Glencoe is one of the most visited landscapes in Scotland. Millions of people have driven through it, walked its ridges, and photographed its mountains. But many of them do not know what happened here on a cold winter’s morning in 1692 — or how that event came to define the word betrayal in Scottish history.
On 13 February 1692, thirty-eight members of the MacDonald clan were killed by soldiers who had been living as their guests for twelve days. The Scottish Parliament later called it “murder under trust.” It remains one of the most notorious acts of state-sanctioned killing in Scottish history.
This article tells you the full story — what led to the massacre, what happened that morning, and what you will find if you visit Glencoe today.
The Glen and the Clan
Glencoe is a glacial valley in the Scottish Highlands, about 17 miles south of Fort William. It is dramatic in any weather: steep mountains on both sides, a river running along the floor, and the sky often dark with cloud. The Three Sisters — three massive ridges on the south side of the glen — dominate the view as you drive west.
In the seventeenth century, the glen was home to the MacDonalds of Glencoe, a small clan of around 200 people. They were a branch of the larger Clan Donald, but they had their own chief and their own territory. They were not wealthy. They lived by farming, cattle-keeping, and occasional cattle raiding — which was common practice among Highland clans at the time.
Their chief in 1692 was Alasdair MacIain MacDonald, an elderly man described as tall and imposing, with a long white beard. He was loyal to the exiled King James VII of Scotland (James II of England), who had been forced from the throne in 1688 when William of Orange took power in what became known as the Glorious Revolution.
Why the MacDonalds Were Targeted
After William III took the throne, the Highland clans who had supported James — the Jacobites — were given a deadline. By 1 January 1692, every clan chief had to swear an oath of allegiance to King William. Those who refused, or failed to comply in time, would face the consequences.
MacIain was reluctant. He waited as long as he could, still hoping for permission from the exiled James to take the oath. That permission came late. MacIain set out for Fort William on 30 December 1691, just two days before the deadline. When he arrived, he was told he was in the wrong place — the oath had to be sworn before a civil magistrate, not a military commander. He was sent to Inveraray, 60 miles south, in the middle of winter.
He arrived in Inveraray on 2 January 1692 — two days past the deadline. The Sheriff of Argyll, Sir Colin Campbell, accepted the oath anyway. MacIain signed it and returned home, believing the matter was settled.
It was not. In Edinburgh, officials loyal to King William saw an opportunity. Sir John Dalrymple, the Master of Stair and Secretary of State for Scotland, had long wanted to suppress the troublesome Highland clans. The MacDonalds of Glencoe were small, relatively weak, and disliked by some of their neighbours. Dalrymple wrote that the clan was “little to be regarded” and recommended that the government use MacIain’s late oath as justification for action against them.
King William signed the order. The MacDonalds of Glencoe were to be “extirpated.”
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Twelve Days as Guests
On 1 February 1692, around 120 soldiers arrived in Glencoe. They were led by Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon, a man in his sixties who was deeply in debt and had personal reasons to dislike the MacDonalds — his niece had recently married MacIain’s son, but there was bad blood between the families over old cattle raids.
The soldiers said they had come to collect taxes and that the barracks at Fort William were full. Under Highland custom, the MacDonalds were obliged to give them shelter and food. MacIain accepted the soldiers into the homes of his clan. For twelve days, the soldiers and the MacDonalds lived side by side. They ate together, played cards, and drank together.
During those twelve days, Campbell received his orders. A letter from Major Robert Duncanson, dated 12 February 1692, instructed him clearly:
“You are hereby ordered to fall upon the rebels, the MacDonalds of Glencoe, and put all to the sword under seventy. You are to have a special care that the old fox and his sons do on no account escape your hands.”
The order specified that the killing should begin at five o’clock in the morning of 13 February. Additional troops were to block the mountain passes so that no one could escape into the hills.
The Morning of 13 February 1692
At five in the morning, the soldiers turned on the people they had been living with. MacIain was shot in the back as he got out of bed. His wife was dragged outside. Soldiers pulled the rings from her fingers with their teeth. She died that night of cold and shock.
Across the glen, soldiers killed men, women, and children in their homes. Some were shot, some stabbed. Houses were burned. Cattle were driven off.
But the massacre did not go entirely as planned. The soldiers tasked with blocking the mountain passes arrived late, or failed to get into position. Many MacDonalds managed to escape into the hills in the darkness and the snowstorm that had begun that night. Between 150 and 200 people got away.
However, it was February in the Scottish Highlands. An unknown number of those who escaped into the mountains died from exposure in the days that followed. The total death toll — including those who perished from cold — is not known. The confirmed figure is thirty-eight.
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Murder Under Trust
The massacre became a political scandal. It was not the killing itself that caused the most outrage — violence between clans was not unusual in seventeenth-century Scotland. What shocked people was the manner of it. The soldiers had lived as guests in the homes of the MacDonalds. They had shared meals and fires with the people they then killed. In Highland culture, this was the deepest possible violation of trust.
In 1695, the Scottish Parliament conducted an inquiry. It concluded that the massacre was “murder under trust” — a specific and serious legal term meaning that the killing was made worse by the breach of hospitality that preceded it. The inquiry found that King William’s order had been obtained through misrepresentation, and that Dalrymple was the main architect of the plan.
Dalrymple was forced to resign as Secretary of State. But no one was ever tried or punished for the killings. Campbell of Glenlyon died in Flanders in 1696, a soldier to the end. Duncanson died in obscurity. Dalrymple eventually returned to public life.
The MacDonalds of Glencoe never forgot. The phrase “No Campbell” was reportedly displayed at the Clachaig Inn in Glencoe for many decades — though today the inn welcomes everyone, and the sign has long since come down.
The Survivors and What Followed
Those who survived the massacre rebuilt their lives. The clan did not disappear. Many returned to the glen after the soldiers left. Others settled elsewhere in the Highlands. MacIain’s sons — John and Alasdair Òg — both survived and continued the MacDonald line.
The massacre became a powerful symbol in Scottish politics, particularly for those who supported the Jacobite cause. It was used as evidence of the cruelty of the Williamite government and the suffering of the Highland clans. When the Jacobite risings of 1715 and 1745 came around, Glencoe was still a name that carried weight.
Today, a monument stands in the village of Glencoe to commemorate the dead. It was erected in 1883 by MacIain’s descendant, Ellen Burns MacDonald. The inscription reads: “In memory of MacIain, Chief of Glencoe, who fell with his people in the Massacre of Glencoe, 13 February 1692.”
Visiting Glencoe Today
Glencoe is around 90 miles north of Glasgow and 130 miles north of Edinburgh, via the A82. The drive through the glen takes about 20 minutes, but most visitors stop well before they reach the far end.
The Glencoe Visitor Centre, run by the National Trust for Scotland, sits just off the main road. It covers the geology, ecology, and history of the area, including the massacre. Entry is free for National Trust members; non-members pay a small fee. The centre is a good starting point if you want context before you walk.
The Massacre Monument is in the village of Glencoe itself, about four miles west of the visitor centre. It is a short walk from the road and easy to find. The village also has a small folk museum that covers local history.
For walkers, the glen offers routes of all difficulty levels. The Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail) is one of the most popular — a hidden plateau above the Three Sisters where the MacDonalds are said to have kept stolen cattle. The walk takes two to three hours return and involves some steep sections and a river crossing. It is worth it.
The best time to visit is spring or autumn, when the crowds are thinner than in summer and the light is often better for photography. The glen can be visited year-round, but winter access to walking routes can be restricted by ice and snow.
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Why Glencoe Still Matters
The Glencoe Massacre happened more than 330 years ago. The clan system that shaped it is long gone. The political world of 1692 — the conflict between Jacobites and Williamites, the power struggles in Edinburgh — is history.
But Glencoe still carries the weight of what happened here. When you stand in the glen and look up at the mountains, you are standing on the ground where people were killed in their beds by men they had fed and sheltered. The Scottish Parliament named it murder. No one was ever punished for it.
That is why so many people, when they learn the story for the first time while standing in the glen, feel something shift. The landscape does not change. But the way you look at it does.