God's Highlander (37 page)

Wyatt shook his head.

Mad Macquarrie sniffed loudly. ‘Then, you'll not be a drinking man. Tam Vass has a still there. His whisky would bring the angels down from heaven.'

Wyatt grinned. ‘You need say no more.
That's
where I'll find Coll Kennedy.'

‘I see you
do
know him. He has a service there two or three nights a week. Not on a Sunday, though. The landowner has his men checking the names of those who go to the old kirk every Sunday. He's threatened that anyone who's not there will be run clear out of the Highlands. So Coll has weekday services instead. He gets just as many as in the old kirk. Matter of fact, I might go there myself one of these days.'

‘You're a Free Church man?' Wyatt tried to hide his surprise. He would not have looked upon Mad Macquarrie as being a religious man.

‘No, but I get a terrible thirst talking to preachers who come here seeking out Coll Kennedy. He's had more visitors since he shifted his kirk to Tam Vass's cave than he ever did at Letterfinlay.'

Turning his attention to the dogs, Mad Macquarrie spoke to them as though they were children, detailing them to specific positions on the mountain ridge. Wyatt watched in amazement as each dog went to its allotted position. Once there it lay down and became indistinguishable from its surroundings.

‘That's marvellous,' said Wyatt as he fell in step beside the man and the one dog that had never left his side. ‘How long will they stay there?'

‘As long as I'm away. If I left the mountains for a week, I'd come back and find them exactly where I'd put them.'

There was a pride in his voice when he said: ‘If the landowner could find men or soldiers to obey him in that way, I'd be driven from the Highlands. Until he does,
I'm
the laird up here.'

T
HE WHISKY-STILL owned by Tam Vass was in a cave high above the glen floor, although Coll Kennedy held his service close to the riverbank, far below.

Coll Kennedy had given Wyatt a warm welcome and declared he would be delighted to officiate at the Eskaig wedding. Furthermore, the Letterfinlay preacher declared it to be the first
good
thing to happen to him since the two ministers had returned from Edinburgh.

The patron of the Letterfinlay church felt it incumbent upon him to make things as difficult as possible for the only minister on his vast land-holding who dared to dissent. Barred from church and manse, Coll Kennedy had been harried from one preaching site to another before Tam Vass offered him sanctuary in his distillery. The site was an open secret to everyone except Revenue officers and landowners, but Vass assured the minister the patron would not seek him here.

Coll Kennedy could not have found a site better-suited to his personal tastes, although he would have wished for somewhere more accessible for those worshipping under the auspices of the Free Church.

However, the essential secrecy, coupled with the distances they had to cover, did not deter Minister Kennedy's congregation. Wyatt swore their long trek to the remote valley must have whetted their appetite for the teachings of the Lord.

Mad Macquarrie, who had been listening to the conversation, suggested it was more likely to be Tam Vass's whisky whetting their Highland thirsts.

Whatever it was brought the congregation to the spot, they took part in a service that few would ever forget. The grandeur of the Highland mountains would have made the mightiest man-made cathedral
shrink into insignificance, while the music of the nearby mountain river could never be reproduced by an instrument.

During the service Coll Kennedy introduced Wyatt to the congregation. He said that Wyatt, too, had been evicted from home and kirk by a landowner who would not recognise the people's wish to have a ‘free' church.

Wyatt felt a fraud standing with Coll Kennedy after the service while departing members of the congregation came to offer him their sympathy. The Eskaig school was an acceptable alternative to the kirk, while the schoolhouse provided him with accommodation that had to be superior to a cave!

Later, when the last worshipper had gone on his way warmed by religion and a ‘wee dram' of Tam Vass whisky, Wyatt put his thoughts into words for the benefit of his fellow-preacher.

Coll Kennedy gave Wyatt a lop-sided grin. ‘Oh, I'm not complaining. Matters could be far worse. Do you read Robbie Burns?'

When Wyatt nodded affirmation, Coll Kennedy said: ‘Then, you may recall the grace he composed at the request of the Earl of Selkirk.

We have much to be thankful for, Wyatt. Many of our ministers are old men, and they've been cast out in the open with their families.'

The grin returned again. Coll Kennedy found it difficult to take the world seriously for long. ‘Besides, what man in his right senses would complain about being accommodated in the finest distillery in the land?'

The cave was quite large and reeked of peat and whisky. Tam Vass was a small, bright, wrinkled man who looked and smelt as though he had been pickled in whisky and hung up to dry in the smoke of a peat fire.

Much of the apparatus for the still was hidden within the cave, smoke from the fires escaping as best it could. As a result much of the cave was hidden by thick acrid smoke. However, it was clearer close to the cave entrance, the smoke tending to hang close to the roof, awaiting an opportunity to flee on the wind that blew along the glen.

Within the cave, their activities hidden from view, two men could be heard talking as they worked. As Tam Vass disappeared into the smoke, Coll Kennedy explained that the unseen men were putting whisky in small barrels, ready for transportation. When darkness fell men would arrive with donkeys to carry the whisky over the mountains beyond Glen Gloy. On the other side was Loch Lochy. Here a rendezvous had been arranged with a boat traversing the Caledonian Canal. The whisky would ultimately find its way to discerning customers in the lowland towns and cities.

‘What if the landowner were to have the cave raided? He'd make the most of your being here.'

‘He'd also deprive a great many of his fellow-gentlemen of the finest whisky they're ever likely to taste. Oh, no! He and his men stay well away from Glen Fintaig. I'm safer here than I'd be anywhere else – and the accommodation suits my temperament. Ah! There you are, Tam.'

Tam Vass reappeared, apparently impervious to the thick acrid smoke. In his hand he held a large stoneware jug which he set on the floor in front of the preachers.

Coll Kennedy sat down cross-legged in front of the jug, and Wyatt followed his example.

‘Where's Mad Macquarrie?' Wyatt could not see the strange dog-owning man, but he could easily be hidden by the smoke.

‘He's gone.' Tam Vass handed each man a small wooden drinking-cup known as a
quaich
. Carved from a single block of wood, each cup was elaborately decorated and made with a solid ‘ear' on opposite sides, in order that it might be held more easily. ‘Macquarrie enjoys good whisky as much as any man, but he's not happy around people. He's returned to his dogs.'

‘What's his story?' Wyatt held his
quaich
up for Tam Vass to fill from the jug.

‘Macquarrie's story?' Tam Vass filled his own
quaich
, placed the jug on the floor of the cave between them, then sat on the floor facing his two guests. ‘Nobody knows anything for certain about Mad Macquarrie. He's been up in these mountains for a great many years. There were stories of a strange being roaming the area surrounded by the devil's hounds for a long time before anyone caught a glimpse of Macquarrie. Where he came from no one knows. Some romantics say
he's the bastard son of a duke, his mother a servant who ran away to escape the family's anger. Another rumour has it that he's from a good family, but was outlawed for killing his brother in a fight over a girl. There could be some truth in it, at that. He's an educated man and he has a terrible temper when he's roused. Yet I've never known him so much as raise his voice to those dogs – and he'd climb Ben Nevis rather than talk to a woman.'

‘He's a strange man,' Wyatt agreed, accepting more of the truly excellent whisky from the jug, held this time by Coll Kennedy. ‘I've heard tales of men living like Macquarrie, but have never met one before.'

‘He's not the first in these parts,' said Tam Vass, settling back against the cave wall. ‘There was a man lived over your way, Preacher Jamieson. Somewhere up around Beinn an Tuim. He'd lived there many years and was an old man when I was a boy. It was whispered he was a son of Charles Stuart, his mother the daughter of a family who hid the prince after Culloden. There was another….'

Talk and whisky were passed around among the three men until long after darkness blanketed the mountains. It was good company, and the whisky was far more potent than any sold by the innkeepers of the land. Wyatt did not even remember retiring to a bed of heather, laid in a niche in the cave wall. At some time during the night he thought he heard men tramping to and fro along the length of the cave, but it might have been no more than the thumping inside his head that remained with him for much of the return journey to Eskaig.

 

Wyatt was halfway between Corpach and Eskaig when he saw a number of men on the slope of the lochside mountain. They were in a line from the loch to where the undergrowth ended some way up the slope, systematically working their way towards Corpach. They were probably searching for a lost animal, a calf, or even a sheep, but it was unusual to see so many men involved in such a hunt.

Then Wyatt noticed that each man carried some form of weapon. In most cases it was no more than a long stout stick, but a few wielded ancient claymores, while at least two carried muskets. It always alarmed Wyatt to see Highlanders carrying muskets in public view. There was a long history of discontent in the mountains, and the carrying of firearms was forbidden by the authorities unless a good reason
could be given. The authorities often used the possession of firearms as an excuse to bring the power of the law to bear upon whole communities.

It was possible there was justification for the men to be armed. Foxes sometimes became troublesome and over-bold, raiding outlying cots and crofts and killing livestock. When this happened a hunt would be organised and carried out with high spirits and a great deal of noise. These men were going about their business unsmiling, and with a grim efficiency.

‘What are you hunting?' Wyatt recognised one of the men closest to him and called his question.

When the man appeared puzzled, Wyatt shouted: ‘I've been away since early yesterday morning. Visiting the minister at Letterfinlay. Is there a rogue fox around?'

‘No, Minister, it's not a fox. It's men…. At least, that's what their own kind would call them. Up here we call them something else.'

Now Wyatt really was alarmed. A manhunt would not have been sanctioned by anyone in authority.

‘
Who
are you hunting, and why? What's all this about?'

There was an exchange of glances between the nearest men before the one who had spoken before called: ‘We're after two men, Minister. Two Irish soldiers by the sound of it. One of the crofters came down from the mountains to call us out. Every able-bodied man for miles around is out looking for them, too. They violently ill-used a girl who was rounding up cattle in the mountains.'

‘Who is the girl?' Suddenly the looks that had passed between the men became meaningful. ‘Is she all right?'

‘We don't know how she is, Minister. All we know is it was the Ross girl.'

 

Wyatt headed straight into the mountains, all his other problems put aside, his thoughts in a turmoil. He
had
warned Eneas Ross and Mairi that the Irish soldiers were in the area. He should have made more of the hatred the Irish soldiers felt for the Scots. It was small consolation to tell himself he had never expected them to attack a lone woman – attack
Mairi
.

The incident had outraged the whole community. There were more men in the mountains than Wyatt had ever seen before. Long lines of
them combed through the undergrowth of the lower slopes, while others searched the tumbled rock places about the mountain-tops. More than once the searching men changed direction to intercept and identify the lone preacher hurrying towards the Ross home. Each greeting upon recognition was followed by the same question: ‘Have you seen anything of the Irishmen?' And each band of searchers included at least one armed man.

Wyatt was thinking more clearly now, and he warned the men against confronting any large bodies of soldiers or of taking the law into their own hands if the attackers were found. Both warnings undoubtedly fell upon deaf ears, but they needed to be said, and repeated. The incident involving Mairi was serious enough in itself. Its repercussions could spell disaster to the whole of the Highlands.

When Wyatt came in sight of the Ross croft, he slowed for a moment. He had not thought of what Mairi's reaction might be at seeing him – or even whether she would be well enough for him to see her. He was still undecided when Magdalene Ross came into the garden of the croft with a bowl of vegetable waste which she threw out for the chickens.

When she saw Wyatt she put a hand to her brow, squinting against the light of the sun until she identified him. She did not wave but placed the bowl on the ground and stood waiting for him to reach her.

Magdalene Ross had been crying. Her face was blotched and puffy, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.

Taking hold of the woman's hands in a gesture of sympathy, Wyatt said: ‘I came as soon as I heard. How is she?'

As Magdalene shook her head, her eyes filled with tears. ‘She's been badly beaten. Her face…. But it's in
here
where she has the worst pain….' Magdalene Ross put a hand to her breast, then clutched at Wyatt. ‘I've seen this happen many times in my own country. First with the French and then … yes, with English and Scots soldiers, too. But that was
war
. Such things happen. But
here
! She went out to find the cows, a happy beautiful girl. She came home
crawling
and badly beaten. Why? Why did it happen?'

Magdalene Ross's words might have been a knife plunged deep into Wyatt's stomach and twisted. In that moment there was no Christian compassion in his heart. Had the two Irish soldiers suddenly appeared before him, he would have killed them where they stood.

There was a sound in the doorway, and Wyatt turned. He saw Mairi standing there. She appeared tired and drawn, but a brief expression of pleasure crossed her face when she saw him – and there was not a trace of bruising there.

‘Wyatt! Oh, my dear. It's good to see you.' Mairi ran to him and hugged him. ‘I can't think of anyone I'd rather see just now. Come inside and talk to Tibbie. Tell her that what's happened doesn't matter. That everything will be all right. Tell her no one blames her for what happened….'

‘Tibbie…?' Wyatt stood in stupid confusion and repeated: ‘Tibbie…?'

‘You
have
heard what happened to her? The Irish soldiers you warned Father and me about? They're animals. No,
worse
than animals for what they did to Tibbie. I hope the men catch up with them and kill them both….'