extent, forgot the use of his native tongue, and employed many awkward and embarrassed phrases, mentions that after his troops had passed through the defile, and formed their line facing to the right, he observed that at a short distance in that direction there was a steep and rugged, but not very high, mountain (or rather, as Scotchmen would say, brae), while far beyond, Dundee and his troops were seen occupying much higher ground.

Fearful, however, of Dundee's at once marching down and seizing the crest of the brae, Mackay determined to occupy that position at once, and for this purpose he says he caused every man to march "by his face up the hill." This has been actually interpreted by saying that Mackay caused every man to defile past himself, and then find his way up the hill; but obscure as the phrase is, it obviously means that Mackay ordered his men to march up the hill in the line in which they were formed, in place of breaking up into sub-divisions and marching up the hill in columns, and then re-forming the line when they had reached the summit.

In this he appears to have acted with great judgment, for although breaking up of the line into columns would apparently have enabled the movement to be executed with more tactical precision, yet troops forming on strange ground, and not much accustomed to combined movements, are very apt to fall into confusion in the act of re-forming.

As will afterwards be explained, the defeat of the left wing of the Jacobites at Sheriffmuir seems to have been owing to their having marched to the field of battle in columns.

Mackay himself, in his Memoirs, considers that if he only had had efficient cavalry he would have been victorious; not considering that if he had been so supported, Dundee in all probability would not have risked an engagement.

Mackay, who was a man of undoubted piety, also makes some remarks upon the over-ruling power of Providence which gives the victory to whom He pleases; and the truth of such an observation must at once be admitted; but Providence almost invariably since the cessation of miracles, works by secondary causes, and it is to the investigation of these secondary causes that all scientific enquiries are directed. Who ever heard of the most pious engineer in existence if he found a machine not answering his expectations, contenting himself with ascribing the bad result to Providence, and proceeding to make another precisely similar, trusting that Providence would make it work more effectually.

The invariable course is for the engineer to examine his work minutely, and endeavour to ascertain where it is defective, either in principle or detail, and to apply the requisite remedies.

In this view, a few words from General Mackay's own pen are worth all the reflections and exaggerations which have ever been written on the subject, and they are these, that when Mackay encountered the Highlanders with such confidence, he admits that he was not acquainted with their way of, or firmity (i.e., determination) in, fighting, and that his men were not well armed or trained to encounter such an adversary, and there lies the true secret of the Highland success.

*

*It may here be observed that a single regiment of Mackay's army, composed of Englishmen, stood firm. According to the Highland account, this was because Dundee,

To work out the Highland system certainly required men of great courage and activity, and at Killiecrankie the Highlanders gave ample proof of both, although the late Dr Macrie, the son of Knox's biographer, has so far suffered his covenanting prejudices to overpower his judgment as to assert that Killiecrankie was not a battle at all, and that the Highlanders gained no military glory by their success on that field. It is simply pitiable to think of such contortion of judgment.

It is mentioned by Mackay in his Memoirs that a body of Highlanders, favourable to the Revolutionary interests, having joined his standard, the regular officers were desirous to increase their efficiency by disciplining them after the approved modern fashion, but Mackay had the good sense to interpose, and in the most peremptory manner, forbade any interference with the Highlanders' arms or mode of fighting.

Mackay further mentions that he having thought that one cause of the defeat of his forces was the fact of the bayonet being then thrust into the muzzle of the gun, whereby the soldier was prevented from continuing the fusillade till the last moment of closing, invented something like the present socket handle, so as to maintain the fire as long as possible.

In describing the bayonet as a weapon with which the soldier thrusts as with a pike, he forgets that the pike has the advantage of delivering its thrust at so great a distance as to prevent a sword from reaching the pikeman, whereas the long Highland broadsword can over-cut the bayonet with the utmost facility, and subsequent engagements proved that the new-fashioned bayonet had as little luck with the Highlanders as the old. The arm of the new-fashioned bayonet, besides, causes it to act at a great mechanical disadvantage.

Mackay, along with several other officers of distinction, perished at the Battle of Steenkirke, where the French Guards slung their muskets, drew their swords, and thus advancing against the English infantry (who apparently used their bayonets) succeeded in obtaining the only success which, in modern times, French infantry ever obtained over English in hand-to-hand combat.

It is said Mackay, mortally wounded, died in a ditch after lingering for some time. It may be that the thoughts of the gallant old expiring veteran turned to the wild hillside of Killiecrankie, when on a bright summer night the long broad claymores of the Highland savages flashed death and destruction among his bayoneteers, and he may possibly have thought that had such arms been in the hands of his stalwart Englishmen on that day, the British forces would not have been disgraced, and he might not have perished.

J. M. W. S.

in order to prevent his being outflanked, was obliged to leave an interval in his line so large as to prevent any of the Highlanders being opposed to them, and they actually repulsed by their fire a body of about 60 camp followers who attempted to attack them. Many different accounts of their prowess is given- Mackay, among other reasons, attributing it to the superior nerves of Englishmen, preferring, he says, the English commonality in matters of courage to the Scots, but from the account he gives of their retreat they seem to have been quite as panic struck as their neighbours. Had they really possessed nerve, they might at least have attempted to take their opponents in flank while rushing past them; but, at all events, it is perfectly clear that there was no collision with cold steel, although their conduct on this occasion has actually been quoted in recent times as a triumph of the bayonet.

HIGHLAND SUPERSTITION.

CHAPTER III.

It seems as if the Highlanders could not imagine their dead in an inactive state, or without interest in the affairs of either friends or foes. We know how "Colla Ciotach Mac Ghilleaspuig" asked as a dying favour, when about to be executed, that he might be buried so near Campbell of Dunstaffnage that they might be able to take a snuff out of each other's mulls in the grave. And among the traditions of Glencoe, it is told of one of its heroes-"Paul Mor Mor," or "Big Big Paul," that when dying he asked to be buried with his face to the Camerons, for that he never turned his back to them in life, and in the grave he wanted to show them he was still as fearless before them as ever. Paul was to be buried in the beautiful Isle of St Mun, where the Glencoe people are buried in the one side, whilst the Camerons of Callart and NetherLochaber are sleeping their last sleep on the side next their own shores. There is another story told of this "Paul Mor Mor," and though it is not directly illustrative of superstition, I will give it, as showing this warrior's ideas of religion. Upon one occasion, when going to battle, he was more than ordinarily anxious about the result, and so he made up his mind to pray to his Maker for victory, in doing which he made his requests known just as if he was talking to his chief. He told the Lord he had never troubled Him before, and if He would grant him this his first request, he would promise faithfully not to trouble Him again. Of course the prayer was for victory to his clan, and prowess to his own arm in the fight, and after exhausting his eloquence on this head, he begged at least that if He was not on their side, that He would be neutral, for he had heard He was not only a great King, but a mighty warrior, and that they on whose side He drew the sword must conquer. This idea of God, as a great and bountiful Chief of Chiefs, too magnanimous to take notice of small faults in His children, seemed a common one among the old Highlanders. I have heard of a gentleman in Skye who had the unfortunate weakness of too much love for the bottle, and when, after resolutions to break off the habit, a friend who saw him again under the influence of drink expostulated with him, he cried out indignantly, "Let me alone, it is not with a miserly scrub I have to do""Cha 'n ann ri sgrubaire a tha mo gnothuch." Another old man-in Skye also-had the habit of feeding his cows on the grass of his neighbours, whenever he could do so unseen; and one Sunday morning, when a heavy mist covered the land, he drove them early to the minister's park, determined to return them to his own grounds before the mist would rise. The minister, however, took a quiet morning walk, and came upon the old man and his cows unexpectedly. "Ah, did you not know if the mist hid you from me, it could not hide you from God?" exclaimed the minister. "And He is very different from you, He is greater than to make such a fuss about a bite of grass," replied the old man, as he drove his cows away to

his own poorer grazing, repeating indignantly, "Cha b' ionnan sin is thusa gu dearbh 's beag a shaoileadh Esan do ghreim feoir." But to return to the subject of superstition, and to the causes which were supposed sufficient to bring the dead to their former haunts.

It was generally believed that hidden treasure was often the cause of the dead's returning to earth, as if they could not rest until the secret hoard was possessed by some one. A highly respectable and intelligent Highlander told me the following story, to which he gave the fullest credence:—A man, by name Macgillivray, was ploughing one day in a field in some part of Perthshire, and as he stopped in the course of the day to rest himself and his horse, he sat on his plough, whilst his fellow worker lay down upon a cairn near them and fell asleep, with his hands under his head, and his mouth half open. By-and-bye, as Macgillivray sat watching, he noticed an insect, somewhat like a fly, coming out of the cairn and scrambling up the man's head. It got to his face, and at length entered his mouth. The sleeping man did not seem in the least disturbed, and at length, after a few minutes, the insect returned, and made its way back to the cairn, and the young man awoke, all unconscious of his visitor. "What a strange dream I have had," he said to Macgillivray, who begged of him to tell him what it was. "Some one seemed to whisper in my ear when I was sleeping," said the young man, "that this cairn was a hiding place for a large sum of gold." "I wish the dream was true, and that we had some of it," he added, laughing, as he returned to lead the horses again.

Macgillivray made light of the matter in his remarks to the young man, but he pondered it deeply in his heart, feeling convinced that the insect he had seen was the spirit of the person who had hidden the gold, and that the fact had been communicated to his companion when the creature was in his mouth. So upon the first opportunity he searched the cairn at early dawn, and found there treasure that enriched himself and his family, while the less acute man who dreamed about the matter got nothing. The trouble, however, that seemed to send the spirits of the dead to wander about in peculiar anger and unrest, was the disturbing of their graves, or especially the taking away the least particle of their bones. I remember being told in Harris of a young man who, at a funeral, picked a tooth from the earth of the open grave, with which he frightened a number of people at the "Ceilidh" that night. He had, however, to pass the graveyard on his return home late at night, and got such a fright that he was not seen to smile for a long time afterwards. There was also the case of the person in Uist who, in his greed to add to his land, dug up part of a burying place, and threw the bones he picked up into a pit by the sea side. From that moment he became a haunted man.. Whereever he went after dusk a heavy step followed him, and clods and stones would be thrown at him, even sitting at his own fireside, and doors and windows closed; and though he even married a pious and excellent young woman, in hopes that her presence would drive this unholy thing from his home, it proved a vain hope, for even the innocent wife was tormented by the spectre, until at length, when about to become a mother, she fled from the haunted house to the home of her girlhood. The wrath of this

wandering spirit fell even upon the unborn child, for after the expectant mother had ironed all the little bits of clothing prepared for the child, she found to her consternation that they had been dipped in some black liquid, so she returned to her mother forthwith in great fear; and whilst there her husband was one night accosted by a tall military man, in a long grey great-coat, who told him that he was the one who caused him such misery, and that he could never rest until he restored his bones to the grave from which he took them.

The haunted man went without delay to the pit by the sea side where he had placed the bones, and restored them gladly to their old resting place. He became a changed man from that night, and his old greed and worldliness left him entirely, his wife and child returred to him, and they were never more disturbed by the presence of the old soldier.

At the time when I spent some months in Harris there was a great commotion among the people about a very decent man whose house was then haunted. About the same time every night a wild creature came to the door, and their dog commenced to bark, and almost tear the door open, whilst the terrified inmates of the house sat trembling. They got a godly man in the place to come and read the Bible and pray with them, but still the awful thing made its presence known as before, at the same hour of the night, and the master of the house, who had always been circumspect, wondered why he was afflicted so above his neighbours; and seeing that no spiritual power within their reach had strength to lay this devil, they concluded it must be some earthly and mortal thing, and they got some gamekeepers, with sixpences in their guns, to fire upon the creature through the door, for none of them felt brave enough to meet it, whatever it was, face to face. That night, however, the supposed thing of evil did not appear, which fact strengthened their suspicion that it was some witch in the form of an animal, for they had previously peeped through the door, and had seen that their troublesome visitor was in the shape of a beast, but a beast such as they had never seen. The excitement was dreadful far and near, and any one venturing out at night was not thought brave, but daring and impious.

Some days passed, when at length they discovered that the creature which had so frightened them was some wild animal that had escaped from the parks of Sir James Matheson, and had made its way to Harris ; and being in hiding in some cave during the day, at night it used to come to this, the nearest house, looking out for food; and those who had been so frightened felt rather ashamed of themselves.

Not only did the Highlanders believe in the spirits of the dead appearing, but they also held that the ghosts of the living were occasionally

seen.

The technical term for these were "taiseal," and I have heard many instances given with the view to corroborate the fact of their being seen. There was a very striking case in Argyllshire about forty years ago. One Milloy, a farmer in Learg-na-huisean, Knapdale, had his house haunted for a long time. As soon as the shadows of night fell upon the face of land and sea, unearthly hands seemed to take delight in frightening and torturing the family in the farm-house, until at length, suspecting some human agency in the mischief, a proclamation was issued throughout