We now leave the Weaver in the castle with his wife, whom he trained to be equal to himself in raiding. She used to go fishing and raiding with him. In those days it was all cable and hawsers that were used instead of chains, and the Weaver and his wife used to cut the hawsers and let the ships drift to the shore, and themselves getting the benefit of the wreckage. This was the routine until the boys [were born and] grew up one by one and helped him with the piracy, which was now getting to a dangerous point.
Now an order was passed to destroy the Weaver, or apprehend him. One day the Weaver was fishing with his three sons from the castle. The mother was at home with her youngest boy. They both could see the boat fishing. Later on in the day she saw a sailing ship off the Island of Gigha.1 The ship was a cutter, manned by twelve oarsmen. At first she thought they were making for the castle and she got ready to go to the top of the cliff where there was always a cairn of stones ready for anybody attempting to climb the cliff.
Unfortunately they made for the boat that was fishing. As soon as the Weaver picked up the cutter he made a bee-line for Eriskay. The Weaver and the boys pulled well and hard to make for a point to land on Eriskay. If they could manage to land there he could hide in safety. He did manage to land, but the cutter was there immediately. The commander landed without delay and with his sword slew the Weaver and his three sons, and ordered that the blood of the Weaver should remain on the sword to dry, as proof that that was the sword with which he killed the Weaver. To this day that landing-place is called ‘The Cove of Disaster’ (Sloc na Creiche).
The news circulated from the Island that the Weaver and his three sons were killed on the Island of Eriskay by the commander of the ship. Little did the mother know of the sad event at the time, though she did see the cutter passing out. The next stage was the funeral of the Weaver and the sons. When all was completed, her father went to the castle to take his daughter home and the little grandson. That day and since, the castle has not been occupied. It stands on an island, commands a magnificent view of the Minch, Barra, South Uist and Eriskay.
The life story of the little weaver
His grandfather, with whom the boy was living, dearly loved the boy, and his activity at an early age much interested the old man. At the early age of twelve he used to be wonderful in attending with his grandfather on the croft, about the sheep, cattle and horses. When he grew to the age of fourteen he often wondered why his mother used to cry every day. He became so interested that he insisted on his mother telling him the reason why. His poor mother told him the story about the sad end of his father and three brothers. Pausing for a bit, and taking a long and deep breath, he said, ‘I am going to sea, and I shall never stop until I meet the man who killed my father and my three brothers.’ His mother at this stage broke down worse than ever.
However, the time was moving along and John was daily making up his mind to go. One day he decided to have a meeting with his mother and grandfather, and told them he was going. This was a very sad parting.
In those days there were no conveyances. John had to walk all the way from mid-Uist to Lochmaddy, over two fords. The only connection to the southern isles was by a ferryboat from Lochmaddy to Dunvegan. However, he assisted the boatman, and in return the ferryman was very kind to him and gave him his food and passage charge free. The passage across to Dunvegan was quite good and, landing there, he was much interested in the number of trees he saw, whereas there were none in the land he left behind him.
John stayed with a crofter, working on the croft, and the crofter assisting him a lot as to the right road to Kyle. On his departure he charged him nothing and gave him a little money of the very small amount he had himself.
John was moving across Skye. Until one day he landed in Kyle and got the ferry across to the mainland. John stayed a week in Kyle, working with an old carpenter who was once upon a time a ship’s carpenter. John MacNeil overstayed his time, listening to the carpenter’s stories. John was keen to find out from the carpenter where was Greenock, as it was at Greenock he intended to get a ship. The carpenter told John he did sail several times from Greenock, and encouraged him by saying he would have no difficulty in getting a ship from there. From the time John left Dunvegan till he arrived at Greenock he covered a full year, walking and working, just as he found convenient. However, the day he arrived at Greenock he was thrilled with the sight of the ships, with their high masts, yards, sails, et cetera. He walked straight down to the harbour and nobody even spoke to him. Having saved a few shillings, he was able to take a night’s lodging. Next day he got up early and went down to the harbour. He was not long there when the captain came on deck. Having seen John MacNeil there yesterday, he hailed in English, ‘Do you want to go to sea?’
John could not speak but very little English, and did not reply. Immediately then the captain spoke in Gaelic and John replied immediately, ‘Yes, I want to go to sea.’
‘Come on board,’ the captain replied.
The captain was a very good Gaelic speaker, and into the bargain a native of Arran. He asked John what part did he come from. He replied that his father came from the Island of Barra but that he was born on the Stack Islands. The captain then asked his name. He replied: ‘My name is John MacNeil.’ Then both MacNeils shook hands and ever since that they were the best of friends.
This voyage was to be from Scotland to Vancouver Island, round Cape Horn – quite a long voyage in the sailing-ships of those days. The ship was taken to the Tail of the Bank and the cargo was sugar. She anchored on the Tail of the Bank and the boys got ready to go aloft to bend the sail and get ready for sailing, whenever everything was ready.
John was the youngest on board. Never mind, the material was in him and he was not long picking up. The captain patted him on the shoulder when he came down on deck and told him to take care of himself. ‘One day you shall be master of a ship yourself.’
At this stage it took them a few days to get ready. When all was in order, with wind and weather favourable, the order came to stand by and heave the anchor. This was, and used to be, a great time in the old sailing ship, heaving the anchor: no definite time where or when they would hear again the order ‘Let go the anchor!’
* * *
As time was getting on, the captain was getting fonder of MacNeil. He used to watch him with pride and admiration – how very handsomely he would walk the plank, or in other words, walk the decks. Watching him daily he could see how handsomely and skillfully he could run up the shrouds. Before MacNeil was very long in the ship, the captain used to send him up the rigging right on to the royals, where he would stand on the yard and put his hand on the top mast and wave to them all on deck.
The whole voyage out Captain and John MacNeil became great friends, so much that latterly the captain took in hand to teach him the alphabet. Not a long period passed before John could read and write. The captain’s ambition was to teach John all the schooling he could. As for the seamanship part of it, John had it all on his finger-ends already. When the ship returned on this voyage the captain sent him to school and left him behind the next one. On the ship’s return John sat the exam and passed straight out. He was pleased to be sailing the next voyage as second mate along with his good friend Captain MacNeil. John very much enjoyed his first job as an officer, and I could vouch with safety that nothing was left undone. A few voyages after that John sat another examination and got First Officer’s. One day the captain said: ‘Now be getting ready, John. I shall soon be retiring, and you shall be taking over full command. But I am not going to take this step until we both agree that all is in order.’ The day, alas, arrived and Captain John took over command of the ship and the faithful friends went out and sailed together for the last time. After the voyage was completed the captain and John parted. The good captain went on his knees and kissed John’s hands and wished every good wish in his new career – that is how two most dutiful friends and good sailors parted.
* * *
Now that is the lit
tle Weaver in full command of a full-rigged ship after completing his time. Captain MacNeil was now sailing in the same Company for several years but did not seem to meet or hear any news of the man who killed his father and three brothers. Coming home on this voyage he wondered a lot if ever he was going to meet him.
On arriving in London he went to a club. There he found a lot of old veterans telling stories and drinking whisky. It suddenly grasped on him that among this crowd he might meet the man who he was really looking for – the man who so brutally killed his father and three brothers.
Suddenly one veteran stood up and told the story of how he destroyed a very destructive raider and his three sons on one of the western islands off the west coast of Scotland. One could imagine the thrill Captain John got when the sad story was renewed to him. The veteran got a lot of cheering. Captain MacNeil went over to him and specially thanked him for his great bravery. In turn the old man cordially thanked him, and invited him to tea next evening at 5 p.m. and told him that the bloodstains were still on the sword with which he slew the raider and his three sons. John left the club and returned to his ship and trying to decide how he would destroy the commander without the use of arms. So he finally decided that with one good blow of his fist he would do the job.
The appointed time arrived. Captain John arrived. The veteran answered the bell and both entered the house. Plenty of food and drink was prepared. Captain MacNeil said he would not eat or drink until he would see the sword with which he destroyed the dangerous man in the Western Isle of Scotland. The old man immediately invited him to his parlour. He opened the cupboard and took out the sword, and bloodstains were still on it as he described. Captain John gave him time to return the sword, at the same time he decided not to kill him with the sword with which his father and three brothers had been slain. As the old man was stretching himself, Captain John struck him right in the ear and the old man never breathed another.
This put an end to Captain John’s ambition. Now there was nothing for it but to face the return journey home to Uist. Off he set and left the ship and cargo there. The return journey did not take him so long and one day he found himself landing in Lochmaddy. It happened to be a fine summer day when he arrived home. Sitting outside the door was an old lady who he took to be his mother – and he was right. When she saw the boy dressed in blue approaching the house she rose to meet him and when she came within speaking range she asked him: ‘Are you a sailor? Or did you ever meet my boy?’ At this stage John jumped to and kissed his mother, who was speechless for a time.
Captain John stayed with his mother in Uist for over two years – until times calmed down; then sailed out of Liverpool, where his descendants still flourish.
[There is a long and circumstantial version of this story in the papers of the late Fr Allan McDonald of Eriskay. It was probably taken down in 1893. The name of the reciter is not given and the story is told in Fr Allan’s own words.
In this version the Weaver is said to have come from the mainland, and to have acquired his nickname from having married a weaveress from Kildonan in South Uist. It describes how he took the white mare to Stack to carry the stones to build the ‘castle’ and how the mare fell dead from exhaustion with the last load, the contents of the panniers remaining as two cairns, as can still be seen. In this version the Weaver had three sons, and the only stranger who ever visited the castle was the midwife who was brought to deliver them. In consequence of the Weaver’s depredations the king sent a boat to capture him. He and his two eldest sons were caught by a ruse and put to death.
When the youngest son, John, grew up, he resolved to avenge his father. He made his way to Dunvegan via Lochmaddy, and there learnt that the man who had killed his father was captain of a ship sailing between Dunvegan and Tobermory. He waited until this ship entered Dunvegan harbour, boarded it, found the captain in possession of the bloodstained sword with which the deed had been done, and killed him.
At this point the story takes a fantastic turn and becomes mixed up with events which belong purely to the folklore of the old Gaelic stories. John took a job with an inn-keeper, was told to guard the garden against deer, aimed his gun one night at a deer which turned into a woman, who told him she had been be-spelled by the inn-keeper. An assignation was made, but three times frustrated by a sleeping-apple which John was persuaded to eat when smitten by thirst. At the last encounter the lady left John a ring and a knotted handkerchief, and wrote with her fingernail on the stock of his gun that her name was on the ring and that whenever he unloosed a knot in the handkerchief he could get a wish.
After waking, John set out in search of her, and eventually learnt she was in the Kingdom of the Great World (Rìoghachd an Domhain Mhóir of folk-tales). He arranged to get carried there in an oxskin by a griffin. He escaped from the griffin’s net by unloosing a knot in the handkerchief, and, learning there was to be a celebration at the palace that night, attended it, was recognised by the lady (who was the King’s daughter) through the ring, married her and lived splendidly ever after.
There is an inferior version of this second part of the story printed in More West Highland Tales, p. 394, the annotator of which has been handicapped by ignorance of Uist traditions, dialect and topography. This was taken down from Patrick Smith of South Boisdale in 1859. It is difficult, indeed, to believe that Patrick Smith, who was a famous traditor, did not really know this story in full.
As regards the main part of the tale, it is very probably founded on fact. The Stack Island, which I visited with the Rev. John MacCormick in 1951, is shaped like the figure 8. The isthmus which joins the two halves is very narrow and on the south side is faced by a cliff up which there is only one path, easily defended. There is good grazing on the island. At the top of this path are the two small cairns said in the story to be the last load of the white mare. On top of the Stack, commanding a magnificent view north and south up and down the Minch, and over Barra Sound out to the Atlantic, are the ruins of a small stronghold and of a small house wall. The ‘castle’ is made of very strongly mortared stone and its appearance suggests that it was destroyed by gunpowder.
Ships used to anchor in Barra Sound in the lee of the small islands of Hellisey and Gigha, and it was these of which the cables were cut by the Weaver and his sons rowing out under cover of darkness. When the ships were driven ashore, they would be plundered.
That this kind of thing did occur in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries is proved by various references in the register of the Privy Council of Scotland. In 1611 the Barramen were in trouble over the pirating of a ship, laden with Bordeaux wines, belonging to one Abell Dynes. In 1636 there was similar trouble over an English ship, the Susanna, which had been bound for Limerick with a cargo of wines, fruit, coin, etc. Gales had driven her out of her course into the waters of an island (not named). She had lost mast and small boat, so she signalled to the islanders who came out to her armed to the teeth. They agreed to tow the Susanna into safe harbour in consideration of a butt of ‘seek’ (?sack) and a barrel of raisins; but it was alleged that, after they had cut the anchor cable and brought her into harbour, Clanranald and about three hundred others took casks and barrels down to the shore and daily drew of the cargo of wine, and took all else besides, robbing the crew even of their clothes, and that then they made some ship’s lad sign a document to say that he was owner of the cargo which he thereby sold at a certain price (which amount he did not in any case receive), and under threat of handing the whole company over to the ‘savages that dwells in the mayne,’ the captain was forced to sell for £8 the barque worth £150 sterling.
So that the activities of the Weaver and his sons, his death and the revenge exacted by his youngest son, are perfectly probable. The folkloric elements are likely to have been tacked on to the story of young John by later storytellers in order to entertain their audiences. They are found in quite a number of tales.]
The emigrant ship Admiral and the Barra evictions
Th
e clearances of South Uist and Barra were due principally to the failure of the potato crop of 1846. After that a lot of hardships came over the islands; and it came in one night, the blight, and covered the whole of the potato crop. And I remember clearly seeing a man who made up his mind to leave the Island of Barra. His name was Neil MacNeil. The smell that was off that blight was enough to choke you, and so he decided to pack his bag and went to Castlebay to get some conveyance – a boat or ship – to take him to the mainland. And that he did. And that was his description of what happened the night of the blight. It was about the 14th August. Well, he left, and it was fourteen years before he returned to Barra, and several who went with him never did return.
(During Neil MacNeil’s long periods of absence from Barra he was working in many queer places all over Scotland, including the making of the Caledonian Canal. His wages were a shilling a day. I said to Neil, ‘Well, Neil, the wages were very poor.’ And Neil said, ‘No; the stone of meal,’ he says, ‘cost only a shilling, and the half mutchkin of whisky cost another shilling, and then you had five shillings to yourself ’)
Now, that left a very bad mark on the population, and a mark of poverty, and Ground Officers came and went round the crofters and told them that they would get so much meal, oatmeal, if they gave their names in to go to Canada. A great many were pressed to go – but they wanted their names before they gave them their meal, on the condition that if your name was there to go, to Canada you must go.
Latterly, the unfortunate day came round and the ship came and anchored in Lochboisdale, and the orders came that all those people who got the meal for going to Canada had to get ready to embark and clear out – a disastrous story. In those days many a sad story would be told when the people were clearing out. I remember myself two old ladies, two sisters, that signed with their father to go, and they took to the hills and they were hiding up in Ben Cleat and coming down at night to Vaslan to friends’ houses who used to give them something to eat. And this was carried on until the coast was clear, and their old father went. And the unfortunate part of the story, you see, he died on the way out. His name was John MacDougall, known in Barra as Iain Muilleir, and he was buried at sea.
Tales from Barra Page 7
