Fògradh, Fàisneachd, Filidheachd Page 15

  Nuair a chriochnaich am fiosaiche an fhàisneachd so thilg e clach na fiosachd ann an lochan uisge, no mar a their cuid, ann an lorg coise mairt a bha làn uisge, agus thubhairt e, “Cò sam bith a gheibh a’ chlach sin bidh feart na fiosachd aige mar an ciadna.” Thubhairt e a bhàrr air sin, mar a tha cuid ag ràdh, “Beirear leanabh le dà imleig, no le ceithir meòir fhichead a rèir cuid, gheibh e a’ chlach so ann am broinn geadais, agus leis a’ chloich thig buaidh na fiosachd thuige.”

  Nuair a thugadh a mach Coinneach gus a losgadh thuirt a’ Bhan-Iarla ris nach rachadh e do Fhlaitheanas gu sìorraidh. Thionndaidh e mun cuairt agus thubhairt e rithe, “Thèid mise do Fhlaitheanas; ach cha tèid thusa ann gu sìorraidh. So dhuit comharradh leis am faigh thu fios ciod e mo chor san t-saoghal ri teachd. Thig calaman agus fitheach an coinneamh a chèile bho dhà thaobh an adhair, gus an seas iad os ceann agus an laigh iad air luaithre mo chuirp. Ma thig am fitheach an toiseach labhair thusa an fhìrinn, ach ma thig an calaman an toiseach labhair thu breugan, agus tha mo dhòchas air deagh bhunait.”

  Dh’ òrdaich a’ Bhan-Iarla Coinneach a ghlacadh ’s a cheangal, eadar làmhan ’us chasan, agus a ghiùlan gu Rudha na Cananaich, far an do thilgeadh e an coinneamh a chinn ann am baraille tearra bha dearg-losgadh, agus air an robh a thaobh a stigh làn spìcean fada iarainn, biorach, geur, a bhuaileadh troimhe bho ’n taobh muigh. Rinneadh an nì eagallach so le ùghdarras Easbaig Rois, agus clèir na h-Eaglais Easbaigich, a bha air a suidheachadh aig an àm ud, mar Eaglais na Rìoghachd an Albainn, le Rìgh Teàrlach a Dhà.

  Air an dearbh latha air an do chuireadh Coinneach air falbh bho Chaisteal Bhrathainn thàinig Iarla Shìophort dhachaidh às an Fhraing, agus dh’innis iad da air ball an nì a rinn a’ Bhan-Mhorair mu Choinneach, agus gun robh e nis air a thuras a dh’ionnsaidh na Cananaich le òrdugh na clèire, gu bhi air a losgadh. Bha deagh fhios aig a’ Mhorair air nàdar dioghaltach na Ban-Iarla. Chreid e gun robh an sgeula fìor, seadh tuilleadh us fìor. Cha d’ iarr ’s cha do ghabh e biadh no deoch; cha do ghairm e air sgalaig no gille-stàbaill, ach chaidh e fhèin le cabhaig a dh’ionnsaidh an stàbaill, chuir e diollaid air an each a b’fheàrr a bha ’na ghreigh, leum e air a mhuin, agus dh’ fhalbh e leis an each ’na dheann-ruith, ’ga ghreasad cho luath ’s a b’urrainn dha, an dùil gun ruigeadh e Rudha na Cananaich mun rachadh an t-innleachd diabhlaidh a dheilbh a’ Bhan-Iarla agus a’ chlèir Easbaigeach a chur gu buil. Cha do mharcaich Iarla Shìophoirt riamh roimhe cho luath no cho dian. Ann am beagan ùine bha e am fagus do ’n Chananaich, agus chunnaic e smùid dhubh thiugh ag èiridh suas bho ’n Rudha gu h-ìosal. Thàinig gairisinn na fheòil, bhrùchd am fallas fuar a mach troimh a chorp, chuir e spuir ris an each a bha cheana an impis toirt thairis, a chum gun ruigeadh e an t-àite bàis, gu beatha an fhiosaiche a shàbhaladh. Mar uidhe beagan shlat bho ’n àite far an robh an smùid ag èiridh, thuit an t-each air an làr agus thug e suas an deò, oir cha b’urrainn da a’ chruaidh-spàirn a sheasamh na b’fhaide leis mar a bha an t-Iarla ’ga chur thuige ’s ’ga sporadh air adhart.

  Nuair a chaill e an t-each ruith an t-Iarla gu dian air a chois, ag èigheach a mach le àirde a ghuth ris an t-sluagh a bha cruinn air an Rudha, iad a theàrnadh beatha an fhiosaiche. Ach, mo thruaighe, bha e tuilleadh us anmoch. Cia dhiù a chuala no nach cuala an sluagh glaodhaich àrd an Iarla, bha Coinneach Odhar air a thilgeadh anns a’ bharaille loisgeach beagan mhionaidean mun do ràinig Iarla Shìophoirt an t-àite gus a theasairginn.

  Air an dòigh so chrìochnaicheadh beatha an fhiosaiche, agus chan eil e coltach gun rachadh an sgeula truagh ud a dheilbh mu ’bhàs mur tachradh an nì mar a chaidh aithris. Nan d’fhuair Coinneach bàs nàdarra ’na leabaidh, cha ghabh e creidsinn gun rachadh an sgeula truagh ud a dheilbh no chur air chois. Ach ciod a their sinn mu luchd-dreuchd Eaglais a thug gnùis da leithid sud de ghnìomh oillteil, agus a dh’ aontaich ris? Bha iad air son a’ Bhan-Iarla a thoileachadh gu cinnteach, ach anns na linnibh dorcha sin bha e ’na chleachdadh a bhi losgadh nam buidseach agus nam fiosaichean, agus is iomadh creutair truagh a chuireadh gu bàs fo ’n chùis-dhìtidh so, aig nach robh tuilleadh buidseachd na tha aig an làir-ghlais.

  Bheir sinn cunntas a nise air mar a thàinig fàisneachd Choinnich Uidhir gu teachd mu thimcheall teaghlaich Iarla Shìophoirt, faisg air ciad gu leth bliadhna an dèidh bhi air a labhairt.

  Chunnaic sinn mar a thachair do’n fhiosaiche. Rachamaid a nise agus faiceamaid ciod a thàinig gu buil de ’n fhiosachd mu dheidhinn MhicCoinnich Bhrathainn. Fhuair an t-Iarla a bha ann ri linn Choinnich am bàs air a’ bhliadhna 1678; fhuair a mhac, an ceathramh Iarla, am bàs; chaill an còigeamh Iarla, mac an fhir so, an oighreachd agus an tiotal chionn gun d’ èirich e ann an adhbhar Sheumais air a’ bhliadhna 1715. Ach dh’aisigeadh an oighreachd dha air a’ bhliadhna 1726, agus air a’ bhliadhna 1771 fhuair a mhac an tiotal Iarla Shìophoirt. Gidheadh bhàsaich an tiotal leis fhèin air a’ bhliadhna 1781. Nuair a bhàsaich e cha robh oighre aige, ach fhuair ogha bràthar a shean-athar an oighreachd, a mheal e rè dhà bhliadhna, oir chaidh a mharbhadh ’s na h-Innseachaibh an Ear air a’ bhliadhna 1783. Thàinig a bhràthair na àite, am MacCoinnich mu dheireadh a bha ann am Brathainn, anns an do choilionadh fàisneachd an fhiosaiche.

  Rugadh Fraing MacCoinnich so air a’ bhliadhna 1764. Bha uile bhuadhan agus cheud-fàithean a chuirp agus ’inntinn aige gun deireas nuair a rugadh e, ach chaill e a chlaistneachd agus dh’ fhàs e bodhar leis an Teasaich Sgàrlaid nuair a bha e ’na ghiullan òg a’ dol do ’n sgoil aig sia bliadhna diag a dh’aois. Nuair a dh’fhàs e mòr agus a fhuair e oighreachdan Bhrathainn an dèidh bàis a bhràthar, chuir e rèiseamaid air a cois a chogadh ri Bonapart, air a’ bhliadhna 1807, agus fhuair e bhi na Sheanalair air a’ bhliadhna 1808. Bha ceathrar mhac aige, ach fhuair fear dhiubh bàs na òige. Dh’fhàs an triùir eile gu bhi nan daoinibh, ach fhuair iad bàs fear an dèidh fir, gus nach d’fhàgadh a h-aon diubh beò. Bha am fear mu dheireadh ’na òganach maiseach, gealltanach, aig an robh buadhan inntinn taitneach, ach bhuail eucail throm e agus chaidh e gu taobh deas Shasainn air son a shlàinte, far an d’fhuair e bàs. Nuair a fhuair seann MhacCoinnich sgeula bàis a mhic cha do labhair e riamh tuilleadh agus dh’fhàs e balbh, oir cha labhradh e facal, cia dhiùbh a bha e neo-chomasach no mi-thoileach air bruidhinn. Fhuair e am bàs air an aonamh latha deug de Ianuaraidh, 1813, am fear mu dheireadh de a theaghlach.

  Thàinig an nighean bu shine dhiùbhsan a bha beò an àite a h-athar gu seilbh air oighreachd Bhrathainn. Bha i pòsta ris an Ard-mharaiche, Sir Samuel Hood, ceann-feadhna cabhlaich Bhreatainn anns na h-Innseachaibh an Iar ’s an Ear, ach fhuair e am bàs san àirde ’n Ear ’na dhuine òg, agus mar sin bha a bhean ’na bantraich òig nuair a dh’ eug a h-athair. Agus thàinig i dhachaidh às na h-Innseachan le Currachd Bàn na bantraich air a ceann, agus b’e Hood a b’ainm dhi. An dèidh sin phòs i Mr. Stiùbhart, ogha de Iarla Ghalloway, agus ghabh esan ainm MhicCoinnich an co-thaice ri ainm fèin, agus mar sin theirteadh Stiùbhart MacCoinnich ris. Air an dòigh so chaidh oighreachd Bhrathainn thairis bho shliochd nam fireannach ann an seann teaghlach Chinntàile. An dèidh sin reic Mr. agus Mrs. Stiùbhart MacCoinnich eilean Leòdhais ri Sir Seumas Mathanach.

  Air latha àraid bha Mrs. Stiùbhart MacCoinnich ann an carbad sealtaidh no carbad pònaidh. Ghabh na sealtaidhean eagal agus ruith iad air falbh nan still ’s nan deannaibh. Cha b’urrainn a’ Bhaintighearna an casg, agus thilgeadh i fhèin agus a piuthar a mach às a’ charbad. Chaidh an ciùrradh agus am bruthadh gu goirt; ach leighiseadh a’ Bhaintighearna ann an ceann beagan ùine, gidheadh fhuair a piuthar a b’òige am bàs leis an dochann a rinneadh oirre. Mar so thàinig fàisneachd Choinnich gu crìch, agus dh’adhbhraich Baintighearna Bhrathainn bàs a peathar, ged nach robh coire aice ris. Bha na ceithir tighearnan eile ’nan comh-aoisibh do MhacCoinnich: Sir Eachann Gheàrrloch, an tighearna storach; an Siosalach, air an robh milleadh maighich; tighearna Ghrannda bha ’na amadan; agus Mac-Gille-Chaluim gagach.

  Tha sinn a nise toirt na h-eachdraidh ghoirid so gu crìch. Ch
aidh, gun teagamh sam bith, mòran de dh’fhiosachdan Choinnich a choilionadh gu litireil, agus tha daoine ann a tha dhe ’n bharail gu ’m bi tuilleadh dhiubh air an coilionadh fhathast. Biodh sin mar a bhitheas, thèid iomadh bliadhna ’s linn seachad mu ’n sguirear a bhi ’g aithris, am measg nan Gàidheal, gach fiosachd iongantach a rinn e, am bàs uamhasach a dh’fhuiling e, agus mar a thàinig an calaman ’s a laigh e air a luaithre – an nì a thuirt Coinneach fhèin a bha gu tachairt, mar chomharradh air gu robh ’anam air a ghiùlan gu Flaitheanas.

  OTHER ARTICLES

  (15 April to 6 May 1893)

  Sea Voyage to America 1846

  Before Duncan Blair emigrated to Canada he left “A Final Adieu to the Land of the Bens” as his farewell to his relatives and acquaintances. These were the sentiments and words that he articulated as he was preparing for his journey:

  On Wednesday the 18th day of March 1846 I said goodbye to my father and mother, my brothers, and my sisters in Badenoch. I was reluctant to leave them. I had to part from the parish of Laggan where I had first heard the gospel in the days of my youth from the mouth of Dr. MacKay, and from the Rev. John Kennedy, minister of Castle Roy. I had to leave Kingussie where I had often listened to the joyful story of salvation from the mouth of Rev. Sheppard, the parish minister, and also from the Christian brethren who lived in that community. I had to leave the hills, the glens and remote dells, the branchy groves, the thickets, the streams, and the rumbling rivers around Loch Laggan where I used to wander alone wondering if I would ever return to see them.

  Farewell to Loch Laggan whose banks I often traversed. Farewell to the woods and wildernesses of Geal-aghaidh where I often walked alone. Farewell to Lùb-liath where I used to contemplate the works of creation. Farewell to the river and strath of Palaig where I spent some of my younger days. Farewell to Aberarder where my father and mother live. Farewell to the hills and the glens where I used to roam happily and carefree. Farewell to the Christian brethren in Badenoch and Lochaber with whom I enjoyed heavenly fellowship. I now have to leave you and make my journey by sea to a distant foreign country. Perhaps we shall not see or meet each other again in the glen of tears on earth, but the day will come when the friends of Christ will meet each other around the throne in heaven, and there they will never part again. Until then I wish you farewell!)

  In the afternoon of Wednesday April 1st we embarked in Glasgow on the ship London which was about to sail to Pictou in Nova Scotia, and about four o’clock on the morning of Thursday, April 2nd the anchors were lifted and we sailed from the harbour in Glasgow city.

  We were towed out by a steamboat which took us to the mouth of the Clyde as far as the Isle of Arran. About nine in the morning we passed Greenock but didn’t call at that port as we proceeded on our non-stop journey from Glasgow. About four in the afternoon we were off Arran and the steamboat returned. At that time we were within sight of the large rock known as Ailsa Craig. It sat opposite us like an old lady crouched above the waves, her grey hair down over her shoulders, and the seabirds warbling and wailing around her. Her speckled face had a senile complexion and it was obvious from her dismal countenance that many stormy blasts and winters had passed her head. Her age could be told from her brindled and craggy features. From the first day that she sat on the waves at the entrance to the Clyde she has seen many aeons and generations of mankind passing from the earth into eternity.

  When the steamboat left we hoisted the ship’s sails and a rising breeze from the northeast drove us quickly between Ireland and the Mull of Kintyre. At dusk we were between these two places. I went to my bunk about ten o’clock, but after midnight the wind got stronger and at dawn it was boisterous and surging into a heavy swell of grey-topped waves. Since it was blowing behind us we didn’t take long to lose sight of land and twenty-four hours after we left Greenock we were more than a hundred miles west of Ireland. When I woke up on Friday morning I was being rocked and tossed by the waves from side to side of my bed, and I was very seasick. I could not eat any food since I was vomiting the contents of my stomach, even the green bile. However, about noon the captain gave me a glass of brandy and a biscuit. I was better after that and did not suffer any more seasickness until I reached America.

  After I drank the brandy I went to the ship’s upper deck to contemplate the weather and I looked around me at “the ocean bounding with ridges” rising up in grey mounds around the ship. The sea was “surging and churning in confusion” and at times the vessel rose to the top of the grey-topped ocean hills to the extent that the mastheads appeared to be touching the clouds. At other times she would drop down in one swallow in the dark blue mountains until you thought that her keel was going to hit the bottom of the ocean. The wind was blowing fiercely and loudly from the northeast and therefore propelled us quickly towards our desired destination. We had nothing to do but run before the wind and this is how we were driven forward.

  The wind continued to blow in the same direction, from the northeast, until the tenth day of April; then a big calm came and the ship came to a standstill on Friday. At that time we were near Newfoundland, the first land we would reach in North America. After a few hours the wind veered to the northwest and began to blow against us. Then a wild and turbulent storm began, surprising everyone on the ship.

  As it approached midnight, the sea swelled up into mountainous proportions, and the ship began to roll on the top of the waves. The sea was battering the sides of the ship and one blustery, violent wave hit the stern. It made her give a kick like a prancing horse. The chests which held my books and clothes went topsy-turvy, along with everything else in the ship’s cabin. Everything in the captain’s medicine-chest poured out. Some of the medicine bottles were broken and their entire contents lost.

  I thought that the wild wave had broken in through the side of the ship and that we would soon be at the bottom of the ocean. I called to the Lord for mercy and to save us from the danger confronting us. The day will never come when I will forget how alarmed I was by that violent breaker that hit the ship. The captain shouted to everyone to come to the upper deck. Every sailor, cook and steward was called to help in this time of need. All of them hurried to assist and in a short time they took down the top-sails and mid-sails and wrapped them around the masts. They did not leave a sheet or sail unfurled and only the stripped masts were seen standing. When they took down the sails the ship was driven and greatly tossed around by the hurricane. We remained in that state until daybreak.

  At first I was so frightened that I couldn’t sleep. However, when the ship had been put right I got the courage to lie down in bed and I fell asleep. I pledged my spirit to the hands of the Lord, and when I woke up in the morning I gave thanks to the King of the Elements, because we were still safe and he had brought us unscathed from the peril of the night to the joyous light of the morning. I then got up cheerfully, ate food and seized courage.

  This was the first terrible storm that I had experienced at sea and therefore it frightened me more. But this storm was only the beginning of our distress, for the wind continued to blow from the northwest for three full weeks. It rolled us back and forth during that time on the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, and we had six or seven nights that were even stormier than that one.

  On Saturday the 25th day of April a terrible storm raged against us. The sea could be seen erupting into mountainous rollers. When the ship was in the troughs between the breakers the huge grey waves could be seen hanging high above our heads, threatening to come down fast and sink the ship. Nobody could stay on his feet on the upper deck. Everyone was stumbling like an intoxicated man. That day we saw large mounds called icebergs. They were like the Hill of Rannoch or Ben Cruachan, sitting like Ailsa Craig on the waves, swimming on the surface of the ocean. We did not go near them since we had the light of day to avoid them.

  It was dangerous if the ship hit one of the icebergs. They would smash her into smithereens in the twinkling of an eye. We pas
sed this hazard safely because the Lord is gracious to us.

  On Thursday April 30th the wind stopped blowing from the northwest and turned to the southwest. At that time we were at the back of Cape Breton and the southwest wind was in our favour since we intended to sail around the north of that island, having heard from ships we met that the Canso Strait was full of ice. We had originally intended to sail through the Strait. Therefore we had to turn around to the north, but now there was another risk facing us. That night we got word that there was ice ahead of us and that we were getting close to it. We then took the sails down and stopped where we were for the night.

  When dawn broke the next day, the first day of May, we were surrounded by a thick dark fog. When it lifted we looked out and, lo and behold, the ice was encircling us. The hazard that we were afraid of had arrived. Facing us we saw the hills and rocks of Cape North on Cape Breton Island, for we were close to Ingonish Cove. Paul’s Island was a short distance north of us, about ten miles from Cape North. At this time we were about thirty miles from Paul’s Island.

  This island is about three miles long and one mile wide. Because many ships have been wrecked here the government of the province built a lighthouse at each end of the island in order to help sailors when they encountered stormy weather on a dark night. To differentiate between the two lights at night, the south light rotates and the north light remains static. We stayed close to this island for six days, from Friday morning to Wednesday evening, for we couldn’t move because of the ice. We made many attempts to get out of the prison where we were trapped but we failed for six days. However, God was favourable to us and kept the wind down, for hardly a breath of air blew during that time. On Tuesday night a strong wind came from the northwest and pushed the ship and the ice back and fore. When the ship would hit a big chunk of ice I thought that it was going to break into splinters quickly.