Seumas-an-Tuim, alias James Grant of Carron, in Strathspey, is one of those Highland notabilities who have made themselves famous for deeds of lawlessness and rapine. Seumas is the subject of the well-known song:— A mhnathan a ghlinne, Ye women of the glen, A mhnathan a ghlinne, Ye women of the glen, A mhnathan a ghlinne, Ye women of the glen, Nach mithich dhuibh eiridh, Is it not time for you to rise, ’Seumas-an-Tuim ’ag iomain And James-an-Tuim driving na sprÉidhe, away your cattle. The melody of this song is a beautiful one, and has been adapted to the great Highland bagpipe, in the shape of a well-known pibroch—‘The Breadalbane Gathering,’ or ‘Bodaich na’m briogais,’ and associated with a victory, which John Glas, first Earl of Breadalbane, gained over the Sinclairs of Caithness, at Allt-nam-mearlach. This was towards the close of the seventeenth century. But the air belongs to an earlier period. Seumas-an-Tuim flourished at the beginning of that century. The wild career of this man seems to have originated in accident. Unintentionally he slew his cousin, one of the Ballindalloch family. The consequence was a fierce feud between the Grants of Ballindalloch and the Grants of Carron, and James, finding his enemies implacable, became lawless and desperate. In retaliation for his deeds of Here James remained a prisoner for a period of two years. It is related that an old neighbour of his, Grant of Tomavoulin, happened to pass one day under his prison window. James saw him, and asked, “What news from Speyside?” “None very particular,” was the answer; “the best news I have is, that the country is rid of you.” “Perhaps,” said James, “we shall meet again.” During his imprisonment he was permitted to see friends occasionally, who supplied him with something better than ordinary prison fare; and in a small cask, covered over with butter, his wife succeeded, on one of these occasions, in furnishing him with cord sufficient to enable him to effect his escape through his prison window. This was in October 1632. His son waited for him, and accompanied him in his flight; but for which he would have died by the way. In consequence of his confinement and other hardships, he lay for nine days in a wood near Denny, and thence made his way to his old haunts, where he lay concealed and inactive for a year. Meantime the Privy Council was greatly exasperated at his escape, and offered large rewards for his apprehension. But the restless and daring man could not be idle; and now that his health was recovered and the vigilance of his enemies allayed, he again betook himself to his old schemes of revenge and depredation—‘partly travelling through the country, sometimes on Speyside, sometimes here, sometimes there, without fear or dread,’ but always having a sharp eye Seumas-an-Tuim now resolved to fight Ballindalloch single-handed with his own weapons. Accordingly, while the latter was sitting quietly and unsuspiciously in his own house, on a dark December night, a messenger came to the door and told his servant that a well-known friend was waiting outside to speak to him. Ballindalloch at once responded and sallied forth to meet his friend (?). But no sooner was he outside than he was suddenly smothered in plaids by a party of unknown men—Seumas-an-Tuim and his followers—and hurried away in this The man who taunted Seumas-an-Tuim when imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle, was one Thomas Grant, a Speyside man. Nothing daunted by previous failures to capture James, he volunteered, at the request of Ballindalloch, to bring him dead or alive into his hands. This came to the ear of James. He went to Grant’s house at once, and not finding him, he gratified his revenge by killing sixteen of his cattle. Finding him shortly thereafter at the house of a friend, and in bed, he dragged him naked out of the house and dispatched him with many wounds, and so fulfilled his own prison vaticinations—“Perhaps we shall meet again.” Notwithstanding the wild and lawless career of this man, living as he did in open defiance of law and order, and in the commission of all kinds of atrocities, he managed somehow to elude every effort made to bring him to justice. He even succeeded in obtaining a public remission of his crimes, and survived to take an active part in the troubles in which the country was involved during the Commonwealth. James, we suppose more from policy than principle, attached himself to the What a contrast those times are to the times in which we live? It seems hardly credible that such lawless and atrocious deeds could be performed in the face of day, within so comparatively recent a period and amid scenes where peace and prosperity now reign paramount. Yet so it is; and with blood upon his hands, enough to have hanged scores of other men, Seumas-an-Tuim lived to a green old age, and died peaceably and quietly in his bed—the theme of story and song. |