As today is the 250th anniversary of the Proscription Act which banned the wearing of the kilt, I thought some of you might be interested to hear about the young lad Alexander Cameron who saw Culloden.
The boy was nearly 18 and came from the west country over by Loch Broom, but was apprenticed to a local farmer. He had risen early that morning, April 16, 1746, to do his chores, but soon left them without a word to his master to join the throngs of people streaming down the road from Inverness to see the battle. There were boys from the Grammar School at Inverness, five miles away, and a boy of about his own age, Alexander Fraser, who had walked more than 15 miles from Beauly, with whom he joined forces.
It was a filthy day with the rain turning to sleet and the lads stood in a knot behind the left flank of the Jacobite Army, peering into the gloom as the drums grew closer through the mist. First they saw the Cameron scouts who had been shadowing An t-Arm Dearg, the Red Army, falling back warily; then other figures, English scouts! And then the clouds cleared a little and in a watery glint of sunshine they saw the might of England, 9,000 men in white and scarlet, silken banners snapping in the wind.
As they trudged across the watery moor, the Highlanders waiting for them, outnumbered, hungry and weary, the sleet driving into their faces, raised a cheer that rang above the bagpipes. They had had less than three hours sleep and had been standing in the mud and water since seven that morning. The lucky ones had eaten a chunk of bread and nothing else. Earlier some of them had sung the Twentieth Psalm, "Jehovah hear the day, when trouble He doth send." Today He had sent real trouble.
By one o'clock, after manoeuvering for position, the Red Army faced the Highlanders across 500 or 600 yards of sloping moorland. Within ten minutes Cumberland's three-pounders silenced the rebel artillery with roundshot, and changing to grapeshot, massacred the helpless rows of Highlanders. A third were killed or maimed before Prince Charles Edward thought to order the one manoeuver that usually won the day - the Highland charge with sword, axe, war cry and bagpipe.
At last the shout for "Claymores!" ran up and down the line, but by then it was too late. The Camerons, valiant to the last man, actually broke through the wall of bayonets facing them, but were bayoneted to death, one by one. Within 40 minutes it was all over. On the field among the dead and dying Alexander Cameron saw his kinsman and chieftain, Donald of Lochiel, both legs broken by shot, being rescued and carried away safely by four clansmen. Alexander Fraser of Beauly saw two of his three brothers killed before his eyes. The Red Army soldiers started to murder the wounded and come after the civilian watchers; the two Alexanders fled for their lives.
Alexander Cameron returned to the farm where his master, knowing nothing of the battle and angered by his improbable tale, ran after the lad to slap him and slipped, cutting himself with the dirk he wore at his knee. By then the neighbours had heard what the English were doing to the wounded and persuaded him to hide in the hills, lest the English marauders find him wounded and kill him as a refugee from the battlefield.
Alexander Fraser went home to Beauly, but was forced to move on again and headed for the western mountains. Alexander Cameron made for Loch Broom and hid there. The two boys would not meet again until 1773, when they both took passage on the Hector as emigrants, bound for Pictou, Nova Scotia.
The Hector is the Highland Mayflower. Chartered by John Pagan of Glasgow, and skippered by John Spier, it was a small Dutch brig, 200 tons; 120 feet overall, her hold 83' x 24" and 10' deep. She became home to 179 people.
Pagan had published an advertisement extolling the virtues of Nova Scotia, which spoke warmly of the great opportunities and gave the impression of a settled community which the Highlanders could fit into comfortably. There were 20,000 acres available; the advertisement did not mention that they lay far inland in the midst of forests which the Highlanders regarded as like jungle and which would cost them dearly trying to clear.
The voyage mostly take place amid storms; at one point, almost at Canada, the ship was forced back to sea and an extra two weeks was added to the journey. The emigrants, grossly overcrowded, out of food and never dry, lay crushed together in abject misery. The ultimate horror, smallpox, suddenly appeared, and one by one the children died, until 18 out of the 70 aboard had been lowered over the side to a watery grave.
Finally there was nothing left to consume but salt beef and green scummy water. Yet, although weak with hunger and mostly recovering from smallpox, when land was sighted the young men put on their kilts and tuned their bagpipes to make a good show as they sailed into Pictou Harbour. The voyage had lasted eleven weeks; a far cry from the four weeks the emigrants had been assured was the maximum needed to reach Canada.
Brave show though their arrival may have been, the extended voyage meant that the Highlanders were too late to plant a potato crop before the onset of winter. In any case, the arable land they had been promised did not exist; only forbidding forests the like of which they had ever seen before and in which they spotted Indians watching them. Sadly, they did not know that the Indians had fled at the sound of the pipes and the sight of the men in petticoats whose fierce reputation at Louisbourg had preceded them to Pictou Harbour. They made preparations to defend themselves and their families, but of course no attack ever came.
The settlers at Pictou tried their best to explain that the forests could be cleared and cabins built, but the Highlanders just shook their heads. They had no idea of how to build with wood; they were terrified of the forests because of their superstitions and dismayed to find that the arable land they had been promised did not exist. Finally they settled at the shore where they thought they could pass the winter living on whatever fish they could catch.
Sadly, their efforts proved fruitless and many walked over 100 miles to Halifax to hire themselves out as indentured servants. Others went to the agency store to ask for food to feed themselves. The agents, both armed, refused to extend credit and some sold their very clothes to buy a few pounds of oatmeal. Finally the Highlanders, angered at how they had been duped and lied to, overpowered the agents, tied them up, hid their guns in the woods and carefully measured out all they would need to survive the winter, leaving an accounting of what they had taken and signing their names to it as a debt they would honour when they could.
The agents sent a messenger to Halifax for help, more than 100 miles away; with wild stories of a Highland rebellion. But when the Governor ordered Captain "Uncle Tom" Archibald to lead a punitive force against them, he refused. "I will do no such thing," he said. "I know the Highlanders and if they are fairly treated there will be no trouble with them." Every scrap of food was finally repaid.
Alexander Cameron had his share of trouble in all this, when a bear attacked him. To escape, he shinnied up a spruce which had no limbs for 40 feet. The bear caught the heel of his shoe and began to drag him back down, but 12 feet from the ground the buckle broke and the bear fell off the tree. By the time it climbed up again, Alexander had broken off a branch and struck it about the eyes as it came near him, so it finally gave up and left him alone.
There were many misadventures as the Highlanders began to venture into the woods, some so ludicrous as to begger belief. But they survived and soon conquered their fear of the forests and began a lucrative trade with Scotland, shipping home lumber for building. The Indians came to appreciate them and showed them how to survive in the woods and to use them to survive. They liked to be around the Highlanders, especially if the bagpipes were played and were much taken with whisky. Alexander created himself a farm by the harbour in Pictou and kilts were worn and Gaelic spoken to such a degree that an English officer wrote home that he might have fancied himself in the Highlands.
Alexander Fraser built a farm inland and died in 1803 aged 75. Alexander Cameron, the boy who had witnessed the battle in 1776 which ended an ancient way of life; for whom the long road from Culloden had led to one of the worst voyages ever undertaken by Highland people, died at the great age of 103 on August 15, 1831. He left a widow, eight children, 63 grandchildren and 21 great-grandchildren and his descendants live in every Canadian province and throughout the United States. His mother's brother, who also fought at Culloden and survived unscathed, was the common ancestor of my wife and myself and that is why we had family here, from Nova Scotia to Texas.
I am so proud of our people, for surviving all the horror, for never giving up, for succeeding. I feel privileged to be a Highlander and do my best to be worthy of ar sinnsear, our ancestors. Cuimhn' na daoin' o 'n d'thainig thu - remember the men you sprang from, say the gravestones back home. I do, and I will honour them "fad re mo la;" all my generations and my days; in other words, forever.
In <4ulmcc$...@marine.jumppoint.com> mike...@jumppoint.com (Michael
Paterson) writes:
>As today is the 250th anniversary of the Proscription Act which banned >the wearing of the kilt, I thought some of you might be interested to >hear about the young lad Alexander Cameron who saw Culloden.
snipped most
>I am so proud of our people, for surviving all the horror, for never >giving up, for succeeding. I feel privileged to be a Highlander and do >my best to be worthy of ar sinnsear, our ancestors. Cuimhn' na daoin' >o 'n d'thainig thu - remember the men you sprang from, say the >gravestones back home. I do, and I will honour them "fad re mo la;" >all my generations and my days; in other words, forever.
In article <1996081521390268...@zetnet.co.uk>, Charles Mcgregor
<chi...@zetnet.co.uk> writes: >> >Dave, >> >Probably for the same reason that the Confederate surrender at Appomattox
>> >isn't celebrated in the American South. >> > Gordon
>> Good point perhaps that is why I do not print a lot of my thoughts. But we >> did not loose at Culloden we just came in second. >> DaveM. >If you have missed the message that the Jacobite Rebellion was a >small British civil war then you must be blind.
Will I get a pension????????????? The point was not missed. I would question the world small though. While it may be called The Jacbite Rebellion by some it should be also recognised that by others it is looked upon as The War Of Indipendence. Which would of put the rightful King on the throan of Scotland etal. Dave M.
> In article <32136846.5...@erols.com>, Gordon Douglas Duffus > <gduf...@erols.com> writes:
> >DOBSCAN wrote:
> >> I just had a thought ( no its not a totally new experience) Why is Aril > >> the 16 not a national holiday, at least up North? > >> Dave M.
> >Dave, > >Probably for the same reason that the Confederate surrender at Appomattox > >isn't celebrated in the American South. > > Gordon > Good point perhaps that is why I do not print a lot of my thoughts. But we > did not loose at Culloden we just came in second. > DaveM.
If you have missed the message that the Jacobite Rebellion was a small British civil war then you must be blind.
-- Chic McGregor Semiconductor Engineer / // Email chi...@zetnet.co.uk //// "Don't vote Labour because of your parents, /// vote SNP because of your children. Alba gu brath!" ///
> In article <1996081521390268...@zetnet.co.uk>, Charles Mcgregor > <chi...@zetnet.co.uk> writes: > >> >Dave, > >> >Probably for the same reason that the Confederate surrender at > Appomattox
> >> >isn't celebrated in the American South. > >> > Gordon
> >> Good point perhaps that is why I do not print a lot of my thoughts. But > we > >> did not loose at Culloden we just came in second. > >> DaveM. > >If you have missed the message that the Jacobite Rebellion was a > >small British civil war then you must be blind. > Will I get a pension????????????? The point was not missed. I would > question the world small though. While it may be called The Jacbite > Rebellion by some it should be also recognised that by others it is looked > upon as The War Of Indipendence. Which would of put the rightful King on > the throan of Scotland etal. > Dave M.
Total rubbish, the Jacobite army 'amassed' at its very peak, 9000 men(only 5000 Jacobites at Culloden), compare this with the 10s of thousands at Stirling Bridge and Bannockburn 400 years earlier from a much smaller population or even with the 10,000+ raised within days in opposition to the Act of Union.
It's a strange 'War Of Indipendence' which rallies about the same number of troops to either side.
Charles Stuart was interested only in the English throne as was demonstrated by his refusal to consolidate in Scotland and his insistance on invading England.
-- Chic McGregor Semiconductor Engineer / // Email chi...@zetnet.co.uk //// "Don't vote Labour because of your parents, /// vote SNP because of your children. Alba gu brath!" ///
>It's a strange 'War Of Indipendence' which rallies about the same >number of troops to either side.
>Charles Stuart was interested only in the English throne as was >demonstrated by his refusal to consolidate in Scotland and his >insistance on invading England.
Has there ever been a war in which the motivation for starting the war was not power or wealth by the boys/girls in charge. England was where the wealth and power were. Dave M.
SHE (Cynthia, lovingly known as 'The Cynth') has accepted your kind offer to join the ranks of the Emasculating Red-Headed Regiment. There are, however, two conditions: SHE requests that no one check *too* closely as to the reality of the red locks & SHE absolutely refuses to sit in a bathtub of red hair coloring (reasonable). Other than that, SHE is ready to slice & dice along with the rest of The Regiment. Somehow I feel that I may have opened a can of red-headed worms (Franco-American spaghetti?) by even bringing this subject to HER attention. The things we men do in the name of Scotland! I think I'll just lie here awhile & bleed, Gordon
>SHE (Cynthia, lovingly known as 'The Cynth') has accepted your kind offer >to join the ranks of the Emasculating Red-Headed Regiment. There are, >however, two conditions: SHE requests that no one check *too* closely as >to the reality of the red locks & SHE absolutely refuses to sit in a >bathtub of red hair coloring (reasonable). Other than that, SHE is ready >to slice & dice along with the rest of The Regiment. Somehow I feel that >I may have opened a can of red-headed worms (Franco-American spaghetti?) >by even bringing this subject to HER attention. The things we men do in >the name of Scotland! > I think I'll just lie here awhile & bleed,
Well done Gordon and a hardy welcome aboard is extended to The Cynth! You are #10! You've done a fine job of recruiting there Gordon. All we need is 3 more by Hogmany. Also, if you should run by the Beach while assitisting in her training, Gordon please bring along your weed eater. Mine's on the fritz and boy do I have a job for you...If anyone has any suggestions on how to espalier Bermuda grass, it would be most helpful.
It seems 3 Scottish Soldiers buried during the war between Canada and the USA (1812) were found near Brantford Ontario. Possible link to Scotish Soldidiers and or Highland regiments under comand of General Joseph Brant (First Aboriginal General) Dave M.
In article <4vgflo$...@newsbf02.news.aol.com>, eo...@aol.com (Eomot) writes:
>If you really need 3 more soon, can I offer Ann ( mo bhean-cheile)? >It's grey really, but she's quite good with the die. And if the battalion
>will take her away, .....
Dear Tom,
Why of course! We'd be most interested in Ann! Is she willing to undergo the rigorous henna bombardment and mental discipline involved? Please remind her that our mission is quite simple: To organize a regiment of redhaired women first footers to conquer as many Hogmany parties as possible.
I'm sure that you'll be most pleased with our results upon her first authorized leave from bootcamp. I look forward to meeting her, but please remind her that time is of an essence and her training should proceed immediately.
Respectfully yours, Ceilteach Meirgeach, Commander, Redhaired Regiment of First Footers of the Delicate Gender
Maggie wrote: > Hey, Commander, are we counting my six year old redheaded daughter? > She's pretty tough - at age two had her elder brother on the floor by > the throat.....train 'em young, I say.
Well Maggie,
I hadn't really counted her, but since you are revolunteering her, sure. So may we call her Maggi Og (the Younger?) so we do not confuse her with mum? As soon I have a firm contract from Ann that will make our thirteen And yes, I'm even counting Private Peggy Sessions. Why she wants to bring hate and discontent to the Rev. Ian O.'s house while he's off on his pilgrimage in Melvaig is beyond me. It could be made a shrine one day...
Tell Maggie Og I'm looking forwad to working with her! CDR R. Celt
>>If you really need 3 more soon, can I offer Ann ( mo bhean-cheile)? >>It's grey really, but she's quite good with the die. And if the >battalion
>>will take her away, .....
>Dear Tom,
>Why of course! We'd be most interested in Ann! Is she willing to undergo >the rigorous henna bombardment and mental discipline involved? Please >remind her that our mission is quite simple: To organize a regiment of >redhaired women first footers to conquer as many Hogmany parties as >possible.
>I'm sure that you'll be most pleased with our results upon her first >authorized leave from bootcamp. I look forward to meeting her, but please >remind her that time is of an essence and her training should proceed >immediately.
>Respectfully yours, >Ceilteach Meirgeach, Commander, Redhaired Regiment of First Footers of >the Delicate Gender
Hey, Commander, are we counting my six year old redheaded daughter? She's pretty tough - at age two had her elder brother on the floor by the throat.....train 'em young, I say.
> In article <321E85F2.5...@exis.net>, Rust...@exis.net says...
> >Maggie wrote:
> >> Hey, Commander, are we counting my six year old redheaded daughter? > >> She's pretty tough - at age two had her elder brother on the floor > by > >> the throat.....train 'em young, I say.
> >Well Maggie,
> >I hadn't really counted her, but since you are revolunteering her, > sure. > >So may we call her Maggi Og (the Younger?) so we do not confuse her > with > >mum? As soon I have a firm contract from Ann that will make our > thirteen > >And yes, I'm even counting Private Peggy Sessions. Why she wants to > bring > >hate and discontent to the Rev. Ian O.'s house while he's off on his > >pilgrimage in Melvaig is beyond me. It could be made a shrine one > day...
> >Tell Maggie Og I'm looking forwad to working with her! > >CDR R. Celt
> OK, She's ready. Don't really know about the Maggie Og bit. Can't we > come up with something else? Her initials are RHL if we can use that > to work with.... > Maggie the First
>> Hey, Commander, are we counting my six year old redheaded daughter? >> She's pretty tough - at age two had her elder brother on the floor by >> the throat.....train 'em young, I say.
>Well Maggie,
>I hadn't really counted her, but since you are revolunteering her, sure. >So may we call her Maggi Og (the Younger?) so we do not confuse her with >mum? As soon I have a firm contract from Ann that will make our thirteen >And yes, I'm even counting Private Peggy Sessions. Why she wants to bring >hate and discontent to the Rev. Ian O.'s house while he's off on his >pilgrimage in Melvaig is beyond me. It could be made a shrine one day...
>Tell Maggie Og I'm looking forwad to working with her! >CDR R. Celt
OK, She's ready. Don't really know about the Maggie Og bit. Can't we come up with something else? Her initials are RHL if we can use that to work with.... Maggie the First
In article<4v8109S...@newsbf02.news.aol.com., rustyc...@aol.com[RUSTY
CELT] writes:
.all we need is 3 more by Hogmany.
Dear Commander, I want to be with you! I must be with you! After all, I served under you at Killiemeny, and I served you well! I got my hair done, but it's not quite red-------it's more, well, a kind of----bottle green! I went to the shop and they gave me the stuff that Angus uses on the sheep, but it looks better on them. I was your Interpreter in the old days.Have you got a position for me now.
With love and kisses, Magaidh nighean Alasdair Thearlaich a Bhocsa.
MAGAIDH wrote: > Dear Commander, > I want to be with you! I must be with you! After all, I served under >you at Killiemeny, and I served you well! > I got my hair done, but it's not quite red-------it's more, well, a >kind of----bottle green! I went to the shop and they gave me the stuff >that Angus uses on the sheep, but it looks better on them. > I was your Interpreter in the old days.Have you got a position for me > now.
> With love and kisses, > Magaidh nighean Alasdair Thearlaich a Bhocsa.
Why of course I remember you, Magaidh! I was under the impression that you had taken early retirement. So, the hair is now green? Hmmmmm... Tell me, could you possibly get hold of some red contact lenses? I suppose a nice shade of verdigis would work since you've gone to all of this trouble. Your services as my interpreter are most welcomed! The gentleman we are having the most difficulty with does speak Gaelic and takes great delight at stirring up trouble where ever he goes. He seems to have disappeared at the moment. He was last seen in an automobile heading east toward Calgary, Alberta...If you have any bottles of Talisker available, please set them in your windows. He might see them and stop if he passes by.
Ah weel....We also still have a couple of more months of intensive training until Hogamany. I hope you've stayed in shape! The wykkd Helendman, Morrison currently needs to be watched. He's living in a cave in Melvaig and seems to think he's Father Christmas at the moment.
