Love and Music Will Endure (21 page)

Màiri only stopped waving when she could no longer see the fluttering handkerchiefs on the Braes shore. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Departures by sea always made her shiver, ever since that first time when she left home on the ship with no sail so many years ago. She leant on the rail of the steam yacht, stroking the supple wood and shaking her head to dislodge the cuckoo sadness that had nested there, uninvited. After all, she had much to feel joyful about. Here she was aboard the
Carlotta
, a beautiful vessel belonging to Mr Charles Fraser Mackintosh, soon to be Member of Parliament for
Inverness-shire
. And she wasn’t merely a passenger but a keystone of his election campaign. How she loved to say his full name to herself, sinking her teeth into each word, even though he insisted that she call him Charles. Ah, there was the mighty named man himself, coming over with Hector MacKenzie, less stout than his father The Clach, but with the same gleam in his eye.

‘Will you come below now, Màiri? It’s chilly on deck,’ Charles enquired.

‘I’ll come later. I like to feel the sea spray on my face.’

The boat was breasting the waves a little heavily as they sailed down the Sound of Raasay, between the spread palm of Skye and the long thin finger of the smaller island. Màiri looked out on the gulleys gouged out of Raasay’s flanks; valleys left by dried out tears. No wonder, she mused, when you remembered what had happened there, only a generation ago, during the famine years. Rainy, the landlord had been decent towards those who
had decided to emigrate to Australia. He had bought their cattle, given them shoes and clothes for the journey and paid for their passage out from Liverpool. Those who stayed behind believed their lives would improve now they were not so overcrowded.

But then the blow fell. All the people living in the thirteen townships he owned had been forced out, their houses pulled down around them and their fires doused. Everyone had to leave, although some of them could barely crawl through hunger and illness. When she closed her eyes and felt the spray splatter her face she could sense the salt tears of the families who were driven out.

Charles was a true warrior and friend to the Gaels but she knew he would frown at such a fanciful idea. His life was too far removed from the tragedy of eviction and exile. John would have an inkling of what she meant and maybe The Clach would too. What would Isaac have made of it? Strain as she might she couldn’t summon up his voice in her head any more. His slow rumble of a voice was silenced. She could still see him; his sturdy body and his padding walk, his full head of reddish hair and his hands, broad as a bear’s but light of touch. His smell, sharp and smoky had vanished too. His scent was the reason she had decided to train as a midwife – so that she could escape from nursing men and breathing in the raw maleness that made her want to howl in despair at her loneliness.

He would shake his head in wonder at how times had changed. Not just her appearing on platforms all over Scotland but what about the Braes women who had fought as hard as, if not harder than, their men? Even Charles believed that women should have the vote if they owned their own house, but that would only be ladies of course. He was a strange mixture, Charles, so smooth and confident in many ways but shy in others. It came out in his speeches. He had a good taste of Gaelic on his tongue and knew when to use proverbs that his listeners would enjoy but when it
came to answering questions he would often reply in English, claiming that his Gaelic was rusty. Was it spending so much time down in London that made him water down his Gaelic malt? Well, the two of them together were able to deal with awkward characters in both languages. What was that rhyme that rude fellow had shouted out at the Inverness meeting? She was practised at herding verses together but the English rhythms were harder to keep penned in her mind:

Then dum de dum – until the stinging insult at the end –

She had felled the heckler – ‘I’ve better words that those’ – and sung the poem she wrote to commemorate his first victory, when he won the seat for the Inverness Burghs over ten years before. What a hero’s welcome they had given him, clapping their hands loud as thunder.

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed a wiry, fair man in a sailor’s jacket come towards her, ‘Mrs MacPherson? Welcome aboard. I’m Sandy MacKellar, the mate on this yacht.’

‘How are you Mr MacKellar? It’s a fine boat. I shall enjoy my trip.’

‘Do call me Sandy. She looks well but she wallows in stormy weather. When we were in South Uist she was stuck off Ushinish lighthouse. She couldn’t make any headway, even at full steam. The Captain wanted to return to Lochmaddy but Mr Fraser
Mackintosh wouldn’t hear of it. Why can’t they have election campaigns when there’s better weather?’

‘Charles wouldn’t let tides or storms stop him,’ she laughed, ‘How has the trip been otherwise?’

‘Not bad. The gentlemen like to have wee visits ashore, so that gives us some peace. Mr Mackenzie was off visiting Eilean Donan Castle and very disappointed to find it a ruin with great lumps of the stones lying in Loch Duich. Still I cheered him up with the story of the pet lamb of Kintail. The crew have had a grand cèilidh or two ashore as well. Great sport it was too without the toffs there. Perhaps we’ll have the chance of another one while you’re …’ He stumbled to an embarrassed halt.

Màiri laughed, ‘I might spend time with toffs but I’m not one of them. I’ll be happy to sing for you. But what about this pet lamb of the MacRaes?’

He smiled and tamped down the liquorice black tobacco in his pipe while he chose his words.

‘You know the MacRaes?’

She nodded, memories of her sister’s husband at their wedding brushing her cheek in a cold draught.

‘The lamb belonged to
Murchadh Ruadh MacRath
from Carn Gorm. He’s a crofter and shoemaker, descended from Finlay, the first MacRae ever in Kintail. Three of his uncles fought against the Redcoats. His family had been removed from a township in Morvich and then been given a scrap of land and no grazing. Meanwhile the land at Morvich was let out as a deer forest by the landlord, Mr James Thompson Mackenzie, to a tenant called Winans, an American. There wouldn’t be sight nor sound of him for years and then suddenly he would appear, demanding a deer drive.’ Sandy curled his lip.

‘He was too idle to stalk the stags and just waited for the animals to be chased towards the guns. Then he told the crofters
that they weren’t allowed to graze any animals in the forest and he claimed that the forest reached to the high water mark of Loch Duich. So when any of them stepped over their doorsteps they were trespassing on the deer forest.’

Màiri snorted in disgust.

‘Not long after this Murdo was out cutting peats when he found a lamb that had lost its mother. So he carried the poor creature home as a pet for his children. At first it was so frail that his wife had to give it milk or eggs with a little sugar from her own mouth but it recovered.’

‘I can remember having a lamb like that. It never got used to being outside when it was grown. It used to come in to lie in front of the fire or sit on a chair with its four wee feet waving in the air.’

‘Aye,’ he continued, ‘hand reared lambs imagine they’re some sort of woolly dog, don’t they? Anyway, Winans got to hear about the lamb getting out to eat a few blades of grass, so he sent his stalker, Willie Ross, to chastise Murdo. He’s got a redhead’s temper and he shouted at Ross, “Devil a hair of the lamb will I put away for Winans. I’m thinking of getting more sheep and a cow too. Let Winans go his length and I will too. He’s a rich man and I’m a poor one but let him remember that God is stronger than man.”’

‘He sounds like a man after my own heart. What happened next?’

Sandy took his time relighting his stuttering pipe, ‘Winans couldn’t bear to be flouted. He sent for a sheriff officer from Dingwall. Murdo was out when he arrived but the man saw the sheep and started to follow it. When the township folk spotted him they started to follow the man. He was scared, poor thing, and hid until Murdo came back home. Then he found his courage again and told him he would be sent to prison if he didn’t get rid of the lamb. By now Murdo was heartily sick of the
whole business and the next day he sent the animal to Dingwall to be sold.’

‘Amid lamentations from his children, I’ll be bound. Was that the end of it?’

‘For the lamb. It ended up on someone’s plate but Winans was set on revenge. He tried to force Murdo to agree never to keep any stock again, but being a proud man he refused. So the case came to court. Murdo had to travel down to Dingwall, but Winans and MacKenzie, the landlord, were allowed to give their evidence down in London. MacKenzie thought Winans was mad to claim that one sheep would damage the forest and offered to cancel his lease. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He claimed that the low ground was needed for the deer in the winter and what if all nineteen of the cottars got a pet lamb? They would eat the whole forest. The lawyer who cross-examined Winans asked, “Are pet lambs really more of a disturbance to the deer than are the cottars?”

“What I desire is to get rid of the cottages and their inhabitants. I shan’t leave a stone unturned until I get rid of them,” Winans replied.

The sheriff found in Murdo’s favour and told Winans that he would have to pay the expenses of the trial.’

‘I should hope so.’

‘But Winans was like a dog snarling over his bone and he got another sheriff to turn the judgement upside down so that Murdo would have to pay the costs. Finally there was another court case and the decision went against Winans. The judges said that the whole question was about whether the lamb was trespassing and it couldn’t be trespassing when it had been killed and eaten before the case came to court.’

‘So there was justice in the end. One thing puzzles me though. Who paid for Murdo to appeal to the court? He could never have afforded to himself.’

‘Now, that’s a mystery. Some folk suspect it could have been Thompson MacKenzie himself as he was so shamed by that lunatic Winans.’

‘It’s good to hear the Highland gentleman had a conscience, unlike yon dreadful foreigner.’

‘You should compose a song about Winans’, Sandy said, ‘and show the world what dangerous madmen we have to deal with.’

‘Aye, I might but I’m kept busy with our own Skye devil, Sheriff Ivory.’

Captain MacClachlan was right yet again in his gloomy predictions about the weather. There were tempestuous winds and rain. The people coming from Knoydart to hear Charles speak were already drenched from their journey before they reached the open air meeting. Màiri was gratified to see Mr Eneas MacDonell of Camusdarroch there, standing tall and majestic in his plaids, ignoring the rain. Intent faces looked up in the eerie light of the moon. They strained to hear Charles’ voice against the howling of the raging elements and the jangling of the harness as the miserable horses tossed their heads.

Màiri was on her best behaviour in the presence of the gentry, applauding the speeches in a dignified manner and singing her more respectable songs. Then back home to Skeabost again while the
Carlotta
toured the Outer Isles before returning for the final big meeting in Portree.

Charles was given a true Highland welcome when the boat arrived. As he boarded the carriage waiting at the pier men leapt forward from the crowd to unyoke the horses and haul the carriage up the steep brae to the Portree Hotel. Later he spoke to the crush of people in the schoolhouse. Màiri was pleased to see his glow of confidence as he rose to speak, ‘Mr Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m leaving Skye tomorrow morning and this is the last meeting that I’m to address in the
Hebrides, with the exception of one tomorrow at the Braes. There are about three weeks elapsed since I arrived on the West Coast from Inverness and I have been very much engaged during that time. There has not been a day when I have not addressed one, two, three and sometimes four meetings and I must say that I’ve obtained a reception in the islands which, I don’t believe, has ever been given to any private individual before. If I might be allowed to put myself for one moment in comparison with a man who was once the greatest chief in the islands, Somerled of the Isles. I don’t believe he himself was received in his journeyings with the cordiality that I was. He no doubt got good receptions because he was a man of great territorial position but I have no such claims upon the people. I come merely professing to be their friend and they apparently know and believe that I am.’

The applause exploded around him and she could see that Charles’ eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. She clapped her hands until her palms smarted, delighted that he had been able to lose his usual reserve and speak from the heart. He learnt that from me, she thought proudly.

He continued his speech in the same warm tone, encouraging the new voters to elect him and praising the Skye people for their bravery in supporting the land agitation that had led to the setting up of the Royal Commission. He was among friends, so there were few hecklers. However, he was asked again the question that had dogged his campaign, ‘Were you ever a member of the Junior Carlton Club?’

Màiri opened her mouth to boom out a response but he caught her eye and put his finger to his lips.

‘I think that question is very personal,’ he declared to the accompaniment of cheers, ‘I resigned my position in the Club before I became a Member of Parliament. Also, wasn’t our venerable
Liberal leader, William Gladstone himself, once a member? That puts me in very august company.’

The audience laughed and the meeting ended with him being accepted as the fit and proper person to represent Inverness-shire in Parliament. Màiri was flushed with motherly pride. At long last the wheel was starting to turn.