The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1883-03-08
THE OLD CLAYM0RE.
A scottish Reminf.ccnc,

THE OLD CLAYMORE.
A Scottish "Reminiscences.
1t is matter of history how, after the
battle of Culloden, the victorious soldiers
ravaged the Highlands and ill-treated
the inhabitants. For long time after.
wards, under the pretence of disarminp
them, the Highlanders were hunted and
shot down like wild beasts, their habita.
tons were burned and their cattle and
gear carried of. The record of these
crimes form such tale of ruin and bru
tally that one can scarcely belle 7e that
such events have occurred in our OWE.
country within the last hundred and
fifty years. Nevertheless, it was 80.
Not long ago an incident occurred to
me, when on visit to a minister in Glen
1sla, which told forcibly how deep the
memories of that troubled time had sunk
into the hearts of the people, and how
even now the anger could flash from
the eyes of old men, and the. blood
run warm in their veins, when
recalling their own "reminiscences. We
had returned from days fishing, and
slowed away our rods and reels, and sat
talking about the beauties of the glen
its grand heather-covered mountains lit
up by the setting sun, while the music
=. OF the rushing 1sla sounded in our ears
rs it danced over its pebbly bed, or
dashed against the big boulders which
obstructed its course. Our conversation
ID reverted to the inhabitants of the Glen /:
and my reverend friend informed me
that n little way up there lived AL old
highlander, who could not be much less
than ninety years old, and whose mem
DRY was still good and that now and
then under certain circumstances, the
man would warm up and tell his tales of
the old trou lied days in his fathers time,
when Glen 1sla and many another high
land valley was laid waste by a blood
thirsty soldiery.
In the cool. Of the evening we strolled
up to the old mans dwelling. 1t was an
ancient cottage, situated little way back
from the road. The light played with a
thousand tints among the moses of the
thickly tbatchcd roof, and over it thin
curl OF blue smoke hung lazily in the
evening air. A few gnarled hawthorn
trees sheltered the cottage from the
AittSr> "illCli oNcpL uOWu tuc mountain
sides; a patch Of ground sloping down
towards the river was devoted to the
cultivation Of cahbages, potatoes, etc.:
while in front the little garden was one
blaze Of flowers. High up on the brow
OF the hill which formed the background,
two or three goats in /: semi-wild state
were feeding, and stood out in bold re-
. lief against the evening sky. A little
way down the road the river Isla was
arched over by an old bridge. Altogetl-
er, the SPOT breathed Of quiet, peace and
content; and one could hardly fancy that
the cruel sounds of war had ever been
heard near so tranquil Il spot.
AS We approached the cottage we were
confronted by a boy Of about ten years
of age-such a little man! with neck,
arms and legs bare, and as brown as a
nut; his dark hair innocent of brush and
comb; and his eyes like those of an eagle
keen, piercing, determined and intel
llgent. AS he recognized the minister,
his expression relaxed into halfbashful
smile. but quickly reverted into some
what distrustful look rs he fixed his eve
upon me, the stranger.
"Ncli, Allck, my man, is your grand
father in?' asked my friend
"Ay, sir; he's ben the house," he ans
wered. "WiIl ye please TO step in?
grandfather, here's the minister frae
the nanse asking for ye.'
AS we entered, the old man rose with
difficulty from his seat to welcome us.
He pulled OFT his bonnet to the minister,
who kindly shook hands with him. HIS
figure was thin and bent, but wiry even
now. In his younger days he must have
stood at least six feet; and his strong
bony frame showed that at one time he
had been a man Of great strength. His
face WAS turrowed with wrinkles, and
his head was covered with crop OF
snow-white hair. His eyes were gray,
keen and proud. In shaky voice he
asked us TO sit down.
"Well, Alister," said the minister,
"and how are you? You're looking we'll.
This fine warm weather agrees with
you.'
''lhank We, sir. I'm doing fine; but
I'm getting auld, and, Pm thinking my
time must be near at hand"
+"Ioure quite right, Alister, to think
OF what must come to us all some day or
I. other; and you know we must all grow
old in our turn, if God spares us. You,
too. were young and hearty once, when
your father was old and gray"
: Deed, and that was, sir; but it's
Observation-Disclosures"
: This, Alster, is an old friend of mine, "
eald the minister, again turning to me,
whom | have brought to shake hands
|, with you."
A kindlier look than l had yet seen
filled his eyes as the old man babe me
welcome.
Its long time, Alister," said my
friend, "since your father was laid to res,
beside your mother and his two broth.
ers in the old kirkyard; but you remem.
Der you have often told me that his life
was more troubled one than yours has
ever been; and, indeed, l have often
wondered that he lived to such a good
- old age, for his stone says that he wa
ninety five when he fell asleep"
The mention of his fathers troubled
see the light gathering in the old mans
eyes.
"Father had a bad time O. t, minister,
but | mauna say too much before
strangers"
You need not be afraid, Alister; m,
friend can keep what he hears to him
self,when necessary
!: Much need,i sir-much need. Al
. idle word has cost many man his lifi
before now"
My friend motioned me to keep quiet
for the old man was evidently beginnin,
to waken up, and the cleverly directed
questions were drawing him out grad
ually.
and SO your father was ninety-five
Well, Alister, that is good bit more
than the allotted time of most men.
Deed, sir, it is that; and I while:
think it was fear that kept him Twin:
so long,"
Fear. Alister! How do you max,
that out? l thought your father knev
nothing about fearv'
Fear, sir!'. said the old man with
flash Of fire kindling in his eyes-''fear
sir! My father never knew fear; nor hi
father before him, nor any of his BARNS
1t was not the ordinary fear that tn,
dragons should come again, and him
not there to kill them-that was the fea