THE HIGHLAND EXILE.

THE HIGHLAND EXILE.A recentnumber of the LondonTabletcontains some very interesting facts concerning the return of the Benedictine Order to Scotland. This event is expected soon to take place, after a banishment of the Order for nearly three hundred years from those regions of beauty where for many previous centuries it had been the source and dispenser of countless spiritual and temporal blessings to the people.It is among the most marvellous of the wonderful compensations of divine Providence in these days of mysterious trial for the church as to her temporalities, and of her most glorious triumphs in the spiritual order, that the place for this re-establishment should have been fixed at Fort Augustus, in Inverness-shire—the very spot which the “dark and bloody” Duke of Cumberland made his headquarters while pursuing with merciless and exterminating slaughter the hapless Catholics of the Highlands after the fatal field of Culloden in 1746. No less significant is the fact that a descendant of the Lord Lovat who was beheaded for his participation in that conflict, and the inheritor of his title, should have purchased Fort Augustus from the British government with a view to this happy result, though he was not permitted to live long enough to witness the accomplishment of his pious purpose.A more beautiful or appropriate abode for the devoted sons ofSt.Benedict could not have been found than this secluded spot, where, farremoved from all the turmoil and distractions of the world, they will be free to exercise the spirit of their holy rule, and draw down abundant benedictions upon the surrounding country. The buildings are situated near the extremity of Loch Ness, commanding toward the east a view of that picturesque lake, and to the west of the wild range of Glengarry Mountains.It is consoling to reflect that the place which, notwithstanding the fascinations of its extraordinary beauty, has so long been held in detestation by the faithful Catholic Highlanders, on account of the fearful atrocities once committed under protection of its strong towers, is destined thus to become the very treasure-house of Heaven’s choicest blessings for them in the restoration of their former benefactors and spiritual directors.Very pleasant, also, to every child of the faith the world over, is the thought that these hills and glens, long so “famous in story,” will once again give echo, morning, noon, and night, to the glad tidings of salvation proclaimed by the holy Angelus, and to the ancient chants and songs of praise which resounded through the older centuries from the cloisters of this holy brotherhood; and that in these solitudes the clangor of the “church-going bell” will again summon the faithful to the free and open exercise of the worship so long proscribed under cruel penalties. The tenacity with which the Highlanders of Scotland clung to their faiththrough the most persistent and appalling persecutions proved that the foundations of the spiritual edifice in that“Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,Land of the mountain and the flood,”were laid broad and deep by saints not unworthy to be classed with the gloriousSt.Patrick of the sister shores.In the course of our studies of history in early youth, before we were interested in such triumphs of the church, save as curious historical facts not to be accounted for upon Protestant principles, we were deeply impressed by proofs of her supernatural and sustaining power over this noble race which came within our personal notice.During a winter in the first quarter of this century my father and mother made the journey from Prescott, Upper Canada, to Montreal, in their own conveyance, taking me with them.We stopped over one night at an inn situated on the confines of a dismal little village, planted in a country as flat and unattractive in all its features as could well be imagined. The village was settled entirely by Highlanders exiled on account of their religion and the troubles which followed the irretrievable disaster of Culloden. Its inhabitants among themselves spoke only the Gaelic language, which I then heard for the first time. My father’s notice was attracted by the aged father of our host, a splendid specimen of the native Highlander, clad in the full and wonderfully picturesque costume of his race. Although from his venerable appearance you might have judged that“A hundred years had flung their snowsOn his thin locks and floating beard,”yet was his form as erect and his mind as clear as when in youth he trod his native glens.My father soon drew him into a conversation to which their juvenile companion was an eager and retentive listener. The chief tenor of it was concerning the state of Scotland, and the prevailing sentiment of her people in the north, before the last hapless scion of the Stuarts made the fatal attempt which resulted in utter defeat and ruin to all connected with it. In the course of their chat, and as his intellect was aroused and excited by the subject, a narrative of his own personal knowledge of those matters and share in the conflict fell unconsciously, as it were, from his lips.He was a young lad at the time his father’s clan gathered to the rallying-cry of the Camerons for the field of Culloden. Young as he was, he fought by his father’s side, and saw him slain with multitudes of his kin on that scene of carnage. He was among the few of his clan who escaped and succeeded by almost superhuman efforts in rescuing their families from the indiscriminate slaughter which followed. Among the rocks and caves of the wild hills and glens with which they were familiar they found hiding-places that were inaccessible to the destroyers who were sent out by the merciless Cumberland, but their sufferings from cold and hunger were beyond description. In the haste of their flight it was impossible to convey the necessary food and clothing, and the whole country was so closely watched by scattered bands of soldiers that there was no chance of procuring supplies. Insufficiently clad and fed, and very imperfectly sheltered from the wild storms of those bleak northern regions, many of the women,the children, and the aged people perished before it was possible to accept offers made by the British government of founding colonies in Nova Scotia and Upper Canada for those who, persistently refusing to renounce the Catholic faith, would consent to emigrate. Large rewards and the most tempting inducements were held out to all who would surrender their faith, embrace Protestantism, and remain among their beloved hills.So intense is the love of country in the hearts of this brave and generous people that many could not tear themselves away from scenes inwoven with their tenderest affections, but remained, some to enjoy in this world the price of that apostasy which imperilled their eternal interests for the next, while multitudes sought the most remote and unapproachable nooks of the rugged north, and remained true to their religion in extreme poverty and distress, with no hope of alleviation. Our aged narrator joined a band of emigrants from the neighborhood of Loch Ness, and came to the dreary wilderness where the present village has grown up. My father expressed his surprise that they should have chosen a place so entirely different in all its features from their native scenes, in preference to the hilly parts of Canada, where it would seem that they would have been more at home.“Na, na!” exclaimed the venerable old man, his dark eye kindling with the fire of youth, while he smote the ground with his staff, as if to emphasize his dissent—“na, na; sin’ we could na tread our native hills, it iss better far that we had nane! I think the sicht of hills withoot the heather wad drive me mad! Na, na; it iss far better that we should see nae hills!”His touching recital of the wrongs sustained by his people at the hands of their ruthless conquerors, and the bitter sufferings they endured for the faith, awakened my deep and enduring sympathy.My father questioned whether, after all, it would not have been better for them to have submitted in the matter of religion, accepted the liberal terms offered under that condition, and remained contented in their beloved homes, rather than make such cruel sacrifices, for themselves and the helpless ones dependent upon them, in support of a mere idea, as the difference between one religion and another seemed to him. The old man rose in his excitement to his feet, and, standing erect and dignified, with flashing eyes exclaimed: “Renounce the faith! Sooner far might we consent that we be sold into slavery! Oh! yes; we could dothat—we could bow our necks to the yoke inthisworld that our souls might be free for thenext—but to renounce the faith! It iss that we could na do whatever; no! not the least one among us, though it wass to gain ten kingdoms for us in this warld!”My father apologized for a suggestion which had such power to move him, remarking that he was himself quite ignorant concerning the Catholic religion, and, indeed, not too well informed as to any other; upon which the hoary patriarch approached him, laid his hand upon his head, and said with deep solemnity: “That the great God, who is ever merciful to the true of heart, might pour the light of his truth into yours, and show you how different is it from the false religions, and how worthy that one should die for it rather than yield the point that should seem the most trifling; for there iss nothing connectedwith the truth that will be trifling.”The grand old man! He little suspected that his words struck a responsive chord in the hearts of his listeners that never ceased to vibrate to their memory!A few years after this incident I was passing the months of May and June with a relative in Montreal. Several British regiments were then quartered in that city. One of them, I was told, was the famous “Thirty-ninth” which had won, by its dauntless valor on many hard-fought battle-fields in India, the distinction of bearing upon its colors the proud legend, “Primus in Indis.”It was ordered to Canada for the invigorating effect of the climate upon the health of soldiers exhausted by long exposure, in fatiguing campaigns, to the sultry sun of India. It was composed chiefly, if not wholly, of Scotch Highlanders, well matched in size and height, and, taken all together, quite the finest body of men in form and feature, and in chivalrous bearing, that I have ever seen. Their uniform was the full Highland dress, than which a more martial or graceful equipment has never been devised. Over the Scotch bonnet of each soldier drooped and nodded a superb ostrich plume.Under escort of the kind friend to whose care I had been committed, and who was delighted with the fresh enthusiasm of his small rustic cousin, just transported from a home in the woods to the novel scenes of that fair city, I witnessed repeatedly the parade of the troops on theChamp de Mars. The magnificent Highlanders took precedence and entirely eclipsed them all, while the bitterness of feeling with which the other regiments submittedto the ceremony of “presenting arms” whenever the gallant “Thirty-ninth” passed and repassed was apparent even to me, a stranger and a mere child.Impressive as these scenes on theChamp de Marswere, however, to the eager fancy of a juvenile observer, they fell far short of the thrilling effect produced by a pageant of a widely different nature which I was soon to witness.While I was expressing my glowing admiration for those “superb Highlanders,” my kinsman, himself a Presbyterian elder, would exclaim: “Oh! this is nothing at all. Wait until you have seen them march to church and assist at a grand High Mass!”Accordingly, on one fine Sunday morning in June he conducted me to an elevated position whence the muster of the regiment with its splendid banners, and the full line of march—to the music of the finest band in the army, composed entirely of Highland instruments—could be distinctly observed. Then, taking a shorter turn, we entered the church, and secured a seat which overlooked the entrance of the troops within the sacred precincts. The full band was playing, and the music breathed the very spirit of their native hills. It was a spectacle never to be forgotten. The measured tramp of that multitude as the footfall of one man; their plumed bonnets lifted reverently before the sacred Presence by one simultaneous motion of the moving mass; their genuflections, performed with the same military and, as it seemed to a spectator, automatic precision and unity; the flash and clash of their arms, as they knelt in the wide space allotted to them under the central dome of the immense edifice; the raptexpression of devotion which lighted up each face; the music of the band, bursting forth at intervals during the most solemn parts of the first High Mass I had ever attended, now exquisitely plaintive and soul-subduing, and again swelling into a volume of glorious harmony which filled the whole church and electrified the hearts of the listeners—all this combined to produce emotions not to be expressed in words. Strangers visiting the city, and multitudes of its non-Catholic inhabitants, were drawn week by week to witness the solemn and soul-awakening ceremonial; first from curiosity, and afterwards, in many instances, from the conviction that a religion whence flowed a worship so sublime and irresistible in its power over the souls of men must be the creation of the great Author of souls.It seemed a fitting compensation to this noble race, after the degradation and oppression to which they had been subjected by their ruthless conquerors, that this valiant band of their sons should have been enabled to achieve such renown asgave them the most distinguished position in the British army, and placed them before the world with a prestige and a glory not surpassed by the bravest of their ancestors at the period of their greatest prosperity. But infinitely more precious than all earthly fame was the right, won back, as it were, by their arms, to practise fully and freely the religion of those ancestors, so long proscribed and forbidden to their people. Nor was it a slight satisfaction to their national pride and patriotism to be permitted to resume the costume which had also been proscribed and included in the suppression of the clans.Since those days of long ago we have not seen a Scottish Highlander; but the notice in the LondonTabletof which we have spoken awakened the recollections we have thus imperfectly embodied as our slight tribute to the cairn that perpetuates, in this world, the memory of all this people have done and suffered for that faith which shall be their eternal joy and crowning glory in the next.

A recentnumber of the LondonTabletcontains some very interesting facts concerning the return of the Benedictine Order to Scotland. This event is expected soon to take place, after a banishment of the Order for nearly three hundred years from those regions of beauty where for many previous centuries it had been the source and dispenser of countless spiritual and temporal blessings to the people.

It is among the most marvellous of the wonderful compensations of divine Providence in these days of mysterious trial for the church as to her temporalities, and of her most glorious triumphs in the spiritual order, that the place for this re-establishment should have been fixed at Fort Augustus, in Inverness-shire—the very spot which the “dark and bloody” Duke of Cumberland made his headquarters while pursuing with merciless and exterminating slaughter the hapless Catholics of the Highlands after the fatal field of Culloden in 1746. No less significant is the fact that a descendant of the Lord Lovat who was beheaded for his participation in that conflict, and the inheritor of his title, should have purchased Fort Augustus from the British government with a view to this happy result, though he was not permitted to live long enough to witness the accomplishment of his pious purpose.

A more beautiful or appropriate abode for the devoted sons ofSt.Benedict could not have been found than this secluded spot, where, farremoved from all the turmoil and distractions of the world, they will be free to exercise the spirit of their holy rule, and draw down abundant benedictions upon the surrounding country. The buildings are situated near the extremity of Loch Ness, commanding toward the east a view of that picturesque lake, and to the west of the wild range of Glengarry Mountains.

It is consoling to reflect that the place which, notwithstanding the fascinations of its extraordinary beauty, has so long been held in detestation by the faithful Catholic Highlanders, on account of the fearful atrocities once committed under protection of its strong towers, is destined thus to become the very treasure-house of Heaven’s choicest blessings for them in the restoration of their former benefactors and spiritual directors.

Very pleasant, also, to every child of the faith the world over, is the thought that these hills and glens, long so “famous in story,” will once again give echo, morning, noon, and night, to the glad tidings of salvation proclaimed by the holy Angelus, and to the ancient chants and songs of praise which resounded through the older centuries from the cloisters of this holy brotherhood; and that in these solitudes the clangor of the “church-going bell” will again summon the faithful to the free and open exercise of the worship so long proscribed under cruel penalties. The tenacity with which the Highlanders of Scotland clung to their faiththrough the most persistent and appalling persecutions proved that the foundations of the spiritual edifice in that

“Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,Land of the mountain and the flood,”

“Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,Land of the mountain and the flood,”

“Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,

Land of the mountain and the flood,”

were laid broad and deep by saints not unworthy to be classed with the gloriousSt.Patrick of the sister shores.

In the course of our studies of history in early youth, before we were interested in such triumphs of the church, save as curious historical facts not to be accounted for upon Protestant principles, we were deeply impressed by proofs of her supernatural and sustaining power over this noble race which came within our personal notice.

During a winter in the first quarter of this century my father and mother made the journey from Prescott, Upper Canada, to Montreal, in their own conveyance, taking me with them.

We stopped over one night at an inn situated on the confines of a dismal little village, planted in a country as flat and unattractive in all its features as could well be imagined. The village was settled entirely by Highlanders exiled on account of their religion and the troubles which followed the irretrievable disaster of Culloden. Its inhabitants among themselves spoke only the Gaelic language, which I then heard for the first time. My father’s notice was attracted by the aged father of our host, a splendid specimen of the native Highlander, clad in the full and wonderfully picturesque costume of his race. Although from his venerable appearance you might have judged that

“A hundred years had flung their snowsOn his thin locks and floating beard,”

“A hundred years had flung their snowsOn his thin locks and floating beard,”

“A hundred years had flung their snows

On his thin locks and floating beard,”

yet was his form as erect and his mind as clear as when in youth he trod his native glens.

My father soon drew him into a conversation to which their juvenile companion was an eager and retentive listener. The chief tenor of it was concerning the state of Scotland, and the prevailing sentiment of her people in the north, before the last hapless scion of the Stuarts made the fatal attempt which resulted in utter defeat and ruin to all connected with it. In the course of their chat, and as his intellect was aroused and excited by the subject, a narrative of his own personal knowledge of those matters and share in the conflict fell unconsciously, as it were, from his lips.

He was a young lad at the time his father’s clan gathered to the rallying-cry of the Camerons for the field of Culloden. Young as he was, he fought by his father’s side, and saw him slain with multitudes of his kin on that scene of carnage. He was among the few of his clan who escaped and succeeded by almost superhuman efforts in rescuing their families from the indiscriminate slaughter which followed. Among the rocks and caves of the wild hills and glens with which they were familiar they found hiding-places that were inaccessible to the destroyers who were sent out by the merciless Cumberland, but their sufferings from cold and hunger were beyond description. In the haste of their flight it was impossible to convey the necessary food and clothing, and the whole country was so closely watched by scattered bands of soldiers that there was no chance of procuring supplies. Insufficiently clad and fed, and very imperfectly sheltered from the wild storms of those bleak northern regions, many of the women,the children, and the aged people perished before it was possible to accept offers made by the British government of founding colonies in Nova Scotia and Upper Canada for those who, persistently refusing to renounce the Catholic faith, would consent to emigrate. Large rewards and the most tempting inducements were held out to all who would surrender their faith, embrace Protestantism, and remain among their beloved hills.

So intense is the love of country in the hearts of this brave and generous people that many could not tear themselves away from scenes inwoven with their tenderest affections, but remained, some to enjoy in this world the price of that apostasy which imperilled their eternal interests for the next, while multitudes sought the most remote and unapproachable nooks of the rugged north, and remained true to their religion in extreme poverty and distress, with no hope of alleviation. Our aged narrator joined a band of emigrants from the neighborhood of Loch Ness, and came to the dreary wilderness where the present village has grown up. My father expressed his surprise that they should have chosen a place so entirely different in all its features from their native scenes, in preference to the hilly parts of Canada, where it would seem that they would have been more at home.

“Na, na!” exclaimed the venerable old man, his dark eye kindling with the fire of youth, while he smote the ground with his staff, as if to emphasize his dissent—“na, na; sin’ we could na tread our native hills, it iss better far that we had nane! I think the sicht of hills withoot the heather wad drive me mad! Na, na; it iss far better that we should see nae hills!”

His touching recital of the wrongs sustained by his people at the hands of their ruthless conquerors, and the bitter sufferings they endured for the faith, awakened my deep and enduring sympathy.

My father questioned whether, after all, it would not have been better for them to have submitted in the matter of religion, accepted the liberal terms offered under that condition, and remained contented in their beloved homes, rather than make such cruel sacrifices, for themselves and the helpless ones dependent upon them, in support of a mere idea, as the difference between one religion and another seemed to him. The old man rose in his excitement to his feet, and, standing erect and dignified, with flashing eyes exclaimed: “Renounce the faith! Sooner far might we consent that we be sold into slavery! Oh! yes; we could dothat—we could bow our necks to the yoke inthisworld that our souls might be free for thenext—but to renounce the faith! It iss that we could na do whatever; no! not the least one among us, though it wass to gain ten kingdoms for us in this warld!”

My father apologized for a suggestion which had such power to move him, remarking that he was himself quite ignorant concerning the Catholic religion, and, indeed, not too well informed as to any other; upon which the hoary patriarch approached him, laid his hand upon his head, and said with deep solemnity: “That the great God, who is ever merciful to the true of heart, might pour the light of his truth into yours, and show you how different is it from the false religions, and how worthy that one should die for it rather than yield the point that should seem the most trifling; for there iss nothing connectedwith the truth that will be trifling.”

The grand old man! He little suspected that his words struck a responsive chord in the hearts of his listeners that never ceased to vibrate to their memory!

A few years after this incident I was passing the months of May and June with a relative in Montreal. Several British regiments were then quartered in that city. One of them, I was told, was the famous “Thirty-ninth” which had won, by its dauntless valor on many hard-fought battle-fields in India, the distinction of bearing upon its colors the proud legend, “Primus in Indis.”

It was ordered to Canada for the invigorating effect of the climate upon the health of soldiers exhausted by long exposure, in fatiguing campaigns, to the sultry sun of India. It was composed chiefly, if not wholly, of Scotch Highlanders, well matched in size and height, and, taken all together, quite the finest body of men in form and feature, and in chivalrous bearing, that I have ever seen. Their uniform was the full Highland dress, than which a more martial or graceful equipment has never been devised. Over the Scotch bonnet of each soldier drooped and nodded a superb ostrich plume.

Under escort of the kind friend to whose care I had been committed, and who was delighted with the fresh enthusiasm of his small rustic cousin, just transported from a home in the woods to the novel scenes of that fair city, I witnessed repeatedly the parade of the troops on theChamp de Mars. The magnificent Highlanders took precedence and entirely eclipsed them all, while the bitterness of feeling with which the other regiments submittedto the ceremony of “presenting arms” whenever the gallant “Thirty-ninth” passed and repassed was apparent even to me, a stranger and a mere child.

Impressive as these scenes on theChamp de Marswere, however, to the eager fancy of a juvenile observer, they fell far short of the thrilling effect produced by a pageant of a widely different nature which I was soon to witness.

While I was expressing my glowing admiration for those “superb Highlanders,” my kinsman, himself a Presbyterian elder, would exclaim: “Oh! this is nothing at all. Wait until you have seen them march to church and assist at a grand High Mass!”

Accordingly, on one fine Sunday morning in June he conducted me to an elevated position whence the muster of the regiment with its splendid banners, and the full line of march—to the music of the finest band in the army, composed entirely of Highland instruments—could be distinctly observed. Then, taking a shorter turn, we entered the church, and secured a seat which overlooked the entrance of the troops within the sacred precincts. The full band was playing, and the music breathed the very spirit of their native hills. It was a spectacle never to be forgotten. The measured tramp of that multitude as the footfall of one man; their plumed bonnets lifted reverently before the sacred Presence by one simultaneous motion of the moving mass; their genuflections, performed with the same military and, as it seemed to a spectator, automatic precision and unity; the flash and clash of their arms, as they knelt in the wide space allotted to them under the central dome of the immense edifice; the raptexpression of devotion which lighted up each face; the music of the band, bursting forth at intervals during the most solemn parts of the first High Mass I had ever attended, now exquisitely plaintive and soul-subduing, and again swelling into a volume of glorious harmony which filled the whole church and electrified the hearts of the listeners—all this combined to produce emotions not to be expressed in words. Strangers visiting the city, and multitudes of its non-Catholic inhabitants, were drawn week by week to witness the solemn and soul-awakening ceremonial; first from curiosity, and afterwards, in many instances, from the conviction that a religion whence flowed a worship so sublime and irresistible in its power over the souls of men must be the creation of the great Author of souls.

It seemed a fitting compensation to this noble race, after the degradation and oppression to which they had been subjected by their ruthless conquerors, that this valiant band of their sons should have been enabled to achieve such renown asgave them the most distinguished position in the British army, and placed them before the world with a prestige and a glory not surpassed by the bravest of their ancestors at the period of their greatest prosperity. But infinitely more precious than all earthly fame was the right, won back, as it were, by their arms, to practise fully and freely the religion of those ancestors, so long proscribed and forbidden to their people. Nor was it a slight satisfaction to their national pride and patriotism to be permitted to resume the costume which had also been proscribed and included in the suppression of the clans.

Since those days of long ago we have not seen a Scottish Highlander; but the notice in the LondonTabletof which we have spoken awakened the recollections we have thus imperfectly embodied as our slight tribute to the cairn that perpetuates, in this world, the memory of all this people have done and suffered for that faith which shall be their eternal joy and crowning glory in the next.

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