The Lady of Hirta by WC Mackenzie sampler

william cook mackenzie (1862–1952) was a distinguished
Scottish historian, folklorist and archaeologist, born in Cromarty.
Educated at the University of Edinburgh, he taught at Glasgow
Academy for 17 years before becoming secretary to the
Royal Commission on Ancient and Historical Monuments, a
role he held from 1913 to 1935. Following retirement, he served
as acting head of the Department of Scottish History at Edinburgh
University. A prolific writer, Mackenzie produced editions
of Dunbar’s and Barbour’s poems and authored works on Hugh
Miller, Flodden, Bannockburn and Arran, leaving a lasting contribution
to Scotland’s historical and cultural scholarship.

The Lady of Hirta
A Tale of the Isles
Being the Narrative of the Reverend Ferchard Ross, A.M.
Now set forth for the first time and edited by
W.C. MACKENZIE

First published by Alexander Gardner, Paisley 1905
This edition 2025
isbn: 978-1-80425-199-7
The author’s right to be identified as author of this book under the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 has been asserted.
The paper used in this book is recyclable. It is made from
low-chlorine pulps produced in a low-energy, low-emission manner
from renewable forests and other controlled sources.
Printed and bound by Ashford Colour Ltd., Gosport
Typeset in 10.5 point Sabon by Lapiz
Typographic arrangement, timeline and map © Luath Press Ltd., 2025

Timeline
1679 4 February, baptism of Rachel Chiesley (Lady
Grange)
12 October, birth of James Erskine (Lord Grange)
1688 Protestant William of Orange deposes Catholic
monarch James ii
1689 Battle of Killicrankie won by the Jacobites; death
of Viscount of Dundee halts the Rising
1707 Marriage of Rachel Chiesley and James Erskine
Union of the Parliaments
1710 Lord Grange appointed Lord Justice Clerk of
Scotland
1715 George i succeeds to the throne; dismisses John
Erskine, 6th Earl of Mar, Lord Grange’s elder
brother
13 November, Battle of Sheriffmuir (Shirramuir),
led by John Erskine, 6th Earl of Mar;
inconclusive victory
1716 Rising suppressed and the 6th Earl of Mar goes
into exile; the earldom is forfeited
1730 Lord and Lady Grange separation agreement
In the years running up to the ’45, Jacobite
meetings thought to have been held at Preston
House, the Grange home
1732 22 January, Lady Grange forcibly removed from
Edinburgh by instruction of her husband Lord
Grange
5

1732–4 Lady Grange held on Heskeir, in the Monach
Islands
1734 Lord Grange elected to Parliament at
Westminster
1734–41 Lady Grange imprisoned on St Kilda
1739 19 October, Britain declares war on Spain
Late 1740/
Early 1741
Lady Grange transferred from St Kilda to Skye
1745 Lady Grange’s death on Skye
17 September, Bonnie Prince Charlie arrives in
Edinburgh
21 September, Battle of Prestonpans (Gladsmuir);
Jacobite victory
15 November, Jacobites capture Carlisle
Late November, Jacobites occupy Manchester
4 December, Jacobite army reaches Derby but
retreats to Scotland due to lack of military
support
18 December, Battle of Clifton Muir; the last
battle on English soil
1746 17 January, Jacobites defeat General Hawley and
his Government forces at Falkirk
30 January, Duke of Cumberland arrives in
Edinburgh
16 April, Battle of Culloden (Drumossie Muir);
Jacobites defeated, and Bonnie Prince Charlie
flees
1747 Lord Lovat (Simon Fraser) executed at Tower
Hill in London for his involvement in the
Jacobite rising
1754 Lord Grange’s death in London
6

Stornoway
Hirta
Hesker
Loch Hourn
Inverness
Culloden
Aberdeen
Shirramuir
Bay of
Oban
Stirling
Falkirk
Gladsmuir
Linlithgow
Edinburgh
Battle sites
Lady Grange’s approximate
journey from Edinburgh to
Hirta
Carlisle
Newcastle
Clifton Muir
Manchester
Derby

1
My heart is heavy as I write these words, for yesterday Angus
left me to seek his fortune in foreign parts. I am not feared for
him. The boy is brave as he is bonny, and they tell me that in
France, whither he goes, proper Scots laddies are ever welcome.
Should I have told him my secret ere he went forth from under
my roof? God knows. But when he comes back to his own country,
he shall learn his story from this narrative, if not from my
lips. Something tells me that by his eyes, and not by his ears, he
shall come to know who I am and who he is. For the shadows
are fast gathering round my head, and already I hear the lap of
the waters on the unkenned shore.
Well do I mind the day that I, Ferchard Ross, minister of
the Kirk of Scotland, and Master of Arts, by the grace of God
and the University of Edinburgh, landed on the distant island
of Hirta. I was but five and twenty years of age, and of a venturous
mind, else I had not willingly undertaken so hazardous
an expedition. The mission with which I was charged was of
a weighty nature for an inexperienced youth. I was to play a
double part in Hirta. Selected by the Kirk as a proper person
to impart to the rude islanders a knowledge of the Truth and
of civility, I designed, moreover, to discharge a further duty not
devoid of peril to my life. Certain persons in Edinburgh, friends
of a great lady who had been forcibly abducted from her home,
acquainted me with their desire that I should be their confederate
in restoring the lady to her kith and kin. They had reason to
suspect (so they said) that their friend was detained in one of the
Hebrid Isles, and they solicited my help in obtaining information
concerning her, and, if possible, in securing her liberty. The
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the lady of hirta
romantic nature of the proposition appealed to me, and after
some deliberation I agreed to their proposal. Little did I think
of the issues which were to flow from my rashness.
Can I ever forget the dreadful hardships I had to endure
while voyaging to my destination? I sailed from the Clyde in
a small trading schooner returning to the Long Island after
unloading her cargo. It was in the month of May, in the year
1739, and the journey to the Hebrid Isles was accomplished
in fine weather and with favourable wind. But soon after we
had loosed from the Herries in a six-oared Highland boat, a
great change took place. We steered our course for Helsker, a
lonely islet lying at the distance of seven leagues from North
Uist. On this rock we discovered a prodigious number of seals,
whose fat is converted into oil, though formerly, as I was credibly
informed, the flesh of these animals was used as food by the
people, who throve mightily upon it. We also found incredible
numbers of wildfowl eggs, a great many of which our people
collected. At ten o’clock at night we pursued our voyage. The
wind was at first favourable, blowing as it did from the southeast.
Soon afterwards, it began to freshen, and before we had
proceeded five leagues, the sky became entirely overcast, and a
deluge of rain poured down upon us. This was accompanied by
vivid lightning, exceeding terrible to behold, and by loud peals
of thunder which did carry awe to our breasts. Then arose a
dreadful hurricane which tossed our little bark mightily, and
we were seized with horror at our impending fate. In this position
of peril we were without a ray of hope, until we observed
first one and then another flight of sea-birds of the diving kind,
from which we concluded that our hour of deliverance was not
far distant. But the storm raged for full another six hours ere
we had the happiness to discover in the tempestuous ocean,
what we joyfully recognised as a rock which lies at a distance
of a mile from the bay of Hirta. There is a dangerous current
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w.c. mackenzie
round this rock, and it was with no little joy that we succeeded
in safely doubling the point, when there was disclosed to our
view a dreary cliff, whose aspect in the fog which enveloped
us was terrifying in the extreme. In a few moments thereafter,
we reached the ordinary landing-place, which was nothing but
a solid rock overgrown with slawk. The wind was blowing
with great fury into the bay, and the waves were dashing with
incredible violence against the rock, insomuch that to attempt
a landing was impossible. In this extremity we were compelled
to drop our anchor, which consisted of a strong wicker hamper
nearly filled with stones, an ancient form of anchor which,
to my astonishment, was the only kind known there. For five
hours we remained in that position, exposed to the fury of the
gale and drenched to the skin. It was then that I discovered that
the instincts of humanity, like many of our hardy plants, are
capable of flourishing in the most unfavourable soil.
When the people of Hirta were made acquainted with our
pitiable plight, they flew from their village to our assistance,
and with loud cries which we failed to comprehend, endeavoured
to give us directions for our safety. From their signals, we
believed that the time had come when we might safely venture
to land. Therefore we drew up our anchor, but our despair may
be imagined when we were finally reduced to the necessity of
sheering off, for to land was still impossible.
Seeing our dilemma, the people signified to us that we
should attempt a landing on a sandy beach, accessible only at
low water, which lies a little to the right of the rock. This we
afterwards learned is an exceeding dangerous landing-place,
and had it not been for the exertions of the islanders, we had
undoubtedly come to grief. Round the stern of our boat was a
stout rope, and another was tied to her prow, these being precautions
which the boatmen of those parts always take when
visiting Hirta. By means of these ropes we were hauled ashore
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the lady of hirta
in the following fashion. The men on the shore formed themselves
into two lines, at the head of which the two strongest
of the company marched into the sea, each grasped round the
middle by the next ablest man, and so from one end of the
row to the other. In this order each of them grasped the boat,
and the ropes being passed ashore, all pulled in unison with
the warning signal of a crier, and the boat, with its contents,
was with astonishing dexterity hauled beyond the reach of the
sea, the women and children assisting in the operation. Thus
my first acquaintance with these people filled my breast with
the most pleasing sentiments towards them, and I thanked
God that even as the shipwrecked St. Paul had been hospitably
received by the Melitans, so had I the good fortune to fall into
such kind hands as those of the rude Hirtans.
I may here observe one circumstance which filled me with
astonishment, and which to this day remains a mystery to me.
Hardly had I poured out my thanks (in the Irish tongue, of
course, for I have an intimate knowledge of that language)
than, as it appeared to me, all the men, women, and children
there assembled were with one accord seized with a violent
fit of sneezing. This form of welcome was to me most
un-accountable, and my favourable impressions received a
severe shock. Turning to one of the men from the Herries,
I desired him to offer me an explanation of this remarkable
phenomenon.
‘That,’ he replied, ‘is what they call the strangers’ cold. The
people of Hirta always catch it when any strangers visit their
island.’
I have since had ample opportunities of verifying this statement,
but what the explanation may be, I leave to the learned
in those matters.
I had now leisure to observe the people who stood nigh
me. The men were sturdy rogues, fair-complexioned, well-
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w.c. mackenzie
proportioned, and bearded but sparsely. The women were comely,
with fresh complexions and regular features. The bareheaded and
barelegged children gazed at me with prodigious curiosity, as if
I were a visitor from another world. All were singularly respectful
in their demeanour, and my spirits were sensibly revived by
the mildness of their manners. A few of the men wore breeches,
wide and open at the knees, but most were attired in the girded
plaid about a short doublet reaching to the waist; and I observed
that the ends of the plaid were fastened by fulmar bone, the fulmar
being a sea-bird exceeding common in those parts. A further
mark of their calling as fowlers was to be seen in the socks
worn on the feet of some, which were nothing but old rags sewed
with feathers instead of thread. Their short caps were of the same
colour and shape as those worn by the Capuchins. The women
wore on their heads a linen dress falling below the shoulders, and
a lock of hair ending in a knot hung down either cheek. Their
plaids were fastened upon their breasts by a large circular buckle
of brass. It being the summer time, most of the people were barefooted,
though I observed some few brogues among them.
One man was distinguished from the others by a different
belted plaid and by his martial bearing, his companions having
a somewhat dejected look which impressed me by its melancholiness.
He was a tall man of fifty years or thereby, with red hair,
and grey eyes that had an honest and merry glint in them. As
I was observing him, he stepped forward with a swinging gait
and greeted me with a military salute.
‘God save you,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking that you will be the
new meenister. It’s time you were here,’ he went on, with a
look at the islanders, ‘because these poor bodies are like sheep
without a shepherd. And the sheep are getting wild. For myself,
everybody here says that Alastair Ruadh fears neither man nor
de’il. But he’s a wise man that kens the religion o’ his neighbour.
It’s glad I am to see you.’
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the lady of hirta
‘You expected me, then?’ I asked.
‘Ay, I just did that. And if you’ll pleasure me by walking this
way, I’ll take you to the master’s hoose.’
Divining that the ‘master’ was the steward of the island, a
gentleman named Campbell, to whom I carried letters of recommendation,
I thankfully accepted the guidance of my tall friend.
‘Ye’ll maybe like a sneeshan?’ he asked. ‘No? Weel, ye ken,’
he remarked, as he helped himself to a prodigious quantity, ‘I
aye think that a sneeshan and a dram are the best blessings o’
Providence. And that’s the God’s truth.’
‘You’ll not be a native of these parts?’ I asked, willing to
turn the conversation. ‘You speak the Sassenach tongue, and
yet,’ I added, glancing doubtfully at his attire, ‘you wear the
garb of the Gael.’
‘Me a native of these parts! It’s from the Long Island I am,
and from the best part of it, too, and that is Uist. They have a
notion in the Herries and the Lewis that they are very pretty fellows,
but may I never draw breath again if I’d move a foot for the
best man o’ them I ever saw. As for the language, I can hold my
own wi’ the Sassenach passably well, for I have travelled— oh,
yes, I have travelled—aye, and long dwelt in the Low Country.
But, Holy Mary! you should hear me in the tongue of the Gael!’
I was finding the conversation of my companion vastly
diverting, so I pursued my enquiries about himself, that being
the subject in which he appeared to be most greatly interested.
‘And your name?’ I asked. ‘Are you of the Siol Thormaid 1
yourself, or are you—’
‘My name in Hirta is Red Sandy,’ he replied. ‘But I’ve got
another, and it is the best in broad Scotland, though they’re no
o’ that opeenion in the Low Country, I’m thinking. But what
1 Literally “the seed of Tormod”; one of the two branches of the
Clan MacLeod.—Ed.
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w.c. mackenzie
can ye expect o’ folk that canna tell ye who their great-grandfathers
were? No that the Sassenach bodies havena their good
points. I mind at Shirramuir—’
‘Shirramuir!’ I exclaimed; ‘you were there? And on which
side?’
Imagine my amazement, when I turned to my companion,
to find that his appearance had undergone a remarkable change.
The confident bearing had disappeared, and his face wore an
exceeding troubled look. But he quickly recovered himself.
‘Hoots! I was just passing that way and I looked on to see
the ploy. Maybe I was a drover, or maybe,’ he added, with a
sly smile, I was just like Rob, 2 waiting with the corbies for the
pickings.’
We had now reached the village, which lay a quarter of a
mile from the landing-place. It consisted of two rows of houses
with a causeway in the middle, which Sandy called a street. The
appearance of the houses filled me with amazement. The roofs
were flat, or nearly so, shaped thus owing to the stormy weather
prevailing in those parts (so my companion explained) and the
walls were made of a rough, gritty kind of stones, huddled
together without lime or mortar. They were astonishingly low,
being apparently half buried in the ground. At the end of the
street was a house, a little apart from the others, about forty feet
long, flat-roofed and rough-walled like the rest, but there was
a difference which at once attracted my attention. It was taller,
and, unlike the other houses, it had a chimney, through which
smoke was issuing. The garbage which I observed in front of
each house in the village was here missing, and the door itself,
instead of being a flimsy thing, and open to let out the reek, was
stout, strong, well-fitting, and closed. A little beyond this house
was another of quite a superior appearance. The roof was of
2 This reference is obviously to the celebrated Rob Roy.—Ed.
15

the lady of hirta
turf, but the house, which also had a chimney, was the largest in
the place; the stones of the walls were even, and were built with
mortar, and the windows were of glass.
‘That,’ said Sandy, ‘is the master’s hoose. Yonder,’ he went
on, pointing to an edifice, thatched like the dwelling-houses, ‘is
the Kirk—Christ’s Church, they ca’ it. There’s twa more, but no
for use, d’ye see. And now I must be leaving you.’
‘Tell me,’ I asked, ‘what house is yon we have just passed
with the closed door?’
I instantly perceived a hesitation in the man’s manner and a
queer look in his eye, as he replied slowly, ‘Yon,’ he said, ‘is the
hoose o’ the Lady o’ Hirta.’
16

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