nether Lochaber’s fortnightly literary columns. The two books, which were the fruition of such literary labours, are also name-checked. It may also be added at this juncture that the Rev. Alexander Stewart was also a notable poet – much of his output was posthumously edited by Malcolm C. Macleod and appeared in Modern Gaelic Bards (1913) – as well as a founder member of An Comunn Gàidhealach (or the Highland Society), founded in Oban in 1891, and the Gaelic Mòd, an annual festival held for over one hundred years now and celebrated recently in Caithness.

FIRST CONTRIBUTION TO THE “COURIER”

During the first ten years of his ministry, Stewart must have developed into an assiduous student of nature in all its moods, for he became a district correspondent to the “Inverness Courier,” then edited by Dr Robert Carruthers. Carruthers had earlier been the literary godfather of another of his country contributors, the Cromarty stonemason-geologist, Hugh Miller. His first article appeared on 21st April 1859, entitled “Lochaber—A Chapter for Ornithologists.” It contained 1,100 words, unsigned, on birds and meteorology, and started with a note on recent weather “with us in Nether Lochaber” and dealt with a weather forecast and a find of old coins. On 19th May it was about potatoes and grampuses. The fourth letter, a fortnight later, appeared under “The Weather, etc.” discussing peat; and dogfish at Corran. In June there was more of weather, a dissertation on the cuckoo, and a report of the drowning of a village child in the peat moss at Cuilchenna.

Later contributions demonstrated and consolidated the evidence of his intimate knowledge of folk-lore, and Gaelic poetry, tradition and legend. They grew under the influence of his mentor Carruthers into a familiar and characteristic form. Stewart applied to this writing his experience and the imagination which flourished on experience and the deductions of his enquiring mind. His greatest quality was his ability to write in an unaffected, graceful literary style, unpatronising, apparently artless, yet full of art. He talked about archaeology, natural history, the habits of birds, beasts and fishes, and he could communicate to his readers the wonders of science in a manner painless and pleasant.

The heading of his articles, “Nether Lochaber”, soon became his pen-name, and ultimately a second, informal everyday name. Long before 1881, when Alexander Mackenzie, historian of the clans, champion of the oppressed, and editor of the “Celtic Magazine”, named him the “Prince of Provincial newspaper correspondents,” his column was established as one of the most attractive features of the “Courier.”

BOOKS WIDELY WELCOMED

It is not surprising that public acclaim demanded book publication, and the first Stewart collection came on in 1883, aptly titled “Nether Lochaber: the Natural History, Legends, and Folk-lore of the West Highlands.” The book contained a selection from the records of the years 1868 to 1878. Chapter I is a good introductory example of “Nether Lochaber” in all his exuberance and diversity—primroses and daisies of early March, a weather forecast embellished with a Latin tag, quotations from Burns and Coleridge, the translation of a Gaelic poem, and the explanation of the Hebridean customs it described. The book was highly praised by the press. Among the many journals, Scottish and English, that welcomed it was the “Spectator,” whose review, a model of perspicacity and concise summing-up, said that it was “written…with that entrain with which a busy man throws himself into the favourite occupation of his leisure hours.”

The publishers must have been encouraged by the success of the book, for in 1885 appeared a second selection, “’Twixt Ben Nevis and Glencoe,” covering the years 1878 to 1883. This book continued to exhibit the author’s versatility and literary gifts as well as his accurate knowledge of scientific advance natural history, and Celtic folk-lore. Writing in 1881, Alexander Mackenzie has expressed astonishment of readers of the “Courier” that such a flow of science in popular form, and prose-poetry, could emanate form the “literary desert” of Lochaber. Yet we know that Stewart’s seclusion was pleasantly broken by visits from eminent men and women, and that correspondence linked him with people far and near. His memory was well stored with his youthful reading, and in the press of a busy pastoral life he kept abreast of the literature of the day. His material, too, was everywhere around him, the lore which he picked up in his rambles among the hills or along the shore, and in his talks with men and women at their daily lives.

Reference:
Ross, Donald ‘Nether Lochaber: Memories of a Well-known Highlander’, The Inverness Courier, no. 11943 (20 Jan., 1961), p. 3
Image: Portrait of Nether Lochaber from The Celtic Magazine, vol. IX, no. 5 (1901), p. 19

Nether Lochaber: The Rev. Alexander Stewart

A name to be reckoned with which has cropped up in this blog on more than once occasion is Nether Lochaber, the pen-name of the Rev. Alexander Stewart (1829–1901). Over more than four decades of contributing a more or less fortnightly column to the Inverness Courier resulted in two publications: Nether Lochaber: The Natural History, Legends and Folk-lore of the West Highlands (1883) and ’Twixt Ben Nevis and Glencoe: The Natural History, Legends, and Folk-lore of the West Highlands (1885). His namesake Alexander Carmichael may have got to know him from these very columns but it is likely that they may have come across one another earlier than 1859, the date on which Nether Lochaber penned his first of many contributions on wide-ranging topics such as folklore, poetry, meteorology and ornithology. An occasional contribution, as we have seen already, would wend its way from Carmichael when he was resident in Benbecula. This was the very island of Nether Lochaber’s birth for his father had been on the island working for the excise at that time. The well-respected minister passed away in early 1901, only a few months after the publication of Carmina Gadelica. It might well have been one of the last books that the Rev. Alexander Stewart was to read. Although we have yet to find evidence to the contrary, it is likely that Carmichael would have been present at his friend’s funeral. The following is the first excerpt of an appreciation of Nether Lochaber written by Donald Ross.

The “Inverness Courier,” in the issue of 25th January 1901, reported the death and funeral of a Highland scholar, “a patriot who name would be handed down to posterity as the revered and honoured of Celts all over the world.” Three days earlier the largest gathering possibly ever to assemble by Loch Leven in Nether Lochaber had witnessed the burial of Dr Alexander Stewart, minister of the Established Church at North Ballachulish, a man who had become a legend in his own time. For almost fifty years he had been respected, indeed revered, for his scholarship, love of nature and homeland, and, above all, for his humanity. It was a day of lowering and overcastting sky and mist driving over a background of sea and snow-clad mountains. Pipers of Ballachulish Volunteer Company of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders preceded the procession from the manse at Onich, playing “MacCrimmon’s Lament,” “Lochaber no More,” and “The Land o’ the Leal.” Then came representatives of the clans, learned societies, the Presbyter of Abertarff, the Stewart Society; and Cameron of Lochiel. Nearly every man and boy in the locality followed, and women and girls stood on the mile-long route, or watched from the hillside above the churchyard. It is clear from the account of the day that all were filled with emotion to a degree that could have come only from a sense of irreparable loss and identity with a great heart that has been lost to the Highlands. It is fitting, sixty years later, that we should recall with pride the name and work of Alexander Stewart, “Nether Lochaber”.

He was born in 1829 in Benbecula, where his father was an officer of the Inland Revenue. When Alexander was young his family moved to Oban. He went to school there, and later at Kilmichael in Perthshire, and had ample opportunity to acquire much of his early knowledge of the lore of the Highlands before he entered St Andrews University in 1843. He obtained his M.A., distinguishing himself especially in literature and the classics.

Stewart was ordained in 1851, after service as a missionary in Oban and assistant in Paisley. He started his ministry in Nether Lochaber, being presented by the Crown to the combined parish of North Ballachulish and Ardgour. He had charge of 1,100 souls, and two churches, and preached in Nether Lochaber and over Corran Ferry in Ardgour on alternate Sabbaths. He received “Royal Bounty” stipends totalling £120 supplemented by sums from the heritors, and a glebe of 3 to 4 acres. In 1852 he married Janet Morrison, eldest daughter of one of his Argyll parishioners, Lieutenant Morrison, R.N., of Sallachan House, and brought her to the manse in Onich to be his trusted helper for nearly fifty years.

Reference:

Ross, Donald, ‘Nether Lochaber: Memories of a Well-known Highlander’, The Inverness Courier, no. 11943 (20 Jan., 1961), p. 3

Image: Portrait of Nether Lochaber from The Celtic Magazine, vol. IX, no. 5 (1901), p. 19