About four hundred of the English marched forth from the garrison, and took their usual position, quite innocent of the danger which immediately awaited them. Everything turned out as Lochiel anticipated, and a general slaughter at once ensued. The Highlanders, issuing forth from their places of concealment, made a great noise, which was loudly echoed by the surrounding mountains. This, accompanied by the simultaneous sounds of a great number of bagpipes, frightened the enemy so much that they made no resistance; for they thought themselves surrounded by large bodies of Highlanders pouring in upon them from all sides, and they resolved that the best way to save themselves was by flying at their highest speed. More than a hundred of the English were killed on the spot, and the remainder, having been attacked by those lying in ambush, between them and the garrison, a second slaughter at that point was the result. Not more than a third of the four hundred men escaped; and these were pursued to the very walls of the fort, all in such a short time that it was matter of history before the Governor actually knew that his men had even been attacked. Not a single English officer escaped, the reason being that they were the only persons who had the courage to offer any resistance to the Highlanders. Among them was a great favourite of the Governor, who became so exasperated at the loss of his friend and that of his men that he was furious with rage, and swore immediate revenge upon Lochiel and his clan.

For this purpose he next morning ordered out his whole garrison, consisting of about fifteen hundred men. Lochiel had, as usual, timely notice of his movements, and, betaking himself to stronger and higher ground, kept in view of the enemy, as he himself marched round the mountains with pipes playing and colours flying. He tried to induce the English commander to follow him and so get entangled in the woods or in the narrow paths and other obstructions abounding in the neighbourhood, where Lochiel could successfully attack, but the Governor was too wary. After traversing many difficult and rugged paths he returned, and by the help of good guides, found his way to the garrison, with all his men, but heartily fatigued and disgusted with his fruitless expedition. The Camerons, who closely followed, repeatedly insulted them, and whenever the nature of

the ground favoured them, and they came inconveniently near, they invited them to "advance," for their Chief was there ready to receive their Governor, if he wished to speak to him; and such other tantalising and insulting remarks.

The name of the young Chief had now become such a terror that the men of the garrison were careful to give him as few opportunities as possible of annoying them, though he occasionally managed to capture or kill small parties of them. Many amusing and curious adventures, in which he took the leading part, are still the talk of the district, and the following, recorded by his biographer, is worth giving :-" A good part of the revenue of his estate being paid in cattle, and commonly sold to drovers, who disposed of them to others in Lowland markets, he employed a subtle fellow, who haunted the garrison, to whisper it adroitly among the soldiers, that a drove belonging to him was on a certain day to pass that way, and that, Lochiel himself being now returned to General Middleton, it might easily be made a prize of. The fellow managed it so that it came to the Governor's ears, who gave private orders to seize the cattle. Against the day prefixed, Lochiel ordered some cows with their calves to be driven with seeming caution and privacy to a place at a proper distance from Inverlochy; but before they came there the calves were taken from their mothers, and driven separately a short way before them, though always in their sight. This, as it gave from a distance the appearance of two droves, occasioned a reciprocal lowing and bellowing, which, being reverberated by the adjacent hills and rocks, made a very great noise. The soldiers were quickly alarmed, and ran, without observing much order, as to a certain prey; but Lochiel, who lurked with his party in a bush of wood near by, rushing suddenly upon them, with loud cries, had the killing of them all the way to the garrison." The Governor became so enraged at the frequent tricks played upon himself and upon his men by Lochiel that he set such a close watch on him that he narrowly escaped being killed or captured on repeated occasions soon after. A few of these hairbreadth escapes, and how he finally arranged favourable and highly honourable terms with the Governor of Inverlochy, will be detailed in our next.

(To be continued.)

A TALE OF THE STRATHNAVER CLEARANCES.

My great-grandfather, Roderick Mackay, rented the fertile farm of Mudale, at the head of Strathnaver. It was a beautiful spot by the side of the river, and the home was endeared to my ancestor by its being the place where his father and father's fathers had lived and died for generations. The house was comfortable and substantial, and it was famed far and near for its hospitality; no stranger having ever been turned from its door without having his wants supplied. Nor did this kindness overtax them, for they had food in abundance. They had flocks and herds, and lived in ease and comfort.

It used to be told of him that, instead of a regular stocktaking, he once a year gathered his sheep, cattle, and horses into a curve of the river, and, if the place was anything well filled, he was content that he had about the usual number, and did not trouble about figures. He went with his surplus stock occasionally to the southern markets, and was entrusted with buying and selling for his neighbours as well-not on the "commission agent" system of the present day, but as an act of goodwill and friendship.

My great-grandmother was a "help-meet" in all things to her husband. They had one son and two daughters, the youngest of whom was my grandmother. They were honest, God-fearing people, loved and respected by all who knew them, and leading a life of peace and contentment, expecting to end their lives. among their friends, in their dear home, as their forefathers had done. A small cloud, not bigger than a man's hand, was hanging, alas! over Strathnaver. Practical men from other lands were scouring hill and dale, and casting covetous eyes upon the beautiful and fertile valley, while accepting the hospitality of the noble people whose destruction they were planning. The small cloud spread with frightful rapidity, and a storm burst over Strathnaver that laid happy homes in ruins, extinguishing the light of joy for evermore in hundreds of human hearts. My great-grandfather, being a rather extensive landholder, was the first to suffer, and his death-warrant could not have caused him

greater dismay than the notice to quit his home. His flocks were scattered, and had to be sold for whatever they could realise. His house-the home of his ancestors—was burned before his eyes. His effects were turned out to the roadside, and his wife and family left without shelter. By permission of the incoming tenant they were allowed to take possession of a small sheep-cot near their former happy home. My great-grandmother, a brave woman, did all she could to cheer her husband in his sorrow, and the son strove to save all he could from the wreck, but the old man would not be comforted.

He went about in a dazed condition, which was most pitiful. He would neither eat nor drink, and continually asked if they thought he would get leave to be buried in Mudale, beside his people. Nothing could rally him, and in a short time he died. His wife then broke down completely, and did not survive him long. They both died in that small sheep-cot, or as I used to hear my grand-aunt, their daughter, put it, “ Ann am bothan fail." They got their wish as to their last resting-place, for they sleep in peace with those who went before them, ere the inhuman laws of men made that beautiful valley what it now is-a wilderness.

My grandfather, Ian Bàn Mackay, lived in Rhiphail, about twelve miles further down the glen, and he also, like the rest of his kith and kin, was doomed. He had served in the Reay Fencibles, and for his good conduct was made confidential servant to the Colonel of the regiment, who was himself a Mackay. When my grandfather was evicted my mother was twelve years of age, and she vividly remembered the incidents as long as she lived. The family were shifted from one place to another, until in two years they had no less than five removals. Ever as they went the black flood of eviction followed them, until at last they landed, or stranded rather, on the stony braes of Tongue. There they had to build some kind of abode and subsist as best they could. Their eight milk cows had dwindled down to one; for they had to part with them from time to time to obtain the bare necessaries of life.

A short time after their settlement at Tongue the potato crop failed, and the grain crops as well, when the ever-to-be remembered famine set in with all its horrors. The disasters and miseries of that time have been described by several-foremost

among them the great Hugh Miller. I only relate what concerned my own immediate relations, as I often heard it told, amidst tears, at our own fireside. My grandfather found it hard. to provide for his family in these times, and at last it became impossible. It was reported that relief came, and that at Tongue House, a mile distant, there was food enough for all who required it. My grandfather was urged to go to the factor for assistance, but he was a Mackay and a soldier, and the bread of charity was to him a bitter morsel. One morning, however, things came to a crisis-the last spoonful of meal had been made into gruel for a sick child, the last fowl was killed and cooked for the family, and starvation stared them in the face.

My grandfather had then no alternative but to go to Tongue House. He found, however, that the corn there had more restrictions than that of Egypt. He found the factor did not believe in giving charity in a charitable manner. He was severely examined as to his character and conduct, as to his present ability or future prospects of paying for the meal. If he could not pay it then, the factor demanded a guarantee that he would pay it in future. At last he consented to give one boll of meal to my grandfather, and in exchange he was to get the one milk cow of the family. The cow was named "Shobhrag" or "Primrose," from her yellow colour. Owing to the scarcity of food, she had to be milked many times in the day, and so one of the children, a precocious little girl of seven, called her "Shobhrag nam beannachd" (the Primrose of blessings). The name stuck to her, for she was dearly beloved by the family. She was a gentle creature, who did not run away or get into trouble like other cows; and she was petted and made of by the children, whilst to the parents she was the one link that bound them to happier times. No wonder if the father's heart was heavy as he thought of his sad bargain, and wondered how he could break the news to the family. On his way home he met the Rev. Hugh Mackenzie, minister of the parish, who, on hearing the sad story, went and paid for the meal, and so "Shobhrag" was spared to them in their grief. Mr Mackenzie sent also seed corn and potatoes, and gave his own horses to plough their land, while he personally attended the family when afterwards stricken with fever—the sure concomitant of famine. Every member of the family hovered for a time