There is an old book from 1791 entitled Memoirs of the life and gallant exploits of the old Highlander, with accounts of several broadsword duels. Unfortunately, there is some doubt as to the validity of the account in question, as the subject of the book was accused in his own lifetime of being a fraud.

His name was Sergeant Donald MacLeod of the Black Watch, and he claimed to be 103 years old. The officials at Chelsea Hospital, however, considered him a con artist, believing him to be using his father's name and birth certificate in an attempt to obtain a pension. MacLeod died a disappointed an embittered man, and attempts to confirm or disprove his story have been unsuccessful. Even if MacLeod was not who he said he was, it is entirely possible that he was using his father's old war stories as well as his birth certificate. While the following anecdotes should be taken with a grain of salt, they may represent genuine incidents which have been embellished or distorted in the re-telling, and they do seem to give some insight into the culture of the broadsword and its use in the 18th century. In retelling these stories, I have applied my own experience of Highland broadsword training to the rather spare descriptions in the original work, both for purposes of storytelling and as an attempt to understand why these fights might have turned out the way they did- if they happened at all!

One of the most interesting exercises in the art of swordsmanship is to stage bouts between fencers of different styles- pitting a Hungarian saber fencer against an Italian, for example, or a Highland broadsword man against an English backsword man. Indeed, one of the purposes of the Broadsword League is to provide a venue for such encounters. At the time of MacLeod's first reported duel he was twenty years old, strolling along the ramparts of Lille with a young lady on each arm. The charm he had applied to adults as a starving runaway was apparently proving equally effective on the opposite sex. Veteran of four major battles and several sieges, MacLeod was no longer a child, but he still had the hotheaded aggressiveness of youth- especially when insulted to his face in front of the ladies.

A German soldier was apparently unimpressed with MacLeod's good fortune, and giving him a hard look, said something under his breath. MacLeod stopped, and said, "What is that you say?"

"The Devil take the whole of such dogs!" said the German. Donald didn't waste another moment before drawing his broadsword, and the German soldier prudently ran for cover, as, presumably, did the girls. Seeing a man of his country in danger, a large German captain ran over to join the fight, drawing his own broadsword and engaging MacLeod. The duel was on. In essence this fight was no different than a typical brawl in the bar district of any modern city on a Friday night, except for one factor- the sharp steel blades of the opposing broadswords, fully capable of severing a limb or removing a head. In those days, bad etiquette and bad judgment could easily prove fatal.

The captain came on guard. German swordsmen of that era fought according to the Kreusslerish system, established by the great dynasty of Kreussler fencing masters whose own roots went back to the medieval fencing guilds. If the captain had had any expertise with this system, it would have been obvious. It is possible for an experienced swordsman to tell almost immediately, just by the way his opponent comes on guard, if he has any significant skill or not.

The stance of a skilled swordsman will appear alive, dynamic with potential energy, while that of an unskilled swordsman looks stiff and dead.

MacLeod could tell right away that he was facing an amateur, a man with more courage and strength than genuine ability. As he parried the man's wild attacks without too much difficulty, MacLeod reflected on the situation in which he found himself. This man was not his enemy. The captain had not insulted him, in fact he had only jumped into the fight in order to rescue his countryman from MacLeod's wrath, showing both courage and a chivalrous spirit. It would be wrong to kill him for that. Attempting to hit the leg of a trained broadsword man is usually suicidal, because he will simply shift the leg out of the way and take your head off. But against an untrained man, it can be done with impunity. Finding that his opponent stood flat and heavy in his stance, with no indication that he knew how to shift and counter, MacLeod saw an opportunity. Dropping suddenly, with knees deeply bent, he cut out a section of the German's calf. Most men would have stopped at this point, with honor satisfied, but the captain continued on despite his wound.

MacLeod could have killed him now, and been fully justified- he had tried to end the combat without a fatality, but the captain had insisted on continuing the fight despite the blood streaming down his leg. No one would have blamed MacLeod if he cut the man down. But another opportunity presented itself, and MacLeod took it. The wide cuts of an unskilled fencer will frequently expose the arm to a counterattack. Donald struck at the right moment, and ended the fight. His arm disabled for the time being, the captain could not continue. "It is enough," he said, and the duel was over.

As was the custom in the dueling era, all hard feelings were now put aside. MacLeod accompanied the wounded captain back to his quarters, where they proceeded to get very drunk together. By the time the evening was over, they were both crying over what had happened, and they even kissed on parting to make up- a strange image for us to imagine today, but not particularly unusual at the time.

But Donald MacLeod was not a saint. The duel would not have happened in the first place, if he hadn't displayed a youthful sensitivity to insult that could easily have had fatal consequences. It would be several years before he would grow out of this, and this wasn't the last time it would get him into trouble.

The year was 1712, and Donald MacLeod was 24. He had now been in the Royal Scots for half of his life, and what a life it had been so far- a childhood lived in the most Spartan conditions imaginable, with all his free time spent in the study of swordsmanship, followed by a few years as a nearly-starving apprentice stonemason, then a desperate runaway. Five major battles and countless sieges, all of which he had somehow survived without a scratch. One private duel. He was walking along the ramparts of the town in which he'd been stationed, perhaps thinking about these extraordinary experiences, when he caught the eye of a French non-commissioned officer on the street below. Exactly what the French NCO said to him has not been recorded, but it must have been bad.

MacLeod replied with a torrent of verbal abuse, selecting expressions from the French, German and Gaelic languages as they suggested themselves to him. The Frenchman challenged him to a duel, and Donald accepted, naming a place and time for the encounter. According to William Gaugler's History of Fencing: "In the eighteenth century France replaced Italy as the leading fencing center of Europe."

Fencers in this time period considered the French method to be supreme, and French fencing masters could be found in virtually every country- including Scotland. Highland broadsword fencing never achieved the same cachet, but that doesn't mean it wasn't effective for the task at hand. Whether because this opponent had offended him personally, or because he was a member of the army MacLeod had been waging war against for several years, MacLeod did not show the French NCO the same mercy he had shown the German captain. Then again, perhaps the Frenchman was simply more talented with his weapon than MacLeod's last opponent, leaving him no luxury for such chivalry. Whatever the reason, he cut the man down. As the French NCO lay bleeding on the ground, he gave MacLeod his gold pocket watch, confessing that the duel had been "owing to his own wantonness," a standard confession for a dying duelist, intended to spare the other man any embarrassment.

In those days you were expected to be murderously sensitive to any hint of insult, and ridiculously magnanimous once blood had been spilt over it. But there would be no drinking all night and shedding tears together this time. The man was dead.

The British army was now preparing to go back home, and MacLeod was dispatched to the town of Breda to look for deserters. He had a party of men with him to back him up, but they came across a party of French soldiers with their lieutenant. Something about the young Highlander rubbed the French the wrong way, and the lieutenant decided to make an issue out of it

"I enlisted the two men whom you want," he said, "and I will keep them." As he threw in some choice oaths, MacLeod took offense, and challenged the French lieutenant to single combat. It might seem a little peculiar for the French army to be enlisting British soldiers, but it was not unheard of. Not too long before this incident, McBane had been taken by the French, and they had tried to force him to enlist in their army. He wasted no time in taking over their gambling operations, stabbing two of their swordsmen in the process- and they decided they'd rather let him go back to the British side after all. But not everyone was as much trouble to have around as McBane. A full-fledged officer wasn't normally supposed to duel an NCO, but the French lieutenant applied for permission and received it from his superior officers. As he had with the French NCO, MacLeod cut his man down. This resolved the issue as far as honor was concerned, but there was still the matter of the deserters' enlistment bonuses, which had already been paid. Donald had to hand over fifteen ducats, but he got his men back.

"It is not by caution and prudent submission that he seeks to escape; as it is not by means of the law that he wishes to revenge injuries." – William Thomson, describing Donald MacLeod.

The Royal Scots were stationed at Dunkirk until 1714. In August of that year, Queen Anne died, and the Regiment was brought back to Britain at last. They remained in garrison at Plymouth and Portsmouth until March of 1715, when they were sent over to Ireland to quell unrest there. The modern Irish nationalist movement did not come into being until several decades later, so this unrest was most likely of the Jacobite variety. With Queen Anne's death the Jacobites saw an opportunity, particularly as the new king- George I of Hanover- was widely unpopular, seen as a German usurper by many of his subjects. The regiment was stationed at Dublin to deter any rebellion.

MacLeod's feats with the broadsword had earned him a reputation, and as happens in any society of fighting men, this was bound to attract challenges. Sure enough, an Irish "bully," by the name of MacLean, approached Lieutenant MacLean while the regiment was in Dublin, asking him as a fellow clansman to arrange a fight with MacLeod.

Lieutenant MacLean went to Captain MacDonald, who had been Donald's commanding officer for 14 years now, and asked him if he would be offended by such a request. The captain gave his assent, apparently totally confident in Donald and his skills. The two MacLeans then approached Donald together, and the bully stepped forward.

"I hear that you are a good swordsman. Will you fight me for five guineas?" The idea here was that each of them would put up five guineas, with the winner to take home the entire pot. A guinea was apparently equivalent to about £1.05, but for some reason was considered rather more genteel than the pound sterling. This might not seem like a large amount, but it was equivalent to about £750 in today's money.

"As you are a MacLean," said Donald, "It will not cost so much: I will, for the Lieutenant's sake, fight you for one guinea." This would be equivalent to approximately £150 today, so they were going to fight each other with sharp swords for somewhere around $300 modern US dollars. Regardless of the overall validity or lack thereof of MacLeod’s tale, this was probably a pretty typical wager for a prizefight.

The two swordsmen now shook hands as a token of good will. The word "bully," as has already been indicated, had a very different meaning then than it does today. However, this particular bully fit both senses of the word. He was a gigantic individual, and heavily muscled, and he had trained his hands until they had a vice-like grip. It was apparently his habit to intimidate his opponents before the match, and possibly even render their sword-hands useless, by crushing their fingers together during the handshake. This is exactly what he did to MacLeod, squeezing his hand until Donald yelled out loud. The two MacLeans burst out laughing, and what had been a friendly wager became something else. Donald had been hurt and humiliated, and there was a price to be paid for that. But the bully was not yet done. He offered another wager before the sword fight, saying that no man in the regiment nor in Dublin could turn his wrist an inch in either direction. Donald accepted, and the figure for this wager was set at two guineas- twice as much as for the actual duel!

The bully put his right arm flat on the table, but Donald suddenly jerked his arm and turned his wrist, winning the first bet of the day. They drew their swords and took up their targets.

The Highland art of sword and target fencing was based primarily on a handful of principles, which could be applied in a number of different ways depending on the situation. The swordsman might attempt to Invite and Bind, luring his opponent into making a particular attack so that he could trap both of his weapons over to one side and take the man's head off, or drive his point up between the ribs and into the lungs. He might attempt to Feint and Cut Under, panicking the opponent into raising his target and exposing his belly, which could then be opened with a sweeping cut from underneath. He might Drop Below the Guard, bending both knees very deeply and cutting the opponent's legs out from under him. Or he might use the Back Traverse, removing himself off the line of the attack and cutting the inside.

These were, for the most part, battlefield tactics, and their goal was the immediate death of the enemy. But single combats were handled a little differently, because they were not supposed to be to the death unless absolutely necessary. According to Thomas Page in 1746:

Page describes this technique as a sawing cut, which would have the effect of incapacitating the opponent without crippling him. But it is also possible to perform the same technique as a chop, in which case the entire arm could easily be severed. MacLeod chopped the bully's arm off, ending both the fight and MacLean's career as a prizefighter. The man probably shouldn't have laughed at him.

The Royal Scots had not been stationed in Ireland long when MacLeod was sent back to Scotland, most likely in the role of a recruiting sergeant. As a veteran of the most recent war and a known broadsword champion, MacLeod was no doubt ideal for attracting recruits, especially considering his ability to be charming when he wanted to be. Donald MacLeod was now 26 years old and 5'7" tall, with features that were later described as being, "expressive of sincerity, sensibility and manly courage." He was a restless man with a taste for wandering, who could never bear to be in one place longer than he had to be, or to lie in bed a moment after he opened his eyes. The instant he woke up he would jump out of bed, wash his face and hands, and be about his business. The roaming life of a recruiting sergeant would seem to have been ideal for him. This was the first time he had seen his homeland in more than a decade, and despite his wandering disposition, he must have been happy to see the Highlands again. Scotland, however, was in a state of turmoil, which soon broke out into open war. The Earl of Mar- known as "Bobbing John" for his prevaricating ways- had called the chiefs of the Highlands together for a great hunt, as a pretext for gathering a rebel army.

On September 6th of 1715 he declared James Stuart, the Old Pretender, to be the rightful king. Many of the Highland clans supported his uprising, but many did not. Some clans were even divided against themselves- the Breadalbane Campbells, for instance, came out for the Jacobites, but the Argyll Campbells supported the government . The Jacobites seized Perth in the early days of the uprising, but John Campbell, the 2nd Duke of Argyll, was at Stirling to block them. Mar's habit of indecisiveness led to a stalemate, during which Donald MacLeod joined up with the government forces under Argyll.

Despite the stereotype of the Campbell chiefs as Anglicized aristocrats, the Duke of Argyll was a veteran military commander and an expert swordsman, known respectfully among the Gaels as "Red John of the Battles". "Red John" kept a small band of expert swordsmen around him, the traditional Highland luchd taigh or household bodyguard of a clan chief. He was therefore the very man to appreciate MacLeod's talents, especially for a matter of single combat.

As the two armies lay in camp, a swordsman from the rebel side came out with a trumpeter, defying anyone in the government army to cross blades with him. His name was Captain MacDonald, described as "a highland robber" from Knoydart. This means that he made his living by raiding his neighbors and extorting protection money, which was a perfectly honorable mode of employment in that warrior society. It might seem a little anachronistic to stage such a challenge in the 18th century, but Argyll accepted.

Someone pointed out Donald MacLeod to him as the perfect choice for a champion, and the two swordsmen met each other soon afterward, at a point about midway between the two armies. This was to be MacLeod's first combat against a fellow Highlander. The two men were different not only in politics, but in personal temperament. Captain MacDonald took out a large canteen of whiskey before the duel, and offered to share it with Donald.

"No, the Devil a drop," he replied, calmly taking up a guard position. MacDonald charged. The rebel captain relied on the fury of his attack to overwhelm his opponent, but just as he had with the German officer, MacLeod found himself to be very much the superior swordsman. When under a relentless and continuous attack, the broadsword fencer will retreat, parrying repeatedly until the perfect moment for a counterattack. He will then put a stop to the assault with a single cut, generally made "in opposition"- in other words, using blade angulation and the protection of the basket hilt to prevent a mutual hit. One of the standard attacks of the Highland swordsman was a sweeping cut from below to "let out the bowels," which would quickly end both the fight and the opponent's life. MacLeod aimed this attack a little bit lower, neatly removing his opponent's sporran without so much as scratching him.

"I have cut off your purse," he said, "Is there anything more I must cut off before you give up?" The rebel captain was no doubt shocked, for cutting bits of clothing off an opponent in the heat of a fight was the ultimate display of skill and superiority, to which all swordsmen aspired but which few achieved. Acknowledging himself "inferior in prowess" he left his sporran to MacLeod as a trophy, and went back to the rebel camp defeated and humiliated. A messenger arrived from the rebel camp the next day, with ten guineas from the Earl of Mar as a congratulatory gift. The Duke of Argyll matched this figure, so Donald ended up twenty guineas richer as a result of this duel- approximately £3000 in today's money.

"Chan eil saoi air nach laigh leòn." (All warriors meet with woundsGaelic proverb)

MacLeod's luck in avoiding wounds had been little short of miraculous, but his dice had to come up snake eyes eventually, and this was the day- the 13th of November, 1715. Argyll's government forces numbered 1,000 cavalry and 2,500 infantry- a much smaller force than the vast armies MacLeod had marched with in Flanders. The Earl of Mar had 6,000 or 7,000 infantry and more than 1,000 cavalry, so the advantage was definitely with the Jacobites. Furthermore, the majority of the Jacobite infantry were Highlanders, who had been known to annihilate government armies in a matter of minutes when they had the right leadership. However, Red John of the Battles was a capable commander, and Bobbing John was anything but, so the outcome of the fight was by no means predetermined. Donald MacLeod was stationed on the right of Argyll's army. Neither army had sufficient time to form up in order, but as soon as the Highlanders saw the government forces, they attacked.

Argyll supervised the action on the right in person, so he was in a position to notice Mar's fatal mistake- he had moved all his cavalry over to the center, leaving his left flank completely unprotected. For about fifteen minutes the fighting on this side of the battlefield could have gone either way, but now Argyll sent a squadron of the Scots Greys to turn the Jacobite flank. Under fire from both the front and the left, the Highlanders couldn't launch a decisive charge, so they fell back in retreat.

The action on the other side of the battlefield was totally different. Here the rebels were able to launch a classic Highland Charge, and in no more than eight minutes they had swept the government forces from the field in a total rout. The left flank of each army was now in retreat, but the Jacobites on the government right rallied repeatedly, ten times in all according to Argyll. Each time they rallied they had to be broken again, and it was in this close combat that MacLeod stood out, wreaking havoc on the Jacobites with his flashing broadsword.

A French officer who was with the rebel army saw MacLeod's deadly rampage, and in a moment of suicidal courage, attempted to stop it. The man must have been as skilled as he was brave, because he managed to survive for a few minutes in single combat with MacLeod. But then Donald saw his opening, and took the officer's head off with a single cut. A Jacobite horseman saw what had happened, and "sprung forward on Donald like a tyger," as his memoirs had it.

A small stream separated the two combatants, allowing Donald to partially negate the horseman's advantage, but as they struggled he was stabbed through the shoulder. Realizing that he had little chance against an opponent on horseback, Donald jumped across the stream and thrust his blade into the horse's body. The cavalryman tumbled from the animal, but cut downward as he did so, opening Donald's skull up and exposing his brain. This should certainly have been the end of our hero, but he didn't even pass out. Instead he flew into a rage and cut the cavalryman into pieces, then bound his head together with a handkerchief so it wouldn't fall apart.

The Jacobite left wing had now retired from the field, leaving MacLeod and his comrades alone. But the victorious Jacobite right wing was now ready to attend to them. Argyll's forces had been reduced to about 1,000, while Mar could still command around 4,000 men. If he had ordered a charge he would undoubtedly have won, but after moving his troops threateningly forward, he was seized by a moment of doubt. Unable to get up the courage to order the attack, he withdrew when victory was in his grasp, and the rebellion petered out.

It appears that MacLeod’s injury was actually a fractured skull, but he did recover in time, becoming a broadsword instructor to his regiment. In 1720, MacLeod left the Royal Scots to join the newly formed Highland Companies, which became the Black Watch. During his years in the Black Watch, MacLeod made quite a reputation for himself as a hunter of robbers and outlaws.

In 1739, the Black Watch was taken out of the Highlands, and sent to England, supposedly to be reviewed before the King, but actually in order to send them to fight overseas. As this was in direct contradiction to the terms of their service and the promises that had been made to them, a number of the soldiers staged a mutiny. While MacLeod declined to participate in the uprising, he claimed to have taken a private revenge for his countrymen on several of the horseguards who had helped suppress them.

At the Battle of Fontenoy, the Black Watch won an enduring reputation for courage, and as usual MacLeod was in the front lines with his broadsword. The battle was fought at such close range that there was ample use for MacLeod’s formidable skills in single combat. He cut down a French colonel named Montard and helped himself to the dead man’s gold watch and pocket money, in the course of which he was attacked by an Irish captain in the French service named James Ramievie, "whom he killed after an obstinate and skillful contest." At this point, he was set upon by three or four Frenchmen at once, and would probably have fallen if not for a fellow Highlander in the French army, a gentleman named Cameron who suddenly switched sides in order to rescue his fellow countryman.

The Black Watch next spent a number of years in Ireland, where MacLeod "performed various exploits that fully supported the character he had acquired of being an excellent swordsman," though these are not described in his memoirs . In 1757, he was in Glasgow as a recruiting sergeant, where he found himself challenged to single combat by a tailor named MacLean. This unfortunate fellow had conceived of the drunken ambition of avenging the MacLean clan for the maiming of the Irish bully of that name years before, even though he had never met the man and knew of the incident only through rumor.

MacLeod, now fully matured and an expert with the broadsword, was reluctant to fight his opponent and unwilling to kill him when the man insisted on the duel:

After this, MacLeod was drafted from the Black Watch into the 78th Regiment, or Fraser’s Highlanders, and sent with them to America as a drill sergeant. In the war with the French in North America, he became acquainted with the famous General Wolfe, and carried out a number of special missions for him. At the siege of Louisburg, he attacked a French outpost with a handful of men, and "cut them off without leaving a man to tell tidings."

In this battle, MacLeod was wounded again by a musket ball, which broke his nose. At the Battle of Quebec, another musket ball went through his arm, and his shinbone was "shattered by grape shot." It was said that MacLeod offered his plaid to the dying General Wolfe on his way to the rear, and shortly afterwards he was sent home as an invalid, escorting the corpse of the fallen general. However, the old soldier was not ready to retire quite yet. He joined the 87th Highland Volunteers and saw combat in Germany, getting two more musket balls through his body in 1760 and 1761. After living for a few years in Inverness as a mason, he bought a house in Chelsea, England, and stayed there with his family for a decade.

When the American War of Independence broke out, he went to America again and re-enlisted (at the age of eighty-eight!) as a drill sergeant. When the British Army moved north on campaign, he was sent home to England, so he decided to sell his house in Chelsea and retire at long last to the Highlands. On the way north, however, his ship struck a rock in a storm, and MacLeod was the sole survivor. He was found on the seashore, still lashed to the plank that had saved his life. After three or four days of rest and recuperation, and a dry suit of clothes, he refused all offers of further help and set off for home on foot.

At this point, MacLeod had at least sixteen sons and a number of daughters, though "he does not pretend to make an exact enumeration of the whole of his offspring." By the time his biography was written, his oldest son was eighty years old, and his youngest was nine, and he had twelve sons serving in the army or navy. Between 1780 and 1789 MacLeod lived with his family in Inverness, but in 1789 he traveled on foot to London to address a problem with his pension, and here he met and was praised by the King. The next year, however, the problem was not yet resolved, so MacLeod walked from Inverness to London again, a round trip of a thousand miles on foot by a man already more than a hundred years old. Or so he claimed.

According to the records of Chelsea Hospital, the Donald MacLeod who appeared at their door was not the real MacLeod but his son, who had hired a street prostitute from Edinburgh to pretend to be his wife, using his late father's name and birth certificate in order to defraud the government. His amazing Memoirs were merely part of the con, intended to make him out as a glorious hero.

So what is the truth? Was Donald MacLeod one of the greatest swordsmen who ever lived, or a Highland Baron Munchausen, a teller of tall tales and a small-time grifter? Or was he re-telling his father's adventures as his own, simultaneously distorting and preserving the memory of an otherwise forgotten warrior?

More than two centuries have now gone by, and many records are lost. There seems to be no way to establish the facts, as a result of which the conclusion of Chelsea Hospital will have to stand- the memoirs of Donald MacLeod must be considered fictional. But there is something about them that makes me wonder.

With all their melodrama and bombastic qualities, they remind me very much of the sort of stories an old veteran might tell his son, the kind of stories that get a little better every time they're told. The same stories, misremembered and exaggerated still further a few decades later, could have provided the basis for a book like the Memoirs. Barring some unforeseen discovery, we will never know for sure.

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