Blazing Glen

by Oliver, Marina

  'But this is our home!' Janet interrupted. 'We manage, and we're happy here. Your Marquess cared nought for that. He threw off the poor people who couldn't afford to pay his increased rents, drove them out so that his English friends could fill the land with sheep!'

  'Not my Marquess, even though my estates in England are near his. I heard he offered them other land, by the coast,' Mr Fenton said.

  'Yes, even more barren and desolate than here! They couldn't grow crops, they had neither the boats nor the skills to fish, and if they had, there was nowhere to sell the fish!'

  'Until the new roads are built to take it to market.'

  She glared at him. 'You're a soldier. Would you like to be told you can no longer be what you choose, but must live in a ramshackle hut and earn your bread being a - oh, a crossing sweeper, or a cobbler!'

  'I lived in a few ramshackle huts in Portugal and Spain,' he said with a faint smile. 'But I do understand what you mean,' he added swiftly, holding up his hand to stem her furious reply. 'It is not the same, perhaps, but I would far rather be a soldier than have to manage estates which I had always assumed would go to my older brother.'

  'He died?' Mary asked sympathetically.

  'A hunting accident just a few weeks before my father died. I think that hastened my father's death. He had been about to marry, too. Sophia's estates are next to our land. It would have been a sensible match. But those are my worries, Mistress Mackay. I must thank you for your help and hospitality, and be on my way.'

  'I hope to see you again, soon,' Mary said, and Janet glanced at her grandmother, wondering at the odd, almost pleading note in her voice.

  'Of course. Farewell, Janet Mackay. We will meet again soon. I mean to stay in the district for a week or so longer.'

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Mary was unusually quiet the following day, and Janet wondered whether the visit of Mr Fenton had tired her. He had only remained an hour or so, but Mary had been unusually animated both during his visit and for the rest of the day. She had spent the time sorting through her most valuable possessions, papers and a few trinkets her husband had given her, his pitifully few letters, and a necklace of cairngorms which had been his wedding present to her. There were also letters from her son and Janet herself, for she had written often as soon as she had been able to pen her letters.

  She was awake early, however, looking cheerful and alert, and Janet breathed a sigh of relief. When they had to move, within weeks, her grandmother would need all her strength and courage.

  'Janet, my love, I want you to take something to Mistress Ogilvie this morning. It's a reminder of the herbs I use for my salves, she asked me to write them down for her.'

  Janet suppressed a sigh. It was a fine sunny morning, and a strong westerly breeze stirred the new leaves on the trees. She had planned to wash as many of their clothes as she could, ready to pack them before they had to move. Mistress Ogilvie lived a good four miles away, and even if she rode their small, sturdy pony, by the time she returned it would be too late to hope that the clothes could be washed and dried outside.

  She would do as her grandmother wished, however. She fetched the pony from where he grazed in a nearby pasture, and slipped on the bridle. Kilting up her petticoats she scrambled onto his broad back, which was covered only by a rough blanket. Unlike the fine ladies in Edinburgh, and herself when she had lived there in luxury, she rode astride and without a saddle.

  Mistress Ogilvie greeted her with tears in her eyes. 'Och, Janet, fancy Mary remembering this. It was just an idle fancy of mine, and I thought I'd never see you again once we're driven away. But I won't see Mary. How is she? How does she bear the thought of leaving? I sometimes think it's all a terrible dream, and I don't know how I'm going to manage.'

  'You have three sons to help you, as well as your man,' Janet said bracingly. 'You're going south, to Oban, I think?'

  'Yes, they say there's work there.'

  'When you're settled, write to us. Look, I've written down our direction, in Thurso. At least my grandmother has somewhere to go.'

  'And then you'll be after Iain, I suppose.'

  Janet shook her head and blinked hard. She was so torn, wanting to rejoin her brother, yet dreading what must come first. 'Not while she lives. I couldn't leave her, even with her own family.'

  'Poor Mary! But Janet, if you change your mind, you know my Duncan would be only too pleased to wed you.'

  Janet nodded. Duncan had made it clear he admired her, but unlike Murdo he hadn't assumed she liked him, or tried to kiss her. She suppressed a shiver. Duncan was a good-looking man, a few years older than she was, quiet and dependable, but she could no more imagine being his wife than she could accept Murdo's courtship.

  Mistress Ogilvie wanted to talk, to ask Janet's opinion on the best way to pack the family possessions, how to arrange them in the cart, and whether to kill the sheep before they left, and risk the meat going bad before they could sell it, or hope to drive their animals along with them.

  'It's different with the cows,' she said fretfully. 'They can be tied to the cart, but we can hardly tether a dozen sheep trailing behind us.'

  'The men and your dog will manage,' Janet tried to reassure her, and eventually she was able to say her farewells, promise to write, and set off back home.

  Mary was sitting on the bench, half asleep in the sunshine, but she sat up, immediately alert, when Janet slipped from the pony's back. Janet eyed her carefully. She was flushed, and looked excited.

  'I've sold my spinning wheel,' she announced. 'That will be one less thing to bother with, and my hands can't spin any longer, and you won't want to when we leave here.'

  That explained the excitement, the rosy cheeks, Janet thought with relief. She had never been very adept at spinning, like the girls who had been taught from babyhood how to twist the strands of wool together. She had tried, but her thread had been lumpy and uneven, fit for nothing but the roughest blankets, Mary had said disparagingly. Janet had thankfully turned her energies to things she could do more efficiently, and enjoyed doing.

  It was later in the day, when she was spreading some of the clothes she had belatedly washed out on the bushes behind the croft, that she discovered another cause for Mary's satisfied look.

  'Who's your grandmother's swain?' Katherine, who lived in the next cottage, asked.

  Janet turned to look at her. 'What do you mean?'

  'That handsome Englishman, who was here two days since, was here again today. Talking hard, they were, for an hour or more.' She chuckled, a little maliciously, for her own daughter had been the most courted in the glen until Janet arrived. 'And I don't think it was you he came to see, or he'd have gone back the same way to meet you. He went up over the hills.'

  Back to England, I hope, Janet thought, as she tried to divert Katherine's attention by asking where they meant to go when they had to leave their home.

  As soon as she could get away she went back to confront her grandmother.

  Mary was offhand. 'Oh, I think he said he was going further up the glen today, and when he saw me sitting outside he stopped to thank us for our help, and show me that the cut was healing well.'

  'Why didn't you tell me he'd been?'

  'Are you interested in him?' Mary countered, and Janet hastily shook her head.

  'Of course not, but we don't see many strangers, and you'd normally talk about any who come. And I find it odd he should seek us out again. He must have more important things to do if he really is making a survey of feelings here.'

  'He thinks there'll be trouble,' Mary said, and her voice quavered slightly.

  'Trouble? You mean some of the men might try to resist?'

  'Perhaps. There's some wild talk.'

  'They'd be fools to do more than talk. Even that could be dangerous for them. The factors have the power to evict us, unjust though it is. If the men try to fight they'll be hurt, or put into prison, as Iain discovered.'

  No more was said, but Janet la
y in bed that night and tried to sort out her vague unease. She tried to put what she knew in some kind of order. Mary had sent her on a very trivial errand which had kept her away for hours. Mistress Ogilvie had not been expecting the list of herbs, hers had just been an idly expressed wish. Alistair Fenton, when he'd departed, had promised to visit again. Was Mary up to something? Had they arranged a precise time for him to come, while she had been out of hearing? And if so, why?

  Then she remembered how Mary had been sorting through her precious few treasures. She rarely looked at them, explaining how recalling happier days was painful, and best avoided, though she could not bear to throw anything away. Had she, perhaps, asked him to perform some small kindness, perhaps deliver a message? But if so, what could it have been? Mary had lived all her life in Strathnaver, her only other close relative was her sister in Thurso. Her grandfather's brothers and sisters were dead, and their children had moved away long since, and were never heard from.

  If Mary didn't want to say anything, it was none of Janet's business, she decided. Besides, the less she thought of the disturbing Mr Fenton the better. He had reminded her of Edinburgh, the life she had lived before her parents died. Suppressed longings for greater variety of activity and friendships had been awoken. She'd been content here with Mary, but she could not imagine living all her life here, cut off from the rest of the world.

  Eventually she slept, to wake with a start as she heard a commotion outside the cottage. Men were shouting, women screaming, and children crying, and below all this noise was the sound of horses, several of them moving restlessly about.

  Throwing a shawl over her nightshift Janet went to the door and looked out. It was daylight, just, and a soft mist hid the trees and hills, isolating the small group of cottages and unexpected visitors. At least half a dozen men were sitting on big, powerful horses, facing a crowd of angry crofters. Against the gray nothingness they looked huge and menacing. Janet shivered.

  'Two days, and that's generous,' one of the horsemen said, glaring round at them.

  'We were promised longer,' Katherine protested. 'Our rent's been paid, ye've no right to turn us out before it's due next.'

  Before the horseman could reply a stone hit his horse's neck, and the animal reared in fright, scattering the others. More stones, less skilfully directed, fell amongst them. Janet saw Hamish and a few of his friends skulking behind Katherine's cottage. The horses were ridden out of range and set off further up the glen.

  'By nightfall tomorrow,' the riders called, their voices growing fainter as they disappeared round a bend in the track, lost in the swirling mist.

  'We have to pack and go by tomorrow? Is that what they mean?' Janet asked, and Katherine nodded.

  'You're getting lazy, asleep at this hour,' Katherine replied. 'Best start at once, there's a deal of work. They threatened to burn the houses whether we're out of them or not.'

  Mary was sitting up in her bed, trying to struggle out. She was always stiff in the mornings, and needed help until her limbs became easier to move.

  'I heard, lass,' she said, and sighed. 'So it's come, and earlier than we expected. You were restless last night.'

  'So I slept late,' Janet said ruefully. 'I'll make your porridge, then I must begin loading the cart. It seems we have little time.'

  Two days of frenzied activity followed. Mary, unable to do much to help, fretted as she watched Janet struggling to load heavy bundles and the smaller pieces of furniture on the cart.

  'We can leave that chair, I won't want it,' she said on one occasion.

  'It's the only one where you can sit in comfort, and grandfather made it,' Janet replied, stubbornly trying to lift the heavy chair onto an already overloaded cart.

  She managed, but was bone-weary that night, and had to force herself to rise the following morning and deal with the mattresses and other things they had needed. The big bed was too cumbersome, and they knew it would be impossible to move it. Last of all Janet lashed the box containing Mary's treasures and her own hoard of gold, her fare to Canada, to the back of the cart, and tethered the cow, lowing in bewilderment, to the tailgate.

  Several of the crofters had constructed a makeshift camp on the slopes of the hill, where they planned to spend the night. The carts had been pulled into a defensive ring, and mattresses unloaded from them and spread on the ground.

  'We dare not try to sleep in the houses,' they'd told Janet. 'Come and stay together, then we can move off at first light, have the whole day for travel.'

  Mary sank down with relief. Even walking such a short distance up the hillside had taxed her strength. She and Janet knew she'd have to ride on the cart all the way to Thurso.

  As Janet was spreading their blankets over her, there was a commotion from the north, the sounds of several horses galloping towards them.

  'Dear Lord, what now?'

  'Surely they haven't sent the soldiers already?'

  The men picked up what weapons they could find, mostly staves and billhooks, and moved to the edge of the circle. There was a shout from the riders, and one of the men laughed in relief.

  'It's Mackay lads,' he shouted. 'That's my cousin Jimmie.'

  There were four of them, their clothes torn and their horses' sides flecked with foam. They rode up to the circle and flung themselves out of the saddles.

  'What's to do, lads? Where's the fire?'

  'Ye may laugh!' one of them replied angrily. 'There are fires all along the Strathnaver. They've no mercy, they're devils.'

  'We were turned out without the chance to save any of our goods,' another said, and Janet recognised Murdo's voice. 'They set fire to the crofts, we had nought but what we wore, and couldn't go back for a thing!'

  'Lucky to get away alive,' another said. 'Bruce here has a bullet graze on his leg.'

  The women surrounded them anxiously, wanting all the gruesome details, but Janet turned away. What profit would it be to dwell on these atrocities? She spread every blanket they had over her grandmother, and crawled in beside her. She could feel the old woman shaking with sobs, tears she had suppressed all day. Gently she cradled Mary to her, and eventually she fell asleep. Janet, however, remained wakeful, and after a while she heard shouts in the distance, and galloping hooves.

  Cautiously she sat up. It was still not fully dark, but in the distance she could see flames lighting up the sky. Incredulous, she watched as new fires erupted all along the track.

  Others were watching too. Janet rose and went to stand with them outside the ring of carts.

  'They're nearer, they're firing our homes too,' one woman wailed.

  It was true. One by one the crofts were being set alight, and soon the stone walls could be seen, eerily lit in silhouette against the flames. The roofs made of sods quickly collapsed, sending up showers of sparks, and the peat stacks caught fire and added to the noise and confusion.

  Unable to stand the sight, a few of the men seized what weapons they could and began to run down the hill.

  'Come on lads, there's only half a dozen of the devils. We can stop them.'

  'What's the use, we have to go anyway,' one of the woman wailed.

  'And what good it would do if the devils were all killed, I don't know,' one of the women grumbled. 'They'd just send more, and punish us as well.'

  Janet silently agreed, though she understood the impotent fury which demanded action.

  Down in the township a battle was raging, and in the faint light Janet saw the crofters fighting hand to hand with other men, attempting to drive them down towards the waters of the loch. The intruders fought back, and then, above the crackling of the fire and the murmurings of the watching crofters, a shot rang out. It was swiftly followed by several others, and a few of the men who had rushed so impetuously down the hill came scurrying back.

  'They've shot young John,' one gasped.

  'He had a gun, and he fired first.'

  'No matter, he's sore wounded. Murdo too.'

  The rest of the would-be att
ackers came straggling back, carrying with them the shot man, pursued by half a dozen men with guns.

  'If you try to interfere again it'll be the worse for you,' their leader snarled. 'I'm setting a guard down in the township for the night, and if you're not gone from Mr Sellar's land by sunrise your goods will be fired too, and anyone remaining arrested and charged with obstructing the law.'

  Murdo, supported by one of his friends from further up the glen, came staggering up the hill and collapsed near to where Janet sat.

  'Where did they hit you?' she asked, already busy unpacking her medicines.

  'My leg,' he gasped. 'It's not bad, just a flesh wound, but it's bleeding and I have to stop that. I must hide, they know me, and they'll be after me, but if I bleed all over the place they'll be able to follow!'

  'Stop talking, I'll bandage it for you,' Janet said, and Murdo quietened and allowed her to cleanse the wound on his calf as well as she could, and bandage it tightly.

  'Why not stay with us?' she asked as he stood up, wincing.

  'I daren't, I say. I think I killed one of their men earlier, and they'll know me. I'll be a danger to all of you. Help me mount the horse, and I'll hide in the woods.'

  She gave him a napkin with some bread wrapped in it, and supported him as he limped to where someone else had tethered his horse. Groaning with the effort, he clambered into the saddle, and with a muttered word of thanks rode off as quietly as he could towards the path going south.

  There was no more sleep for anyone. John was beyond help, the wound in his chest bled copiously, and within a very short time he breathed his last. His mother and sisters, stunned at the suddenness of the tragedy, wept over his body as others tried to comfort them.

  Mary, to Janet's alarm, began gasping for breath and shivering long before dawn. Then, hot and feverish, she began calling for Jamie. None of the women could calm her. None of the remedies they had helped, and all Janet could do was wipe away the perspiration and hold her grandmother's hand in hers.

  The others began preparations for departure. None of them wanted to eat, they just loaded the mattresses on the carts and prepared to set off.