God's Highlander

by Thompson, E. V.

  The facts before them were starkly simple. The highest courts in the realm had ruled that the Church of Scotland must accept the rights of patronage. The choice of a preacher rested with the patron – in practice, the landowner – and not with the community he would serve. Furthermore, in the final analysis it was the State and not the Church that was the arbiter of pastoral matters.

  If the Convocation agreed this was unacceptable to them, they had no alternative but to break away from the mother church and form a ‘free’ church. By so doing they would give up home, income and their status in the community.

  Yet, as Wyatt realised on the very first day of the Convocation, no other decision was morally possible. Others thought the same. On the third day a vote was taken on an ultimatum to be delivered to the British government: 423 ministers voted with their conscience.

  The die was cast. Unless the British government changed its mind, there would be a new, ‘free’ church in Scotland.

  The handshakes exchanged among departing ministers were firm and warm. Here in Edinburgh there was comfort in their numbers and a shared determination. With such unanimity no man could have doubts about the future.

  Squatting on the wet deck of Donald McKay’s steamer as it battered a blunt-nosed passage through the choppy waters of the Firth of Lorn, Coll Kennedy passed a pewter flask to Wyatt, pulled the high collar of his coat about his ears, and shivered.

  ‘We’ve difficult days ahead of us, Wyatt.’

  ‘There can be no other way.’ Wyatt wiped the lip of the flask on his sleeve and returned it to his companion. ‘We both knew it. So did the Convocation.’

  ‘Will you be able to convince your elders and parishioners that you’ve done the right thing?’

  ‘The elders should need no convincing. I sometimes feel they still resent my appointment by Lord Kilmalie. I’m not so certain of the people. They shy away from change. The Church has always been a safe haven in uncertain times. They’ll be confused.’

  ‘You’ll be able to convince them. You’re closer to the Highlanders than any minister in these parts.’

  Wyatt hoped Coll Kennedy was right. If the Highlanders failed to follow him into the breakaway church, it would be an empty personal victory for him.

  The mountains around Loch Eil huddled beneath a thick blanket of undisturbed snow. Wyatt wondered yet again how Mairi and the Ross and Fraser families were faring. He intended to pay them a visit at the earliest opportunity.

  The snow was not so deep at the lochside. The constant passage of people and animals had trampled a network of tracks reaching out from the village.

  One such cleared path extended as far as the small jetty, and many people were making their way here to meet the small vessel. They had to be coming to meet Wyatt. He was the only passenger in the steam-launch, Coll Kennedy having left the vessel at Fort William.

  ‘One thing I’ll say for you, Minister. Your arrivals in Eskaig rarely go unnoticed.’ Donald McKay spoke past his pipe, only a few inches of face being visible between the damp fur of his beaver hat and the turned-up collar of his oilskin coat. ‘As I’ve said before, you’re more welcome today than when I first brought you here.’

  ‘I hope I’ll still be welcome when they hear the news I’m bringing. Unless the English Parliament has a change of heart there’ll be an end to the Church as we’ve all known it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t trouble yourself overmuch about it,’ was Donald McKay’s surprising reply. ‘Highlanders have known centuries of following a particular clan. Clans have split and thrived all the better for it. It’ll be the same with the Church. You’ll find, as with the clans, it’s the man they’ll follow. If they respect you, they’ll follow you to hell, if that’s where you say you’re going. You don’t need me to tell you this, Minister. You’ve served in a Highland regiment….’

  Donald McKay broke off to wrestle with the wheel as the steam-boat caught the current and swung off course.

  Wyatt thought of what the Glaswegian boatman had said. It could be he was right. Wyatt had known Highland soldiers follow a respected officer without falter when they knew they had been given orders that would lead them into the very jaws of death. He believed the ministers attending the Convocation had been right to take the stand they had. He sincerely hoped his parishioners respected him enough to agree – and to follow.

  ‘What happened, Minister?’

  ‘Did you reach agreement?’

  ‘Will the British government listen?’

  The questions came across the water as the steam-boat was edging in towards the jetty. Wyatt waited until the boat bumped heavily against the flimsy structure and Donald McKay thrust the engine into neutral.

  ‘The Convocation has set out the terms on which the Church can discharge its duties. The resolution was signed by more than four hundred ministers. It’s to be hoped the Government will take it seriously. ’

  ‘What if they don’t?’ The question came from one of the older villagers.

  ‘Then, there will need to be a Free Church. I’ll be reporting to the elders tonight. Tomorrow I’ll call a meeting in the kirk and tell everyone what went on in Edinburgh.’

  All the way back to Eskaig the villagers bombarded Wyatt with their questions, receiving no more than a series of half-replies from Wyatt. They deserved more – they were entitled to more – but, first, Wyatt wanted to discuss every aspect of the Convocation’s decision with the elders. He had gone to Edinburgh with their support; they needed to know that what lay ahead was nothing less than the tearing asunder of the Church of Scotland.

  Alasdair Burns was in the manse, kneeling beside the fire and cursing with scant respect for his surroundings.

  ‘It’s this damned wind. Any other direction and the fire roars away faster than you can pile on the peat. When the wind’s coming off the loch it will blow smoke in your face without producing a single flame.’

  A large pot was suspended on a chain over the fire with heat enough for the contents to be boiling merrily, each burst bubble releasing an appetising smell into the room.

  ‘Where’s Mrs Kerr?’ The deaf woman usually came to the manse to prepare Wyatt’s main meal. Perhaps she had not realised he was returning.

  ‘Someone’s giving birth in the village. Mrs Kerr’s not only the church cleaner and minister’s cook; she’s also Eskaig’s midwife. It seems there’s not a woman for miles around will give birth unless she’s there.’

  The mention of childbirth set Wyatt to thinking of Seonaid Ross once again. He hoped Mrs Kerr would not need to attempt to struggle through the snow to the mountain cot just yet. Once more he determined he would go into the mountains as soon as the weather permitted.

  ‘This smells as though it’s almost ready. How did Convocation go?’

  Wyatt gave his companion a summary of the Convocation proceedings, and the ultimatum they had delivered to Parliament in London.

  ‘There must be a rare strength of feeling within the Church. It’s the first time I’ve heard of a gathering of more than one minister reaching agreement on anything. Of course, your ultimatum will get nowhere. Parliament is elected to look after the vested interests of landlords and landowners. It will agree to nothing that takes one jot of power from them. You might as well break away now.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you’re right, but can you save the hot air for the pot? I’m starving.’

  ‘I’ll have it ready now. Find yourself a bannock or two from the bin. Mrs Kerr baked some only this morning. There’s some beef in the stew today. Ewan Munro brought some in for you. Their calf died while you were away.’

  Wyatt winced. The Munros could do without any more bad luck. ‘Did Ewan say how his father was keeping?’

  ‘He’s poorly. This weather is hard on his lungs.’ Alasdair Burns ladled steaming-hot stew into a deep bowl and carried it carefully to the table. ‘Was Angus Cameron among those meeting you at the jetty?’

  Wyatt thought. ‘No – and that’s surprising in view of the importa
nce of my journey to Edinburgh. Is he ill?’

  ‘He’s well enough to have walked to the factor’s house – at Garrett’s invitation.’

  Wyatt paused with his spoon poised above the bowl in front of him. ‘Why should Garrett want to speak to Angus Cameron?’

  Putting his own bowl of stew on the table, Alasdair Burns lowered himself to a seat. ‘Only Garrett and Cameron have the answer to that question. Evangeline told me both men were looking well pleased with themselves by the time Cameron left to return to Eskaig.’

  Wyatt was baffled. What could John Garrett want with the Eskaig elder? It had to be something to do with church affairs, of course. Angus Cameron could offer nothing else of interest to the factor. Wyatt wondered whether it had anything to do with the imminent Disruption of the Church of Scotland. No doubt the senior elder would enlighten him when they met that evening.

  The meeting between Wyatt and the church elders was a solemn affair. It took place in the tiny meeting-room that had been added to the church building by Wyatt’s predecessor. Even the crackling of a warm fire brought little cheerfulness to the occasion.

  After Wyatt had given the elders a résumé of the Convocation’s proceedings there was a long silence among his listeners.

  ‘What do you think will happen?’ The question came from the oldest and most frail elder, a man Wyatt had seldom heard utter a word in his presence.

  ‘I fear Parliament will reject the demands of Convocation. If it does, those preachers who think as I do cannot in all conscience remain in a church where spiritual authority has been usurped by the State.’

  ‘Who will take on the pastoral responsibility given up by you and the others who resign their livings?’

  ‘If the people of Eskaig agree with what I’m doing, I will stay and work for them – as a minister of the ‘free’ church. No doubt the present church will make some attempt to carry on here, too.’

  Wyatt looked seriously at each man in turn. ‘I wish there had been another way, but unless there is a change of heart in London men of conscience have no alternative.’

  ‘I don’t agree with patronage, but wouldn’t it have been better to fight against it from within?’ The speaker was Angus Cameron.

  ‘Sadly, no. The Church has tried without result to free itself from the dictates of the State. It has resulted in increased government control. If we are to worship in the way we wish, we must be a “free” church.’

  ‘Who will pay your salary in this brave new “free” church?’

  ‘Convocation suggested a levy of a penny a week from each family.’ Wyatt found himself puzzled by Angus Cameron’s opposition to Convocation’s decision. The senior elder had been the most intransigent of all the elders when Lord Kilmalie had appointed Wyatt to the Eskaig living. ‘It shouldn’t prove beyond the means of most families.’

  ‘Is Eskaig to have a “penny preacher”? Would you bring the Church to this, after the sacrifice and hard work of generations of dedicated churchmen? We’re respected by landowners and the highest authorities in the land. Would you set this at nought? I say we must remain within the established church. If there are any wrongs, they are best righted from within.’

  ‘Would you have discussed this with John Garrett, Angus?’

  The senior elder’s reaction was immediate and angry. ‘What are you suggesting? That I’ve been influenced by something Garrett’s said?’

  ‘I’m suggesting nothing. I heard you’ve been to Garrett’s house while I was in Edinburgh. It would be natural enough to discuss the state of the Church while you were there. I thought he might have given you his views.’

  ‘I went to Corpach with the church accounts. It’s usual for the minister to take them about this time of year. You weren’t here, so Garrett asked me to deliver them. We discussed the accounts. No more, and no less.’

  Wyatt did not believe the senior elder. He was far too defensive. But why should he lie – and about what?

  After the meeting, Wyatt pinched out the candles that had illuminated the room and checked the doors and windows. Fierce gales were likely to spring up suddenly in the Highlands at this time of year.

  Outside the church Wyatt thought there might be some justification for accusing him of being over-cautious. Not a breath of wind disturbed the few brown leaves that hung dry and lifeless from the trees. It was cold and cloudless, and the ring of light encircling the full moon promised a heavy frost. The night was made lighter by the reflection of the moon on mountain snow. So still was it that the soft whistle of an otter a mile or so up the loch sounded noisy.

  Wyatt crossed to the corner of the little churchyard where a holly-tree sheltered his father’s grave. Dropping to his knees, Wyatt shared his thoughts with the man who had been forced to make many unpalatable decisions during his own lifetime. Then he prayed that he, too, might have the strength to do what he knew to be right.

  When he brought the brief graveside sojourn to an end, Wyatt stood up, shivering in the chill air of the night. He glanced up towards the snow-covered mountains towering high above Loch Eil.

  Beyond those peaks lay the Highland moor on which lived Mairi Ross. He wondered what she was doing tonight. He wished it were possible to see her. To speak to her. He found he was missing her more and more as the days and weeks passed. It would be a long lonely winter.

  Thirty-one

  IN THE HIGH mountains in a harsh winter such as this life was reduced to a basic determination to survive, and the provision of sufficient food and warmth for humans and animals. Both suffered the hardships of Highland living, and both shared the minimal comfort of a Highland cot.

  Outside the back door, if there was one, peat was piled to the level of the roof, and stacked as deep as a castle wall. Above the door turfs came together in the manner of a badly built igloo. The occupants could keep their fire alight by reducing the width of the peat walls, even when snow lay about the cot deeper than a man.

  Part of the cot was partitioned off from the family. In here lived the cows and pigs that would provide the heart of next summer’s stock. Sometimes there would be a sheep or two, but they were not intended to survive the winter snows. They would be killed and eaten when the time was right.

  Other sheep remained outside, taking their chances with the weather. Most would survive in the shallow glens to which instinct had driven them. They sheltered from the icy blast in tunnels and holes formed in the snow by the heat of their bodies. When the weather improved the cottars would go in search of them, hoisting them from their life-saving prisons, by which time they would be no more than fleece-hung skeletons. Inside the cot, if the occupants had calculated correctly, they would survive on a monotonous diet of salted meats and fish, used to flavour oatmeal cooked in as many ways as ingenuity would allow.

  If the calculations had been seriously wrong, or the winter exceptionally harsh and long, it might become necessary to bleed the cattle. The blood would give extra nourishment to the mess of oatmeal that by now would be the sole food left to beleaguered crofters and cottars. If the weather had not relented by the time the cattle were weakened to the point where they could no longer stand, then lean and tough beef was added to the menu. If, as had been known to happen, there was still no let-up in the weather, one of the household would need to set out through the deep snow to seek help. The remainder of the family would sit with hunger gnawing at their entrails, awaiting succour. If none came … they perished.

  It was this environment that made the Highlander what he was. His hardiness in surviving the harshness of winter bred a soldier who had become a legend in the British army. Stalked by death from birth, he had cheated him so many times that death was no longer a stranger to be feared, but an opponent to be outwitted and frequently defeated.

  Eneas Ross had met the ultimate enemy many times, in the Highlands and farther afield. He knew better than most how to keep him at bay. The Ross cot was snug and well stocked to withstand the harshest winter. The animals that occupied a full hal
f of the cot added a pungent aroma to the smell of a peat fire, damp thatch and unwashed bodies. The smell passed without comment. It was possible to live with a stench, and living was what it was all about.

  The Ross family were more fortunate than most. They had bread, cheeses, salt butter and beef to eat, and sheep to kill if required. They had whisky, too, and many stories to tell as they sat around the fire.

  There were tales of Wellington’s campaign through Portugal and Spain, and across the Pyrenees into France; memories of Magdalene’s childhood among the sun-kissed orange-groves of Spain; accounts of how constables and militia had been outwitted when raiding for sheep in the lowlands. Stories, too, of the long-ago, when all Englishmen were enemies and men of the mountains and glens forgot their centuries-old feuds and joined together to follow their prince and drive the forces of a Hanoverian king southwards from Scotland.

  Mairi listened with one ear to stories she had heard through nineteen Highland winters as she struggled to master the arts of reading and writing. Sometimes she would read to the family from the bible Wyatt had given to her. This gave particular pleasure to her mother. Magdalene Ross would sit nodding approval of the bible stories that had been told to her in her own language when she was a child.

  At night, with only the faint light of the peat fire to keep the darkness inside the cot at bay, Mairi would lie in bed, listening to the whisky-induced snores of her father and brothers. Occasionally there would be other sounds from the cupboard-like box bed shared by Ian and Tibbie. The sounds embarrassed Mairi. The whole family knew what they were doing, and she felt no young married couple should need to make love surrounded by parents and family. That was not how she wanted it to be when she married.

  She wondered what life in a manse with Wyatt would be like. The thought caused her to squirm on the heather-filled mattress. It was all a foolish dream, of course. She lacked the background and the education to become a minister’s wife. All the same….