John Graham of Claverhouse, the Viscount Dundee, was having a bad night. No matter how much he tossed and turned in his bed, he couldn’t sleep. It was hardly surprising. His beloved Scotland was in turmoil. A group of damned sassenachs from England, unhappy that the kingdom was under the rule of King James II, a Catholic king, had invited William of Orange – James’s own nephew – to invade.
James had fled to France and, in February 1689, the English parliament decreed that, by leaving the British Isles, the king had abdicated, forfeiting his right to the throne. William was crowned in his place. Just one month later, on 14 March, the parliament of Scotland followed suit, pledging its allegiance to the pretender.
Dundee had stormed out of the parliament building, vowing to fight for the ‘true’ king. He wasn’t alone. Although he was a lowlander, he threw in his lot with the clansmen of the Highlands and joined the Jacobite cause.
And so here he was, on the night of 26 July, preparing to lead a band of Jacobites into battle with William of Orange’s army. They were heavily outnumbered. Dundee had scraped together 2,500 men, whereas the king had 4,000. The chances of victory were slim, but Dundee had vowed to fight to the death. Dreaming of the battle to come, the viscount finally drifted off to sleep.

 

Gruesome warning
He didn’t slumber for long. Woken by a sudden rumble of thunder, Dundee sat up and came face to face with a gruesome spectre. The ghost stood in the gloom of the tent, blood pouring from a gaping wound in its head. Raising a translucent hand, it pointed directly at the viscount and intoned: “Remember Brown of Priesthill” before vanishing from view. Horrified, Dundee sank back to his bed.
Of course he remembered John Brown. He had been a traitor to both church
and crown, and had been executed by Dundee himself a few years previously. Stubbornly, Dundee dismissed the portent. Tomorrow, 4,000 other traitors would feel his wrath.
And feel it they did. Even though the odds were stacked against them, Dundee’s men were victorious. In the treacherous Pass of Killiecrankie, the Highlanders fought with fury and tenacity, slaughtering over half of the king’s soldiers before the survivors turned on their heels and fled. Victorious, Dundee screamed encouragement to his men, only to be hit by a well-aimed musket ball beneath the breastplate. He fell dead from his horse.
He wasn’t alone. Even though they won the battle, the Jacobites lost a third of their number and were finally defeated three weeks later at Dunkeld. The Pass of Killiecrankie had been bathed in blood.

 

The valley of death
It is said that once a location has witnessed so much death it never forgets, and Killiecrankie is no different. It’s a brave hiker who heads through the pass on the 27 July. For centuries, locals have claimed that on the anniversary of the battle, at the exact time when Dundee fell, the lush green grass turns slick with blood. Others tell of how they have found themselves stepping over the phantoms of dying warriors, each reliving their pitiful final moments again and again.
The most terrifying apparition, however, is a young woman who is seen wandering among the dying, armed with a carving knife and a wicker basket. She stops here and there, harvesting the bodies for valuables, hacking at cold fingers to get at their rings, which are thrown in her basket. And if she spots you glancing her way, she will chase you out of the pass. And you had better run, because it’s said that if she lays one ghoulish digit on you, you’ll be dead within a year. Now that’s a story that could give you some sleepless nights.