Scotland's Mighty Men Of Old

"When war pipes play honor is silent"
Old Highland Proverb

Allan Dubh’s Leap
During a blood feud attack on the Mackenzies, Allan Dubh of Clan MacRanald happened upon Cilliechrist church. Inside seeking sanctuary, huddled in fear, and praying to god were the old men, women, and children of Clan Mackenzie. Allan Dubh and his warriors crept up on Cilliechrist church and while the people sang praises to God the raiders quickly wedged the old wooden church doors shut. He then put warriors at every window to stand guard with swords at the ready. Lastly, Allan had the church roof put to the torch.
When orange glowing embers started to float down from the rafters onto the assembly, the people inside began to scream and panic. The old men there took up a bench and started to wildly ram at the great old oak doors. The church hall quickly filled full with a low heavy lung-crushing smoke. Like glowing fire fairies burning embers of every size danced their way down through the thickening haze. Mothers wailed wildly at god, children screamed and the old men pounded to their last breath at the old oak doors but to no avail. People began to crowd the windows in a desperate attempt for air. Hard horse coughs echoed from walls to rafters as mothers frantically started stuffing infants and children out of every narrow church window.
To their horror, Allan Dubh of Clan MacRanald had given the order to stab to death every child that would come out of those smoke-choked windows. The sight of their children impaled upon MacRanald swords was not enough to stop them from forcing their young to crimson deaths anyway. Perhaps they cast their children to those wolves in pure panic or perhaps thinking it better to die quickly on a sword point than to burn alive. Whatever the reason the haunting wailing of women and outright murder of children and infants was weighed in heavy on the hearts of the MacRanald warriors.
It is said, in war do as you weel and find nae shame in it. But, this outrage even Allan Dubh’s men had trouble bearing. The MacRanald war chief had to threaten them to kill or be killed in order to keep them murdering as weeping Mackenzie children were forced out on to their swords. To hide the banshee-like howling of the tortured MacKenzie wives Allan had his pipers bellow out MacRanald war tunes while they marched around and around the burning church drowning out the screaming begging pleas of those inside and falling out.
After the burning of, Cilliechrist church, and its entire worshiping congregation, the news, and black billowing smoke spread fast to the Mackenzie who were close at hand. They came quick in force, fast-footed and red-eyed with bitter revenge on their minds. Allan Dubh and his party fled the fury driven Mackenzie warriors and ran like hunted rabbits for the Southern Ridge of Glen Urquhart. Clan MacKenzie’s warriors were in hot pursuit and where soon within counting sight of Allan’s raiding party. Allan, seeing his men were far outnumbered, divided his raiders in order to force the MacKenzie Clansmen to also divide in their in pursuit.
Wild with wrath and fueled by the spirit of the chase, the revenge bound Mackenzie ignored their dividing enemy and increased their pace for Allan and Allan alone. Several times in flight Allan Dubh keeping a good pace ahead of his pursuers divided his men hoping to disperse the chase from himself. He followed this stratagem, again and again, each time to no avail. For the days raiding Allan had worn a red vest coat as was the custom of MacRanald clan war chiefs. A red coat was traditionally worn by the leaders so they would be easily found in the din battle. Allan’s hunters also knew this and though the MacRanald raiders kept dividing and getting away. The MacKenzie warriors were of a single mind to bring the man in that red vest to the sword for his heinous crimes against their kinsmen. Allan, realizing the MacKenzies intent, increased the pace of his flight turning with a desperate vigor towards the Shores of Loch Ness.
Fully Allan realized the distressed situation he was now in. He told the last of his panting followers to flee in different directions while he alone would run for the ravine of Aultsigh. Allan Dubh was well known as the mightiest champion of all of Glengarry and was no easy target to take down. He was a strong swordsman, experienced campaigner, and a first-rate athlete, the warrior to kill him would be bathed in honor. Knowing he was a long way from safety the war chief darted for the ravine of Aultsigh like a rabbit running over hole and heather. The foot race of wolves and rabbit went on and true to fashion the MacKenzie warriors kept after Allen only. As Allen’s last hope neared so did the enraged MacKenzies who had finally started to gain ground on him. Leading that pack was a young MacKenzie chieftain hungry for glory. He had steadily outpaced his pack like a black wolf red ready for the kill. He had been increasingly closing in on Allan Dubh until he was now but a breath away from clipping that running rabbit’s heels
All warriors, the hunted and the hunters were closing quickly on the great ravine of Aultsigh. Every warrior running knew about the deadly gorge. It was literally the stuff of legend. All lads in training were told of the heroes who leaped the great ravine of Aultsigh. All lads also knew of the many hopeful heroes who failed that fateful leap. They had their bodies crushed and torn as they fell bouncing down that crag to the bitter cold embrace of the waters below.
With only the options of being hacked to death or broken in the ravine of Aultsigh, Allan gave up his last burst of energy dropped his targe behind him, and with a hard hoarse voice called over his shoulder at the MacKenzie wolf hot on his hind. “Follow, young hero!” Allan added to his pace four great bounding strides and with a desperate leap chose the ravine of Aultsigh. It was an amazing jump and for a moment in time, he floated suspended over the huge gorge that had taken so many a hopeful hero’s life. As the old folks say, ’Perhaps mair by luck than gude guiding.’ Allen cleared the deadly ravine landing just enough on the edge to fall forward flat on his face but safely across.
The lone wolf running quick after Allen would not be denied its prey and the young MacKenzie hero who was so close on Allen’s heels, bravely without hesitation also leaped across the ravine. He too for a moment floated suspended over certain death. However, wanting is not having, the young hero misjudged the distance and landed just on the slick edge of the cliff. He slipped, fell, and desperately latched onto a handful of tall weeds which left him hanging over the edge in a precarious state of purgatory.
Seeing the plight of the young MacKenzie Chieftain, Allan with a gaping grin across his gob rose to his feet and turned to the edge of the cliff face. There his hereditary enemy now clung to life by a few strands of weeds. The outraged and horrified MacKenzie warriors that had opted for discretion over valor and remained on the other side of the ravine ofAultsigh, watched Allan Dubh, their hated enemy bend down to the young clinging chieftain. He looked back at them across the ravine and spoke loud enough for all to hear. ”I hav given much tae yer race this day, I shall give them this as weel, frae surely now tha debt is paid in full.” With his gleaming blue bladed dirk, Allen Dubh cruelly grinning down cut the few weeds from which the young MacKenzie hung. The young hero silently fell from sight his body bounced torn from jagged rock to jagged rock until he plopped into the water below a misshaped mass of blood and broken bones. Allan Dubh of Clan MacRanald turned from the outraged MacKenzies and made good his escape.
From the hero’s side of the ravine of Aultsigh, he ran to the shores of Loch Ness. With other Mackenzies now also closing in on him Allan Dubh once again had to choose between being hacked to death by his enemies or face what nature had to throw in his way. The MacKenzie warriors who had caught up with him had muskets and started to make use of them. Death is deaf and will hear nae denial, so, Allan turned and leaped in the dark icy waters of Loch Ness. He swam with every aching muscle resisting the stabbing cold way of it. The occasional crack of musket fire filled the air and a lead ball would plop in the water to one side of him or the other. No Mackenzie pursued because everyone there including Allan Dubh of Clan MacRanald knew he would drown somewhere in the cold length of that loch.
Around halfway across the loch Allan grew too week to go on. A Mackenzie musket ball had hit him along the way and he had been losing life’s liquid all the while. Allan fully expected to end his story there in the black depths of Loch Ness. Well, the devil is gude tae his own, and just as Allan felt he was sure to drown across the loch he heard his name called. An ally who had heard the Mackenzie shots fired across the loch soon spotted Allan’s red vest in the dark water. The Clan MacRanald raider raised a weary arm to his ally who quickly rowed out and rescued the hunted man. Allan’s friend and ally took the weary warrior home to his protection and cared for him until full recovery was had.
Author & Illustrator
L L Andrews

Captain Gillies MacBean(MacBain)
At the battle of Culloden, April 16, 1746, One of the many Highlanders
who remained fearless in the face of the overwhelming odds was Captain Gillies MacBean leader in the MacKintosh regiment at Culloden. Born around 1703, a large man being between 6′ 4″ and 6′ 7″ tall. Armed with a basket hilt broadsword and his targe, Gillies spotted the Argyll division breaking through a wall, creating an opening for Hanoverian dragoons to flank the battling Highlanders. The bold MacBean stepped up to fill the breach in the wall and began cutting down dragoons as they tried to pour through the gap. Captain MacBean stood his ground with his back to the old stone wall taking down as many of the dragoons as he could before he too fell. On that bitter day, no less than thirteen soldiers of the Crown were slain by the fearless swordcraft of Captain MacBean, including one Lord Robert Kerr, a Scottish nobleman of that Clan. Legend has it an English officer saw MacBean’s bravado and ordered his men to save the battling Highlander. However the order came too late, and mighty MacBean covered by sword cuts to the head and thigh and with several bayonet wounds finally fell.

His brave stand has been immortalized in this famous poem

“The clouds may pour down on Culloden’s red plain,
But their waters shall flow o’er it's crimson in vain,
For their drops shall seem few to the tears for the slain,
But mine is for thee, my brave Gillies MacBain!
“Though thy cause was the cause of the injured and brave;
Though thy death was the hero’s and glorious thy grave,
My sad heart bleeds o’re thee, my Gillies MacBain!
“How the horse and the horseman thy single hand slew!
But what could the mightiest single arm do?
A hundred like thee might the battle regain;
But cold is thy hand and heart, Gillies MacBain!
“With thy back to the wall and thy breast to the targe,
Full flashed thy claymore in the face of their charge:
The blood of their boldest that barren turf stain,
But, Alas! Thine is reddest thee, Gillies MacBain…”

Lugh

Sigfried

Scathach

The Hound Of Hullin

Beowulf

The Legend of William Sinclair Bishop of Dunkeld and The Battle of Donibristle

William Sinclair Bishop of Dunkeld rode to meet a Scots army that was being humbled by a foreign foe.
In an unstoppable assault, an invading English force had come hard at the Highlanders tumbling over them in a terrible wave of horseflesh, arms, and armor.
When Bishop William Sinclair arrived he could not accept the sight that salted his eyes, for nearly all his highland brethren were being put to fast-footed flight.
Teetering towards a full route and too hard-pressed his Highland horde was already ready to completely collapse and fade into the heather.
The Bishop bold as a beacon of old cast off his garments of religious rank to reveal beneath his most holy cloak the ancient Highland garment of war.
Standing gambeson within and a full coat of riveted mail without he raised his great ax in hand and then that stone chapel chanter let loose a wild wet ready roar of contempt towards his fleeing folk.
Like Moses about to break God’s tablets, the bold warrior Bishop threatened his fleeing brethren to rally or face endless days in a sea of fire-filled damnation.
He called them cowards and coal-biters and swore God's own eye was watching their shameful flight from the English.
That Scots army humbled to a halt and did again rally forming up on the God-driven Bishop of Dunkeld. Filled full of the fear of a Mighty God's retribution at the will of the warrior Bishop those Highlanders gathered in force about him.
William Sinclair the highest holy man of Dunkeld lead his flock back to battle, back to bellowing their battle cries and back to charge with their Bishop full force into a now unorganized English enemy.
The warrior Bishop led his horde to a devastating victory over the invaders destroying them completely and totally turning the day around.
After the battle of Donibristle, William was well honored by an admiring Robert the Bruce, who named the holy man, "My very own Bishop."
L L Andrews

How I do it

Duncan MacRae, was a ferocious warrior whose great fighting skills made him a champion for two Clans. He was a celebrated clansman and brilliant head collector. These days we read about ancient head collectors without a blink of the eye but when you think about what is actually involved in that process it puts some cruel perspective on it all. You are either pinning a body down or forcing someone to kneel and bend so you can hack away at their neck. You are doing this all the while knowing that person has a mother, father, friends, and family just like you. That he was once a boy who ran barefoot through glens, who laid in the heather to stare at the clouds, and now you’re hacking his head off with a hand axe.
There are many tales of Duncan MacRae killing clan enemies and bring back their heads bound with reeds to set at his table as trophies. He sounds like a brutal beast, right? Yet this same killer one winter saved a young lass stricken with a kind of sickness where no one else would even touch her. Duncan without a second thought took the poor lass up into his strong arms and carried her through the dead of a winter storm many miles over mountain and glen to the only doctor around who could save her life. The young lass survived the perilous journey and sickness. She was so very grateful to this head hacking warrior for the major part he played in saving her life she later wrote a beautiful ballad about him so that his selfless deed would be always remembered.

something

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

He could have been anything,
anything he wanted to be he could do,
but all he wanted was to be with you.

The Fair Black Smith Go-Ban

Aoife

MacIntosh Lass

Very Interesting
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Isa5c1p6aC0

Larry Andrews
A great true tale about Duntulum. There is a legend, long-lasting, in the Hebrides of a love for the bonnie lass Margaret, an orphan, and ward under the care of the Lord of Duntulm. She was kept at castle Duntulm where, before her father passed into God's good grace, he decreed that Margaret would remain unmarried until she reached the right age. At that age, the bonnie girl was given but two choices: to marry the young Lord of the Isles or nourish her soul as a nun. Now there had been many great lords and suitors for the fair maiden Margaret's happy hand, but all were dutifully turned away by her father’s final decree.
When Margaret's father passed away, the young heiress was delivered as a ward to Duntulm. There, growing into womanhood, the happy-hearted lass met another man, clansman, and cousin to the younger chief of that castle, the young MacDonald warrior. They met as children and fell fast in love, ever longing for each other’s close company. Margaret had beautiful and long copper-colored hair, freckled flesh, and bright blue eyes. Her voice was fair and so fine to hear. The lass was blithe, bonnie, and well-born.
The young MacDonald lad who, as a child, had fallen so fast for Margaret had a rival for the affections of that glorious girl. His cousin, son of the Lord of the Isles, had grown up ever glaring at the wee girl. He knew she was meant for him and that no other Highlander could hold her wedded hand. The young clansmen quickly became competitors and were ever battling back and forth before that lovely lass. By the time these two boys became men, there was no love lost between them, and the young Lord of the Isles was left with no hope of Margaret's love. The bonnie lass longed for the love of his cousin and cared not for him; however, he had little fear for this young lord knew unless Margaret chose to become a nun, he was going to get her.
The old Lord of the Isles one day died and was delivered up by the gift of God’s good son. A dispute developed among the MacDonalds whether the young Lord or his cousin should lead the clans. Many members liked the Lord’s nephew and wanted that well-known warrior to become the next clan chief. Most MacDonalds felt it was an undeniable right of the Lord’s own son to fill his great shoes. Now, the young Lord grew up with all the good gifts that are due to the son of such a powerful chief, but the young Lord did not get those gifts gratefully. Instead, he grew into a greedy, malicious monster; a perfidious person who often made enemies without care or purpose.
His cousin had many allies who took strongly to the young man’s character. Margaret's young lover was far-famed as a bold battle reaper, valiant and already many times victorious while braving enemy blades. He was ever first to voice for right and against wrong. He had proven himself well wise and listened to good clan council. These grand attributes had collected many clansmen to his cause. It was not enough, however, to claim himself clan chief, and so his followers left to live with him and his other adherents on Uist. There, he and his friends pledged their purpose to conquer Skye and Castle Duntulm and put him and Margaret in a more proper place.
Needless to say, a deep and dangerous discord grew between Margaret's two contenders, and the new Lord of Duntulm banished his cousin from the castle. The two heart-crushed lovers were riddled with worry, each ever longing for the other’s company. Often, the outlawed Lord would steal way by moonlight across rolling waves, through gale and over glen, to see her smile and sneak a couple kisses. He would find a soft-footed way to her window and call out in a whispering whistle to tell her he had come. Margaret, on every moonlit night, would wait by that window to hear his clever call then find a fast way to him. They met under the moon like this many times untroubled, and on just such a night, he presented her with a good plan.
When they broke from cuddling and kissing, the young lover told his lass of a way to win all their wants. He and his followers would come by broad-bottomed birlinns on the next full moon and make their play for power. They would land, and soft-footed, come to the castle then, by stone and stout backs, block up all exits fore and aft. Next, he and his crews would dig beneath Duntulm's thick walls until they collapsed in on the clansmen within. With the castle caved in and its lord killed, his warrior crew could then convince, by broad blade, any foes on Skye to declare him chief of the Island clans. He then said, “So, my bonnie Margaret, bear in mind not to be here by the next full moon.” The love of his life gave him one long last kiss then whisked away back to her bed-chamber.
The young lover slipped back across the sea to Uist. There he and his followers made ready for a mail-clad raid by the next good moon. When at last the raider's lamp rose, the young lover gathered his mail-coated killers into wood-wrapped water rovers and pushed off for Skye. Clouds began to cover the late night light and a terrible gale gathered. Men began to question if they should postpone the raid, but their lord and leader spoke, giving them good courage, “Lads, this is all the better for we well know the way and this gift of a storm will conceal our cause.” Proud to be with such a bold battler, the raiders rowed on, fear-free, into that great gale. Wildly rowing with sails up in such a storm seemed a poor plan, but they had to risk all or would arrive too late.
Five broad birlinns with soaring masts and fixed full sails, all loaded low by mail-clad warriors, rowed to reap ruin on their foes. Waves rose, rocking and whipping them with cold grey-green water, yet on they rowed. Lightning lashed out all about them, dashing and dancing above the rolling whale-road, yet on they rowed. Wood-wrapped water walkers were washed under by wide rolling waves, losing all on board, yet on they rowed. Broad backs bent to beat that storm and every bold warrior was washed, licked, and lapped by that pitching salt sea, yet on they rowed. Great columns of water climbed from broad sea to black sky, a sight that would fill most men full of fear, yet on they rowed. Brave and boldly they fought through that sea storm, and when all was clear, only three of the five birlinns bore through that grim gale.
They beached those broad-bottomed sea sleds on Skye, and by light of lightning, moved forward for fate or glory. Thunder called out across the cloud-covered sky and bright, jagged bolts blasted down, delivering the way. Those warrior raiders moved forward, soft-footed, for around five hundred yards. Then a crack of lightning flashed and a long d**e appeared beyond them in the black. Surprised at the sight, the young lover halted his Highlanders for he knew well where they landed and could not recall any d**e. Another flash flicked across the sky and everyone saw the d**e had come closer. He called out to his clansmen, “What devilment is this d**e that closes upon us under these storm clouds?” “Behold! It moves still more!” cried out another. None of the fighters could make sense of the phenomenon. It seemed devilry was behind this ever-closing d**e. Another big bolt brightened the seashore and one of the warriors called aloud, “It is the MacDonalds! They are upon us!” They looked to their leader, for their bold plan clearly had been played out.
The young lord roared to the top of his valorous voice,
“Forward fast, my stout-hearted friends! We came to kill these MacDonald curs! Let us boldly hold nothing back!” Ever first to face his foes, the young lover leaped into that devil's d**e with his broad blade blazing. Fearless, he and his warrior crews fought that night. Nourished by their Lord’s bold battle stride, no one left him to lead. As one, they poured into the enemy MacDonald line, all mad with red battle rage. The clash of clansmen and battling blades out echoed the bellowing thunder above. Hard men delivered doom with heavy hits where webbed metal rings would not help them. Great axes brought boldly down on wood shields tore both man and broad board to red-wrecked ruin.
Swift of hand and unyielding in the thick of the fight, the young lover left a wide co**se row in his wake. His courage in combat could not be contested, for all about him, it was a killing ground. His claymore slashing was quick to collect limbs and heads and many mighty MacDonalds lost their lives that night. He kicked strong men down and crushed their skulls with his oncoming cross-guard. Highlanders fell, their hands grasping at gaping gut wounds. The young leader dived deep into the enemy’s nest, not letting any armrest, feinting at faces then cutting legs clean from their keepers.
Like wild ravens, these clansmen ripped into each other. Cuts and thrusts crashing and clashing, they killed with every bold blade stroke. The fearless fell, brave men’s bones were broken, blades were bent, and the best of the young leader’s kith and kin were killed. They fought like madmen but could not overcome the numbers brought against them. They furiously battled back to back, neither taking nor giving any ground. The cream of those picked men fell at the flanks of their brave friend's feet. Killed off nearly to a man until only four of the Uist raiders remained. When those last few were arm-weary and weak from so much sword strife, they were overwhelmed, bound, broken, and brought before the wicked young Lord of the Isles.
That devil of a Lord laughed long and loud at his bound and broken cousin. He had the hero bent before him and told the man whose love and life was now lost, “A month ago, when you met Margaret like a snake beneath the sand, neither of you knew an informant had followed her and listened in on your conspiring conversation.” The malicious Lord then had the young lover's three valiant friends, who fought so furiously to the very last, hanged high on Duntulm's grim gibbet. The brave young lover was brought before his hanging friends and left under a strong guard to gape at the folly of his foray.
He was kept bound for several days, free of any food and filled with thirst, in a cold stone a cell. When he was well weakened, that brave warrior was finally brought again before his mocking cousin and castle keeper. The young Lord of the Isles wickedly thanked the defeated warrior for bringing such a great host to his home. He mockingly apologized for the poor hospitality that had been handed to him then led the hero to his new home at the top of the tallest turret. At the highest room, the door was opened and the young Highlander shoved in. The wicked Lord of the Isles told his cousin before closing that door, “I've left you a feast that you might eat your fill and think on the ways you two betrayed your Lord and master.” The young lover took all the sneers and jeers in stoic silence, never giving his glib-tongued cousin any gifts of reaction.
He sat for a bit, trying not to let this blight plunder his heroic heart. It had been so long since the lad had eaten that he moved to the table and took it all in. There was a great bit of salted beef, a long, wide loaf of bread, a thick chunk of cheese, and a large stone jug. Well, he thought, “At least my cousin does not mean to starve me up in his keep.” The young lover let his appetite have its way with him and he began gobbling down gobs of meat and heavy handfuls of bread and cheese. He ate and ate until filled entirely full then the thirst of all the bread and salted beef began to play on him.
With a greasy, gaping grin he took the big stone jug and tipped it to his thirsty throat. Not until then did the grief really grab him. Only dust flowed from that stone jar, causing him to cough and spit clouds of crumbled clay. Then he heard outside his dungeon doormen mortaring stones. They walled up that Highland hero, just as he had planned to wall them in before the battle. The young lover leaned against his cold stone cell and thought of bonnie Margaret and of being walled up without water.
As it ever seems, things can never be too long-lasting when it comes to unlawful love. Margaret never received word from her moonlight lover and so she gave up the girl’s life and lived as a nun at a convent run by a friend of her father. It did not take much time before the lass learned of her lover's defeat by the Lord of Duntulm. She also learned of the cruelty in which her loving clansman faced his fate. Ripped with remorse, Margaret kept to the convent and refused all food and water. In a very short time, the once lovely lass withered away into a sickly state. Try as they might her sisters at the convent could not get her to eat or take so much as a sip. Eventually, weakness overwhelmed her broken heart, and the pretty girl from Duntulm drifted into death.
After many years had passed, the now old Lord of the Isles had the walled-in room of his cousin opened. Inside they found the nearly forgotten young lover’s skeleton still clasping that stone jug. The devoured lip of that jug and the grim skull's toothy grin had both been ground to dust.
An Deireadh

Single combat during the battle of Parc between clan champions Lachlan Maclean and Duncan Macrae. Appearing to be losing and steadily giving ground at the last possible moment Duncan slipped Lachlan's lunge and with a single stroke of his ax decapitated Lachlan. The defeat of Lachlan the Macdonald clans most famous champion sent a shock wave through the already shaky resolve of the Clan Macdonald warriors and their allies. A full rout soon followed and an enormous slaughter ensued. According to legend, Duncan returned late for dinner with a sack full of heads from hunting down the routed invaders.

The Bruce

The haughty hawk winna stoop tae carrion
Scottish proverb

Posting will be scarce for a bit. A busy time of year on the homestead and I'm working on the new book.

Old Highland Proverbs

COMING SOON
SCOTLAND'S MIGHTY MEN OF OLD WILL BE INTRODUCING A THIRD BOOK.
FULLY ILLUSTRATED
SCOTLAND'S MIGHTY MEN OF OLD PRESENTS.

OLD HIGHLAND PROVERBS
Illustrated by L L Andrews

When enemies meet tha deil gaes tae his dinner.
Old Highland Proverb

Feather by feather the goose is plucked.
Old Highland Proverb

The first step to virtue is to love it in another.
Old Highland Proverb

Sorry for the lull in art my Lupus has been acting up and currently I can not use the whole of my right arm. Sooner or later it will pass and I'll be back at my artwork again. Part of the joys of Lupus.

Thanks for patience
L L Andrews