God's Highlander (38 page)

T
HE SEARCH BY the Highlanders spread in the manner of a disturbance on a still pond. When word of the rape of Tibbie Ross reached other communities their menfolk turned out to join in the search and pass on the message: ‘Find the Irishmen.' Within twelve hours mountains, glens and lochsides were being combed by grim-faced men as far as thirty miles from Eskaig.

As swiftly as it had begun, the search was called off. No reason was given, and men returning to their homes said nothing. Wives did not ask. A deep secret silence settled over the mountains.

For a week the Highlands waited. Then the bodies of two deserters from the Irish regiment were pulled from the water at the southern end of Loch Lochy. Both men had been stabbed to death.

Official reaction to the death of the two Irish soldiers was exactly what Wyatt had feared. Their desertion was forgotten, and the two men were given a funeral with full military honours, as though they had fallen in battle. The eulogy recited at the graveside even hinted that the men might have been abducted before being brutally murdered.

The result was an immediate increase in tension between the resentful local population and vengeful Irish soldiers. The soldiers needed little encouragement to recall the wrongs, imagined or otherwise, their people had suffered at the hands of Highland ‘occupation' troops in the past.

Incidents between soldiers and Scotsmen increased, and fights were frequent in the taverns and drinking-houses of Fort William. Far more serious was the manner in which the Irish regiment was used to support the authorities in the new wave of clearances being carried out in the Highlands about Fort William.

High in the mountains south-west of Loch Lochy the cottars gathered together in a confused and pathetic group and refused to accept the clearance notices being brought to them by a timid sheriff's officer. Making no attempt to call attention to the office he held, the official scurried back to Fort William, greatly exaggerating the resistance of the cottars in order to justify his lack of success.

Within hours the old bogy of a Highland insurrection had been resurrected yet again and wild rumours circulated in the town. At dawn the next day, sheriff's officers headed for the mountains once again. This time they were accompanied by a magistrate, the sheriff-substitute and the factor. As an escort they took with them forty Irish soldiers, who marched out of Fort William to the steady beat of a drum.

High in the mountains the sound of the drum drew the cottars. At a narrow and shallow ford they gathered to plead their case, women well to the fore.

A woman walked to the centre of the ford and begged the sheriff-substitute to return to Fort William and leave them to live their lives in peace. The plea was made in Gaelic and understood by only two of the assembled officials. It was certainly not a language that had been studied by the mounted factor. Encouraged by the presence of the troops, he rode into the stream, heading towards the cottars' self-designated spokeswoman. When he reached the middle of the shallow but swift-flowing stream, the woman made another appeal in her unintelligible language.

The factor's horse, made nervous by the fast-running stream, would not stand still. When its hoof turned a pebble beneath the water the animal stumbled, fell against the woman and knocked her off balance.

Not all the cottars gathered on the far bank saw the manner in which the incident occurred. As the woman floundered to the bank Gaelic abuse was hurled at the horseman and suddenly a stone sailed through the air from the assembled Highlanders. It hit the horse on the face. Startled, the animal backed, slipped and fell, ducking its rider in the icy water.

The factor surfaced to a howl of delighted derision from the cottar women. The sight of the wet and bedraggled factor caused almost as much amusement in the ranks of the Irish soldiers, and this might have been the end of the incident. Unfortunately, another volley of stones
sailed through the air, hurled by half a dozen children of no more than twelve or thirteen years of age, standing behind their parents.

As the missiles landed in the water about the bedraggled factor and his threshing horse, the angry man shouted at the amused soldiery: ‘What the hell are you standing there doing nothing for? Can't you see what they're doing? Or are you waiting for me to be killed before you take any action?' Another hail of missiles sailed through the air, and this time one struck the factor on the shoulder.

The officer in charge of the Irish soldiers immediately ordered them ‘into line, at the double'. The men obeyed swiftly, and when they had formed a single long line they were ordered to take aim over the heads of the cottars.

Moments later the order ‘Fire!' was given. A volley of shots rang out, echoed from the surrounding mountains.

As the smoke cleared and the last echo rolled away two of the cottars could be seen lying up on the ground. One was a woman who had been standing in the forefront of the crowd. Her death might have been the result of a deliberate disregard of orders, or due to a faulty charge in a soldier's gun.

The second death was almost certainly an accident, but no less of a tragedy. A young girl standing well back from the crossing had been struck by an almost-spent musket-ball, fired above the heads of the cottars.

As the cottars stood their ground in stunned disbelief, a shout went up for the soldiers to cross the river and disperse them. The Irish soldiers needed no urging. They splashed across the shallow ford, spurred on by the sight of cottars fleeing before them.

The stronger and more able-bodied of the cottars were able to reach the safety of the surrounding rocky heights. Others, not so fortunate, were clubbed down by musket-butts. If resistance was offered, be it by man, woman or child, the offender was beaten to the ground before being dragged back to the river and placed in the charge of the sheriff's officers.

At the end of half an hour, the last of the hot and triumphant soldiers returned to the riverbank. The still-wet factor looked about him at the two bodies and eight injured prisoners, three with broken limbs. Well satisfied with the morning's work, he offered his congratulations to the soldiers' commanding officer.

‘It's exactly what was needed to show them we'll stand no more nonsense. I'll have little trouble with this lot after today.'

‘I trust you're wrong, Factor. Our men haven't been brought all this way to do no more than fight a handful of women. Your own militia could have attended to that. I trust you'll be able to offer us something rather more worthwhile before we have to return.'

‘Yes…. Yes, I think I might. There's a family I want to evict who should put up enough of a fight to keep both you and your men happy.'

The factor was John Garrett, and the family he had in mind belonged to Eneas Ross.

 

The factor for the Kilmalie estate had instituted the most wide-reaching clearances this part of Scotland had known. With the aid of the military he was emptying vast areas of the mountains north of Eskaig. The evicted Highlanders shouldered their few salvaged possessions and set off in search of another place to stay, leaving their homes burning behind them. While the ashes were still smouldering, sheep were moved in by the hundred; by the thousand – and in tens of thousands. They cropped hard-won gardens to the ground, their cloven hoofs trampling on the pride and aspirations of a whole people.

Few of the dispossessed Highlanders were able to find a permanent refuge. Some wandered aimlessly about the mountains for days until they disappeared, no one knowing where. Others made their way to Eskaig. Here they sought the sanctuary of the school, or camped above mouldering ancestors in the churchyard.

Wyatt tried to speak to John Garrett, to plead with him to halt the clearances, but John Garrett was rarely at home. Mostly he was out with the Army, supervising the clearance of Kilmalie lands. Many of his nights, too, were spent away from home, John Garrett choosing to remain in Fort William whenever he could.

The scale of the clearances was far worse than anything Wyatt had anticipated, and feeding the victims became a major problem. The homeless families were kept alive mainly by the generosity of local fishermen. It was fortunate, too, that the weather was kind. When it changed it would be impossible to put everyone under cover unless Angus Cameron opened his church to the refugees, and this seemed highly unlikely.

Eventually, in sheer desperation, Wyatt wrote to the Kilmalie estate office in Edinburgh. He described the plight of the Highlanders and begged Charles Graham to use any influence he possessed to bring the clearances to an end.

Wyatt doubted whether his letter would serve any useful purpose. The new Lord Kilmalie had given John Garrett unlimited powers to run the Eskaig estate, and the factor was using them to the full.

John Garrett was also using far harsher tactics in his clearances than ever. Until recently it had been the practice to issue clearance warnings, giving tenants time to rid themselves of livestock and reap their crops. This had been discontinued. Most tenants were receiving no warning at all. The clearance note was served with immediate effect. Those who were slow to obey found their homes and possessions burning about them.

 

With so much happening about Eskaig, Wyatt had not seen Mairi for many days. He could not justify leaving the crowded school for the time it would take to go into the mountains on a visit. There were persistent rumours that the Highlanders were preparing to fight back against the authorities. Wyatt wanted to be on hand in order to quash such foolishness before it involved the Army.

One day, as Wyatt was trying to make room in the school for three more homeless families, Mairi came down from the mountains to find him.

Surrounded by the bewildered crying children of the latest arrivals, Wyatt was crouching beside an elderly cottar woman, trying to explain why she had to give up some of the tiny floor-space previously allotted to her. His combination of firmness and cajoling achieved only partial success, but he gained enough floor-space for the mother and her smallest children to sit down.

Straightening up, Wyatt found Mairi standing before him, cradling one of the youngest new arrivals in her arms. The families had spent the night in the open, on the mountains. The baby's face still bore smudges from the smoke of its burning home and mud from the earth of the mountains, mixed together by tears and rubbed in with grubby fists.

‘I seem to have chosen a bad time to come and see you.' Mairi's smile was thin, and Wyatt thought she looked tired and pale.

‘There are no good times right now.' Wyatt could not conceal his delight at seeing her. It was an unexpected bright spot in the increasing burden of misery descending upon him from the Highlands. ‘But any day when I can look at you has to be a good one.' There were only three weeks to go before their planned wedding. This Sunday he would read out the first of their banns.

Relieving Mairi of the child and passing it to its mother, Wyatt gripped Mairi's arm and led her out through the back door of the schoolhouse. The kitchen garden was here, carefully and lovingly cultivated by Alasdair Burns. No one had been allotted camping-space here – yet. Overlooked by many cottar families all around, it lacked privacy, but at least it was possible to talk quietly without being overheard.

‘Is all well with you, Mairi? And the family … Tibbie?'

‘Tibbie's recovered from the beating she took. For the rest of it … I don't think she'll ever forget.' She hesitated a moment. ‘I don't think Ian or Father is able to forget it, either. They both look upon it as a personal humiliation. An attack on their manhood. It doesn't make it any easier for Tibbie.'

‘They've avenged any insult to the family honour. The whole of the Highlands is aware of it. We must hope the commanding officer of the Irish soldiers never learns what really happened, or regimental honour will become involved, too. We can do without that. Our only hope is that the clearances will end soon and the soldiers leave. Then perhaps people will be able to start piecing their lives together.'

Mairi studied the ground at her feet intently. ‘Pa says the only way to get rid of the soldiers is to drive them out. To fight and beat them.'

‘That's nonsense, Mairi.
Dangerous
nonsense. The days are long gone when the clans could rise and drive an English army from the Highlands. We have no clans any more. The old chiefs are gone – and the old clan loyalties. Most of the landowners are living in London, and half are English. We've grown weaker over the years, while the English hold has grown a thousand times stronger.'

‘Ma tried to tell Pa the same thing, but he won't listen. He told her that if Wellington had accepted the odds against him the French would still be occupying Spain.'

‘What will he do? I've been hearing alarming rumours for days, but no one can tell me anything.'

Mairi shook her head. ‘I don't know. There are armed men coming and going at all hours of the day and night.
I'm
worried, Wyatt.' Mairi suddenly looked desperately unhappy. ‘I want to marry you, Wyatt, but I
can't
– not until things are more settled.'

Her words filled Wyatt with alarm. ‘You mustn't say that, Mairi. I
need
you. I need you far more than a man of God should ever need anyone. Things will be better soon, you'll see.'

Wyatt had never seen Mairi looking so upset, and he put an arm about her. ‘Come in the kitchen and have a hot drink. Evangeline's in there trying to make a few fishes and a little bread go far enough to cure the hunger pangs of a whole multitude. Alasdair should be back soon. He's gone off to the head of the loch to beg some salmon from the fishermen there….'

Inside the kitchen Evangeline took one look at Mairi's taut tired face and produced a cup of tea so quickly it might have been awaiting the Highland girl's arrival.