The peat-fire flame : folk-tales and traditions of the Highlands & Islands

FOLK-TALES OF DOUGHTY MEN AND DOUGHTY DEEDS
Linnhe : the other, with some hundred and fifty men aboard,
anchored on Locheil's side. This aggravated Locheil exceedingly.
From the denser parts of the wood, he and a band of
less than forty of his clansmen watched Monk's mercenaries,
as they felled and carried away their clan's timber ; and,
after hurried consultation, it was decided that the Camerons
should attack the intruders with such swords and muskets
as they could procure. They opened their offensive by the
shores of Loch Eil, near the clachan of Achdaliew, using
their broadswords, and clubbing Monk's men with the butt
end of their muskets when ammunition ran short. However,
eventually tliey were forced to retire before a force so much
more numerous, and so much better equipped.
Now, it was during this struggle that Sir Ewen Cameron
of Locheil, somehow or other isolated from his clansmen,
came to deadly grips with one of the English ofiEicers
accompanying this timber-felling contingent. In the lifeand-death
contest that ensued, the Highlander lay writhing
on his back, utterly overpowered. As he groaned beneath
the weight of his antagonist, within less than the proverbial
inch of his life, he made one final effort to free himself.
Suddenly raising his head, he seized the officer's throat
between his powerful teeth—the throat that, as he himself
"
used to contend, " God put in my mouth !
In this wise he managed to disengage himself, and to
disable his opponent. He then proceeded to the water's edge
to wash his blood-stained lips ; and in Locheil's Country it
is told of Sir Ewen Cameron to this day that, in so doing, he
remarked to the English officer : " That was the sweetest
"
bite I ever had in my life !
This incident had a curious sequel.
Many years later, when Sir Ewen travelled to London to
be present at Court, he visited a barber's shop to have his
beard attended to. As the barber's razor was passing over
his throat, the barber, in conversational mood, asked him
whether he was from the North.
" Indeed, I am that " ! replied Sir Ewen.
know anything about the North?
" And do you
"
" No ! " responded the barber, " nor do I desire to. They
are all a pack of savages up there. Would vou believe it,
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