Achany was pleased, drank the ale, and when he had discovered who the courteous stranger was he forgave him Caber Feidh, and ever after they were good friends. Years later the poet’s young son, Angus, then a licentiate, waited on Achany relative to the filling up of a vacancy in Rogart Parish Church. “And so you really think,” said Munroe, “I would use my influence to get a living for your father’s son. Caber Feidh’s not forgotten yet.” “No, and never will,” replied Mac Leod, “but if I get the parish of Rogart I promise you it will never be sung or recommended from the pulpit there.” “Thank you,” said Achany, “that is one important point gained. You are not so bad as your father after all, and we must try and get the place for you.” And he gave young Mac Leod a letter to Dunrobin which got him the living.
“THE CAMERONS’ GATHERING.”
There is a good story associated with “The Camerons’ Gathering:”—In the seventeenth century a dispute arose between Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel and the Earl of Atholl about their respective rights to grazing on lands on the borders of Rannoch. The two chiefs met at Perth, and it was agreed that the dispute should be settled amicably at a meeting on the ground in question. On the appointed day Lochiel started early, accompanied by a single henchman and his piper, Donald Breac of Muirshiorlaich. On the way, however, he met an old woman—Gorm’uil Mhor of Moy—who warned him emphatically not to proceed further without more attendants:—“Go back, Ewen of Lochiel, go back! Take along with thee three score and five of the best men of thy name and clan. If their aid is required it is well to have them to appeal to, if not, so much the better. It is Gorm’uil of Moy that advises it; it is Gorm’uil of Moy, if needs be, that commands it.” Lochiel went back and chose three score and five picked clansmen whom he took with him. Before meeting Atholl he concealed his men in a hollow within a few hundred yards of the trysting-place, and arranged with them that until they saw him turn his cloak, which was dark grey on one side and bright red on the other, they were to lie still. Whenever he turned his cloak it was a sign to them that Atholl was treacherous, and they were to come to their chiefs assistance.
At noon the chiefs met, and after discussion they found that neither was disposed to yield his claims. The Earl at last threatened Lochiel, and at a signal fifty Atholl men sprang from a copse near by and awaited orders.
“Who are these, my lord?” demanded Lochiel.
“These,” replied the Earl of Atholl, with a smile, “are only a few of the Atholl hoggets come across the hills with me to eat and grow fat on their own grazings.”
Lochiel in the meantime had turned his cloak scarlet side out, and at the signal his three-score-and-five men rushed into view.
“And who are these, Lochiel?” said Atholl, rather taken aback.
“These, my lord,” said Cameron, “are a few of my Lochaber hounds, sharp-toothed and hungry, and oh! so keen to taste the flesh of your Atholl hoggets.”
The Camerons were nearer than the Atholl men, and could have made the Earl a prisoner before his own men could prevent them. So he gave in as gracefully as possible, and, drawing his sword and kissing it, he renounced there and then all claim to the grazings; and, in proof of his faith in Lochiel, he tossed the sword into the loch near by. The loch since then has been called the “Loch of the Sword.”