Barisdale took no profit by his iniquity. The Ross people, whom he had harried, burned his famous stocks, and his house, with its ‘eighteen fire-rooms, and many others without fires, beautifully covered’ (roofed) ‘with blue slates.’ He himself died in 1750, in Edinburgh Castle; six soldiers, with no mourners, carried his bulky and corpulent carcase to a grave ‘at the foot of the _talus_ of the Castle.’ So says the Impartial Hand. Of Barisdale’s classical lore, and of his courtesy to a fair captive, we have seen proof. For the rest, a more worthless miscreant has seldom stained the page of history. It was time that such a career as his should be made impossible. Young Barisdale skulked for years in the Highlands, a kind of Hereward, pursued by the English troops. He was usually accompanied by five or six of his Clan, armed, and in the prohibited Highland dress. He supported life in his father’s fashion, mainly by robbing the herring fishers of a fifth of their takes, under some pretence of a legal claim. His tenants, spoiled by the English troops, probably could contribute little to his maintenance. He is often mentioned in the Cumberland Papers, and, after he had been the guest of young Glengarry’s uncle, Dr. Macdonnell, that physician talked indiscreetly as follows. On Sept. 30, 1751, Captain Izard, of the Fusiliers, writes: ‘Dr. Macdonald, brother of Glengarry, living at Cailles on Loch Nevis, told that young Barisdale lay at his house the Monday before, and took boat thence to carry his sister home, and he proposed going to the Isle of Skey’ (Skye).[66] He was taken at last on July 18, 1753, in a wood near Lochourn in Morar, and was tried in Edinburgh on a charge of High Treason, on March 11, 1754. With him was Macdonald of Morar, five or six other Macdonalds, and Mackinnons, a MacEachan, and others. He disputed the indictment, which described him as ‘of Barisdale,’ on the score that his grandfather had only been ‘a moveable tenant of Glengarry’s, without any right in writing whatsoever.’ This plea was disregarded, and he was condemned to be hanged on May 22, bearing his sentence ‘with great composure and decency.’ Being respited, he lay in the Castle till 1762, when he took the oaths, and was released. By a curious freak of fortune, young Barisdale’s son Col, in 1788, ‘held a Commission to regulate the Fisheries. This, in the height of the fishing season, was no easy task, and required a firm hand. Not only were there disputes among the fishermen themselves, but, apparently, thieves made it a regular trade to attend, and pick up what they could.... The poor fishermen now suffer from piracy in another form. If there were officials like Barisdale armed with sufficient powers, trawling within the limits would soon be extirpated,’ writes Mr. Fraser Mackintosh.[67] The fishermen have never been fortunate. Before trawling came in they had to do with the portentous Col of Barisdale. Perhaps, of the two, they may prefer the trawlers.