STORIES FROM SCOTLAND

In the picture above you can see me at about 13 years old, Great Aunty Bella, my mother in the stripped shawl, and my Great Uncle Muro. This picture was taken in Melveig when I was a boy. These are the people you will be hearing of in this story.

I would appreciate knowing about you and some facts of your past and that of your fore bearers so please contact me by email or letter via the publisher. ScotHeritage@aol.com or the address presented. I shall just say Commera How. (How are you or welcome in Gaelic.) Oh all Gaelic presented will be done phonetically so you will be able to pronounce it.



A Day In Melveig

The House uncle Murdo and Auntie Bella owned had been there for generation upon generation. It was across from Auntie Mary and separate by the Gairloch Road which came to the end at the foot, (end), of the property. From the front door we could look down, the house was on a hill, (everything in the Highlands is on a hill), across the Minch and on a clear day we could see The Isle Of Skye. We joked that if we could see Skye it was about to rain, and if we couldn't see Skye it was already raining.


It was a modern house thanks to the Highland And Island Hydro Board, there was a light bulb in the "kitchen", and a hand water pump. I put the kitchen in quotes because most of the cooking was done over the peat fire in the living room which also provided the heat for the house as did hot water bottles for the beds upstairs where we slept. The privy, (outhouse), was in the back and so there were "chanty pots, (not to be confused with chanter which are used to learn the piping on.), under the beds incase you needed a bit relief at night. These could also be filled with water and used to stick your brothers finger in so as to see if he would wet the bed, but that is a whole other story.

It never really gets dark at night in the summer in Scotland, so there is a lot of time between waking up and breakfast, and much to be done. I was usually up by about 6 or 7 in the morning and would dress quickly. You don't want to prance around those cold wooden floors too long. Shorts, shoes, socks and a shirt and my cap was all I needed. Only a softy souter would need a jacket. I would come back for the jacket later. A quick glass of water, or tea and toast, made over an open fire, what an unforgettable taste with homemade jam and gobs of butter. The water was already on the boil for the tea and the porridge. But I had no time for such trivial things. Once the toast was wolfed down, "aye I'll have another couple of bits please Auntie Bella". Well some things can not and should not be rushed. "Yhu'll be wanting yhour jah-kit this morning phoy." (Phoy was the Gaelic pronunciation of boy), Auntie Bella said that to me every morning as I was about to run out the door, and every morning I would answer, "Ach no Auntie Bella I'll be too hot." It was alright to go without a jacket, but never a hat. Most of this was actually said in the Gaelic, but then you would have no idea what I was saying now would you. By this time Uncle Murdo was up and had his tea and toast and he would be opening the door taking that first breath of fresh sea air, and standing aside for me to pass between him and the door. He always smelled good, a manly scent of sea and peat. ( The first time I saw Sorely Maclean I thought it was my uncle Murdo MacLean. If you look at a picture you can see the family resemblance). I always noticed that when I took my first big breath of the fresh sea air. He was a large and gentle man but you knew just by looking at him he was as hard as nails and the type of man you never wanted to be on the wrong side of. The ideal companion for a wee boy. He was in fact my fathers uncle and my great uncle in more ways than one. He was greatly respected and people were always seeking his good advice or settlement of an issue.

Once out the door into the chill damp of the morning I would turn and run back in for my jacket and get an extra piece of toast on my way out again. Never once did Auntie Bella ever utter the words "I told you so." She just gave that smile, rubbed ma head, and straightened my cap as I passed in a way that was a kiss and a hug all in one. I doubt if ever a child felt so safe and loved as I did. There was no doubt in my mind that each and everyone in the village, all the uncles and aunts would of laid down their lives for me in a flash. A lot of that has stayed with me to this day. We may have our arguments, but we are and always will be blood of our blood, and as has often been said of we Gaels, "The blood runs strong". Proof of this is your yearning to seek out your roots, and your roots are our common link in our heritage, our blood.

Uncle Murdo would hold the door open, "Auntie bella would yell, ( a yell from Auntie Bella was when the volume increased enough for you to hear her across a quiet room), "Murdo close the door man, hyou are letting the heat escape." which was always answered with, " Ah now bella it is a phoor house indeed th-hat can n-hot be sparing a wee bit of the heat for the neighbors." It was now time for me to do my chores. It was my job to take my sword. Cleverly disguised as a bit stick, always kept outside by the front door. ( Because of the Disarming Act after Culloden in 1746 we were not allowed to own arms or other weapons so we had to make it look like a stick. Uncle Murdo had told me that right after Auntie Bella had made mention of the dirt old bit wood by her sink.) Now that I was "armed" I would run up and down all over the hills and search for English soldiers, German soldiers and anyone else posing a threat of violence to the community. Uncle Murdo, in his great wisdom, volunteered to be the decoy and would bravely sit and smoke his wonderful flagrant pipe. If that did not throw the enemy off guard nothing would.

Uncle Murdo knew all the tricks of war. He had fought with Wallace and The Bruce, Bonnie Prince Chairlie in 1745, and at Culloden in 1746, and stood the Thin Red Line at Waterloo and the Crimea at Ballaclava. He never really said that, but we knew he was old and so it was taken for granted. It was in one of these battles he had lost his arm. (That is another story for later when I was a bit older and the truth came out. Something about a truck load of Whisky and the tax men.) We were quite sure God had consulted him when he was creating the world and that is why Uncle Murdo was always reading the Bible in its original language, The Gaelic. It was obvious that you could not say the Grace at meal times in Gods own tongue unless you knew him, and God understood the Gaelic better than the English. I think that is why there was so much trouble in the churches to the south. They spoke the English and were always fighting with each other.

Amazingly just about when the tobacco was about burned out Uncle Murdo would spot an enemy behind a hill or at the back of the shed and off I would run and chase him off. We were never allowed to kill them because, "they were all some mothers wee boy," and it would make her sad if her son died. According to Uncle Murdo it was a sin to kill and besides they would run off in cowardness and have to face their pals in the greatest disgrace of all. Fate worse than death. They had run in the face of the enemy. Another cowardy custard chased off by the brave Heelunders. It is amazing how hungry you get from chasing away enemies.

On our way in to wash our hands, we passed the smokers. Posts of wood over peat fires that just smoldered and would put the flavor of the peat all through the kippered herring. "Do h-you fancy a bit kipper this mh-orning Davie p-hoy?". " Oh aye yes please Uncle Murdo." At this point I would get my lesson, again and again, about how to smoke and cure the fish. (My big joke was why we had to cure them if they were nae sick.) God bless him Uncle Murdo always had a good belly laugh, just like it was the first time he had experienced my great wit. We ate a lot of fish and to this day, given my choice, I will always choose a nice rare steak. I may be from the Highlands, but I am not stupid. I do love the smell and taste of fish though and these days it is quite a treat to get a well cooked bit fish. "Away and wash y-hour hands Davie", said Uncle Murdo as his one big powerful hand came to rest on my shoulder. "H-your H-antie Bella will be having the breakfast ready." Oh what a smell as I entered the house. Porridge, and I don't mean that instant pasty crap, I mean real oatmeal. A kettle of tea big enough to fill a Highland regiment, and toast or scones or buns. What a life and what abundance. Once I had passed inspection of hands, face and ears, I was allowed at the table. We would all lower our heads and Uncle Murdo would say the grace. The sound of the Gaelic verse still echoes in my ears at times when I sit to eat, and I swear I can see him across the table with his head bowed and the words coming from his lips. When I asked Uncle Murdo why it took so long to say the grace, and was he not worried about the food getting cold, I was told it took so long because we had so much to be thankful for. We had our family and plenty of food. Auntie Kate was there with her home made baked goods, Uncle Alistair with some ham, or a wee drop of "the home made", my mum and dad, my brother, and anyone else who happened to drop in. Aye Uncle Murdo was right, we had our family. At Every Grace we always said a wee prayer for those who had either immigrate or been forced away, and for those lost in the wars. There was always talk at the table and political arguments and a lot of "aye ayes" which in a Highland house can mean many different things, from "you said a mouthful there pal", to "it is the will of God and nothing we can do will change it.", or "I am so full I can not speak."there is a short story on this very subject farther on. We took our time eating, and there was always the kippers to finish off and toast and buns with home made jam. Oh what pride was put into everything we ate. You never saw a can or packet of instant anything in that house. I would be over 20 before I would discover Kraft and other instant dinners. Imagine my first McDonald's, although I have always been angry at the fool they made of Ronald MacDonald the Great Highland Chief. Ignorance and quest for nothing but the almighty dollar still makes me sad.

After breakfast we would help with the cleaning up while Uncle Murdo would have a wee sit down outside with his pipe and discuss the matters of the day with who ever was there. It was made very clear this was not a conversation for children and we should be seen but not heard. It was very seldom this happened, that a child was to be seen and not heard, because it was made very plain that we were the most important things in the world. We were the hope of the future and took great pride in that fact. We would have the honor of looking after the old people and providing for their needs as they had provided for us. Again this is something so ingrained I still take great pride in that today. Man oh man I do mention pride a lot. That is because it is an inherent part of Highland culture.. It was now time for the fishing in the burn. (creek, stream), and that was always great fun. Chasing wee eels or snakes. Catching minnows the size of great white sharks. Then into the shed to feed the chickens. The rooster would always attack me and I hated him so much. I was never scared mind you I just avoided it because of humanitarian reasons. Now I am not saying I was never scared as a little boy, but I was always more scared of being scared than of anything else if that makes sense. So many brave people had gone on before me that I was scared to disgrace them.

On a nice day Uncle Murdo would grab the big pail and we would head off to "The Sea.", to gather wilks and limpets. Shell fish that clung to the rocks in the water and could be gathered when the tide was out. I loved doing this because it meant we were getting salt herring for our dinner. I loved ma saltuks. ( A highland habit of adding uks, or ies to things). I was wearing my shorts so I got to wade out in the water. Also Uncle Murdo, and my dad said I was an expert at the gathering. Sometimes I would even get to take my cloths off and swim to the big stones. I was about 30 years old before I realized how cold that water was. It is a part of the North Atlantic. Need I say more. Uncle Murdo and dad would stand on the shore and help me by pointing out where the best ones were and other encouragement as my brother and I scampered from rock to rock and splashing each other. Talk about your sibling rivalry, we were in a constant war, except when some silly fool stepped in between us and then forces were rapidly joined. Once the bucket was full and we were dragged from the water, our protests of its no cold ignored, our wee blue bodies were escorted back to the house and we sat in front of the fire with a nice hot fruit drink, usually blackberry toddy which contained a wee drop of Uncle Alistairs home made wiska va. A wee snooze in front of the warm fire, some dry cloths and we were ready for our dinner. (The big meal was at noon.) Boy Oh boy a big pan of soup, bread and butter, salt herring, wilks and limpets and buckets of tatties, (tatties = potatoes), and gallons of tea. Sugar was still being rationed from the war, so it was the children who got the lions share and the adults who said "Oh no that's much to sweet for me, you have it." Besides there was better use for a few pounds of sugar than wasting it in tea or at the cooking when there was a perfectly good still on Uncle Alistaire's croft. (Croft = a small land holding usually 3 to about 5 acres). A kings feast. Again Uncle Murdo led the grace. We were like starving cannibals with a bus load of missionaries. There was always concern that we children had enough to eat, and we were always served first. For centuries the people of the Highlands had known hunger and deprivation so it was important that the children be well fed so they could grow up healthy. I was healthier than most. We for our part, when old enough to understand, usually about 6 or 7, insured there was enough for everyone and took pride when we were allowed to sacrifice that last bun or herring to an elder. If it was another child to hell with them, we were at the grab. The trick was you never quite knew how long to wait. Usually the elders would pass around the plate and everyone refused and you did not make your move and dive in until the plate was laid down again. It was like a great Shakespearian dramas. The timing was magnificent like a ballet. Each one of us dancing in time to the rhythm of the plate and the plate manipulator, much like one watches the hypnotic movements of a cobra being charmed.. One could also say it was like vultures over the body, but I like the ballet better. One can only pounce when the moment is right or you end up with no bun and looking like a greedy jerk. If you do get the bun you don't care how you look because you can always go na-ne-na-ne-na-na at the one who missed, and that is something. The problem is some smart alec adult usually cuts the bun in half, which depending on your perspective at the time is either good or bad. The deciding factor being if you are the bun or the bun-less one.

After the good feed it was out to the garden to work off the meal, or another run around the hills. I loved to go for a visit down to Auntie Kate, or Mary who always had something coming out of the oven, or were knitting and would make tea and sweets. If we were a real nuisance we got a sweetie, (sweety = candy), and sent on our way. Under no circumstances were we allowed near the water because it was dangerous. Manys the day I got caught down running in the water. To my astonishment I later learned that children were hit for such things. We were called wee devils and sent home and banished for several minutes depending on the infraction, or given chores to do while the adult nagged away at us, asking silly questions like what would we do if you were drowned, or how many times do you have to be told. It was very painful to disappoint Uncle Murdo or Auntie Bella. It was horrible when they would look at Auntie Kate or Mary or even Uncle Alastair and ask why they had not kept an eye on us. The shame was awful and we had brought it on them, and there was no defense except to say you were sorry, but we knew the damage was done and all the sorries in the world would not make it better. We were like little lambs after one of these occasions and there was no work too hard to try and make up. They would say its not your fault your Auntie should of been watching you, your only a bairn. Oh insult of insult. Worse than a knife through the back bone. It took all the enjoyment of the water away. I later learned the adults were all in cahoots and were well aware of what was being done. Oh what a sneaky lot of rougies.

After all our running and playing, it was tea time. A smaller meal served usually around 4 PM consisting of tea, a sandwich, or some ham and lettuce and perhaps even a boiled egg. Again Uncle Murdo would say the grace and at times my mother would remind everyone about when I was little, I had asked Uncle Murdo to hurry up with his rhymes before the food got cold. Ah out of the mouths of babes.

The night was a quiet time. A wee walk down the road, or a sit outside on a warm evening, they were few and far between, or the usual. My favorite, sit by the fire and listen to the grown ups tell their stories. Little did I know that it was history I was absorbing. In the true fashion of the Gael our history had for thousands of years been a verbal one passed from generation to generation by the elders to the young. The heat of the fire warming us and watching the flames rise and fall. The big fight was to keep your eyelids from falling. We heard about who went to Australia, Canada and Africa, the Bore War, my Granda in the First War, and all my uncles and aunts in the second. It was a rich history. We were told of the Clearances and how families were driven from their land, their homes burned before their eyes. We heard of the fishing and who had been lost in the sea. There was always the discussion about who married who, what their children and grand children were doing and where they were now. Until at last the battle of the eyelids was lost and we would be carried up to our beds and a hot water bottle placed so we would be nice and warm and not get burned. If we stirred it would not take long for the wind to sing us back to sleep in our womb of Gaelic love.

Note to the reader: I have talked a lot about the importance of family, pride and honor. Perhaps these intangibles became so very important to us because we had dam all else. While our history is full of acts of courage like Cullooden, The Thin Red Line, Balaclava, Waterloo, Ticonderoga, The Battle of New Orleans, etc. Perhaps no story is more pertinent, nor shows the importance of honor and pride of an individual Highlander quite as much as the story of John MacMartin. Who when facing the death sentence asked the officer to allow him to go and settle his business and he would meet him at the castle for trial. Perhaps even more important is the fact that Captain Campell of Glenfalloch did not give a second thought at trusting Grenadier MacMartin at his oath. I would recommend you get a tissue and be ready for the anger and pride you will feel. I had related this story to one man who said it inspired him as much as hearing the pipes.



A Matter of Honor

Perhaps I should first explain a little about the times and what was going on when this occurred. The Highland Chiefs had been out recruiting what were called Defensible Regiments, later changed to Fensibles. The contract or agreement was that they would only fight on Scottish soil. The clan chiefs in many cases stole the recruiting money, did not provide what was necessary, and then the government decided that these soldiers were to be sent to Jamaica, The Carolinas etc. You have to understand that this was a death sentence due to the disease and living conditions at the time. Because of revolutions in and about the Kingdom there was a feeling of republicanism in Glasgow, Edinburgh and many other parts of the United Kingdom of great Briton and Ireland.

It is also important that you understand that in a Highland regiment, unlike any others of any military, the men volunteered, and chose to follow their clan chief. (Volunteer may be a strong word considering conditions, but it is technically correct). The important thing is there was a blood tie, a clan relationship. Unlike the army in the south officers interacted with the men. Also unlike the English regiments, and most other European Regiments, the soldiers were men of learning, and culture, and not the dregs dragged from prison. Another difference which shows the class of the Highland Soldier was that the lash was only used on three men in the whole history of The Highland Regiments. Those were used to make examples because of the Mutiny. The lash was basically a death sentence also. The punishment for a Highland soldier was to be sent home in disgrace. Remember that at this time the Highland regiments had not been integrated with men of the south, and orders etc., were given in the Gaelic and a number of the soldiers did not speak the English. It was in fact a racially pure military organization, and most regiments were joined in the blood of kinship.

Well back to Grenadier John MacMartin. It should be remembered that the riots of Glasgow were not quelled by the magistrates of Glasgow, nor by the Gentlemen who signed on as deputy Constables, or the Glasgow Volunteers, but by Highland Men of the very regiment, The Breadalbane Fensibles who Major MacLean had ordered to restore peace, and had dispatched the mobs at the end of their bayonets.

Although the whole regiment had mutinied, the officers chose to prosecute only 4, ( more would come forth later), and one of these being John MacMartin. The sentence was death, and no hope of parole or forgiveness, no matter what pleas of mercy were asked. At this time the English still did not understand what makes a Highland Regiment stand up to charging cavalry, (The Thin Red Line),or perform a Highland charge in the face of unsurmountable odds. (Too many instances to write down.). The 4 were to be marched to Edinburgh castle and there were to be put to death. Grenadier Macmartin requested that he be allowed to finish unsettled business in Glasgow for fear that if his debts were not paid he would not rest in peace, and that he would bring shame on his name. So he asked Glenfalloch, ( a Campbell by the way. For all those who believe the nasty stories about the Campells, many of which may be true but none the less.), to be dismissed so he could take care of his business and that he would be in Edinburgh before the other prisoners arrived. To his officer, Glenfalloch he said, "You have known me since I was a child, you know my country and kindred, you may believe I shall never bring you to any blame by breach of the promise I now make to be with you in full time to be delivered up in the castle." Glenfalloch never even thought to ask what John MacMartin's business was he simply dismissed him as would be expected of any Highland gentleman. Remember this was a lad of 18.

There was no alarm when MacMartin did not arrive on the Thursday morning when the prisoners were being marched into Edinburgh. As the party approached the gates MacMartin rushed in and joined his fellow prosoners, pale and worried about what would of happened to his officer had he been late. John MacMartin had been traveling t night and had lost his way, and that was why he was late Of the prisoners, Robertson was sentenced to 300 lashes across his bare back, the sentence was appealed and mercy granted and he was returned to duty with no further redress.

The others were remanded in custody in the "Black Hole" in the basement of Edinburgh Castle, a very cold situation on January the 23rd, in the midst of a Scottish winter. The sentences for the other ten prisoners added after the first 4 were imprisoned in Edinburgh was from 1,500 to 1,000 lashes. Steuart was released when they found out he was but a lad of 16 and not the 18 he had said when he enlisted. MacMartin was sentenced to 1,000 Lashes. Mercy was requested for MacMartin, Probably by Colin Campbell of Glenfalloch, on the grounds of, certain alleviating circumstances." The Reverend Mr. Robertson MacGregor of the Gaelic Chapel-at-Ease was the interpreter for those who spoke the Gaelic, and gave comfort in the cells. The good Reverend rode in the carriage with the prisoners to record their last words and pray for their Highland souls in the Gaelic.

The troops were drawn up on Musselburgh, by Lord Adam Gordon. The firing party was made up of twelve men of the Breadalbane regiment. It should be noted that on this day it was recorded that every Highland Soldier was described as having their cheeks wet from their tears. The charges were read before the four men who now stood before their regiment with hands bound and a coffin at their feet, "As it appears to me of the upmost consequence, that crimes of so dangerous a tendency as disobedience and mutiny should be punished with rigour, Alexander Sutherland, the most notorious offender, has offered to suffer death, but knowing how much it has always been His Majesty's that justice should be tempered with mercy, the punishments so justly awarded to all the other prisoners are suspended until His Majesty's pleasure shall be known. Sutherland prayed for a few minutes, kneeling beside his coffin with Mr. MacGregor, then he smartly rose, staring boldly at the fireing-party until the Sargent tied a handkerchief over his eyes. When they had gently assisted him to his knees the Sargent and the minister slowly walked away. The fireing-party walked within seven paces of Mr. Sutherland. He was killed instantly by the first volley and there was no need for the, "compassionate," musket at the side to be used to end the mans suffering.

The others were conditionally pardoned, including John MacMartin if they would take service in the 60th Royal American Battalion, now serving in the West Indies. This was a retched choice. Service as a green coated rifleman of the Royal Americans, which served the "Grave yard garrisons of the Caribbean, and of fever riddled companies of The Ottawa. While the 3 condemned men made the choice to go to The Royal Americans, which was also a death sentence, but it gave them some time and honor, the men sentenced to the lash refused and demanded their lashings. They were Highland and the Lash destroyed their self-respect. No matter how the families pled for clemency ,Macnaughton, Scringeour, and MacMartin, refused to join the 60th and thus the first 250 lashes were laid at the Drum Majors orders on St. Georges Day. Scrimgeour and MacNaughton endured their pain with dignity, but MacMartin was insolent. The next morning they were taken from the surgeons, back to the halibars, (a scaffold of sorts to which the brave lads were tied, chest forward and back exposed to the whip.), and the second 250 lashes were given. That night, sure they could not survive the next two days of lashings, they agreed to join the 60th. In May with their flesh not yet healed they were taken to Savoy Prison, London. Scrimgeour, Macnaughton, and MacMartin ended up being sent to The Royal Fusiliers and transported to Canada and the St. Lawrence area.

Because of the execution of Mr. Sutherland and the lashings, it became very hard to recruit men in the Highlands for the Fencible Regiments. It is because of the men mentioned here, and the many others who came before me that one of the proudest days in my life was when I stood my first parade with Glen Garry, Red Cockle, Black Jacket, kilt, spats and sporran my back was as stiff as a board, and my head was high, and the buff and blue cross of St. Andrew flew over my head, and as had been inscribed on the buttons of those same men was inscribed on mine, "Touch Not A Scot With Impunity",. It is why we learn to walk with that cocky wee sway so the pleats of the kilt swing as we march. It is why we take pride in our blood being soaked into the soil of every country in the world. As Mr. Gibbson said when he played William Wallace in Brave Heart, " You can take our lives but you can never take our freedom." Alba gu brah. (Scotland Forever)

Readers note: I would highly recommend any book by Mr. Preeble, who has also written, " Glencoe, Culloden, The Highland Clearances, The Lion Of The North, and John Preeble's Scotland." Not only is he a most learned man, but he has the ability to delve into the very soul of the Highlands showing both the flaws and our strength, with the sharp pen of a historian, and the tongue of a poet.

A MATTER OF HONOUR

A Matter of Honor

Perhaps I should first explain a little about the times and what was going on when this occurred. The Highland Chiefs had been out recruiting what were called Defensible Regiments, later changed to Fensibles. The contract or agreement was that they would only fight on Scottish soil. The clan chiefs in many cases stole the recruiting money, did not provide what was necessary, and then the government decided that these soldiers were to be sent to Jamaica, The Carolinas etc. You have to understand that this was a death sentence due to the disease and living conditions at the time. Because of revolutions in and about the Kingdom there was a feeling of republicanism in Glasgow, Edinburgh and many other parts of the United Kingdom of great Briton and Ireland.

It is also important that you understand that in a Highland regiment, unlike any others of any military, the men volunteered, and chose to follow their clan chief. (Volunteer may be a strong word considering conditions, but it is technically correct). The important thing is there was a blood tie, a clan relationship. Unlike the army in the south officers interacted with the men. Also unlike the English regiments, and most other European Regiments, the soldiers were men of learning, and culture, and not the dregs dragged from prison. Another difference which shows the class of the Highland Soldier was that the lash was only used on three men in the whole history of The Highland Regiments. Those were used to make examples because of the Mutiny. The lash was basically a death sentence also. The punishment for a Highland soldier was to be sent home in disgrace. Remember that at this time the Highland regiments had not been integrated with men of the south, and orders etc., were given in the Gaelic and a number of the soldiers did not speak the English. It was in fact a racially pure military organization, and most regiments were joined in the blood of kinship.

Well back to Grenadier John MacMartin. It should be remembered that the riots of Glasgow were not quelled by the magistrates of Glasgow, nor by the Gentlemen who signed on as deputy Constables, or the Glasgow Volunteers, but by Highland Men of the very regiment, The Breadalbane Fensibles who Major MacLean had ordered to restore peace, and had dispatched the mobs at the end of their bayonets.

Although the whole regiment had mutinied, the officers chose to prosecute only 4, ( more would come forth later), and one of these being John MacMartin. The sentence was death, and no hope of parole or forgiveness, no matter what pleas of mercy were asked. At this time the English still did not understand what makes a Highland Regiment stand up to charging cavalry, (The Thin Red Line),or perform a Highland charge in the face of unsurmountable odds. (Too many instances to write down.). The 4 were to be marched to Edinburgh castle and there were to be put to death. Grenadier Macmartin requested that he be allowed to finish unsettled business in Glasgow for fear that if his debts were not paid he would not rest in peace, and that he would bring shame on his name. So he asked Glenfalloch, ( a Campbell by the way. For all those who believe the nasty stories about the Campells, many of which may be true but none the less.), to be dismissed so he could take care of his business and that he would be in Edinburgh before the other prisoners arrived. To his officer, Glenfalloch he said, "You have known me since I was a child, you know my country and kindred, you may believe I shall never bring you to any blame by breach of the promise I now make to be with you in full time to be delivered up in the castle." Glenfalloch never even thought to ask what John MacMartin's business was he simply dismissed him as would be expected of any Highland gentleman. Remember this was a lad of 18.

There was no alarm when MacMartin did not arrive on the Thursday morning when the prisoners were being marched into Edinburgh. As the party approached the gates MacMartin rushed in and joined his fellow prosoners, pale and worried about what would of happened to his officer had he been late. John MacMartin had been traveling t night and had lost his way, and that was why he was late Of the prisoners, Robertson was sentenced to 300 lashes across his bare back, the sentence was appealed and mercy granted and he was returned to duty with no further redress.

The others were remanded in custody in the "Black Hole" in the basement of Edinburgh Castle, a very cold situation on January the 23rd, in the midst of a Scottish winter. The sentences for the other ten prisoners added after the first 4 were imprisoned in Edinburgh was from 1,500 to 1,000 lashes. Steuart was released when they found out he was but a lad of 16 and not the 18 he had said when he enlisted. MacMartin was sentenced to 1,000 Lashes. Mercy was requested for MacMartin, Probably by Colin Campbell of Glenfalloch, on the grounds of, certain alleviating circumstances." The Reverend Mr. Robertson MacGregor of the Gaelic Chapel-at-Ease was the interpreter for those who spoke the Gaelic, and gave comfort in the cells. The good Reverend rode in the carriage with the prisoners to record their last words and pray for their Highland souls in the Gaelic.

The troops were drawn up on Musselburgh, by Lord Adam Gordon. The firing party was made up of twelve men of the Breadalbane regiment. It should be noted that on this day it was recorded that every Highland Soldier was described as having their cheeks wet from their tears. The charges were read before the four men who now stood before their regiment with hands bound and a coffin at their feet, "As it appears to me of the upmost consequence, that crimes of so dangerous a tendency as disobedience and mutiny should be punished with rigour, Alexander Sutherland, the most notorious offender, has offered to suffer death, but knowing how much it has always been His Majesty's that justice should be tempered with mercy, the punishments so justly awarded to all the other prisoners are suspended until His Majesty's pleasure shall be known. Sutherland prayed for a few minutes, kneeling beside his coffin with Mr. MacGregor, then he smartly rose, staring boldly at the fireing-party until the Sargent tied a handkerchief over his eyes. When they had gently assisted him to his knees the Sargent and the minister slowly walked away. The fireing-party walked within seven paces of Mr. Sutherland. He was killed instantly by the first volley and there was no need for the, "compassionate," musket at the side to be used to end the mans suffering.

The others were conditionally pardoned, including John MacMartin if they would take service in the 60th Royal American Battalion, now serving in the West Indies. This was a retched choice. Service as a green coated rifleman of the Royal Americans, which served the "Grave yard garrisons of the Caribbean, and of fever riddled companies of The Ottawa. While the 3 condemned men made the choice to go to The Royal Americans, which was also a death sentence, but it gave them some time and honor, the men sentenced to the lash refused and demanded their lashings. They were Highland and the Lash destroyed their self-respect. No matter how the families pled for clemency ,Macnaughton, Scringeour, and MacMartin, refused to join the 60th and thus the first 250 lashes were laid at the Drum Majors orders on St. Georges Day. Scrimgeour and MacNaughton endured their pain with dignity, but MacMartin was insolent. The next morning they were taken from the surgeons, back to the halibars, (a scaffold of sorts to which the brave lads were tied, chest forward and back exposed to the whip.), and the second 250 lashes were given. That night, sure they could not survive the next two days of lashings, they agreed to join the 60th. In May with their flesh not yet healed they were taken to Savoy Prison, London. Scrimgeour, Macnaughton, and MacMartin ended up being sent to The Royal Fusiliers and transported to Canada and the St. Lawrence area.

Because of the execution of Mr. Sutherland and the lashings, it became very hard to recruit men in the Highlands for the Fencible Regiments. It is because of the men mentioned here, and the many others who came before me that one of the proudest days in my life was when I stood my first parade with Glen Garry, Red Cockle, Black Jacket, kilt, spats and sporran my back was as stiff as a board, and my head was high, and the buff and blue cross of St. Andrew flew over my head, and as had been inscribed on the buttons of those same men was inscribed on mine, "Touch Not A Scot With Impunity",. It is why we learn to walk with that cocky wee sway so the pleats of the kilt swing as we march. It is why we take pride in our blood being soaked into the soil of every country in the world. As Mr. Gibbson said when he played William Wallace in Brave Heart, " You can take our lives but you can never take our freedom." Alba gu brah. (Scotland Forever)

Readers note: I would highly recommend any book by Mr. Preeble, who has also written, " Glencoe, Culloden, The Highland Clearances, The Lion Of The North, and John Preeble's Scotland." Not only is he a most learned man, but he has the ability to delve into the very soul of the Highlands showing both the flaws and our strength, with the sharp pen of a historian, and the tongue of a poet.