Donald MacLeod of Galtrigill – Helmsman of a Fading World
In the summer of 1746, Donald MacLeod of Galtrigill, an educated gentleman farmer in his early sixties, made a decision that defied his chief, his government, and the shifting loyalties of the Highlands. Donald lived with his wife Catherine and children on land located beside the “Manners Stone” in Galtrigill as a tacksman, a position of trust and influence within the clan structure. He managed tenancies, led families, and was expected—by blood and duty—to fight for his chief. But Norman MacLeod, 22nd Chief of Clan MacLeod, had pledged allegiance to the British government. He raised troops to fight against the Jacobite cause and later became infamous for attempting to transport over a hundred of his own tenants to the colonies as indentured servants—without their knowledge. This act of betrayal earned him the name “The Wicked Man.” Donald refused to follow the orders of his Clan Chief who did not want to support Bonnie Prince Charlie. Instead, Donald offered the prince his boat, his loyalty, and his life. Donald’s refusal was not rebellion. It was allegiance to a deeper code: to the land, to its people, and to a sense of honour that could not survive under the weight of power without principle. The journey was arduous. Through storm-tossed waters and hostile shores, Donald navigated the prince across the Hebrides and Skye. They travelled by night, hid among the kelp, and rowed through tides thick with betrayal. When the prince finally reached relative safety, Donald was captured. He was imprisoned, interrogated, and sent to the Tower of London. He stood before the machinery of imperial justice not as a rebel, but as a man who had kept his word. After months in captivity, he was eventually released—ill, unbroken but changed. Donald MacLeod’s loyalty stood in contrast – not only to his chief, but to the shifting ground beneath Highland life. What he returned to was not the Galtrigill he had left. The old codes of honour, kinship, and duty were fading. The land remained, but the bonds that held it together had begun to loosen. He ferried a prince, defied a chief, and returned to a world that no longer recognised the kind of man he had been. Donald died in Galtrigill in September 1749. At Galtrigill, among the alder and aspen trees, lies a ruin believed to be his former house. Its walls are low now, but still solid. No plaque marks the place. No tour has mentioned his name. But the story remains.
Angus Fergusone (Aonghas MacFhearghais)
Galtrigill, 1683
He appears first in the rent roll of 1683:
Angus Fergusone – 45 merks.
No title, no detail, no place of birth, only his name, and the sum he owed.
45 merks made him the highest-paying tenant in Galtrigill that year.
He likely held more land than the others, he may have sublet part of it, collected rents, or grazed more cattle. That much can be said.
Nothing else remains, no kirk entry, no gravestone, no remembered line.
But his name stood at the top of the list
and in the layered silence of Galtrigill, it still does.
Source: Rent Roll of MacLeod’s Estate, Galtrigill, 1683 (Western Isles Archive)
Norman MacLeod Galtrigill, ca. 1820–1873
He was born in Galtrigill around 1820, his name appears in the 1851 census. He married Christina MacLeod of Trumpan, had children and died in 1873. No testimony, no headline, no monument but his name remains.
Source: 1851 Census of Scotland; Family records via RootsChat
Iain mac Shùisinn mhic Dhonnchaidh
Galtrigill, 1683
He owed the same as Angus Fergusone – 45 merks.
That placed him among the top two tenants in Galtrigill.
His name tells a story of lineage:
John, son of Suishnish, son of Duncan. A man not known by place, but by people.
The roll preserves the line, but not the land.
No record of where he lived, no trace of what he tended.
Only that he mattered enough to be counted,
and that his name – even in fragments – survives.
Source: Rent Roll of MacLeod’s Estate, Galtrigill, 1683 (Western Isles Archive)
Dòmhnall mac Raghnaill
Galtrigill, 1683
His name is simple:
Donald, son of Ronald, 22 merks. Not a man of status, not the poorest, either.
He paid what he could perhaps for a narrow strip of land near the shore.
Enough for hunger to visit often.
There is no record of a wife, no mention of children,
but someone carried that name and walked that ground.
He may have stood with the others, when rent was collected, or waited behind.
We don´t know -his name still fits this place.
Source: Rent Roll of MacLeod’s Estate, Galtrigill, 1683 (Western Isles Archive)
Everyday Life in Galtrigill (17th–18th Century)
Work and Survival
Galtrigill’s people worked with what the land and sea allowed. The tacksman let off part of his holding to groups of sub-tenants and each tenant held about a farthingland. Tracksmen and sub-tenants employed further helper (lesser folk) with duties like protecting unfecend crops, herding the cattle, repairing fences. In Galtrigill there were usually 10 other men to one tenant.
Most households grew potatoes and root vegetables in narrow rigs close to their homes. Before the 18th century, oats and kail were common. Cattle were few – a cow, maybe two, for milk. Sheep grazed higher up the slopes, shared between families.
Fishing was essential. Lines were dropped close to shore, and boats were launched when weather allowed. Fish was eaten fresh when possible – but much of it was salted. A salt house once stood here, likely used to preserve herring or whitefish for storage or trade.
Settlement and Rhythm
The township was small, afew stone houses, turf-roofed and low. Floors were beaten earth; smoke rose without a chimney. Families lived close together – people and animals often under one roof.
There was no school in Galtrigill, and no church. Children worked young, helping on land or at sea.
Tenants paid rent to the MacLeod estate, sometimes in fish, sometimes in labour. Few left written records. Fewer still owned land.
After the Rising
After the Jacobite defeat in 1746, life in places like Galtrigill grew harder. The Disarming Acts and land reforms weakened traditional clan structures. Larger-scale cattle holdings were discouraged or redirected toward estate profit. Some tenants lost grazing rights or were moved inland.
Most households kept only what they could feed: a single cow, a few hens.The sea remained the more stable provider.
Change and Departure
By the end of the 18th century, pressure increased. Land was divided, crofts shrank. Some left, some were moved, some remained. Their lives were not recorded but their work, their choices, and their names remain – in field patterns, ruin walls, and a salt house by the sea.
The Long Nineteenth Century
In the 19th century, Galtrigill, like many Highland communities, faced a quiet undoing. The landlord expanded sheep farming, forcing families off fertile ground and into harsher corners. Some left under pressure, others were cleared outright.
Some families from Galtrigill were resettled at Boreraig. The crofts were smaller, the soil poor, and the land exposed. Few could make a living. Over time, many left again – to other parts of Skye, to the mainland, or overseas.
The Napier Commission of 1883 heard their voices – including testimony from Galtrigill – describing lost grazing, dwindling catches, and rising rents. Trawlers from Barra emptied the seas, so fishing no longer provided a reliable income. The old balance broke. Still, those who stayed carved out a life – in the lee of the stone walls they built, in the names they passed down, in the stubborn rhythm of croft and tide.