by Beth Camp
“You already said that this morning. I haven't seen my family for nearly a year.” Alice stepped to the window. Outside, an old man sprinkled straw on the muddy garden, his hat pulled low against the constant rain. “How can you look at this weather and not think about those who have been evicted?”
“What do you mean?” Gordon raised his voice. “By God, are you defying me? You may wish to remember that I make the decisions on this island, not you.”
“But I see them starving,” Alice replied. “Everyone’s frightened of us.”
“That’s more silliness. They’ll manage until the ships come. I want my sheep settled on my land well before spring,” said Lord Gordon. “And no crofters about to steal them.”
“If my opinions don’t matter, perhaps the opinions of your peers will count. Have you seen these articles?”
Gordon scanned the newspaper she thrust at him. “The Gazette. What do you expect from a liberal rag like that?”
“Lord Overton is setting up a fund to help the crofters. Some of the money will be used to resettle them to the Americas or New South Wales. They're asking for subscribers.”
“I don't see the difference between his plan and mine.”
“But the people don't have to be indentured.”
“Bah! He's a bleeding Chartist. That’s no solution. If you give money to the poor, they’ll just breed, and we’ll have more of them. Where’d you get those papers anyway?”
“If you must know, my father sent them. And I don’t agree at all with Malthus and his theories of the poor. We’re the ones clearing the land. We can’t just leave the people to starve.”
“Alice, we’ve talked about this before. Why do you think I went to London? The ships are on their way. Those who have skills will find a better life.”
“But we can’t just throw them out of their homes."
“You don’t understand. These people are like children.” Gordon set his teacup down with a rattle. “Don’t fret yourself, my dear. They’re simple, but sturdy. They starve every winter. They don’t feel pain in the same way we do.”
“I don’t believe you. Surely we should be doing more.”
“There’s no ‘we’ on this matter. You’ve had your say, but these are my decisions.” Gordon stood. “I’m changing this island in ways my uncle never thought of. It’s not easy, but it’s necessary for our survival and theirs. Now, leave me.”
Alice stood. “May you never know hunger.” She closed the office door behind her. Thank God for Edinburgh. God willing, she thought, I will not return.
Lord Gordon looked down at the garden from his office. The workmen had gone. Alice is a proud woman, he thought. A good mother she will be to my sons, if she would only become pregnant. What a fuss over the evictions. These people hadn’t paid their rent; it wasn’t as if I owe them anything. Our income will be assured with sheep. If the crofters wouldn’t change, then they damn well couldn’t squat on the land. Better they go elsewhere. It was just like India. If you weren’t firm, they would take away what was rightfully yours.
“There you are, Perkins. Have you distributed the broadsheets?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And?”
“Well, sir,” said Perkins, “Most of them you’d want to go, they don’t have money to pay the fees.” He adjusted his glasses. “As you said, sir, we can arrange their passage if they sign letters of indenture here. Once they’ve landed, they’ll be purchased as bondsmen. Their passage can be repaid through an agent.”
“Perkins, I want them to sign up as families. Send the women and children as well. Not just the men. Keep me informed of your progress. Include those fishermen who haven't retrofitted their boats.” Lord Gordon settled in his chair, wincing as the all too familiar pain snaked up his arm. “I’ll give you a commission for each person who signs up, perhaps enough to purchase the land you’ve wanted.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m pleased to serve you,” said Perkins.
“Are the patrols still needed?”
“Yes, sir. The crofters keep going back to their houses.”
“Have them pull the houses down, if necessary. I don’t want them having a reason to return.”
“Yes, sir. Scattered stones, like you said, sir. We should be through afore summer’s done.”
“End of summer. That’s too slow.” Gordon leaned over his desk to consult a newspaper. “The ships to take them to America will be here by the beginning of May. I want the people out of their houses and gone. Continue with the eviction notices. More sheep will arrive within a fortnight.” Lord Gordon turned away from Perkins. “That will be all.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Gordon massaged his left arm. Nothing but aches and pains. He looked around the study with distaste. At least it's more comfortable than when Uncle George lived here alone, but the house overall is simply too big and too cold. Too many improvements are needed. I'll be damned if I ever go to that tiny church. He rubbed his arm again. Let Alice represent us when we return next summer. If we return. And let her stew in Edinburgh for a while. It will do her good.
He opened the Gazette. So the Emigration Society Commission was concerned about the plight of the poor in Glasgow. He snorted. More likely they were concerned about the numbers of the poor. Lord Gordon tossed the newspaper on his desk.
CHAPTER 32: QUERNSHEAD
Mac and Dougal hiked along the headlands above Selkirk. A blustery wind swirled around them and flattened the heather. Mac and Dougal kept their heads down before the wind.
“It’s too cold. I’m thinking the herring will be late this year,” said Dougal.
“If they come at all,” said Mac.
A long straggling line of crofters came toward them, with bundles or small packs on their backs. Mothers carried little ones on their hips and led others by the hand. Some limped, and some leaned on each other.
“Halloo, William. Is that you?” Mac called to an older man at the head of the group. “What’s happening?”
“Mac. Dougal. I never thought to see this day. We’ve been beaten out of our homes.” William stepped out of the line. “They tossed us out in our yards, helter skelter, all a mess. They set afire what we couldn’t carry.”
“It's happening then, all along the valley?”
“Aye. We can't go back. They boarded up what's left of our houses and posted guards at the doors. They said we have to go to the headlands, near to Quernshead.” William pointed north with his gnarled finger. “I don’t know where we’ll sleep or what we’ll eat.”
Mac saw families he’d known all his life. A few stopped walking, dazed, their clothing sodden in the rain. Most kept moving. The children were silent.
Dougal grabbed William’s arm. “Have you seen the Brodie family?”
“They're on the east side of the island, right? I saw smoke along the horizon. They could be behind us.”
“Didn’t any of you fight?” cried Mac.
“Fight? At dawn with babies crying and men kicking the door in?” William’s voice quavered.
A light rain began, and the stragglers pulled closer together. Some wrapped blankets around the elders. A toddler fell on the ground, and her mother picked her up and smoothed her hair.
“There’s nothing out at Quernshead.”
“Aye,” replied William. “We dinna know what else to do. Only that they'd come and beat us if we stayed. A few went into town, but we’re going where they said.” He motioned the group to keep moving. “Can you come with us? Help us make shelter?”
Mac made a quick decision. “Aye, we'll help. Dougal, go to McPherson. Find out what you can and try to get some help up to Quernshead.”
“All right," said Dougal. "Can you keep an eye out for Jacob Brodie?” At Mac's nod, Dougal turned away from the straggling line of crofters and ran down the path to Selkirk.
“William, I have room for three or four at my place," said Mac. "Whoever’s most hurt. You can drop them off on the way.”
“Than
ks, but we’ll stay together.” William looked at his hands. “We’re to make our way fishing until the ships for America come, Perkins said. I know farming. But I don’t know fishing.”
Mac looked over the column. “You’ve got how many here, about sixty?” At William’s nod, he continued. “I’ll go ahead with a few of your men to get started. Come to where the creek runs near Quernshead. We’ll manage.”
The morning sky darkened, and the rain continued. Mac hurried ahead with three young men, trying to think what could be done. “We’ll build sheilings,” he said as they walked. “It’s summer shelter, but better than nothing.”
All through the afternoon, they dug stones from the ground to make small walls and packed them with heather, grasses, and mud. The women sorted the people into two groups, those who could join the work and those who needed patching up. Dougal brought several more up from Selkirk to help. As each little shelter was finished, those who were the oldest or the most hurt moved in. Some held babies as they sat on the ground in the cold.
“Have you no food?” asked Mac.
“We’ve a little, what we were able to take away with us,” said William. His words were carried away by the wind.
“I’ll see what I can gather up for you. We’re meeting tomorrow night at my place. Can you come?”
“I don’t know,” William replied. “Aye, I'll try.”
They looked around the clearing they’d made on the headlands. People hunkered down in their temporary shelters. The makeshift roofs of blankets rippled in the wind. The constant waves below filled their mouths with the taste of salt.
“We’ll start tomorrow, just after dusk.” Mac surveyed the clearing once more, a bitter taste in his mouth. “Dougal, come on. We’re for home.”
CHAPTER 33: CATRIONA
Mac and Dougal walked along the headlands away from Quernshead.
“I don't understand why he did this,” said Dougal. “How are those folks going to make a home? There's nothing there. And if they're to fish, there's no easy way down to the beach.”
“He can’t just toss people out,” said Mac. “Surely the bastard's got enough.”
“Did you see how many were hurt?” asked Dougal.
“I saw.” Mac was silent, walking fast. His breath came out in puffs of white. “Look ahead,” he said. “Is that your Catriona?”
Catriona stood outside of the McDonnell cottage, waving her arms.
Dougal broke into a run. “Thank God you’re here. I was worried about you. Is everyone all right?”
“No, we’re not all right. They’re inside.” Catriona tried to speak and couldn't.
“Hush, hush. Talk can wait.” Dougal took her in his arms and patted her, as if she were a child. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“We were just up at Quernshead,” said Mac.
“Yes, Quernshead. Some were to go there,” said Catriona. “But Mother’s not well. Da didn’t want her sleeping outside. We didn’t know where else to go."
“Dinna worry, my Cat,” Dougal’s hands hovered over her bruised face and tucked back a straggling hair. “You don’t have to talk, unless you want to.”
“No, I want to. I have to tell you. We have no food, Dougal,” she said. “She never got over losing the baby. Me mother can barely walk for grief. And Da, they beat him down. Right in front of us all.”
Dougal pulled her close to his side. “Ah, Cat.”
“They tore our house apart as if no one lived there. And then they made us walk with the others, past all those houses with fires in the front yards burning everything up. They said we had to go live at Quernshead. We couldn't go back to our homes. What’s left they boarded up, with guards left standing in the front of each one.” She tugged on Dougal’s arm, her face a mask of worry. “We came over to the headlands. No place to sleep. Me ma won’t speak.”
“You did right to come here.” Dougal looked at Mac over Catriona’s head as he held her close. “Don’t be worrying. We’ll get everyone settled. Shush. You’re here now.”
“We’ve got to get more food and blankets over to Quernshead,” said Mac.
“Aye, Mac. We’ll work on that later,” said Dougal, not letting go of Catriona “Let’s see to the Brodies first.”
Colin had built up the fire. A fish soup simmered on the banked peat and smoke hovered near the ceiling timbers. Everyone stood or sat as near to the fire as they could get. The fire blinked red at times and cast an eerie light. Catriona went to her mother, who rested on a pallet next to Granny Connor.
“Welcome, welcome,” said Mac. “Don’t you be worrying. My brother and me would not be happy to see you elsewhere. We’ll manage just fine.”
At this, Jacob’s face eased. “I thank you,” he said. “Catriona said you’d see us in, but I dinna know.” He sank onto the stone floor and eased his arm onto his lap as he leaned back against the stones. “Some of us need a bit of binding.”
Granny bent over Jacob's arm. “There's no bone sticking out. You'll heal.” Granny talked Dougal and Catriona through the gritty process, directing them to pull the arm straight to reset the bone. They wound a white cloth around two sticks to hold Jacob's arm steady.
“That should do it,” said Dougal. “You’ll be fishing with the best of them before you know it.”
Jacob leaned against the wall as if he couldn’t move any further, and he touched the white cloth on his arm, smudging it. “That’s something I know nothing about.”
Dougal bent over Jacob. “Dinna worry about that now. You’ll no have to go fishing tomorrow.”
“Aye,” added Mac. “You’re to stay with us. I’ve sent your two oldest boys with Colin down to see what help we can get for those out at Quernshead.”
“They’re good steady boys,” said Jacob. “Catriona, see to your mother.”
“Yes, Da.” Catriona turned away and helped Granny Connor back to her pallet. “Thank you, Granny.”
“Tish, child. I’ve seen worse,” said Granny. “What have those murdering bastards done to your mother, with her looking so pale?”
Catriona whispered in her ear.
“Well, they’re still murdering bastards to treat you all so,” hissed Granny. “I remember the day I lost me own home.” The two women settled on the pallets next to Freya, who had fallen asleep.
Mac hunkered down by Jacob. Dougal sat down on his other side, leaning back against the cottage wall. “Do you want to stay inside?” asked Mac.
“Ah, I think it’s better than moving just now,” Jacob replied. “I wanted you to know what happened.”
“Catriona told us some,” said Mac.
Jacob lowered his voice. “That Mr. Perkins evicted us. Said we had to go to Quernshead, but there’s no houses out there, nor land to grow anything. So how can we be owing them rent?”
“It’s rent for the land, such as it is,” said Dougal. “That’s the only thing I can think of.”
“How many men did Perkins bring with him?” asked Mac.
“Too many to count,” said Jacob. “No, 'twas about twenty. They went from place to place. They tore up the yard and ran off me last cow right through the fields that was just starting. Everything is trampled.”
“We can hope it’s not all gone,” said Dougal. “And the house?”
“They made a fire in front of the house and burned whatever we couldn’t grab away from them. Then they wouldn’t let us go back inside. They just shoved us away. They used axes and whatever they could to break it down. That house has stood there for as long as ever I can remember. And my wife. She was in bed yet. You heard we lost a child? If we hadn’t got my wife out, she would have burned.” Jacob rubbed his eyes.
Dougal and Mac looked at each other.
“Things will sort out,” said Dougal.
“Stay here and rest,” said Mac, rising from the floor.
“Aye,” said Dougal. Dougal stood as well, surveying the room. Granny Connor had made pallets close to the hearth for Catriona and Freya. Th
e two youngest boys, Luke and John, would sleep up in the loft with Colin and Jamie. And he would be sleeping downstairs this night with the older boys. “Mayhap we’ll need to stand watch tonight.”
Jacob grinned, despite his pain. “And that would be outside, yes?”
“Good idea. We’ll take turns,” said Mac. “Will you be all right here at the cottage alone for a bit?” he asked Jacob. “I can't imagine anyone would come here, but if they do, just get out. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“We’ll be all right now. I thank you for taking us in.” Jacob's voice broke.
“None of that,” said Dougal. “I think you know we’re family here.”
Dougal stepped outside. Near evening had come. From outside, the windows glowed softly in the fading light. How many cottages were filled as their cottage was this night, mused Dougal. He followed Mac down the path to Selkirk.
CHAPTER 34: ST. NINIAN'S
On the side of St. Ninian's opposite the cemetery, the crofters had assembled a long shelter with poles. They tacked blankets to the church wall and made partitions with rugs and plaids. A few older people napped against the church wall, bundled in blankets or cloaks. Some lay groaning. Two women built a fire of peat taken from the large beehive-shaped stack kept at the back of the church.
“Catherine,” cried Agnes McGill, nudging her kettle onto the fire with her toe. “Come over. I didn’t see you when we came in.” Agnes pushed a child a little away from the fire. “Watch yourself, now.” Several children gathered close, holding their hands out to the flames. “Don't shove,” she said. “Maggie, bring me that large pot and get these children away from the fire.” Agnes turned to Catherine. “How’s your grandsir?”
“He’s sleeping now, worn out. He can hardly walk.” Catherine looked around the small yard, two small children pulling on her skirts. “Did your man go to Quernshead?”