Major Gillies 'Mor' MacBean, 14th Chief of Clan MacBean

Gillies 'Mor' MacBean, was the 2nd son of William MacBean of Kinchyle, 13th Chief and Jean Mackintosh, daughter of Donald Mackintosh of Kyllachy. Gillies succeeded his father in or before 1741 and became 14th Chief, his elder brother Aeneas who is verified in legal documents as being dead sometime after 6th December 1720 and before 18th May 1722.

Gillies served as a Major in Lady Anne Mackintosh's Regiment at Culloden and is said to have killed between 12 and 14 Hanovarian soldiers before being cut down by Dragoons, or as others say, soldiers of the Argyllshire Militia. He was an unusually tall man, of 6'4.5". Different accounts of his death exist. Some say he stepped into a breach being created in a wall to stop his comrades being attached from the flank. Other stories say he had his back to a wall, having been cornered on the retreat. Whichever account is precisely correct, he famously killed 12-14 of the attacking soldiers before being killed himself. It was this heroic last stand and his great height that led to him having the epithet 'Mor' added to his name (Gillies 'Mor' MacBean), which helped avoid confusion with his 3 namesakes who were also at the battle, including his own tenant at Bunachton, who was also at Culloden - Lieutenant Gillies MacBean.

Lord Byron is said to have arranged these words for a song set to music by Dr Clark Whitfield. The original words were written in Gaelic by a lady (not his widow) after the battle, and translated by someone other than Byron who could not speak or understand Gaelic. Some accounts suggest the translator was an academic at the University of Aberdeen.

This is one of a number of versions of the wording of the poem.

GILLIES MACBAlN

"The clouds may pour down on Culloden's red plain,
But their waters shall flow o'er its crimson in vain,
For their drops shall seem few to the tears for the slain,
But mine are for thee, my brave Gillies MacBain!

"Though thy cause was the cause of the injured and brave;
Though thy death was the hero's and glorious thy grave,
With thy dead foes around thee, piled high on the plain,
My sad heart bleeds o're thee, my Gillies MacBain!

"How the horse and the horseman thy single hand slew!
But what could the mightiest single arm do?
A hundred like thee might the battle regain;
But cold are thy hand and heart, Gillies MacBain!

"With thy back to the wall and thy breast to the targe,
Full flashed thy claymore in the face of their charge:
The blood of their boldest that barren turf stain,
But, Alas! Thine is reddest thee, Gillies MacBain!

"Hewn down, but still battling, thou sunk'st on the ground -
Thy plaid was one gore, and thy breast was one wound;
Thirteen of thy foes by thy right hand lay slain
Oh! Would they were thousands for Gillies MacBain!

"Oh! Loud and long heard shall thy coronach be,
And high o'er the heather thy cairn we shall see;
And deep in all bosoms thy name shall remain
But deepest in mine, dearest Gillies MacBain!

"And daily the eyes of thy brave boy before
Shall thy plaid be unfolded, unsheathed the claymore;
And the white rose shall bloom on his bonnet again
Should he prove the true son of my Gillies MacBain!"