It is a strange feeling to stand in the middle of Glencoe when the mist starts rolling off the Aonach Eagach ridge. Most people call it the most beautiful place in Scotland. They aren't wrong. But there is a heavy, almost suffocating stillness there that has nothing to do with the weather. It’s the weight of what happened in February 1692. History books often call it the Massacre of Glencoe, but if you want to be pedantic—and many Highland historians do—it wasn't just a "battle." It was a state-sponsored execution of civilians under the guise of "hospitality."
People get the details mixed up all the time. They think it was just another chapter in the long-running feud between the MacDonalds and the Campbells. It wasn't. While the Campbells were the ones holding the swords, the orders came straight from the top of the British government. This wasn't a clan war; it was a political hit.
The Oath That Arrived Too Late
The late 17th century in Scotland was a mess. King James VII (and II of England) had been kicked off the throne during the Glorious Revolution, and William of Orange was the new man in charge. The Highland clans, mostly Catholic or Episcopalian and fiercely loyal to the Stuart line, weren't exactly thrilled. To get them in line, William’s government issued a decree: every clan chief had to sign an oath of allegiance to the new King by January 1, 1692. If they didn't, they’d be treated as traitors.
Alasdair MacIain, the chief of the MacDonalds of Glencoe, waited until the very last minute. He wasn't being lazy. He was waiting for word from the exiled King James, giving him permission to sign so his people wouldn't be slaughtered. By the time the letter arrived, it was late December. MacIain headed to Fort William on December 31, but there was no magistrate there to take his oath. He had to trek through a blizzard to Inveraray. He didn't make it until January 6.
He was late. Six days late.
The officials in Edinburgh and London saw their opening. John Dalrymple, the Secretary of State for Scotland, didn't just want the oath; he wanted an example. He specifically targeted the Glencoe MacDonalds because they were a small, manageable group with a reputation for cattle raiding. He wrote, basically, that it would be a "proper vindication of public justice" to extirpate that "sept of thieves."
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Murder Under Trust: The Ultimate Betrayal
This is where the story gets dark. In Highland culture, "hospitality" wasn't just a nice gesture—it was a sacred law. You didn't hurt someone who had fed you.
On February 1, about 120 soldiers arrived in the glen. They were led by Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon. Now, Glenlyon was an old man, a gambler, and he actually had family ties to the MacDonalds through marriage. The MacDonalds did exactly what tradition demanded: they opened their doors. For twelve days, the soldiers lived in the MacDonalds' homes. They ate their food. They played cards with them. They slept under their roofs.
Then the orders arrived.
At 5:00 AM on February 13, during a brutal winter storm, the soldiers turned on their hosts. This is what historians call "Murder Under Trust," and in 17th-century Scotland, it was considered a more heinous crime than "simple" murder.
MacIain was shot in the back while getting out of bed. His wife was stripped and had her rings bitten off her fingers; she died the next day. The soldiers moved from house to house. In total, 38 men were killed immediately. But the mountains did the rest of the work. Roughly 40 women and children escaped into the freezing hills, only to die of exposure in the snow.
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Why the Massacre of Glencoe Still Stings
If you visit the Clachaig Inn today, there’s a famous sign on the door that says "No Campbells." It’s mostly for the tourists, but the sentiment behind it is real. The reason this event sticks in the throat of Scottish history isn't the body count. Compared to the Battle of Culloden or the Highland Clearances, the death toll was relatively small.
It sticks because of the way it was done.
It was a cold-blooded calculation by the state. Dalrymple and the Master of Stair didn't want a battle; they wanted a massacre. They even ordered that the "avenues" or exits of the glen be blocked by other regiments so no one could escape. Fortunately for some of the MacDonalds, those regiments were late getting into position because of the storm, which allowed many to flee.
The aftermath was a PR nightmare for King William. An inquiry was eventually held, and it was labeled a "barbarous murder." However, nobody was really punished. Dalrymple resigned, but he was back in power a few years later. The King shrugged it off.
Walking the Ground Today
When you travel to Glencoe, you can still find the ruins of the small settlements like Inverigan and Achnacon where the killings took place. They aren't marked with big flashy signs. They are just piles of stones covered in moss, tucked away from the main road.
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Most people just drive through the glen on the A82, take a photo of the Three Sisters, and leave. You shouldn't do that.
If you want to understand the Massacre of Glencoe, you have to get out of the car. Walk the "Old Military Road." Feel how cold that wind is even in the autumn. Look at the "Signal Rock," where tradition says the signal was given for the massacre to begin (though historians argue about that specific spot).
There is a nuance here that often gets lost: the soldiers themselves weren't all mindless killers. Records suggest some soldiers actually warned their hosts. Some broke their own swords rather than carry out the orders. It was a messy, human disaster, not a clean military operation.
Actionable Ways to Experience Glencoe History
If you’re planning a trip to see the site of the Massacre of Glencoe, skip the generic bus tours and do this instead:
- Visit the Glencoe Folk Museum: It’s located in a row of traditional 18th-century heather-thatched cottages in Glencoe village. It holds genuine artifacts from the era, including weapons that might have been used in the glen.
- Hike to the Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail): This is where the MacDonalds used to hide their raided cattle. During the massacre, many survivors fled into this high, hidden hanging valley. It’s a steep scramble, but it gives you a terrifying perspective on what it would be have been like to flee into those mountains in a blizzard.
- The Glencoe Memorial: Located in the village, the Celtic cross memorial is where descendants still gather every February 13 to lay wreaths. It’s a somber, quiet spot.
- Read the official Inquiry: If you’re a history nerd, look up the 1695 Commission of Inquiry report. It’s a fascinating, albeit frustrating, look at how the government tried to distance itself from the "Master of Stair" and his orders.
- Check the Weather: Honestly, Glencoe is at its most "accurate" when it’s raining. The gloom helps you visualize the 1692 atmosphere much better than a sunny day ever could.
The MacDonalds eventually returned to the glen, but they never truly recovered their power. The massacre was the beginning of the end for the old clan system. It proved that the government in London and Edinburgh no longer viewed the Highlands as a separate entity to be negotiated with, but as a territory to be tamed.
When you leave, take a moment at the viewpoint looking back toward the glen. It’s beautiful, sure. But it’s also a graveyard. Knowing the difference is what makes a visit to Glencoe more than just a photo op.