God's Highlander

by Thompson, E. V.

  Not until the riders drew close did he recognise John and Evangeline Garrett. The abrasive and loud-voiced factor was the last man Wyatt wished to meet at the end of such a tiring day, but he managed to find a smile in response to Evangeline’s greeting.

  ‘What the devil have you been up to?’ John Garrett asked. ‘It looks as though you’ve spent the day working in a peat bog.’

  ‘You’re not far wrong. I’ve been helping Lachlan Munro put a roof on his cottage.’

  ‘That’s a job for a cottar, not for the minister of Eskaig.’

  ‘You’re forgetting, I haven’t been inducted here yet.’

  ‘That’s what Father’s come to tell you about.’ Evangeline spoke quickly, determined to head off any argument between the two men. ‘He’s heard from the presbytery. They’re coming this Sunday to induct you.’

  The presbytery was a church authority composed of ministers selected to act as the Church’s governing body in a particular area.

  ‘That’s right,’ added the Factor, ‘and don’t say anything more about being “accepted”. That’s all attended to. There’ll be enough parishioners in church to speak for you on the day.’

  ‘From your own household, no doubt?’

  ‘Where they come from need not concern you. The presbytery will induct you – or Lord Kilmalie will demand an explanation.’

  ‘We’ve arranged a celebration afterwards at the house,’ said Evangeline. ‘It will be a very special occasion. One you’ll remember, I promise you.’

  She was determined that neither Wyatt’s dogma nor her father’s arrogance would stand in the way of the party she had planned to celebrate Wyatt’s induction to the living of Eskaig. She intended using the occasion to impress him with her skills as a hostess and her ability to organise such an occasion. She believed both were qualities a minister would look for when choosing a wife. Wyatt was the first eligible man she had met since coming to Scotland. He also happened to be the most attractive.

  Not that Evangeline was certain she wanted to marry Wyatt. She had no intention of spending the rest of her life in such an outlandish place as this as the wife of a minister. But Wyatt had far more to recommend him than any other minister of the Church she had met with and he was an attractive man. Married to the right woman, one with ambitions for him, Wyatt Jamieson might one day become a bishop – or whatever it was they had in the Church of Scotland.

  Seven

  THE MORNING AFTER John Garrett’s visit, Wyatt called at the house of Angus Cameron, lay preacher and senior elder of the Church in Eskaig. He had come to inform Cameron of his induction date and to request he be allowed to address a meeting of the elders.

  Laura Cameron opened the door of the elder’s small house and in answer to Wyatt’s polite query said unhelpfully: ‘Angus is having his breakfast. You’ll need to come back later.’

  ‘Who is it, Laura?’ The voice of Angus Cameron came from a rear room of the cottage.

  ‘It’s the landlord’s minister. I’ve told him you’re having your breakfast. ’

  There was the sound of a chair scraping on a stone floor and then the church elder appeared, a napkin tucked in the neckband of his shirt. Clicking her tongue in noisy disapproval, Laura Cameron disappeared inside the house.

  Wyatt had hoped a direct appeal to Angus Cameron might improve relations between them, but he knew he had little hope of succeeding in his mission when the elder kept him at the door without inviting him inside. It was a slight that was almost unprecedented in the hospitable Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Even the most ragged stranger could expect to be invited inside and offered refreshment when he called at a house.

  ‘You’re wasting your time, Minister.’ Angus Cameron became aware of the napkin. Removing it self-consciously, he tucked it hurriedly into a pocket. ‘It’s nothing personal, you understand. You may be a very good pastor down in Glasgow, or wherever it is you come from, but here in Eskaig we intend to choose our own minister. We’ll not have one foisted on us by a laird who hasn’t so much as bothered to ask for our opinions. It’s our entitlement. One of the first principles of our church.’

  ‘I’m in full agreement with your views, Mr Cameron.’ Wyatt’s manner was deliberately placatory. ‘As a minister of our church, yours and mine, I intend to uphold those principles. That’s why I’m here to ask you to speak for me before the other elders. I want to be Eskaig’s minister.’

  ‘You’re here as the landlord’s choice. That’s an end to it. As elders of the Church of Scotland we’re not prepared to weaken on such an important principle.’

  ‘Angus!’ It was an impatient shrill-voiced call, and the elder started nervously. ‘Don’t you let your breakfast go cold.’

  ‘There’s no more to be said now. Leave Eskaig. Tell Lord Kilmalie we’ll choose our own minister, in our own good time.’

  When the door shut in his face Wyatt turned and walked away. He was deeply disappointed. He had hoped he might at least persuade Angus Cameron to let him plead his case before the elders. He had failed miserably. Angus Cameron might be ruled by his wife at home, but he was an important man in both the Church and the community. Without his support Wyatt had little chance of being accepted by the Eskaig congregation – and Wyatt’s own principles and pride would not allow him to accept induction unless he believed he had the approval of a large section of the community.

  Eskaig formed part of the ecclesiastical district of Abertarff, which came within the jurisdiction of the Synod of Glenelg. Many of the parishes were as vast and as scattered as Eskaig. As a result, some of the ministers who made up the presbytery needed to travel to Eskaig the day before Wyatt’s induction in order to witness his acceptance by the congregation.

  Seven ministers would be present for the induction ceremony. Three would arrive on the day, the other four the night before. Wyatt had prepared sleeping-quarters for all four, giving up his own bed to accommodate them.

  He waited with some trepidation for the arrival of the clergymen, all senior ministers of the Church. He hoped to have an opportunity to talk to them before they met with Angus Cameron.

  It was almost dark before a solitary figure dressed in the sober manner of a minister and mounted on an aged donkey rode up to the gate of the manse. The rider was a tall gangling man. So tall, it seemed to Wyatt he could have stood up and allowed the donkey to walk away from beneath his legs. Instead, the preacher made hard work of dismounting. It was not until the newcomer dropped his small bundle of belongings for the second time and had the greatest difficulty in retrieving it that Wyatt realised with a sense of shock that the only sober aspect of the tall preacher was his attire!

  By the time Wyatt reached the gate the visiting preacher had retrieved his bundle and stood beaming benevolently at Wyatt.

  ‘You’ll be Minister Jamieson? I’m Coll Kennedy, minister at Letterfinlay. I’ve had a long ride to reach you, young sir. It’s given me a powerful thirst.’

  Wyatt shook the strong bony hand. ‘You’ll find something to drink on the sideboard inside the house.’ There was a whole cask of whisky, brought by one of John Garrett’s men with the compliments of Lord Kilmalie. ‘I’ll put your donkey in the churchyard: it’s just what’s needed to take the thistles down.’

  ‘I’m gratified to find you have an understanding of the needs of your fellow-men, but don’t stand behind that beast of mine. He has a kick that would floor a Church of England bishop. Keep clear of the other end of him, too: he’s convinced he’s part-crocodile. Why our Lord chose such a creature to take him on his last ride I’ll never know. Perhaps it was symbolic. Something to do with sitting upon the devil. Yes … I must expand that theory in my church one day.’

  Wyatt grinned. It was the first time his face had known a smile for many days. ‘At least you’re assured of a congregation to listen to you.’

  Minister Coll Kennedy looked at Wyatt from beneath unruly eyebrows, and the eyes belied his unsteady gait. ‘Remember your Bible, my son. “To every
thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven … a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted.” Have faith. Your time will come, as surely as day follows night.’

  ‘I’m not lacking in faith, Coll, only the backing of the Eskaig elders.’

  ‘Angus Cameron, you mean? Well, could be you’re right. I travelled here with three ministers of the presbytery. They’re spending the night at Angus’s house. I declined his invitation. I like a man to be master in his own home. Besides, Angus Cameron’s wife won’t allow drink in the house.’

  Coll Kennedy’s news that the other three ministers were spending the night with Angus Cameron caused Wyatt to forget the visiting preacher’s warning. The result was that he received a painful nip on the rump from the bad-tempered donkey.

  When the animal had been released in the churchyard Wyatt leaned on the gate and gazed towards the church and the Highland mountains beyond. He saw nothing of the spring colours beginning to tint the lower slopes of the mountains. Doubtless Angus Cameron had already acquainted his house-guests from the presbytery of Eskaig’s opposition to Wyatt’s induction. If so, the outcome of tomorrow’s ceremony was a foregone conclusion. The presbytery would refuse to induct Wyatt as minister for the parish of Eskaig, despite John Garrett’s arrogant assertion.

  Frustration welled up inside Wyatt. If only the people of Eskaig had been willing to give him a chance…. He enjoyed it here, and would have been a good pastor. Since first making his decision to enter the Church of Scotland, Wyatt had dreamed of returning to the Highlands and taking charge of his own community. Following in the footsteps of his father.

  Wyatt believed it was too late now. The opportunity had come – and had slipped away from him. He wondered who would be chosen by the elders of Eskaig to take his place.

  Coll Kennedy had found the whisky and helped himself to a generous measure. Beaming at Wyatt, he said: ‘You’ll have a dram with me? I don’t enjoy drinking alone.’

  Minister Kennedy’s whole attitude belied the statement. He looked perfectly at ease relaxing in a chair with a tumbler of whisky. The presence or absence of his fellow-men was of little consequence to him.

  ‘I don’t drink much when I’m due to conduct an important service the next day, but as I’ll no doubt be preaching in a church that would be empty if it weren’t for the presbytery … why not?’

  ‘You’ve found difficulty settling in Eskaig?’

  ‘I could settle well enough, given half a chance. But I’ve been appointed by the landlord. I’m “the landlord’s man”. That’s an end to it as far as the elders of Eskaig are concerned.’

  Minister Coll Kennedy savoured his whisky, gazing at Wyatt over the rim of the glass. When he eventually lowered the tumbler and set it precariously on the narrow wooden arm of his chair, half the contents had gone.

  ‘When it comes down to the truth of it we’re all landlord’s men, in one way or another, but you’ve a large parish, Wyatt. It doesn’t begin and end in Eskaig village.’

  ‘My induction is dependent upon those who are in the habit of attending the kirk. From what I’ve heard there’s not been a man, woman or child from beyond Eskaig who’s attended a service for years.’

  ‘Certainly not while Minister Gunn was here. I got out of the habit of visiting Eskaig during his ministry.’

  Wyatt was startled by the other preacher’s revelation.

  ‘I was given to understand everyone thought the world of Minister Gunn.’

  ‘Many of those who lived about the loch did. Folk never saw much of him up in the mountains.’

  Coll Kennedy’s words reminded Wyatt of what Eneas Ross had said to him when Wyatt visited the tiny cottage on the mountain, before the storm.

  ‘Perhaps I should have tried to persuade some of the crofters and cottars to come in and give me their support. But, as you’ve said, it’s a large parish, and I do know the people. They don’t make hasty decisions. It would take time to gain their trust. More time than the presbytery’s given me.’

  ‘From what I hear, you’ve already made a good start with some of those folk whom Preacher Gunn never met.’ Coll Kennedy grinned at Wyatt’s surprise. ‘There’s little goes on in the Highlands that a good minister doesn’t know about within twenty-four hours. I think you should also know that the presbytery is here so quickly because we’ve been called in by the Eskaig elders. They’re in agreement with you about one thing, at least. They say the kirk will be empty for the induction service tomorrow – and for every service held there until you’re gone. It seems they’re in an awful hurry to get you out and appoint a minister of their own – and I suspect Elder Cameron has some ambitions in that direction. You’d better pray that the good Lord has a wee miracle to spare for you tomorrow, Wyatt Jamieson.’

  Sunday dawned grey and misty – and it did not get off to a good beginning for Wyatt. His first task of the day was to chase Coil Kennedy’s donkey from the manse kitchen garden, but by the time he came out of the house the animal had devoured every scrap of greenery to within a finger’s breadth of the ground.

  Wyatt also had a throbbing headache. He had stayed up drinking and talking with Coll Kennedy until the early hours of the morning and was paying the penalty. Shivering and round-shouldered with cold, Wyatt thought it felt more like judgement day than induction day.

  Coll Kennedy did not emerge from his room until a full hour later. In a voice that might have sawed a branch from an oak-tree he declared that unless he was conducting a service he made it a rule not to talk before ten o’clock.

  At the hour when Coll Kennedy had promised to break his silence, Wyatt was standing in the shadows at the rear of the little Eskaig church, having spent some minutes on his knees by the grave of his father. Only the first two rows of pews were occupied. Seven seats were occupied by the church presbytery, the remainder by John Garrett, his family and household.

  The factor, fully aware that the morning was likely to bring a showdown between the landlord he represented and the presbytery, was white-faced with anticipation. He was also seething with an anger aimed at the residents of Eskaig, each of whom was a tenant of Lord Kilmalie.

  Aware of her father’s mood, Evangeline managed to smile reassuringly at Wyatt whenever he glanced in her direction.

  Wyatt did not return her smiles. He had never felt less inclined to a display of happiness. His fears about the residents of Eskaig were justified. They were rejecting him – and it seemed the presbytery were aware of the mood of the villagers. The three members who had spent the night in Elder Cameron’s house had acknowledged Wyatt with only the most perfunctory of nods, apparently anxious to save themselves from later embarrassment.

  ‘Are you quite certain you informed folks of the time of your induction, Mr Jamieson?’ The question came from a bowed bespectacled preacher who was stricken with an advanced muscular disease that had caused a crippling curvature of his spine. In spite of such a disability, the preacher had set out before dawn that morning to walk ten miles to Eskaig from Spean Bridge.

  ‘They know the time.’ Wyatt battled with a foolish urge to brazen things out, to accept nomination from the handful of retainers brought to the church by John Garrett for the occasion. ‘The people of Eskaig have made their thinking clear. I’ll not oppose them. You can inform the presbytery I’ll leave the manse and return on the next boat to call at Eskaig….’

  John Garrett could contain his impatience no longer. Unable to hear what was passing between the two preachers he rose from his seat and approached the pulpit beneath which Wyatt was standing, while the bent and twisted preacher made his painful way to where the other presbytery members sat quietly talking among themselves.

  ‘What’s happening? Why hasn’t the induction begun?’

  ‘There’ll be no induction. The Eskaig people have made their wishes clear.’

  ‘Damn the people of Eskaig!’ The factor’s outburst echoed from the walls of the church and caused the heads of presbytery mem
bers to turn in his direction, shock registered upon their faces.

  If John Garrett noticed, he ignored their outrage. ‘What the people of Eskaig want doesn’t matter. The courts of this country have made that quite clear. They’re tenants, every one of them. They’ll do whatever Lord Kilmalie tells them – and he’s sent you here as his minister.’

  ‘The Church of Scotland acknowledges only one Lord – and He’s not a peer of any earthly realm.’

  Hot blood suffused the angry factor’s face, but before he could say more Coll Kennedy suddenly cried: ‘Hush, everybody! Can you hear what I hear?’

  For a moment Wyatt could hear nothing. Then a sound was carried to the church on the wind. It was a sound that had always been capable of stirring his blood, no matter where he heard it. But never before had it carried such meaning as it did now.

  What he could hear was the sound of that most ancient of Scots musical instruments, the bagpipes. But this was not the instrument played by lowlanders, or at weddings or clan festivities. The sound he heard came from the great war-pipes, the instrument used to lead Highland regiments into battle, and the piper was playing a ‘gathering’ tune: a summons for all men within hearing to assemble in readiness for war! It was a sound that had last echoed across the waters of Loch Eil almost a hundred years before, when Prince Charles Stuart returned to Scotland to claim the throne that was rightfully his.

  Wyatt was the first out of the church. John Garrett was a close second, with the presbytery a straggling third.

  Uncharacteristically speechless, John Garrett’s mouth dropped open at sight of the motley throng advancing along the road through Eskaig, heading towards the church.

  ‘What the devil….’ John Garrett found his tongue, but could think of no more words to say.

  ‘It has nothing to do with the devil.’ Wyatt was fighting hard to maintain some composure as the piper turned off the road to the church and the crowd followed. ‘I believe you’re looking at a God-sent army. His answer to a humble man’s prayer.’