God's Highlander (9 page)

‘Your presence is of no interest to the authorities hereabouts. You're a free man now and can go wherever you've a mind. But I've a proposition I'd like you to consider.'

‘A proposition?' Alasdair Burns eyed Wyatt cautiously. ‘I'm a mite suspicious of ministers' “propositions”. A preacher in Glasgow gaol “proposed” I should write a full confession – implicating my fellow-Chartists, of course. He suggested it was “for the good of my soul”.'

‘I'll tackle your soul in due course. Right now I'm more interested in your skills. We're in sore need of a teacher in Eskaig. If I can persuade Lord Kilmalie to pay for a school and a house to be built, would you stay here and teach?'

Expressions of disbelief and pleasure struggled with each other for possession of Alasdair Burns's face. ‘You'd trust me, a convicted Chartist, to teach school in your parish?'

‘I've never considered Chartism to be particularly treasonable, although I'd expect you to keep your beliefs to yourself and not take them inside the classroom.'

‘You need have no fear of that, Minister. Your Highlanders have troubles enough without me adding to them.'

‘Then, you'll stay on in Eskaig?'

Forgetting his artificial leg was broken, Alasdair Burns made a move
to stand up. When realisation came he clung to the door-frame and extended his hand to Wyatt.

‘You won't regret your trust in me, Minister. I'm a good teacher. A
damned
good teacher – begging your pardon. Eskaig will have the finest school in the Highlands.'

Wyatt accepted Alasdair Burns's hand. ‘I don't doubt it. But you'll need to trim that beard and your hair before I introduce you to my church elders. At the moment you look more like a marooned pirate than a teacher.'

W
YATT SHARED LOCH Eil and a fine Highland morning with a pair of sea-eagles. Perched in the moss-covered skeleton of a waterside tree, the birds contemplated the prospects of a new day's hunting on the sparkling loch. On either side the mountains had shed the last vestiges of winter snow. Only Ben Nevis, aloof and superior, retained its white-capped dignity.

But the beauty of his surroundings failed to influence Wyatt's mood as he made his way to the factor's house. Ewan Munro had sprung seven man-traps the previous evening. Wyatt was angered by the thought of what might have happened had a small child strayed into the powerful jaws of the undiscriminating device.

It was still early when Wyatt reached John Garrett's house, but he was surprised to be informed by a dour, heavily built servant-woman that the factor had not yet left his bed.

When Wyatt asked whether Evangeline and Mrs Garrett were also in their rooms he was told, equally dourly: ‘Mrs Garrett and Miss Evangeline have gone to Glasgow on a visit. If you want to know any more about the family's business, you'd best wait and ask the factor for yourself. I'm only a servant – and in this house a servant learns to keep her own counsel. I'll knock on Mr Garrett's door and tell him you're here, that's all.'

With a sniff that expressed disapproval for the world in which she lived, the heavily built servant waddled away to haul herself up the stairway with the aid of the ornate balustrade.

Waiting downstairs in the hallway, Wyatt heard voices from somewhere on the first floor. First the servant's voice, then John Garrett's – and another he did not recognise. There was the sound of a door slamming, and moments later the servant made equally heavy work of
descending the stairway. She paused at the bottom to say breathlessly: ‘Mr Garrett knows you're here. He'll no doubt be down in a minute or two.'

It was in fact a full ten minutes before John Garrett made his way down the stairs to the hallway. Puffy-faced and dark-jowled, the factor's first words provided evidence of his ill-humour.

Addressing Wyatt, he snapped: ‘What the devil are
you
doing here at such an hour? Has there been an earthquake that's tumbled Eskaig in the loch? No, that's too much to hope for. Well, spit it out, man, what is it?'

‘Your first words weren't far off the mark, Mr Garrett. I'm here to talk about instruments of the devil. Man-traps.'

John Garrett stiffened. ‘What about man-traps? Don't tell me
you've
stepped in one. No, of course you haven't, or you'd not be standing here on two good legs.'

‘Those traps of yours could sever a child's leg. They're diabolical. I've had them all sprung. If I hear of any being set again, I'll personally heave them into the loch.'

‘You'll do
what
?' His face flushing angrily, John Garrett took a pace forward, and for a moment Wyatt thought the factor would lay hold of him.

Instead John Garrett thrust his face to within inches of Wyatt's and said angrily: ‘Lord Kilmalie's appointed you to look after souls. I'm here to take care of his lands and business interests. I haven't interfered with your duties, Minister – and, by God, I'll not have you interfering with mine. Poachers are robbing Lord Kilmalie of his fish and his deer. My job is to prevent them, using whatever means I believe best.'

‘There's no beast or fish worth the leg of a child, and that's what your traps will claim before long. I've told you of my actions; I'll explain my reasons in a letter to Lord Kilmalie. I'll be asking for land and money to build a school at the same time. Meanwhile you can recover your traps from the loch, when you've a mind.'

Wyatt reached the door before John Garrett found his voice again. ‘What's all this about a school?'

‘It's time there was a school in Eskaig. I intend opening one.'

‘What for? There's nothing in Eskaig for an educated Highlander. There's nothing here for
any
Highlander. Their time is over. Educating
them will only cause discontent. Let them go to where there's work for an educated man and get their learning there.'

This time Wyatt was out of the house before Garrett called to him again. ‘Look, Jamieson, I'm not an unreasonable man. I'm willing to meet you halfway. Drop your idea of a school and I'll take up all the man-traps.'

Wyatt was intrigued yet puzzled to know why the factor was so opposed to having a school at Eskaig, but he was not prepared to drop the idea.

‘I'm not an unreasonable man, either, Garrett, but there will be a school in Eskaig
and
I'll see there are no traps around the loch or anywhere else on Lord Kilmalie's lands.'

‘Then, you can go to hell! But remember: it's not only ministers who can write letters.'

The door of John Garrett's house slammed shut behind Wyatt, but he did not look back. Neither did he return immediately to Eskaig. Once on the rough road, out of sight of the factor's house, but within view of the gate at the end of the long drive, Wyatt settled down to wait.

Twenty minutes later a young girl walked from the driveway and turned in Wyatt's direction. Small and slightly plump, she had the freckles and pale colouring that often went with light ginger hair. She also had a bold glance and turned it upon Wyatt when he rose to his feet and fell in beside her.

‘I didn't ask for your company.' She spoke in Gaelic.

‘Neither did John Garrett. I expect he found you a much more agreeable companion.'

‘Oh! Then, you'll be Minister Jamieson?'

‘That's right. Who are you?'

‘Seonaid. Seonaid Fraser. And you've cost me a good breakfast.'

‘I doubt you'll fade away from hunger. But you're not from Eskaig.' Wyatt had not seen the girl in the village or in his church.

‘I'm from up there.' Her hand waved vaguely in the direction of the mountains behind Eskaig. ‘My father has a croft.'

Albeit vaguely, the girl had indicated the high lands to the east of the Ross holding. Wyatt had heard this area had been cleared of tenants long before his coming to Eskaig. He said as much to Seonaid Fraser.

The girl turned a bold look on him again, and this time it also held
a challenge. ‘You heard right. Everyone was turned off the land – except my father. He'd have gone along with the rest, had I not gone down on my knees to the factor. He let us stay – for a price.'

‘I see…. And you're the price?'

There was defiance in the boldness now. ‘I suppose you're going to tell me it's wrong to want my father to end his days in the house where he was born. To stay in the only home he's ever known, and be buried beside my mother when he comes to the end of his days.'

‘You don't need
me
to tell you you're doing wrong, Seonaid, whatever the reason. You're breaking God's commandments. Surely your father can't want this for you? What happens when he dies? What will you do then?'

‘I'll probably stick a knife in the factor and take to the mountains.' Seonaid Fraser spoke matter-of-factly, but with a vehemence that suggested she might do exactly as she said. ‘That's if his wife doesn't do it first. She's crazy enough at times.'

‘Does Garrett's wife know what's going on?'

The Highland girl snorted derisively. ‘I doubt if there's anyone about here except you who doesn't know what I'm doing – or
why
I'm doing it.'

Wyatt was shaken by Seonaid Fraser's admission and her candidness. Highland girls in general led a more free-and-easy life than lowland girls or those who lived in towns or villages, but they rarely flouted convention so openly as this girl.

‘I'll leave you here, Minister Jamieson. That's my way home.' Seonaid Fraser pointed to a path that wound its way towards a saddle between two peaks.

Troubled with his thoughts, Wyatt knew he should have said far more to the freckle-faced girl. Should have been able to present an infallible argument against what she was doing. But the argument eluded him for the moment.

‘I'll come to visit you and your father soon.'

‘You won't tell him what I'm doing?' Suddenly the brazen woman of the world disappeared and a young concerned girl stood in her place.

‘So
he
doesn't know, either? Where does he think you were last night?'

‘Nursing a sick friend.'

‘What would happen if he came to Eskaig looking for you and someone told him the truth?'

‘He never leaves home. He's been totally blind since the year I was born.'

‘Oh!' Wyatt looked again at the young freckle-faced girl, and this time he saw the worry-lines around her eyes. ‘Nothing can make what you're doing right, Seonaid, but I'll not be the one to tell your father.'

Deeply troubled by his thoughts, Wyatt had turned to go when Seonaid Fraser's voice brought him to a halt.

‘Minister….' When Wyatt responded to her call the girl appeared embarrassed, as though not certain she ought to have spoken.

‘What is it?'

‘The factor sent me away because he said he has a letter to write to Lord Kilmalie … about you.'

‘I never doubted that's what he would do, but thank you.' Garrett was wasting no time in putting his case before Lord Kilmalie.

‘He's a dangerous man. He hounded Preacher Gunn to his grave. He'll try to do the same to you.'

Her warning delivered, Seonaid Fraser walked away from him and struck out up the side of the mountain, heading for her home and the blind father waiting for her there.

L
ORD KILMALIE'S REPLIES to the letters sent by both Wyatt and John Garrett were brought to Eskaig by Evangeline. In Edinburgh with her mother, the girl had paid a courtesy call on the Eskaig landowner and had been closely questioned about happenings on the Highland estate before being asked to act as Lord Kilmalie's messenger.

This news was told to Wyatt by Evangeline when she delivered his letter on the evening of her return. The tone of the letter was almost abrupt. The absent landlord told Wyatt he had not been sent to Eskaig to begin a war with the factor. John Garrett was entrusted with the running of the estate; Wyatt was expected to take care of the spiritual needs of the tenants.

Having made this clear, Lord Kilmalie went on to say he did not agree with the use of man-traps and had ordered John Garrett to destroy all those he had. As for the school, the landlord had suggested at least ten years before that a school should be provided for the local children. He had authorised both land and funds for this purpose. He had not realised until now that his suggestion had not been implemented, but he accepted the factor's excuse that no teacher had been available at the time. Now Wyatt was authorised to choose an acre of land for the school and grounds. Lord Kilmalie had instructed his factor to arrange for a school and schoolmaster's house to be built on the land, all expenses to be met by the estate.

There was a strange, rather rambling paragraph at the end of the letter which Wyatt did not fully understand. The Eskaig landowner decreed that the land required for the new school and house would be given to Wyatt and not to the Church. He gave as his reason the fact that the Church was no longer an unchanging institution upon which both State and people could rely implicitly. Lord Kilmalie ended by
saying he felt quite certain Wyatt would understand what he was saying and, when the time came, would act accordingly.

Wyatt did
not
understand, but he was delighted that the landlord had granted his request for a school. It was an important step forward for the people of Eskaig and the surrounding district.

When Wyatt showed the letter to Evangeline she hinted that it was couched in friendlier tones than the letter received by her father. Evangeline also expressed her support for Wyatt in the matter of the man-traps. She had been deeply shocked to learn her father had been party to their use, and the incident had provoked an unusually heated argument between father and daughter.

All the time Wyatt was reading the letter, Evangeline had been clutching a small wrapped package. Now she thrust it at Wyatt and said, almost shyly: ‘I've brought you a present.'

‘You've brought a present for
me
? What is it?'

‘Open it and you'll see.'

‘You shouldn't have spent your money on me….' As he spoke, Wyatt was removing the paper from the carefully wrapped package. ‘Evangeline, it's a
wonderful
present. How can I possibly thank you enough…?' In his hand he held a prayer-book bound in dark red leather and embellished with gold.

Wyatt leaned forward and kissed Evangeline on the cheek, and for a few moments her cheeks were the colour of the prayer-book.

‘What induced you to buy such a lovely thing for me?'

Evangeline's shrug could not hide the pleasure she felt. ‘I remembered the old prayer-book you carried for your induction. I thought you'd like a new one.'

The prayer-book used by Wyatt for his induction had belonged to his father, but he did not enlighten Evangeline.

‘When will you make a start on your school?'

‘Right away. There's a site next to the church that will be ideal. I'll speak to your father about it tomorrow.'

‘There's no need. He said that as far as he's concerned you can build it wherever you like. He didn't use such polite words, but that was only to be expected. He was upset by Lord Kilmalie's letter. But where will you find a teacher?'

‘I have one staying in the manse with me right now. He's from Glasgow.'

‘Oh!' This time Evangeline was slower to hide her feelings, and Wyatt realised with a sense of surprise that she was disappointed.

‘Come and meet him. He's an interesting man.'

‘I … I don't think I will.'

‘Come on. I'm sure you'll find him as intriguing as I do….'

At that moment Alasdair Burns solved the problem of whether or not Evangeline would meet him. Evangeline and Wyatt had been standing inside the garden gate of the manse, and suddenly Alasdair Burns appeared at the door of the house.

‘I've a brew of tea made if you've a mind for—Oh! I'm sorry, Wyatt. I didn't realise you were talking to someone.'

‘That's all right, Alasdair. I was about to come in to fetch you. I'd like you to meet Evangeline Garrett, the factor's daughter.'

Alasdair Burns's smile froze. ‘The daughter of the man whose trap took off my leg?'

An expression of horror came to Evangeline's face as her glance dropped to Alasdair Burns's false leg, and Wyatt hastened to explain.

Angry at her own wasted sympathy, Evangeline snapped: ‘I strongly disapprove of their use, but I believe the traps were set in places frequented by poachers. What were you doing there, Mr Burns? It's a long way from Glasgow, and there are no schools about Loch Eil.'

‘That's a situation we're fortunately able to rectify,' Wyatt said hurriedly. ‘Evangeline's brought me a letter from Lord Kilmalie. He's agreed we can have our school.'

Alasdair Burns was delighted. As Evangeline looked on in disapproval at his familiarity, he gripped Wyatt's hand and said enthusiastically: ‘It's
wonderful
news, Wyatt. A triumph, no less. I never expected your Lord Kilmalie to agree – not after all else you had to tell him in your letter. It's wonderful news indeed.'

A warm friendship had grown up between the two men during the two weeks Alasdair Burns had been staying at the manse, and the travelling schoolteacher was genuinely pleased for the Minister. In secret he had feared that if it came to a showdown Lord Kilmalie would rule in favour of his factor, as most landlords were wont to do.

‘Who'll be coming to this school of yours?' Evangeline's voice was chill.

‘Every child in the district, if I have my way.'

‘Girls as well as boys?'

‘Of course.'

‘I'll not teach girls.' The surprising statement came from Alasdair Burns. ‘They're trouble. Too imaginative by far.'

‘How very
interesting
.' The Glasgow schoolteacher seemed able to strike sparks from Evangeline, and her eyebrows were raised in an exaggerated manner. ‘Perhaps you'd care to draw on your experience and tell us more, Mr Burns?'

‘I've said all that needs saying. If you want to know more, I suggest you visit Glasgow gaol next time you're there. You'll find thirteen schoolteachers lodged inside. Eleven as a result of teaching girls.'

Wyatt stepped in hurriedly, before Evangeline could question Alasdair Burns further about his knowledge of the inmates of Glasgow gaol.

‘That's in a city. Things are different here in the Highlands.'

‘Not for me. Trouble has never had any difficulty finding me. I don't need to go looking for it. I'll not teach girls.'

‘I will. Boys, too, if Mr Burns feels he'd rather go off and teach elsewhere. ' The triumph in Evangeline's voice was tinged with irritation. She was aware this man aroused totally unreasonable anger in her, but she did not know why it should be so.

‘Alasdair will remain in Eskaig.'

During the couple of weeks he had known the one-legged schoolteacher, Wyatt had developed respect for the man's knowledge and learning. The pupils of the lochside school would have an exceptional teacher in Alasdair Burns. Wyatt had no intention of letting him go – and parents might not be so keen to send their children to school if they were to be taught by the daughter of their factor.

To Evangeline, he said: ‘If you're really serious about wanting to teach, there's no reason why our new school shouldn't have
two
classrooms. One for Alasdair and the boys, the other for you and the girls. But what will your father think of you teaching Eskaig children?'

Evangeline's chin came up in a defiant attitude that reminded Wyatt of her father. ‘I'm old enough to make decisions for myself. Anyway, I don't doubt he'll be more than happy to have me somewhere where he isn't tripping over me the whole time.'

Something in her voice made Wyatt wonder whether she, too, knew about Seonaid Fraser.

Wyatt was taken aback by the explosion of enthusiasm among his parishioners when he announced from the pulpit of the church that Eskaig was to have a school. When he left the church he was besieged by parents anxious to enrol their children as students. By the time the last parent had departed for home, Wyatt and Alasdair Burns had taken the names of thirty boys and seventeen girls who would be attending classes when school began.

There was equal enthusiasm when Wyatt called for men to build the school and a teacher's house on the plot of land Wyatt had chosen, alongside the churchyard.

Wyatt had expected John Garrett to place difficulties in his way in respect of the school. However, it seemed Lord Kilmalie's letter to his factor had left no room for argument. Wyatt went to the Garrett house to inform the factor of his choice, only to be informed that he could ‘do what the hell he liked'. John Garrett added that if Lord Kilmalie wanted to give away land without consulting his factor it was entirely the landowner's business.

The school and schoolhouse were built in eleven days. It would have been ten, had work not ceased for one day as a mark of respect for the area's oldest inhabitant who died on the day the foundations were laid for the school.

Archibald Mackinnon died in the week of his hundred and third birthday, in a remote crofter's cottage many miles to the north of Loch Eil. His passing broke the last human link with the area's glorious past. As a young boy, Mackinnon had shaken hands with Prince Charles Stuart. The occasion had been the young Pretender's triumphal procession along the banks of Loch Eil, on his way to make a near-successful bid to win back the throne of his ancestors.

Mackinnon was nine years of age when the proud young prince became a hunted fugitive, leaving his bloodied and defeated supporters to straggle back to their homes about Eskaig after the horror of the battlefield of Culloden.

Archibald Mackinnon survived the English wrath that scythed through the Highlands in the wake of Culloden when the Duke of Cumberland set out to destroy the heritage of the clans. He saw the pipes and the tartan banned, and survived to witness the restoration of at least a vestige of ancient Highland pride.

The grand old man had also become something of a legend in his
own right. It was said his illicit still produced a whisky that had no equal in the whole of Scotland.

When news was brought to Wyatt that the old man had died, he immediately set out to visit the Mackinnon home. It was the dead man's wish to be buried in the Eskaig churchyard, alongside long-forgotten ancestors, and Wyatt wanted to discuss the funeral with the man's relatives.

Wyatt found the family with their relatives and neighbours holding a ‘mourning party'. It was an event that Archibald Mackinnon would have greatly enjoyed. The dead man was in his bed in the centre of the cot's earthen-floored living-area. The body was not lying down in repose, but propped up in sitting posture, as though not to miss any of the activities going on about him. At one end of the long low cottage was the byre, separated from the living-area by only a flimsy wooden fence. On the other side pigs grunted and squealed noisily, squabbling over the occasional titbit disposed of in their direction.

When he arrived, Wyatt quickly discovered he was the only sober man present. The pungent reek of whisky hung on the air, and those who had been subjected to its fiery potency for too long were sprawled on the floor about the dead man's bed.

The arrival of the minister created a temporary diversion. A heavily bearded man who declared he was the dead man's great-grandson cleared a zigzag path to the deathbed, shouting: ‘Make way for the preacher. Clear a way to the corpse.'

Anyone who was slow to remove himself from the path of the bearded man's unpredictable course was roughly shoved aside. One man who lay in his path on the mud floor was kicked until he crawled away and disappeared beneath the dead man's bed.

By the time Wyatt reached the bed only the unconscious ‘mourners' were unaware of his arrival. The remainder gathered about him, clutching a wide variety of drinking-vessels and staring, slack-mouthed. Wyatt had the uncomfortable feeling he was expected to provide his watchers with some form of miracle. Perhaps breathe new life into the dehydrated body of the man who occupied the bed.