Uncle Fergus tells his own story......

The actual source of the name Gordon is the parish of Gordon, located in that region of Scotland called Berwickshire. Here, Sir Adam of Gordon, founder of the dynasty, made his ancient home. Sir Adam is well known in the annals of Scottish lore for having reconciled King Robert I (better known as Robert the Bruce) with His Holiness the Pope, thus ensuring a period of peaceful relations between the English and the Roman Catholics.

In gratitude for his achievements toward that peace, the Bruce presented Sir Adam with the deed to the estate of Strathbogie, in what is now Aberdeenshire. In time, Strathbogie would be home to the nobleman's great-great-granddaughter; upon her marriage to Alexander Seton of Seton, he who was of the line of Setons begun by Margaret Seton and Alan of Wilton, she caused her new husband to take the Gordon name. Subsequently, in 1449, their eldest son, also named Alexander, was created Earl of Huntly.

Basically, there are three main branches of Gordons who are descended from the immediate line of Sir Adam: Gordon of Haddo; Gordon of Strathbogie; and the branch of the family to which I belong --- Gordon of Lochinvar! During the 16th and early 17th Centuries, we Gordons wielded so much power in Scotland that our Clan Chieftain was reverently referred to as the "Cock o' the North." Aye, we Lochinvar Gordons in particular had our own Cock o' the North, to be sure. Why, we had to! For most of the 14th Century, the region of Lochinvar and Kenmure, from whence our part of the family took its name, was exclusively ours to live and work and play in; and we took great pride in keeping our lands together for as long as we could.

But by the early 1740's --- specifically, three years before the great and tragic massacre at Culloden --- the Gordons of Lochinvar were down to their last immediate son, Connor by name. Shortly after he had escaped across the sea to France, Connor raised there for a short time his three sons: Harrison, Michael and Kenneth.

Soon after their father's passing, the three lads returned to Scotland in secret, and, before too long, married into other Clans. Harrison, the eldest of the three brothers, was wed to Catherine, she who was of the line of the MacFies of Colonsay; after their marriage, Harrison took the MacFie name, and later witnessed the murder of Scotland's last wolf at the hands of Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel, whose family the MacFies had long supported.

As for Michael, his bride, the fair Lady Miranda, belonged to the MacLeods of Harris and Dunvegan. She soon took the Gordon name, and both of them eventually settled in England.

That left young Kenneth. As the youngest of Connor's three sons, by tradition he would have to be betrothed to another Clansman's youngest daughter --- in this case, the daughter of the 22nd Laird of the Clan Rattray, whose name was Elwyn.

As ye've no doubt guessed by now, Kenneth and Elwyn were fated to become my father and mother. Though theirs was a happy, prosperous marriage, the rest of the world at large was undergoin' a period of unchecked stress and force. Especially in the just recently colonized lands of America.

When, in 1787, the Constitution of the United States was at last ratified, the news eventually reached the shores of Scotland. Before long, the ramifications of that wondrous document led my parents to ask themselves what was truly right --- and what was truly wrong --- about Scottish life, Scottish liberty and Scottish virtues. Thus, in early January of 1788, Father and Mother made their decision: they would emigrate to the Colonies, not only to see the new lands for themselves, but also to explore exactly what kinds of freedoms its people were capable of upholding. The decision could not have come at a more prophetic moment ..... for Elwyn was about to have her baby.

By April 1789, Kenneth and Elwyn Gordon, as my parents now called themselves, had settled in comfortably in the area now known as the village of Port Washington, on New York's Long Island. Since both of them hailed from Scotland, the two Gordons accordingly brought with them several reminders of their native land's heritage. One such reminder: piobaireachd, the classical music of the Great Highland Bagpipe.

Aye, Father was an excellent piper, having learned the craft from Connor his father; indeed, many were the times when Kenneth would play a last haunting tune for the villagers of Port Washington, to signal the coming of sunset and the end of another day. And it was said among the oldtimers that it was somewhat odd to see and hear both Kenneth and Elwyn expressing their eternal passion for each other in fluent Scottish Gaelic --- a language with which very few individuals at that time were familiar.

Still, 'twas clearly a joyous moment for everyone in the town when Kenneth announced one day that he was about to have his first-born son. And, in fact, on St. Patrick's Day --- March 17th, 1799 --- that's exactly what happened. On that day, Elwyn gave birth to a blue-eyed, red-haired, cuddly baby boy.

Me.

And without a doubt, my Father was truly the proudest man in the whole of Port Washington!

It was not until my ninth birthday that Father first taught me to play the bagpipes. As I said, he himself had learned the fine art of piobaireachd from his father, who in turn had learned it from his father, and so on. Father also taught me to appreciate the Highland Bagpipe as well --- and, indeed, to treat the instrument with honor and respect. For he knew all too well the horrors of those dark days of the Proscription of 1746, during which, among other things, the bagpipes were declared to be an instrument of war. In Father's opinion, the fools ruling England at that time only wanted to eliminate the Clansmen and their beloved instrument because, in Father's own words, "those maniacs knew the Clansmen as little more than savages! But the Clansmen themselves knew music when they heard it! Aye, they were the ones who treated the Pipes with honor!"

As you can probably imagine, Father was determined that a) the music and the memories of piobaireachd would be preserved, regardless of the cost (personal and/or otherwise) --- not only within his own family, but throughout Scotland and beyond as well; and that b) his first-born son would not be raised in a land where he would be tormented by the very utterance of the word 'barbarian'. Thus, Father's decision before I was born to emigrate from Scotland to the new lands of the Americas.

Over a 30-year period, I studied the art of piping: first, under the tutelage of me father; and later, under other teachers, most of them having had greater experience with the instrument --- and yet, me lessons with the Pipes didna stop at the mere playing o' them! Oh, no indeed! When I turned 17, Mr. Harold MacLeod, who himself had emigrated to Port Washington from Scotland, saw much potential in me hands .... and eventually, he took me on as an apprentice in the field of bagpipe construction!

For a decade, I was to remain an apprentice bagpipe maker. Then, two weeks before me 30th birthday, Mr. MacLeod, whom I still remember fondly, and with deep kindness, told me from out of the blue that he was planning to retire.

And that wasn't all! "Fergus," says he, "ye've been a keen apprentice to me fer 10 years now. And the time is comin' soon when ye'll have to discover most of these skills on yer own. Which is why I was figurin': how would ye like to take over the shop from now on --- and become its sole proprietor?"

The man's invitation took me completely by surprise! Here, at last, was the answer to me father's every prayer! Ever since he'd first set foot in Port Washington, my father had always wanted me not only to play and build me own Highland Pipes, but also to become the owner of a shop which could sell and build only the finest, most exquisite sets o' Highland Pipes this side o' Scotland! And so, unwilling to dishonor my father's wishes, I accepted Mr. MacLeod's offer; and in February of 1840, a new sign went over the front porch which led to the door of our workshop:

For the next 38 happy years, the Highlander's Household was truly my exclusive domain. Aye, I found me greatest thrill making and selling every kind of wind instrument imaginable: not just Highland Bagpipes, but also oboes, bassoons, clarinets, recorders --- ANYTHING you could think of that was playable and could be treated as a wind musical instrument. Barely four months after I became the new proprietor, several youngsters visited the store to watch me do me work. I began noticin' how interested they were in my craft; and, as it turned out, by the time I closed up shop that day, my outlook on life had suddenly taken on a new sense of meaning.

Yes, it was only a matter o' time afore me talents began encompassing another field: storytelling! And almost immediately, I earned a reputation as the best storyteller in all Port Washington. And even if the adults of the village weren't especially keen on many of the tales I was to tell over the years, I knew in me heart that there was one audience that understood otherwise --- the children.

In many ways, I became something of an "uncle" to those wee bairns..... Och aye, how well I recall those days! Needless to say, that's how I eventually earned (so to speak) the nickname that was to stick to me person fer the rest o' me Mortal life: "Uncle Fergus."

Even though I was to remain a resident of Port Washington, New York, USA, I often found meself wantin' more. Much more. We've come now, of course, to that portion of me life that saw me as a full-grown man (by then, of course, Father had passed away; while Mother lived to be 104!). It was during this same time that I began sensin' the need to return to me roots; to reclaim my true heritage as a proud Scotsman; and to know, as my father had known, the splendor of the lands of the ancient Scottish Clansmen. And I knew that if I were to understand all these things, and thus reclaim me Scottish honor, there was but one place I had to go.

Edinburgh.

And so, in July of 1851, I made the first of my six visits to Scotland's capital city. There, I researched the ancestral lineage of the Gordons of Lochinvar --- and made the discovery that Connor, my grandfather, was indeed the last of the Lochinvars. As I had been born on American soil, that would make me the last of the true Lochinvars in the branch descended from the line of Sir Adam of Gordon, as well as the only true Lochinvar Gordon born in America during the so-called 'Colonial Era'!

And me studies in Edinburgh didna stop there! Oh, no! I furthered me skills as both a maker and a player of bagpipes; and I even dared to make a pilgrimage to the ancient ruins of Castle Lochinvar, the once-proud home of the Chieftains of the Gordons of Lochinvar. Of course, I played a lament on me own, handcrafted pipes for those wise and ancient souls, for some of their sons, and more than a few of their relatives --- including, sad to say, their children --- would ultimately die on the field at Culloden..... and all because of that obsessed madman, Bonnie Prince Charlie --- he who wanted nothing less than to see his precious Stuart dynasty reclaim their "rightful" throne as rulers of all Scotland!

By the time I returned home to Port Washington, I had a new designation next to me name --- that of Pipe Major --- and oh, what a joy it was to be welcomed back home by the children of the village, who had missed their dear Uncle Fergus with all their hearts! How those young'uns cheered when I disembarked from the ship!

Their smilin' faces brought a smile to me own face in return; and so I returned the favor by playing the bairns a merry jig on me pipes! And as I played, I led those lads and lasses in a happy procession all the way from the dock of Port Washington Harbor right up to the door o' me workshop! Aye, ye could almost hear the laughter of all those boys and girls as they listened to me trusty pipes callin' the tune! Those among the adults wasted no time in tellin' me afterwards that they wanted to shake me hand ....indeed, as a few more o' them later explained to me, this was probably the first time in their lives --- for some of them, the first time in a lifetime --- that they had seen one man so singlehandedly make so many people so happy!

In the subsequent visits I made to Edinburgh, I learned a great deal more about the origins o' me entire seed, breed and generation. My sixth and last visit occured in March of 1887. This time, I returned to me family's ancestral lands to celebrate my eighty-ninth --- and, as it turned out, final --- birthday.

During the ceilidh that was being held in me honor at the auld Bonnie Prince Charlie's Pub, located along Edinburgh's Royal Mile, I took part in an extended dance seisiun. Aye, I recall that evening so well! 'Twas the Gillie Challum we danced to, that it was! (Heh-heh!) But it wasn't long, after about 4 hours or so of dancin', that I became completely fatigued; indeed, I soon was breathing a bit more heavily than normal. The pub's regular patrons were the first to notice: I had utterly over-exerted meself..... and nobody could figure out why!

3 1/2 weeks later --- April 5th, 1887 --- I shed me Mortal form. They said I was dead, but I realized that those young bairns who'd welcomed me home in the past, most of whom had grown up by now, had wee ones of their own..... most of whom weren't really able to understand, much less appreciate, the very concept of death. Still, when they brought me body back to Port Washington the following week for the funeral mass, there was no doubt that it would be both a somber and a noble occasion. I'll always be grateful to Father Duncan Logan, Pastor of St. Andrew's Church, for his remarks to that crowd in light o' me passin':

"Despair not over our departed brother Fergus," says he, "for it was his greatest hope that the magic and the spirit of Scotland should live within each and every one of us."

Later that same day --- April 10th, 1887 --- they laid me to rest in the Cemetery of St. Andrew's Parish...... and that's the point where, a scant few moments later, I was taken into Heaven --- and told by St. Peter's cherubim to await the arrival of Saint Andrew himself --- patron saint of all Scotland!

When he arrived, he was truly the picture of humbleness, as every good Saint should be. "Fergus MacAndrich Lochinvar Gordon," says the good Saint Andrew, "you have repeatedly demonstrated that your kindness toward others is without blemish; and that your love of Scotland and her people is truly the peak of unselfishness. Moreover, through your musical abilities, your constant generosity toward the children of your former Mortal village, whom you so dearly loved, likewise shines golden. And so, Fergus, let it be known that you have been chosen to receive in return that which your heart desires most. You need only speak, and it shall be granted unto you!"

Well, as you can imagine, I didna waste any time makin' me wish. "O noble Saint Andrew," says I, "for more than 50 of my 89 years of lifetime on Earth, I have played and built me own Highland Bagpipes. And one of the things that I have come to realize, now that I am among the Departed, is that I shall never again know what it means to enjoy the true spirit of the Scottish Highland Games. How I wish I could tell ye how sad that makes me...."

"You need not fear, 'Uncle Fergus,'" says St. Andrew. "Know that I have observed your music-making; and know as well that I have watched the saga of thy family and its days in and out of Scotland. Be assured, Fergus, that the Mortals will always have the splendor of the Highland Games ..... as long as they remember. Henceforth, it shall become thy doom, Fergus, to haunt and to watch over the Scottish Highland Games of the world, wherever they may be ...... and to instill within those Mortals who attend said Games a proper understanding of the traditions and heritage of that glorious realm known as Scotland!"

Och aye, how me heart leapt for joy when St. Andrew uttered those words! In fact, once he was done speakin' those words, I made meself a promise: No matter where the winds o' the world would take me in me new form, I would always commit meself to fulfillin' me sacred mission! And that's how I became the guardian spirit of Scottish Highland Games enthusiasts everywhere --- and proud I am to say, 'tis an assignment I faithfully continue to carry out to this verra day!

And now that ye Mortals know the full gist o' me life story (and, of course, me afterlife story, as the case may be [Heh-heh!]!), ye're invited to give me a holler or two, by way o' e-mail, and let me know what ye thought o' me biography. Just address yer thoughts to either pirate1_power@hotmail.com or blackbeardian@yahoo.com. But fer right now, enjoy the rest o' me homepage; and to those o' ye who must leave, my thanks to you all fer visitin', and until next we meet, may guid fortune be yours!