by R. W. Hughes
She smiled again before answering. ‘What’s your name my forward friend,’ and laughed lightly at his obvious embarrassment, which caused him to stutter as he had replied.
‘George! George Charles MacKay.’
‘That is a good Scottish name,’ she said. ‘Well then George Charles MacKay, my name is Fiona Russell, and when I have spoken with my parents, we will see if they will allow me to be in your company. With a chaperone of course.’ This was followed by another smile in his direction.
Any future conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Dr and Mrs Russell escorted by one of the senior partners Mr Forbson.
‘Did you wish to see me George?’ he said looking at George and the sheath of papers in his hand.
‘No, sir!’ he replied. ‘The problem has been resolved thank you,’ and he smiled at Fiona as he made his way back to his desk.
With her parents’ permission and always in the presence of a chaperone, who was usually the girl’s aunt, he had been seeing Fiona for several months she was the only child of Doctor Russell and his wife. But this had come to a stop when he had been informed by Doctor Russell that he did not want him to see his daughter again, and also had forbidden his daughter to see George. Unbeknown to them at that time, the Doctor and his wife had set their sights on marrying their daughter to a wealthy land owner, a distant relation who was an army officer with a large estate over the border in Cumberland. They were concerned that their daughter was becoming too attached to this common clerk, someone whose prospects were rather dubious and it was most unlikely he would be capable of giving their daughter a quality of life they wanted for her.
At that time in 1737 in Inverness, a General Oglethorpe was recruiting soldiers to form a Regiment of Foot, which would be called the Highland Independent Company, for service and the protection of the newly formed state of Georgia in the Americas. This recruitment drive was well advertised throughout the Highlands and many men from different clans, including many MacKays, had signed or left their mark to join this new Company. As an encouragement, large plots of land consisting of fifty acres were being offered in the new colony to the men—who also had the opportunity to take their families and stay after the fulfilment of their contract of service if they so wished.
George, now feeling so rejected and depressed at the changed circumstances with the girl who he now realised he was deeply in love with, and with his trial period at the law firm coming to an end, had volunteered his services and had signed a six year contract with the regiment. He was given the commission as Ensign and Acting Lieutenant, by the recruiting officer, a Captain Mclintosh, who was the second-in- command to General James Oglethorpe. On the day his ship the Prince of Wales sailed from Inverness carrying all the men and their families who had signed on for the regiment based in Georgia, George had despatched two letters notifying his family and Fiona of his decision.
His thoughts came back to the present as he reached the top of Ari Garbh, taking off his shirt which was now soaked in his sweat. He laid it on a large rocky outcrop to dry and collapsed on his back on the coarse grass. His eyes closed and his chest heaved as he struggled to regain his breath, yet he allowed his mind to drift between his past and the present.
Even though her parents had forbidden her to contact him they had managed to correspond with one another through Georges friend at Forbson and Forbson. And George still knew in his heart he was still deeply in love with her.
The soft life he had led on the long sea journey back to Scotland and then finding a position working in an office with his old firm in the city on his return had left him in poor physical condition. He remembered how he and his elder brother on many occasions in the past had raced up the large hill. He had been nimbler on his feet always beating his elder brother, except on the morning when he was due to leave for the University at Aberdeen, which also coincided with his elder brother’s birthday. It was on that day he had slowed his pace slightly allowing his brother to win, but only by half a step. Then he had jokingly claimed it had been a draw. In a rematch, they had both raced back down the steep hill, laughing as they tumbled and rolled down the steep grass covered incline.
He had greatly enjoyed his childhood: the fishing in the loch or the nearby tidal waters of Tongue Bay and the Kyle of Tongue, the snaring of rabbits and game birds, the sailing of the small skiff along the rugged coast startling the sea otters as they dozed, resting on the large beds of kelp. He liked the herding together of the hardy Highland cattle before driving them to the quay for loading onto the coastal transporters for delivery to the city markets farther down the coast, or placing them in the care of the drovers and the Tacks man who would drive them to the markets overland, usually on a commission basis, and the long summers that seemed to stretch on forever.
His father was held in great esteem, being highly respected by his family and the rest of the clan. Cormac MacKay was of the old school; any cattle rustling, depredations or acts of aggression against the MacKays or their associated sept members by their oft-feuding neighbours the Sutherlands, Kieths, Rosses, Gunns, Gordons or Sinclairs, brought a swift and well planned foray in reprisal from George’s father who delighted in reciting the writings of the Old Testament. ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Plus Expenses?’ he would jokingly say to the clan members who followed him on these raids.
But Cormac MacKay had also been aware that the old ways were changing; the force of law and not the broadsword were slowly, even though it was at a snail’s pace, penetrating the Highlands. It had been on the advice of his wife’s brother, Reverend Monroe, that he decided that George, who was recognised as being a bright lad having excelled in the private tuition given to him by his uncle, be sent to the centre of studies in that area for three years, Aberdeen University, one that had a long tradition for learning, having been founded in 1495.
He had quickly settled in at this centre of knowledge, and he had gained a reputation amongst his classmates as person not to be trifled with, as two of his fellow students from the university found to their cost, when they mimicked his Highland brogue. He had quickly retaliated—being light on his feet and handy with his fists—and he had left his two opponents lying on the floor with bloody noses and nursing sore heads. But apart from these minor incidents which were few and far between, he enjoyed being in the company of so many people and his shyness, with which he had when he first arrived at the university, had disappeared within the week.
He opened his eyes; the sky was blue except for the mere faintest of white wisps of cloud, and he could feel the warm sun on his bare chest. If only he could stay here in this spot forever, and not venture down the hill to the meeting that had been arranged by his uncle between himself and the elder members of the clan.
He rolled over onto his stomach and looked down on the small cluster of cottages that clustered around the kirk. He could see a lot of the families that had attended the funeral that made up the Clan MacKay. They were all standing in their own little groups: the Polsons, Mathyson, MacPhail, Morgawnde, Roryson, MacPhaul, the Mathowson, Makay, Baynes, Macghee, Mackee, Williamson and many more. They were no doubt discussing the events that had brought them all together that day, in paying their last respects to their chieftain.
And they would be expecting him to come up with some magical scheme that would quickly avenge the death of the members of his family. It was only at that moment that he had given the problem any deep thought, as prior to the funeral, he had been too preoccupied with other pressing matters, consoling his younger brother and sister, but mainly his concern for the deteriorating condition of his mother’s health. The feud with the Sutherland family that led up to the murder of his father and elder brother had been a long-standing dispute over a coastal strip of land and several small islands between Stoirhead of Assint.
The Aird of Farr called “Halldale” was close to the western boundary between the two clans and came within the bound
aries of the parish of Strathnave. The MacKays had always claimed the islands in question had been sold to Donald MacKay, George’s great grandfather, by a George McCallan in the year 1624, but this transaction had always been disputed by the Sutherlands.
To try and broker a peace agreement for the area, a meeting had been arranged by the Earl of Sutherland’s relation, Robert Stewart, Bishop of Caithness.
Under his pledge of safety, George’s father and brother with the Reverend Monroe and several attendants had agreed to attend a hearing to be held at the Sutherland stronghold. It was here that both parties would present their case before a jury, made up of the chieftains of all the clans in the area. He had spent many months in his spare time researching the records held in Edinburgh. He had put together a copy of his research on the MacKay claim for his father and brother to present to that jury. Reverend Monroe had told him that his elder brother had used the information and notes that he had provided and it had made a significant impact on the jury. it was obvious they were beginning to lean in favour of the MacKay claim, and they had all retired for the night with the decision to be taken the following day.
It was the early hours of the morning that George’s father and his brother were murdered in their beds by an intruder, who had then fled the castle pursued by the MacKay’s attendants. It had later come to light that the relation of the Earl of Sutherland, Nicolas Duncan, was implicated in the murder., Tthis accusation had been strongly denied by the Sutherlands, but in turn they had arranged for the hurried departure of Nicolas Duncan from the area, before he could be personally questioned on these charges.
Rising slowly to his feet, George retrieved his now dry shirt, and looking from the top of the great hill, he could see below him on that clear summer afternoon most of the parish of Durness that bordered the parishes of Eddrachills to the west, Tongue to the east and Lairg to the south. While from behind him he could faintly hear the sea battering against the steep cliffs that led down to the Kyle of Tongue.
He looked again at the large stone, taller than a man and twice as wide on which he had hung his shirt, with its many carvings in an ancient script covering its weather-beaten granite surface. A similar stone with the same writing stood outside the entrance to the local kirk; he thought if this early race of people that had been the previous occupiers of this land, had they also faced the same problems that he now faced? Most probably they had. One of his Uncle Alistair’s favourite sayings came to his mind.
Everything moves in a circle.
His descent down the hill was much slower than his earlier mad scrambled race to the top. He could see the groups of people leaving the area around the kirk and were moving slowly along the track towards the entrance of the MacKay stronghold.
His mind came back to the present and the duties expected of him. First, he must support his mother and the rest of his family during the traditional wake that had been prepared in the Great Hall of Tongue House. And tomorrow… Well… He would have to see what the morrow brought. He had decided provisionally that he would allow all the members present at the meeting to have their say. He had also decided he would keep an open mind, not being persuaded or bullied into making any hasty decisions that he and the clan, of which he was now their leader, might eventually live to regret.
During his time in Edinburgh the talk had been of the English General George Wade who was attempting to settle the problem of law and order in the Highlands with his English army by constructing a series of metalled roads and innumerable bridges constructed to serve the Great Glen forts. He had also armed and reformed the independent Highland Companies that had been disbanded in 1717; all were well disposed to the English government.
Here he had to tread very warily; the Sutherlands clan and the Duncans were Wigs as were the MacKays both families were supporters of the English Crown. And the Earl of Sutherland had many influential English friends. Any large scale retaliatory invasion of Sutherland lands by the MacKays could be interpreted by the very nervous English authorities as a Highland rising against them, especially if the Sutherlands were fanning the flames of such thoughts.
Nicolas Duncan, the assassin, had escaped, but he was a wanted man required to answer the charges brought against him by George’s uncle, the highly respected Reverend Monroe. There had been too many influential witnesses to the murder for even the Earl of Sutherland or his relation, the Bishop of Caithness, to attempt to cover up this evil deed. Any impulsive action by the MacKays—even though there would be many at the meeting that would demand a swift revenge attack—could jeopardise and possibly weaken any action the sheriff might take against the fugitive Nicolas Duncan of Sutherland. He was also aware that by doing nothing could be interpreted as taking a coward’s way out. But he, as the proposed leader of the clan, had to think of the long-term repercussions for the survival of the Clan MacKay.
The situation was indeed very delicate. The longer Nicolas Duncan was free the stronger the pressure would build amongst the clan for him to take some form of aggressive action. In essence, he felt trapped between a rock and a hard place, with whatever decision he would eventually take. He knew it would take all his oratory powers developed in the debating circles at university, and his work in Inverness at the solicitors, to persuade these hard Highlanders to do nothing, but to wait and be patient.
It was early afternoon of the following day, in a fenced off paddock in the shade provided by the high walls of Tongue House, that the meeting eventually got underway. As he looked around at all the leaders of the sub clans gathered in a loose semi-circle in front of him, he could tell by the bleary and bloodshot eyes of the men that stared back, that it was going to be a lively, very rowdy meeting. It was obvious that most of the participants were still under the influence of the vast amounts of the clear liquid they had consumed the previous night—toasting the exploits of his late father and the demise of his chosen heir.
He was glad he was being accompanied by his uncle, the Reverend, hopefully he would help to keep some form of order, restraining any quick tempered violent action that was bound to take place between so many volatile men. Old arguments and prejudices often surfaced during these meetings of the various families and minor clans that made up the MacKays.
What he wanted to avoid was the meeting ending in a shouting match. Even when his father had been the Chieftain of the Clan, he had seen it happen on many previous occasions with the various groups storming off in violent disagreement.
He realised if that happened he could be left with a disunited force with no agreement, no campaign plan or policy being settled for the future.
There had been much grumbling at his insistence that they all left their weapons at the small wicker gate as they entered the small paddock. At least, he thought.
If there was to be any fighting, it would be fists and boots and not involve any steel or firearms.
He quickly brought the meeting to order by standing on a short wooden box that lifted him head and shoulders above the rest of the gathering. Then slowly, but very loudly, he clapped his hands three times. This action stopped the hub of conversation and gained the attention of all the men standing in the paddock.
‘My friends! All of you here have come out of respect of my family, my mother, father and my elder brother. I will not repeat the exploits of my father, better men than I did that honour last night. I have called this meeting to give all and each of the members of Clan MacKay and its associates the opportunity as tradition decrees, to lay their claim to the leadership of this mighty clan. So speak up! And speak up loudly, any one amongst you that feels they have such a claim.’
Looking around at the faces in front of him, he could see amongst them many of his relations, alongside leaders of the many smaller clans that owed allegiance through either marriage or the need for the protection for their families of a much larger stronger force than their own. There were none in the Highlands that had proved themselves
over many hundreds of years and many battles, to be as loyal to their septs, or as fierce or as warlike as this clan.
He knew there were many here that were more experienced more suited to leading men into battle than he was, especially here in the Highlands. He was hoping that one of these sub chiefs would step forward to make a claim as clan leader, convincing those who were present that they were more suitable to lead the clan, and then sweep the meeting in their favour. It would then be possible for him then to slip quietly away to continue his life and studies in Inverness.
There was a murmur in the crowd as a tall man pushed his way through the throng to the small clear area where George was standing on the box. As this young giant stood in front of him, he recognised the man, even though they had both been children when he had last seen him, and then he had been a tall, gangly thin weakly child. His name was Douglas Polson and six months ago he had taken over the leadership of the small clan of that name after the death of his father in a riding accident. The Polsons had been associated with the MacKays for many hundreds of years occupying a small area that ran down to the sea forming the boundary to the north of the MacKay lands. Douglas Polson was tall, even for a Scotsman, and he came just below the height of George, who was still standing on the wooden box.
This young giant had a great mop of bright blond hair that continued down his face into a ginger bushy beard. He was indeed a fierce looking sight. George could just imagine Douglas putting the fear of God into his opponents, as he charged towards them swinging his great broadsword. As he recalled as children when they played together, he had not always been such a fierce competitor, in fact he had been a rather timid weakly child prone to bursting into tears at the slightest minor provocation and then running to look for his mother.
Douglas declined the offer of the box offered to him as George stepped down; he simply turned to address the crowd, his deep voice carrying over their heads even reaching to those on the outside fringes.