Electric Scotland News
The Flag in the Wind
The Scottish Nation
Raiderland, All about Grey Galloway
Poems and Stories
Scottish Canadian Newspaper
Proceedings of the Scotch-Irish Third Congress at Louisville, Kentucky May
14 to 17, 1891
History of Scotland
Highlanders in Spain
Memoir of Norman MacLeod, D.D.
Doug Ross's pictures from his Scottish Tour
The Crofter in History (New Book)
Commemorative Biographical Record of the County of Kent, Ontario.
National Scots, Scots-Irish Heritage Month in North Carolina
Found myself entertaining Nola and Harold this week as they came down to
their Port Crewe home for a wee break from Toronto. I'd been talking about
the traditional Scottish High Tea and so had a go at giving them a variation
For those that don't know a traditional Scottish High Tea is usually served
between 4 and 6pm. You usually get a choice of fish and chips or bacon,
sausage links, fried eggs and chips. With that you get a 3 tier stand with
bread and butter on the bottom tier, scones in the middle and cream cakes on
the top tier. All that with a pot of tea or coffee and of course jam for the
scones. In these healthy days you may also get offered a salad instead of a
I mind back in Scotland when I had meetings with Jim, Peter and Marilyn of
the Scots Independent we seemed always to have haddock and chips for our
lunch meetings :-)
The one item I have yet to find in Canada is Ox Tongue. Back in Scotland
every local grocery shop stocked "Lunch Tongue" and every major supermarket
had "Ox Tongue". Considering all the Scots in Canada I'm amazed that I've
yet to find this meat.
I'm hoping this will be the week that my house steps will get done. They
appeared at the end of last week with the wood so that's a start but we then
got a lot of rain on the day they were going to make a start on
construction. My next door neighbour is working hard on clearing up the
house. Am amazed at the sheer amount of junk that's come out of their house
and yard. There was so much that someone complained to the local council
about it which seemed a wee bit over the top considering he was clearly
doing a clean up job. He's intending to sell the house instead of renting.
Got myself a new cleaning lady who will start on Monday and come in for a
couple of hours per week. She has seven children and the number 1 son is a
big lad so likely able to help with any heavy jobs :-) Have been told she is
also known to cut lawns and do gardens so will explore possibilties there as
Been in touch with Michael Craig and he's going to be my press agent at the
Grandfather Highland Games this year in North Carolina. The idea is to take
both photographs and videos of the event. So if you are visiting the event
and see him around with his wife Jeanne do make yourself known to him and
he'll take your photograph! The idea is to post all this up on the web site
but Michael is also going to create a CD which he'll make available for some
small cost should you want to have a copy.
In the Memoir of Norman MacLeod there was mention of his publication "Good
Words" and these annual publications spanned many years. I have obtained the
1860 edition of this publication which he edited and will post it up on the
site. This publication is of course nearly 150 years old! Anyone interested
in getting copies of this publication, which I think spanned some 50 years,
will find many copies in the antiquarian books shops and dare say also
second hand books shops or indeed in the libraries.
ABOUT THE STORIES
Some of the stories in here are just parts of a larger story so do check out
the site for the full versions. You can always find the link in our "What's
New" section at the link at the top of this newsletter and pick up poems and
stories sent into us during the week from Donna, Margo, Stan, John and
THE FLAG IN THE WIND
Mind that The Flag is now in two sections (1) Political and (2) Cultural.
This weeks Flag is compiled by Richard Thomson in which he gives an amusing
account of taking some school children around the Scottish Parliament. Here
is how his account went...
I was tasked with showing a group of Primary Sixes round Holyrood last week.
I’ve never really considered myself to be all that old, but I guess it’s all
in the eye of the beholder if the musical ‘Good-mor-ning-Mis-ter-Thom-son’
they greeted me with was anything to go by :-)
Not having any kids of my own, I’m never very sure how to pitch things to
children. You don’t want to bore them, but equally, make it too simple and
they’ll have you for breakfast. Luckily, though, this lot had been studying
the Scottish Parliament, and were about to hold their own mock elections. I
say luckily, but once they had been shown round and we were waiting for
First Minister’s Questions to finish so that Shona Robison could join us,
they had some pretty penetrating questions to ask me:
Who’s the best MSP? – “Er... It's hard to say. Some make good speeches, some
are good in the committees, others are good at constituency work. Everybody
brings something to the place in their own way”.
Is Alex Salmond the best MSP? – “He’s very good, but as the First Minister
he does a different job to all the other MSPs, so it’s quite hard to
Do MSPs have any fun? – “Well, it’s hard work, but they do sometimes get a
good laugh in the chamber if someone says something daft or funny".
Do MSPs get jealous of each other? – “Um.. Good question. They’re just
ordinary people, so I suppose they must!”
How much does Alex Salmond get paid? – “Oh, about £120,000. More than me,
anyway. Probably more than your teacher as well!”
How much do you get paid? – “Erm… I’m not sure. More than I did for my first
paper round, anyway…”
So what do you do? – “I’m a researcher for Shona Robison, the lady who’s
your MSP. I write speeches and meet people for her and things like that”
(I kid you not) Does that mean you do all the work, and she gets all the
credit? – [Nervous laugh] “Er, no. Did you know that Shona had to be up
before 5 this morning to get to work?”
Fortunately, when Shona arrived, they still had plenty questions left. And
did the same boy who asked whether I did all the work not follow up straight
away by asking whether or not I was a good assistant? Shona, ever the pro,
answered that all of her assistants did different jobs, and that all of
them, myself included, did them very well. I’ll buy her a glass of wine for
that reply before I head off to London.
I predict a bright future ahead in politics or journalism for that boy if he
wants one. However, by far the best question of the day came earlier on from
from a wee girl, who on seeing Brian Taylor getting ready for the cameras,
asked innocently if the lady applying his make-up was his personal beauty
therapist. I’ll never be able to watch Brian again in quite the same light…
Also... I note that Richard is moving to London so if anyone is interesting
in renting out his flat in Edinburgh and/or can help him find a place to
stay in London with good access to Westminster please get in touch with him.
An email to Shona should get to him.
In Peter's cultural section he talks about...
Scots are renown for being sweet-toothed! This probably explains why
Scottish housewives generally make more jam than their English counterparts.
Raspberry and strawberry being the most popular varieties. Nine-tenths of
Scotland's raspberry crop is grown in the Strathmore area and along the
coastal districts of Angus. The Carse of Gowrie, a narrow plain stretching
from Perth to Dundee is where the most intensive production of raspberries,
strawberries and peas takes place. Low rainfall, freedom from Spring frosts,
prolonged Summer sunshine and rich soil all contribute to the success of
this industry. In many areas pick-your-own is now the order of the day. This
weeks recipe for Strawberry Sweet should satisfy the sweetest of tooths! A
delicious Summer sweet when strawberries and redcurrants are plentiful.
Ingredients: 1 lb ( 500 g ) strawberries; 1 lb ( 500 g ) red currants; 1 lb
( 500 g ) caster sugar; 1/2 pt (125 ml ) whipping cream
Method: Spread out the strawberries on a large plate and sprinkle over them
half the sugar. Leave in a cool place overnight. Next day put the red
currants into a pan with a little water and cook gently till they are soft.
Strain off juice and add the other half of the sugar to it. Put in a pan and
bring to the boil. Boil for 10-15 minutes until you have a thick syrup. Add
the strawberries and their syrup and leave to cool. Before serving pour into
individual dishes, chill and top with some whipped cream.
The Scottish Nation
My thanks to Lora for transcribing these volumes for us.
Now onto the H's with Hales, Halkerston, Halket and Hall added this week.
Here is how the Halket entry starts...
HALKET, a surname generally considered to be derived from the lands of
Halkhead in Renfrewshire. In ancient writings, however, it is spelled Haket,
Hacat, and Hacet, and a family of a different name have always been in
possession of the estate so called. The Halkets of Pitfirrane in Dunfermline
parish, were settled in Fifeshire before the fourteenth century. In the
reign of David the Second, David de Halket was proprietor of the lands of
Lumphennans and Ballingall in that county. He was the father of Philip de
Halket, who lived in the reigns of Kings Robert the Second and Third, and
acquired the third part of the lands of Pitfirrane fro his cousin, William
Scott of Balweary, in 1399. His eldest son, Robert de Halket, was, in 1372,
appointed sheriff of Kinross-shire for life. The sheriff’s son, David, the
first of the family that can be traced with the designation of Pitfirrane,
is mentioned as early as 3d June 1404. He had two sons; James, his
successor; and William, who, by his marriage with Janet, daughter and
coheiress of Walter Fenton of Balry in Forfarshire, became the progenitor of
the Halkets of the north. His grandson, Sir William Halket, received in
1472, a charter under the great seal, of the lands of Peternothy. In 1473,
there is a commission by King James the Third to William Halket of Bisset,
appointing him justice-clerk, during life, north of the river Forth, and
within the lordship of Galloway, Arran, and Cowell; but there is no
certainty that he was of this family.
Sir William’s direct descendant, in the reign of Queen Mary, George Halket
of Pitfirrane, had three sons. Robert, the eldest, succeeded him; John, the
second, was knighted by King James the Sixth, and entering the army of the
States of Holland, rose to the rank of colonel. He had the command of a
Scots regiment in the Dutch service, and was likewise president of the grand
court marischal in Holland. He was the ancestor of the Halketts in Holland,
represented by Charles Craigie Halkett of Hallhill and Dumbarie, Fifeshire.
Of the Holland branch was Charles Halkett, who died at his house near the
Hague, 16th October 1758, in his 75th year, being then a lieutenant-general,
and colonel of one of the Scots regiments in the Dutch service. Appointed an
ensign in 1700, he was wounded at the battle of Ramillies in 1706, in which
battle also his father, then lieutenant-colonel of Colyear’s regiment,
received a dangerous wound, and died at Liege. From this branch also
descended Major-general Frederick Halket, who had two sons, who both
distinguished themselves in the army, namely, General Sir Colin Halket,
K.C.B., and G.C.H., who received a cross for his services as colonel in
command of a brigade of the German legion at Albuera, Salamanca, Vittoria,
and Nive; and was severely wounded at Waterloo; and General Hugh Halket of
the Hanoverian service. Patrick, the third son of George Halket of
Pitfirrane, above mentioned, was progenitor of the Halkets of Moxhill in
Raiderland, All about Grey Galloway
by S. R. Crockett (1902)
Our thanks to John Snyder for ocr'ing in this book for us
Added chapters XIX through to XXI this week. Here is a bit from chapter
IF it had not been my fate to be born upon Loch Grenoch, I would have
desired to be born on Loch Ken-side–in some herd's house up towards the
Tinkler's Loup, past Mossdale, and looking across to the Shirmers. Here,
however, are the impressions of one actually born to this heritage of loch
and moor and wide blowing air.
“So, during my father's absence, my brothers and I had the work of the farm
to attend to. No dawn of day, sifting from the east through the greenery of
the great soughing beeches and firs about the door, ever found any of the
three of us in our beds. For me, as soon as it was light, I was up and away
to the hills–where sometimes in the full lambing-time I would spend all
night on the heathery fells or among the lirks and hidden dells of the
A Fit Birthplace.
"And oh, but it was pleasant work, and I liked it well! The breathing airs;
the wide, starry arch I looked up into, when night had drawn her nightcap
low down over the girdling blue-black hills; the moon glinting on the
wrinkled breast of Loch Ken; the moor-birds, whaup and snipe, plover and
wild duck, cheeping and chummering in their nests, while the wood doves'
moan rose plaintive from every copse and covert–it was a fit birthplace for
a young lad's soul, though indeed at that time none was farther from
guessing it than I. For as I went hither and thither, I pondered on nothing
except the fine hunger the hills gave me, and the glorious draughts of whey
and buttermilk my mother would serve out to me on my return, calling me
meantime the greatest and silliest of her calves, as well as tweaking my
ears at the milk-house door, if she could catch me ere I set my bare legs
twinkling down the loaning.”1
But Loch Ken is more than a paradise for playing children. Yonder on its
knoll is historic Kenmure Castle, where have dwelt many generations of the
brave and the generous–bold barons, stout Lords of Lochinvar, indomitable
Covenanters, sweet dames with souls that have “won far ben" in the mysteries
of the faith. From that door Claverhouse rode forth on his quests. In that
keep he held his garrison, with Colvin his right-hand man getting ”His
Honour” from all and sundry, while on a stone by the waterside Jean Gordon
of Earlstoun sat writing her piteous epistle. Over the hills. to the east,
“Kenmure is up and awa” on that ill-fortuned riding of his which ended under
the headsman's axe at Tower Hill.
It is a wondrous loch to watch, say from the bare side of Bennan on which
the heather is conquering the space where I remember only the green waving
of the fir, and the cushie-doos making moan under the dense branches.
Now for a moment Ken is clear and blue like an Italian sky.
Marie Fraser sent in an article on Andrew Fraser - Megantic County.
There is a story behind every family that settled in Canada in the early
1800s. Researching your roots may be difficult if your immigrant ancestors
came from Scotland, but what if they came from Ireland?
That’s a question asked by a descendant of Andrew Fraser and Mary Gillanders.
It turns out that Andrew was actually a son of Archibald Fraser, and a
grandson of Andrew Fraser and his wife Sarah from County Donegal, Ireland
who came to Canada about 1826 but, after two years of drought, moved to
Broughton, Megantic County, Quebec.
Donna sent in Chilocco, Alaska and Hope and here it is for you to read
Dan Jones, Chairman of the Ponca Tribe, who is also my brother stopped in
for a short visit with our Mother. In a box of ice, under his arm he carried
a frozen steak of salmon. How beautiful it was, this piece of orange-red
filet is in its package of vacuum packed, heavy plastic.
“I must show you these pictures of the beautiful Alaskans I met.” He told me
as he was slipping a disk into the computer.
Dan’s mission to Alaska was to attempt to bring the Alaskan Natives into a
unity with the five owning tribes and Chilocco Alumni as far as searching
for funds to develop a museum there on campus.
As slide after slide appeared on the computer I was enthralled with the
display of this culture so far and away from our prairie lands. To see the
skilled craftsmanship of useful articles simply bowled me over, whether it
was hand carved oars, striking articles of clothing including gloves, parkas
(they have another word and I didn’t catch it), or designs hand painted in
such rich colors.
Why wouldn’t these people be sensitive to saving the schools history? Many
of them came from their ice-covered places to attend classes in what must
have been like a foreign land to them. With careful manipulations as was
used with other tribes, homesickness was stayed off by methods dedicated
employees exercised. The experiences for the Alaskan students created joyful
remembrances and, like us, they naturally want to see their school’s
The duty of caring for Mother is of greatest importance at the moment and I
just go from day to day on that. She, after-all, still has a mind of her own
and will do what she wishes to do, as far as that goes.
However, at this time, time is scheduled with hearth and home. Although the
work of writing has brought interest to this needed project I am not at
liberty to get into the politics of pushing to see what I have envisioned,
done. What I can do now, is to start all over at the beginning and send
these stories out, one by one, and maybe, the issue will continue to be in
the forefront. In this way I won’t be getting into a plan, those above me
are working through. They have their values and I have mine. The way of the
Joneses is to take a small bite at a time until the whole pie is devoured
which is the way “little poor people” have to do anything. When we are
talking of giant entities, well, they have their way of doing things,
because of having the where-with-all to do it.
Actually, my plate is pretty full right now directly on my own home front
but by sending out these little stories of mine, possibly, more good, will
be done than can be understood. Anyway, the by-gone history
of a light and lovely time can be enjoyed by anyone.
Proceedings of the Scotch-Irish Third Congress at Louisville, Kentucky May
14 to 17, 1891
Now working on the Third Congress and this week as well as completing the
summary proceedings have added...
The Scotch-Irish in Canada.
By Rev. Stuart Acheson, A.M., of Toronto.
Our Pledge to Posterity.
By Rev. John S. Macintosh, D.D., of Philadelphia, Pa.
A poem by Mrs. Kate Brownlee Sherwood, of Canton, O.
The Scotch-Irish in the General Synod of the Reformed Presbyterian Church of
By Rev. David Steele, D.D., Philadelphia, Pa.
The Scotch-Irish of South-Western Pennsylvania.
By Mr. S. T. Wiley.
Here is the poem, The Scotch-Irish, for you to read here...
From Scot and Celt and Pict and Dane,
And Norman, Jute, and Frisian,
Our brave Scotch-Irish come;
With tongues of silver, hearts of gold,
And hands to smite when wrongs are bold,
At call of pipe or drum.
By king and priest and prelate racked,
By pike and spear and halberd hacked,
By foes ten thousand flayed;
They flung Drumclog and Bothwell Brig
An answer to the gown and wig,
And freedom's ransom paid.
They fell, alas! on marsh and moor;
They signed their covenants firm and sure
With letters writ in blood;
With sword and Bible on their knee
They taught their sons of liberty,
And felt the foeman's thud.
Upon the sodden heath they lay,
Hard harried like the beast of prey,
In hunger and in pain;
Their goods and gear were scattered sore,
The exile ship its traffic bore;
But Scotia lived again.
The Cameronian cry arose
Above the jeers of friends and foes:
"Scotland forever free!
No priestly yoke, no tyrant's chain,
Christ's crown and covenant again
Upon our banners see!"
And some set sail across the sea
To lift the flag of liberty,
At Derry and at Boyne;
The slopes of Ulster and of Down
To people with the bold renown
Of Cleland and Lochgoin.
Heaven speed the Caledonian Scot!
The land is lean that knows him not,
His banners bright unfurled;
For hark! the Bruce and Wallace cry:
"For liberty we dare or die! "
He echoes through the world.
So Patrick Henry sped the word
That thoughts of revolution stirred
In forum and in school;
And Carolina's Irish-Scot
His burning declaration brought,
Defying kingly rule.
Heaven speed the Caledonian Scot!
He bears free speech, he bears free thought,
He manumits the soul;
Beneath his feet let error die,
Above his head God's guidons fly,
The while the seasons roll!
History of Scotland
In 9 volumes By Patrick Fraser Tytler (1828)
Completed the fifth volume with...
Notes and Illustrations (Pages 433 - 474)
Also made a start at Volume 6...
Chapter 1 (Pages 1 - 68)
Mary from 1545 to 1554 (1545)
Chapter 2 (Pages 69 - 134)
Mary from 1554 to 1561 (1554)
Here is a bit from Chapter 1 of Volume 6...
The murder of Cardinal Beaton was followed, as might have been anticipated,
by the most important consequences. It removed from the head of affairs a
man, whose talents for political intrigue, and whose vigorous and
unscrupulous character, had for some time communicated strength and success
to the government - it filled with alarm that party in Scotland which was
attached to the Romish faith, and interested for the support of the freedom
and independence of the country, whilst it gave new spirit to the powerful
faction which had been kept in pay by Henry the Eighth, and through whose
assistance this monarch confidently looked forward to the accomplishment of
his favorite schemes; the marriage of the youthful Queen of Scotland, to his
son, the Prince of Wales, the establishment of the Reformation, and the
entire subjugation of this country under the dominion of England. If the
fact had not been already apparent, the events which immediately succeeded
the assassination of the cardinal rendered it impossible for any one to
escape the conclusion that the conspiracy had been encouraged by the English
Scarcely was the act perpetrated when letters were despatched to Lord
Wharton, the English warden, by some of those numerous spies whom he
retained, describing the consternation which the event had produced in the
capital, the change in affairs which was likely to ensue, and the necessity
for immediate exertion on the part of his master.
On the other hand, the conspirators, who had seized the castle of St.
Andrew's, were soon joined by many adherents, previously the most zealous
supporters of the English interests; and who, although not present at the
murder, believed that it would subject them to suspicion and persecution
amongst these the most noted were John Knox, the great advocate and
supporter of the Reformation, Mr. Henry Balnaves of Hallhill, and the Laird
Whilst such was the conduct of the English faction, the Governor Arran, and
the Queen Regent, exerted themselves to maintain the cause of order, and to
bring to punishment those bold and daring men, who had so unscrupulously
taken the law into their own hands. A convention of the nobility, spiritual
and temporal, was held at Stirling, on the 10th of June; and nothing was
left unattempted by which a cordial union might be promoted amongst the
parties which separated and distracted the state.
The meeting was attended by the chief persons of both factions, by the Earls
of Angus, Cassillis and Glencairn, to whose devotion to the English
interests many of the late disorders might be attributed, as well as by
Huntly, Argile, and the Lords Fleming and Elphinston, who were the leaders
in the faction attached to France, and interested in the support of the
Romish faith to conciliate the lords of the Eaglish party, Arran, the
Governor, solemnly renounced the contract for the marriage of the young
Queen to his son; the "bands" or feudal agreements by which many of the
nobles had promised to see this alliance carried into effect, were annulled,
and at the same time the Queen Regent released from their written
obligations all such barons as had stipulated to oppose the ambitious
matrimonial designs of the Governor. On the other hand, the Earl of Angus,
Sir George Douglas, and Lord Maxwell cordially embraced the interest of the
Queen Regent, approved of the late act of the Scottish parliament, which had
dissolved the peace with England, derided all idea of a marriage between
Prince Edward and the young Queen; and renounced for ever all those "Sands"
by which they had tied
themselves to Henry, and which had been repeatedly renewed, or forgotten, as
their private interest seemed to dictate: Maxwell, who was now made warden
of the West Marches, once more took possession of the strong castle of
Lochmaben; and twenty peers were selected, out of which number four were
directed to remain every successive month with the Governor as his Secret
Highlanders in Spain
By James Grant (1910)
Now up to Chapter 54 and here is how chapter 54 starts...
Chapter 54 - Cameron of Fassifern
As soon as the military traveller presented himself before the cathedral of
St. Gudule, the lustre streaming from the sixteen illuminated chapels of
which filled the surrounding streets with a light rivalling that of day, a
dense crowd gathered around him, barring his passage on every side, and
clamorously demanding, 'What news from the army?'
It was with the utmost difficulty that he could make these terrified cits
understand that he was bound for the field, and wished to know which way the
British troops had marched. His only reply from them was, 'The French—the
French are coming on!' Fear had besotted them. He told them they would serve
Belgium better by getting arms and joining her allies, than by thronging the
streets like frightened sheep. This was answered by a groan, and the feeble
cry of 'Vivat!'
Cursing them for cowards, in his impatience to get on, he spurred his horse
upon the crowd, and drove them back. By their increasing number, an officer
of the Brunswick Oels corps, who was riding down the street at full speed,
was likewise stopped; and having a little knowledge of the English language,
he learned Ronald's dilemma, and invited him to be his companion, as he was
following the route of the army. They galloped through the Namur gate, and
in five minutes Brussels, with its lights and din, fear and uproar, was far
behind them. They were pressing at full speed along the road leading to the
then obscure village of Waterloo. It wound through the dark forest of
Soignies; the oak, the ash, and the elm were in full foliage, and, for many
miles of the way, their deep shadows rendered the road as dreary as can be
The speed at which the travellers rode completely marred any attempt at
conversation, and the only sounds which broke the silence were their horses'
hoofs echoing in the green glades around them. When at intervals the
moonlight streamed between the clouds and the trees, Ronald turned to survey
his companion, whose singular equipment added greatly to the gloomy effect
produced by the dark forest, which stretched around them for many miles in
The cavalry officer belonged to the Brunswick troops, who, with their duke,
had made a vow to wear mourning until the death of their late prince and
leader should be avenged. His horse, his harness, his accoutrements and
uniform, were all of the deepest black, and a horsehair plume of the same
sable hue floated above the plate of his shako, which was ornamented by a
large silver skull and cross-bones, similar to the badge worn by our 17th
Lancers. A death's head was grinning on his sabretache, on his holsters, his
horse's forehead, and breastplate, and the same grim badge looked out of
every button on his coat. He was rather stately in figure for a German, and
a tall and sombre-looking fellow, with large dark eyes, lank moustaches, and
a solemn visage. His tout ensemble rendered him altogether as ghastly and
melancholy a companion as the most morbid or romantic mind could wish to
ride with through a gloomy wood at midnight, with strange paths and darkness
behind, and a battle-field in front.
After riding for about six miles in silence, a muttered ejaculation from
both announced their observation of a flash which illuminated the sky. It
was ' the red artillery,' and every instant other flashes shot vividly
athwart the firmament, like sheet lightning ; and soon afterwards the sound
of firing was heard, but faint and distant. It was a dropping fire, and
caused, probably, by some encounter of stragglers or outposts.
At daybreak, on approaching the village of Waterloo, they met a horse and
cart, driven along the road at a rapid trot by a country boor, clad in a
leathern cap and blue frock, having his shoes and garters adorned with
gigantic rosettes of yellow and red tape. His car contained the bloody
remains of the brave Duke of Brunswick, who at four in the evening had been
mortally wounded, when heroically charging at the head of his cavalry in
front of Les Quatre Bras. The hay-cart of a Flemish clodpole was now his
funeral bier. The bottom was covered with the red stream, forced by the
rough motion of the car from the wound, which, being in the breast, was
distinctly visible, and a heavy mass of coagulated blood was plastered
around the starred bosom and laced lapels of the uniform coat. An escort of
Black Brunswickers, sorrowing, sullen, and war-worn, surrounded it with
their fixed bayonets. The boor cracked his whip and whistled to his horse,
replacing his pipe philosophically, and apparently not caring a straw
whether it was the corse of a chivalric prince or a bag of Dutch turf that
his conveyance contained.
Ronald reined up his horse, and touched his bonnet in salute to the
Brunswick escort; but the rage and sorrow of the cavalry officer, on
beholding the lifeless body of his sovereign and leader, were such as his
companion never beheld before. He muttered deep oaths and bitter execrations
in German, and holding aloft his sabre, he swore that he would revenge him
or perish. At least from his actions Stuart interpreted his language thus.
He jerked his heavy sabre into its steel scabbard, and touching his cap as a
parting salute, drove spurs into his horse, and dashing along the forest
pathway, disappeared. Ronald followed him for a little way, but finding that
he was careering forward like a madman, abandoned the idea of attempting to
Daylight was increasing rapidly, but he felt that dreamy and drowsy
sensation which is always caused by want of sleep for an entire night. He
endeavoured to shake off these feelings of weariness and oppression, for
everything around announced that he was approaching the arena of a deadly
and terrible conflict. His heart beat louder and his pulses quickened as he
advanced. Dense clouds of smoke, from the contest of the preceding evening,
yet mingled with the morning mist, overhung the position of Quatre Bras,
and, pressed down by the heavy atmosphere, rolled over the level surface of
the country. At every step he found a dead or a dying man, and crowds of
wounded stragglers, officers, rank-and-file, on horse and on-foot, were
pouring along in pain and misery to Brussels, bedewing every part of the
road with the dark crimson which trickled from their undressed wounds. These
were all sufferers in the fierce contest at Quatre Bras on the preceding
evening. The village of Waterloo was deserted by its inhabitants, for, like
a pestilence, war spread desolation with death in its path, and the fearful
Flemings had fled, scared by the roar of the distant artillery.
The wounded were unable to give any account of the engagement, save that
Brunswick was slain, and the British had not yet lost the day. He was
informed that his regiment was in the ninth brigade of infantry, commanded
by Major-general Sir Dennis Pack; and that he would find them, with their
kilted comrades the 42nd, and 44th English Regiment, somewhere near the farm
of Les Quatre Bras, bivouacked in a corn-field.
The speaker was an officer of the 1st Regiment, or Royal Scots. He was
severely wounded on the head and arm, and was making his way to Brussels on
foot, bleeding and in great agony, as his scars had no other bandages than
two hastily-adjusted handkerchiefs. He leant for support on the arm of a
soldier of the 44th, who was also suffering from a wound. The Royal Scot
begged of Stuart to lend him a few shillings, adding that he had spent all
his money at Brussels, and would be totally destitute when he returned
thither, as he had not a farthing to procure even a mouthful of food.
Stuart gave him a few guineas, nearly all the loose change in his purse, but
rendered a greater service in lending his horse, which could be of no
further use to himself, as he was now close to the arena of operations. The
officer mounted with many thanks, and promised to return the animal to the
headquarters of the Highlanders—a promise which he did not live to fulfil;
and the steed probably became the prey of some greedy boor of Soignies. By
his accent he knew the officer to be his countryman, and he looked back for
a short time, watching him, as his horse, led by the honest Yorkshireman of
the 44th, threaded its way among the straggling crowd that covered the road.
Memoir of Norman MacLeod, D.D.
Minister of Barony Parish, Glasgow; one of Her Majesty's Chaplains; Dean of
The Chapel Royal; Dean of The Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of The
By his brother The Rev. Donald MacLeod, B.A. (1876)
Have now completed this book with...
Appendix C & D
Appendix B contains a long story which is most interesting called...
A CRACK ABOOT THE KlRK FOE KINTRA FOLK.
Here is how it starts...
Saunders. Are ye gaun to lee' the Kirk, John?
John. Deed, Saunders, I am no vera keen about it; are ye gaun to lee't
S. No yet, I am thinkin'; what for should I? I ha'e been an elder in't for
twenty years come the winter sawcrament, and it's no a waur Kirk but a
hantle better ane syn' I cam' till't, and until it gets waur, I'll bide and
end my days in't, and if it gets waur, I can aye lee't whan I like.
J. Ye'll no ha'e heerd the deputations I'se warrant?
S. Wha me? Did I no! if we are no wise it's no for want o' tellin.' It puts
my auld head in confusion a' this steer!
J. They're surely desperat' keen o' the fechtan thae ministers wi' a' their
crack about britherly love and peace!
S. Ye may say sae John, but ye ken, as the auld sayin' haes't, "the best men
are but men at the best."
J. Na', that's a truth! But pity me, could they no maun to reform the kirk
withoot sic a bizz? sic a fetchin' in sessions, presbyteries, synods, and
assemblies. Na, tha'll no do, thae maun ha'e a Convention like the
S. A Convocation, John.
J. Weel, weel, it's no the richt Parliament, that's a'. And that's no eneuch,
for they maun haud meetin's every ither day in their ain parishes, and ower
and aboon, they maun tak' their neebours' parishes in hand. Na, they're no
dune yet, for they maun ha'e committees o' a' the impudent, speaking,
fashious, conceited chiels, that are aye first and foremost in every steer;
and tae keep them hett, they're aye bleezing at their. wi' circulars,
newspapers, and addresses, and gif ony o' them change their mind, be he
minister or man, or daur to think for himsel', he is cry'd doon for a'
that's bad and wicked! Na, it's desperate wark, Saunders!
S. Deed, John, the speerit that's abroad 's gien me unco concern for the
welfare o' the Kirk o' Scotland, but mair especially for the Church o'
Christ in the land. It's richt that men should ha'e their ain opinions, and
if they think them gude, to haud them up and spread them in a richt and
Christian way; but this way the ministers ha'e enoo o' gaun to work, I
carina persuade mysel' is in accordance wi' the speerit o' the apostles, wha
gied themselves wholly tae prayer and the preaching o' the word, and were
aye thankful' whan they had liberty to do baith, and wha said that "the
servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle towards all men," and
"that tho' we should gi'e our bodies to he burned, we were nothing, unless
we had that love that thinketh no evil, that beareth all things, that hopeth
J. They put me in mind o' bees bummin' and fleeing aboot and doin' little
wark, and makin' nae kame in their ain skaip just afore castin', or like
thae writer bodies at an election gaun gallopin' aboot the kintra, keepin'
the steam up wi' speeehes, and newspapers, till the poll be bye.
S. I canna weel understaun't, for there are gude gude men amang them. They
are surely sair mislaid? for nae doot they think they're richt. I think that
pledging way is a sad snare tae the conscience; it baith keeps a man frae
seein' that he's wrang, or when he sees himsel' wrang, frae puttin' himsel'
J. It wad he Faither Matthews, maybe, that pit that plan in their head?
S. Oo, the men are perfect sincere, and gaun aboot, doubtless, to pit folk
in mind o' what they think their duty, and o' their richts and preeveleges.
J. Sincere! It's nae comfort tae me tae tell me whan a man's gaun to cut my
throat that he's sincere; and as tae stirrin' up the folk to mind their ain
richts, they needna think that necessar', for if the folk are wronged,
they'll fin't oot wi' oot the ministers tellin' them. If a man has a sair
leg or a sick body ye needna keep prokin' at him and roarin' in his lug a'
day that he's no weel; or if he's in jail, or turned oot o' his hoose tae.
the streets, ye needna be threepin' doon his throat that he canna be
comfortable, he kens that better than you ; but if ye get haud o' a nervish
need waik body a doctor can persuade him that he's deean, and mak' him ruin
himsel' wi' pooders and bottles ; and if he's hett tempered and proud, a
Chartist can, maybe, persuade him that he's a slave, and hound wi' airns.
Noo, a' this mischief comes frae gabby speakers wha mak' the evil, and then
lee' decent folk tae reform it.
Doug Ross's Pictures from Scotland
Doug and Pat Ross have sent in five more chapters in their tour...
Ullapool in Wester Ross
Portree in Skye
Cuillin Hills, Eilean Donan Castle
Corrieshalloch Gorge and Achnasheen
Dunvegan Castle & Gardens on Skye
The Crofter in History
By Lord Colin Campbell, son of George, 8th Duke of Argyll (1885)
Here is how Chapter 1 starts...
Not quite a hundred years ago, on a summer's day, a large herd of cattle
might have been seen gathered in front of a Highland steading in the heart
of Inverness-shire, and some seventy or eighty people—men, women, and
children—congregated on the same spot. From the windows of a neighbouring
manse the wife of the parish minister watched the preparations with
The cattle are driven on to the road; the people, with pipers playing in
front, fall into procession, and march by. As they pass, they raise their
bonnets, the good lady waves her hand, and her husband, a white-haired
minister, standing at the door, bids them "God speed!" On they pass towards
the head of the glen, and before long a turn of the road hides them from
view. Ere the sound of the music has died away, the words which follow have
"One of the great concerns of life here is settling the time and manner of
these removals. Viewing the procession pass is always very gratifying to my
pastoral imagination. . . . The people look so glad and contented, for they
rejoice at going up; but by the time the cattle have eat all the grass, and
the time arrives when they dare no longer fish and shoot, they find their
old home a better place, and return with nearly as much alacrity as they
Thus wrote Mrs Grant of Laggan, the accomplished authoress of those "Letters
from the Mountains," that have come down to us as one of the best examples
of a literary style no longer in fashion. What a picture of Highland life is
this! Who will not turn with pleasure from the dreary and monotonous labour
of reading the five thick octavo volumes embodying the labours of a Royal
Commission, appointed to inquire into the condition of the Highlanders of
the present day, to those epistles which bring before us here and there
vivid descriptions of a mode of life of which in many places scarcely a
vestige remains? So utterly different is it from what we are familiar with,
that it is hard to realise how comparatively short is the time which
separates it from us. That life seems some Utopian dream. There is no
mention of the grinding poverty, that semi-starvation which the advocates of
Highland improvement point to as the invariable concomitant of a pastoral
life. Can we wonder that the picture exerts a fascination on the mind of the
people, and that, in less fortunate circumstances, they look back to the
days when their ancestors went up to distant shielings and tended the herds
on the mountain tops, or beguiled the hours in fishing and shooting, or
singing and dancing through the long summer evenings? No monstrous
sheep-farms engulfed them—apparently not even game-laws restrained their
liberty. It would be strange if the traditions of such a time served not to
keep alive a spark of feeling that requires but little art and knowledge of
human nature to fan into a flame. Mrs Grant's testimony is not only
trustworthy, but it is peculiarly valuable. To arrive at the exact truth
about the condition of the people in the past is not easy. Those who are in
favour of emigration and sheep-farming are apt to exaggerate the poverty and
misery of the people under the old system. On the other hand, their
opponents are tempted to depict in too glowing colours their former
prosperity. But Mrs Grant's letters were written without any controversial
object. She was under no temptation to exaggerate. The following description
of the daily life on a Highland farm at the end of the last century is not
"As they must carry their beds, food, and utensils, the housewife who
furnishes and divides these matters, has enough to do when her shepherd is
in one glen and her dairymaid in another with her milk cattle ; not to
mention some of the children, who are marched off to the glen as a
discipline, to inure them to hardness and simplicity of life. Meanwhile his
reverence, with my kitchen damsel and the ploughman, constitute another
family at home, from which all the rest are flying detachments, occasionally
sent out and recalled, and regularly furnished with provisions and forage. .
. . I shall, between fancy and memory, sketch out the diary of one July
Monday. I mention Monday, being the day that all dwellers in glens come down
for their supplies. Item, at four o'clock Donald arrives with a horse loaded
with butter, cheese, and milk. The former I must weigh instantly. He only
asks an additional blanket for the children, a covering for himself, two
milk tubs, . . . two stone of meal, a quart of salt, two pounds of flax for
the spinners, for the grass continues so good that they will stay a week
longer. . . . All this must be ready in an hour, before the conclusion of
which comes Ronald from the high hills, where our sheep and young horses are
all summer, and only desires meal, salt, and women with shears to clip the
lambs, and tar to smear them. . . . Before he departs the tenants who do us
service come; they are going to stay two days in the oak wood, cutting
timber for our new byre, and must have a competent provision of bread,
cheese, and all for the time they stay." The farm is thus described
elsewhere:— "We hold a farm at a very easy rent, which supports a dozen milk
cows and a couple of hundred sheep, with a range of summer pasture on the
mountains for our young stock, horses, &c. This farm supplies us with
everything absolutely necessary: even the wool and flax which our handmaids
manufacture to clothe the children, are our growth!"
Commemorative Biographical Record of the County of Kent, Ontario.
My thanks to Nola Crewe for typing these up for us.
We got two bios in this week and the first is...
HARRY FORBES, a very extensive farmer of Jeannette’s Creek, township of
Tilbury East, and the originator of the “Forbes Drainage Scheme,” was born
October 7th, 1836 in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, where he grew to manhood and
followed farming. Hoping to better his condition, he, in 1868 came to
Canada, and located on Lot 4,Concession 7, township of Tilbury East, in the
County of Kent, where he purchased a farm of 100 acres. There he engaged in
general farming until 1892, when he sold his property to Alexander Gracy,
and bought 700 acres of plains land near Jeannette’s Creek. In the vicinity
of that village he built a fine brick residence and has since made the place
his home, giving his attention largely to farming. He now owns 300 acres,
and has planted considerable land in fruit, there being 1,300 peach trees in
his orchard. In addition to his other interests Mr. Forbes, in company with
P.T. Barry, operated a stave mill at Fletcher for some four years, and then
Mr. Forbes is more generally known throughout the county for the part he has
taken in drainage matters. Some twenty-five years ago he planned extensive
ditching to reclaim a large part of the marshy land in the township, but
only after years of untiring effort and litigation were his plans adopted
and put into operation. Now after so many years of discouragement he has the
satisfaction of being recognized as an unquestioned authority upon all
matters pertaining to drainage. The original cost was $52,000, and to the
present time about $25,000 more has been added, but it is money well spent,
for the system of drains, tanks, and pumping stations known as the “Forbes
Drainage Scheme,” has redeemed thousands of acres of useless land and made
the entire community much healthier, while the value of land has increased
from$2 to $40 and $50 per acre. Mr. Forbes has been twice married, first to
Miss Priscilla Kiever, by whom he had the following children: Isabella, now
Mrs. Alexander Stewart, of Detroit; Jennie, at home; Fannie, Mrs. Shaw, of
Jeannette’s Creek; Charles, a ranchman in the Northwest Territory; and a son
that died in infancy. For his second wife, Mr. Forbes married Maria L.
Stewart, a native of Aberdeen, Scotland, and two children have been born to
this union, namely: Stewart and Elizabeth, who attend the Chatham high
In politics Mr. Forbes is a Reformer, and he has been active in local
affairs for the past twenty-five years, having always been interested in
seeing good men in office. For eighteen years he served as trustee of the
Fletcher school, and he has acted in the same capacity for the No.7,
Jeannette’s Creek school. He and his wife are consistent members of the
Presbyterian Church of Tilbury Village. Upon his arrival in the township Mr.
Forbes started a Sunday-school, of which the present Mrs. Forbes was the
first teacher. Socially he is a member of the Fletcher’s Workmen of Valetta
and a trustee of the Order. He is among the leading farmers of his vicinity,
and he and Mrs. Forbes have a large number of friends whom they make welcome
in their beautiful home.
National Scots, Scots-Irish Heritage Month in North Carolina
There is an effort to get a National Scots, Scots-Irish Heritage Month in
North Carolina and I've been asked to help with this by prooviding a page on
the site that can be updated as progress is made. You can read this at
And that's all for now and hope you all have a good weekend :-)
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