Young Shaw, however, soon recovered himself, and after mutual congratulations and various references and inquiries as to the past lives and adventures of each other, he learnt from Janet that all the male Cummings were away on a foraging expedition in the south, and that they were expected to return with the creach on the following day. This was considered a most favourable and opportune circumstance, and one which must be taken advantage of without hesitation or delay. Shaw at once decided to intercept them on their way home and extinguish them root and branch or perish in the attempt. He and his trusted followers passed a sleepless night in Janet’s cottage. To satisfy their hunger she insisted upon having her only cow slaughtered at once. This was done, and it was soon roasted before a blazing fire of peat and moss fir. No effort was spared on Janet’s part to make them as comfortable as possible, no doubt naturally feeling that if her favourite was successful in his desperate enterprise she would be well provided for during the remainder of her days.
The rest of the night was spent by Shaw and his plucky companions sorting their arms and arranging their dispositions for the following morning. They started before the break of day, and took a secluded position on the Callort Hill, at the eastern extremity of Rothiemurchus, situated between two roads leading from Strathspey. They exultingly felt that they had the Cummings in the immediate grasp of their inveterate vengeance, and sure of their ability to complete their utter destruction and annihilation. Old Janet, who accompanied Shaw and his friends, recommended this as the best and most convenient spot from which to attack the enemy, as they were sure to return by that route, and she was determined to take a part in the fortunes of war herself; for, she said, if the day went against them, it was certain death for her, whether she followed them and shared their danger or stopped at home in her lonely cottage. She then ascended a neighbouring hill, which commanded a good view of the two roads, by one of which the Cummings must return. Janet was soon on the top, and after a period of watchful suspense, descried the enemy slowly advancing straight upon the very spot where Shaw and his followers lay in ambush. She immediately gave the alarm by a pre-arranged signal, the watchword being—‘Tha na gobhair anns a Challort’ (The goats are in the Callort). Shaw and his companions immediately prepared for the mortal combat, in which he was to secure the patrimony of his race or die in the attempt. Like a horde of hungry wolves falling on their innocent and defenceless prey, Shaw and his companions fell on the first batch of their astonished and unprepared victims, and felled them to the ground like mown grass. They were travelling in detached companies, each party driving a separate lot of cattle lifted from the Southron, and as each party came up, ignorant of the fate of the preceding one, they were soon dispatched by the infuriated and successful Shaws; not a Cumming was allowed to escape. They were all buried on the spot, which is to this day called Lag-nan-Cuimeanach, or the Hollow of the Cummings. ‘The green grassy mounds which, after the lapse of centuries, overtop the heather at this scene of blood-thirsty vengeance, mark the resting place and commemorate the overthrow of one of the most savage races that ever existed in the Highlands of Scotland.’
After this desperate and successful encounter with the Cummings no serious difficulties presented themselves against Shaw taking possession of the estate and property of his predecessors. His kinsmen and friends, who so long writhed under the oppressive yoke of the hated enemy, now rallied round their young and rightful chief with alacrity and unmistakable signs of delight. It was not long, however, before matters took another and an ugly turn. Shaw’s mother survived the general massacre and ruin of the clan when the Cummings took possession, and matters had so far prospered with her, still residing in the district, that during the minority and absence of her son she again entered the matrimonial state with a “Southron,” whose name was Dallas. Young Shaw had so far condoned this step on his mother’s part, considering the straitened circumstances in which she was left, that he not only forgave her, but invited herself and her husband to reside with him in his mansion of Doune. Matters continued pleasantly and smoothly for a time, but, as usual in such cases, after a while some disagreeable and discordant elements began to manifest themselves, and the youth was too proud and haughty in spirit to conceal his increasing ill-will and animosity towards his stepfather. On a certain occasion, among a large company of their friends, this disagreeable feeling found vent, when unpleasant remarks were given expression to on both sides. Shaw looked daggers, but held his hand until on his way home, at a lonely and secluded spot, he suddenly drew forth his dagger, and with little or no preliminary ceremonial dispatched his stepfather by stabbing him to the heart. The place is known to this day as Lag-an-Dalaisich. Not satisfied with this brutal and murderous deed, he severed the head from the body, and carrying the bloody trophy to his mother, stuck on the point of his dagger, on arriving at home, he threw it at her, tauntingly exclaiming, “There it is for you, take it, the head of your blackguard and detested husband.”
The state of the poor woman’s feelings at the sight of such a horrid spectacle, brought about by the hand of her own offspring, cannot be described. She cursed him loudly for the unnatural part he had acted. The keenest resentment was aroused in her breast, and she determined to use every means in her power to have him punished for his cruel and detestable conduct. She urged upon every one whom she could influence, and who had any influence in the district, to stir up and rouse the vigilance of the law, feeble as it then was in such an out-of-the-way place. She unceasingly impressed upon everyone the detestable nature and enormity of the crime her son had been guilty of, and the great injustice he had inflicted upon herself. The result was that young Shaw was soon proclaimed an outlaw, and his whole property, rights, and possessions reverted to the Crown. He soon after died broken-hearted, despised by friends and foes alike; and his heritage has continued since to be the property of the ‘Lairds of Grant,’ who, for a mere nominal sum, bought the forfeiture from the Crown.
GLENGARRY AND HIS FAVOURITE.
Many ages ago, when a powerful but capricious chief of Glengarry was erecting the venerable and stern mansion, whose ruins still arrest the stranger’s eye, he very injudiciously chose his companion and favourite from the humblest class of his retainers; and this one, like the generality of favourites once corrupted by a superior’s improper familiarity, soon forgot prudence and propriety. One day, when the castle’s infant walls had just upreared their massy front over their foundation, and while their warlike founder, in company with another chief, was superintending and admiring the progress of the building, up came the favourite with the greatest air of confidence, and without even saluting, as was then customary, his lord and chief, the dread possessor of unlimited feudal power, accosted him thus, in the presence of a recently conciliated rival—‘Alas! poor chief, know ye what the M’Bhethains say? They call you miser, and inquire, how comes it that you could not spare a little silver and gold to be placed in thy castle’s foundation, as is customary with other chiefs? Your present companion, they say,’ alluding to the chief already noticed, ‘has as much silver in the foundation of his castle as would buy yours.’ At this the stranger sneered with fiendish pleasure, seeing him whose friendship fear, not love, prompted him to court, but whom he fervently hated at heart, so much insulted by his own vassal. The chief himself was too severely stung—his rage was too gigantic—to stoop to instantaneous revenge: besides, it was derogatory for a chief to inflict personal chastisement on a vassal, and impracticable to do so in presence of another chief; but his brow was clouded, and his face was darkened as he spoke, until, recollecting himself, he smothered up his rage, and, endeavouring to assume an appearance of cheerfulness, he exclaimed—‘You are right Raonuil, I have quite omitted to do what you remind me of, I therefore thank you for the hint, and, believe me, I allow you more merit, from a conviction that I am not directly or indirectly beholden to those you mention for the suggestion, as it is not their own custom to do the like; however, it should be done, and, with your assistance, we will correct the omission to-night.’ The vassal retired chuckling, at what he considered the effect of his influence. It is impossible to discover the cause which had prompted him to talk so insultingly to his lord and master: some attribute it to the disappointment of dishonest expectations, supposing that he intended to abstract any jewellery which might be deposited as a memento in the foundation; while others imagine that his chief must have previously offended him, and that the insult was intended; but more probably his main object was to ingratiate himself with the stranger.
M’Raonuil lived in a small solitary cottage, a considerable distance from the residence of his chief, and, late on the night in question, he was startled in his slumbers by a loud knocking at his door; he arose trembling, with a secret dread of something unknown, and shuddered involuntarily as he opened his door to discover the cause of this disturbance. He opened it, and lo! there stood his chief, alone, with a naked dagger in one hand, and a dark lantern in the other, frowning like a spirit of vengeance. The frightened vassal at this terrific sight quickly sank on his bended knee to implore his chieftain’s grace and mercy, his heart bursting with remorse and sorrow, but the ear of vengeance would not listen to the importunities of remorse, nor to the supplicating sighs of fear. ‘Come,’ said the stern and angry chief, ‘arise, shake off that ague fit and follow me, for I require your service!’ To disobey the chief was a crime unknown and unheard of in those days, and his peremptory command and determined appearance showed the vassal that remonstrance or question was vain and futile; so with a tremulous hand he arrayed himself in his best apparel, and with a bursting and yearning heart—