by R. W. Hughes
‘There is only one rightful claimant for the Chief of the MacKays and the title Master of Reay, that man stands before you.’ Here Douglas paused and glared at the group of Highlanders around him with his bright piercing blue eyes.
George, along with most of the crowd, thought that Douglas, was putting in a claim for leadership of the clan. He paled as he envisaged the possibility that if it went to a vote, he could be forced to fight this giant of a man for a position he didn’t really want.
‘The man in question,’ continued Douglas, ‘is the son of Cormac MacKay, and that man stands here before you. George Charles MacKay has the support and the oath of loyalty from the Clan Polson.’
He could feel the colour returning to his face and the strength returning to his knees at the young giant’s final statement. Having made his and his group’s position known, Douglas Polson made his way back through the clapping and cheering crowd to join the rest of his small band of followers at the rear of the meeting.
‘Is anyone prepared to contest the proposal by Douglas Polson,’ shouted the Reverend from his position now on the wooden box. He waited several minutes continuing to look around the gathering but no one came forward or voiced any opposition.
‘Then the decision is unanimous,’ he shouted to great cheers and clapping from the men gathered there.
What followed was a long debate, as leader after leader of the smaller clans came forward to stand on the wooden box. First giving their pledge of loyalty to George, then including their point of view and ideas of what they considered was a suitable way of wreaking the most vengeful revenge on the deceitful and murderous Clan Sutherland.
George listened quietly. From the extreme bold reckless slaughter of everyone and the torching of everything that belonged to the Sutherlands and their supporters that was put forward by the younger members of the clans, which brought loud cheers from their followers to the more wait and see approach from those that had crofts and holdings that ran along the boundary, obviously having more to lose in a long drawn out conflict of raids and counter raids between the feuding families.
This approach was eloquently put by their spokesman, Branan Macghee, who owned a smallholding on the edge of the Clan’s boundary with the Sutherlands.
It was these members especially Branan Macghee that George had spent time talking to during the previous evening’s wake for his father, gently guiding and prompting them to his way of thinking, but letting them think it was really their own view, which in reality, it probably was. But this view as he knew did not go down well amongst the majority of the men present. Shouts of ‘coward’ and ‘boos’ and the shaking of fists followed this speaker. He was glad that on the advice of his uncle he had banned the drinking of spirits during the meeting, as several scuffles had already broken out with men having to be forcibly separated.
It had now come to the point that he had dreaded, all the other speakers had finished saying their piece. All eyes were now on him, as Lord Reay the leader and Chief of the Clan MacKay. What he said would be obeyed, but if his decision was unpopular, there would a lot of muttering if some form of action was not taken. There would be a feeling that the pride of the clan had been greatly besmirched. George also knew they would have to tolerate many sneers and insulting remarks from the people in the nearby towns and markets where they traded. It was also possible that in extreme cases, some of the smaller individual families may well change their alliance to a neighbouring clan if they felt they could be better protected by doing so.
He moved to the box. Slowly stepping on the low platform he turned and faced the crowd of men, who were now quiet and expectant. He could see most of them were wearing the dark blue green tartan kilt of the MacKays even those were not were still showing some MacKay tartan even though it might only be a bonnet or a cloak. He felt quite moved as this was in reverence to his father and brother.
All these men wore the tartan in a symbol of respect of a man who for twenty years had been their protector and father figure; who had given them a feeling of belonging, helped them and their families in the time of loss or a poor harvest, which indeed is what the clan system did for families.
He took a deep breath. ‘First I thank all here who have pledged their own and their family’s loyalty to me. I have listened to what you, who wanted to speak on this pressing issue of a retaliatory raid, have had to say, along with those also that object to such an action. I myself over the last few days have given the matter much serious thought; I do not have to tell you here how serious this matter is viewed, not only by me but by your senior leaders.’
There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd at these words.
Now for the crunch, he thought, taking a deep breath. Then stopped!
There was a disturbance with a lot of movement and shouting at the rear of the crowd.
‘It’s William Bains’s lad! From Handa Island, he’s a neighbour of mine. Saints above, what has happened to his feet!’
The statement came from a man standing close to George as a young lad, ten or eleven years of age, was carried through the crowd and laid down near the wooden box.
‘Give the lad air!’ he shouted, desperately trying to push the men back as they in turn pushed forward, to try and see what was happening. ‘BACK!’ The shout like the great roar of a bull, made even George jump, as Douglas Polson sent the men nearest to him reeling backwards with a mighty push of his great forearm. ‘You heard the Chief of the Clan MacKay, give the lad air.’
The powerful presence of the young giant forced the crowd to keep their distance, allowing George to gaze on the sorrowful sight before him.
The lad had obviously travelled a great distance; the soles of his uncovered feet were just a mass of bleeding flesh. He was gasping for breath, his eyes were closed and his face was a terrible colour of grey.
‘This bairn his suffering from severe exhaustion; he needs attention as quickly as possible.’ The voice came from his uncle as he leant down holding the young lad’s head in his hands. The boy was trying to say something but was so weak, his voice was barely a whisper. George knelt beside him and placed his ear to the boy’s mouth. There were only a few words he could make out before the boy lapsed into unconsciousness.
‘Take the boy to the house, but be gentle with him,’ instructed Reverend Monroe as he made a passage through the onlookers for the two men who followed him, carrying between them the limp form of the unconscious boy. ‘Tell them at the house to clean his wounds. I will follow shortly,’ he shouted after the two men, before returning to stand by the side of his nephew.
George watched the men go, and then the passage was closed as the rest of the onlookers filled the gap. He looked at the men around him; they were all looking in his direction. He could feel their eyes watching his every movement as he stepped on the wooden box, before turning again to face the crowd who were now pushing ever closer.
‘I could only make out a few words the boy said,’ he shouted above the noisy crowd.
‘What did he say George? What did the lad say?’ shouted several loud voices from the crowd, intermingled with, ‘Quiet! Let George be heard,’ by the others in the group.
‘The boy said three words,’ shouted George, attempting to be heard above the clamour of raised voices around him.
‘What did he say? What were his words!’ came more voices. He knew that is next sentence would light a spark that would set the Highlands on fire, the likes they had not seen for many a long year.
‘The lad’s words were!’ he shouted, and then took a deep breath. ‘Sutherland men came!’
There was a few moments silence as those at the front absorbed what he had said and his words were passed to those at the rear of the crowd. There were great roars of anger from the men surrounding George which quickly spread to those on the outskirts, as it was passed on and the implications of what had taken place became obvious to them
all.
Two
While the MacKay family and all their followers had been burying their chief along with his eldest son, the Sutherland and Duncan clans had attacked and overrun their fortified house on the coast before taking possession of one of the nearby islands that had been in dispute, evicting or possibly even killing the crofters that had been there. It was a blatant challenge to the new leader of the MacKays from the Clan Sutherland. They obviously considered him to be a softy, an easy target because he had been to the lowland university and lived for so long a period in the city. And when he did visit his parents, he had stood out from the rest of the inhabitants as he passed through the villages on his way to Tongue House, dressed not in the rough highland garb of the locals, but in the finer dress of a city clerk, and he had unfairly been classed as a dandy, by those other than his family.
It was at this point that he made a promise to himself.
He vowed he would avenge his father and brother’s death; he would make the arbitrators of that deceitful crime pay dearly for the invasion of the MacKay lands and property.
He would make it that the Sutherland and their supporters the Duncan families wished they had never ever heard of the name: George Charles MacKay.
There were loud shouts for revenge from the various groups that surrounded him, bringing him back with a start from his private thoughts. This incident had now changed the attitude and views of the meeting. None were now louder than those that had land and holdings that bordered the Sutherlands and who felt vulnerable if those clan’s ambitions were not checked. And checked with the only method they understood, which was with the sharp edge of a broadsword or the ball from a musket or pistol.
If he had decided to march on the Sutherland lands at that moment, the feelings of the gathering were so high; they would have followed him to a man. It would have been easy for him to be affected by the outpouring of the infectious and deep feeling that could be felt by the meeting. He could have quite easily led the fighting men of the clan in a series of impetuous raids against the Sutherland lands, of which the outcome of such a rash action could not be predicted.
But that was not his way, his time at University, and his time spent in the chambers of his employers, but above all his military experiences in the colony of Georgia had developed in him a tendency to assess the situation; not to look at everything at its face value, but to look at alternatives and any possible unforeseen repercussions that could arise from ill-judged hasty decisions and knee jerk actions.
He was determined that he was going to plan his first action as leader of the clan on information he received and on the positions his opposition decided to take.
He intended from the first to plan his campaign against the Sutherlands down to the last detail. George’s intention was to inflict the maximum amount of damage, obtain the maximum amount of booty, with the minimum amount of casualties to his followers. He decided it was time he asserted his authority, and still standing on the wooden box, he started to shout for quite but his voice was drowned in the general noise shouting and confusion.
Taking a small pistol hidden under his plaid, he cocked it, pulling back the hammer that held the flint, pointed it to the sky and fired the weapon into the air.
The sharp crack of the exploding weapon had the immediate desired effect; there was a stunned silence, which he quickly took advantage of.
‘This has been a bad time for the MacKay clan and its followers over the last few days. That we can’a deny?’ he said with a good clear voice, and the hours spent in the debating halls at the university were now being put to good use, as even the men on the outer circle of the gathering could hear plainly what he was saying.
‘But those bad times, and atrocities against us, end NOW!’
There were shouts of agreement and cheers from the gathering and some pushing and shoving as those at the rear tried to move forward to obtain a better view of their new Chieftain.
Most of the men gathered there that afternoon had never seen George before.
If they had it had been as one of their Chieftain’s Cormac MacKay’s children.
George had been away from the area for ten years apart from occasional visits to Tongue House: six in the Americas, three at the university and one with the Forbson brothers.
‘I intend with your help to inflict such savage retribution on the Clan Sutherland and their lackeys, the Duncans, that the very mention of the name MacKay will send cold shivers down their spines, so that they will scurry away like the vermin they are, in their vain efforts to find some dark corner in which to hide.’
There were more cheers and shouts of approval from the crowd around him.
He could sense he was at last winning them over; he was speaking a language they understood. He had to convince them he was not just a city softie but a son of Cormac MacKay, a man of action. A warrior! And the protector of their families, their lands and their livestock.
‘We will attack the Sutherland men but on our terms and when we decide; not when they are prepared and in defensive positions, as they no doubt are at this moment on the MacKay land they have just occupied. We will not fall into their trap.’
There were murmurs of approval from the gathering at the logic of what he was saying.
‘I will form a war cabinet of the senior families that make up the Clan MacKay. You will not have long to wait before we will avenge the death of my father and brother, and the attempt by the Sutherlands to illegally claim our lands and livestock and the eviction of its rightful tenants.’
He felt his speech had convinced the men at this gathering. He had given them confidence, so they would leave the meeting without any doubts about his commitment. He sensed there would be none or very little opposition, and it was now up to him to come up with a campaign plan and fulfil all these large promises.
‘I now beseech all you men here to return to your homes and be in readiness to defend them against any further intrusions on our lands by the men of the Clan Sutherland.’ He looked again around the group of men, all now listening intently to his every word. ‘Be ready to rally. Arm yourselves and hasten to my call when it comes. You will also be my eyes and ears, any information you can glean about the Sutherlands when you are in the towns or markets—no matter how trivial or of no consequence that you may think it is. See that I receive that knowledge!’
He was still standing on the box as he looked at the men before him. There was no wild cheering at the end of his speech, but he could feel and see in the eyes of the men looking up at him that he had installed in them a grim steely determination that the Clan Sutherland would pay most dearly for their miscalculation on the character and willpower of the new Lord Reay, Master and newly appointed leader of the Clan MacKay.
‘Before you go on your separate ways, I would like you to kneel and join me in a prayer for the well-being and future safety and prosperity of our great family.’
George stepped from the box and knelt on the well-trodden grass followed by all the men present in the paddock. His uncle took his place on the small wooden platform, and proceeded to say a short prayer in which ended with the words,
‘Vengeance will be mine sayeth the lord, and the men of the Clan MacKay will wield my sword of justice. Amen.’
After the prayer, the meeting began to disperse. Most of the men had several days’ journey ahead of them, and where eager to return to their families, especially those near the border now that they knew the Sutherlands were on the prowl.
George made his way through the remaining groups stopping at each in turn to say a few words and politely accepting the congratulations on a fine speech from some of the elder members of the clans.
He particularly wanted to approach Douglas Polson before he left the paddock. He was, like himself, single with no direct family responsibilities and would be an ideal companion in the scheme he had in mind. He managed to catch him ju
st as the young giant was saying his farewells to his clan members at the paddock gates.
‘Douglas!’ he said, taking the big man’s arm and leading him a short distance away out of earshot from the rest of the group. ‘I would like you to stay. I have in mind a small mission, and I would like you to accompany me. It may involve some fighting, and I may be in need of your assistance.’
At the word “fighting” Douglas Polsons’ eyes lit up and a broad smile creased his face. ‘I’m your man George,’ came back the instant reply.
‘See your followers on their way, and I’ll contact you later at the house, when I’ll discuss my plan with you. In the meantime, if you need vitals, make yourself known at the house kitchens, and if there are any problems, simply inform them you are my guest.’
Leaving Douglas with his group; he hurried after his uncle who was a short distance in front of him, following the path that led around the great stone wall to the house’s main entrance. There was no conversation as both men walked side-by- side. They were both deep in their own thoughts. His uncle’s concerns were for the youth that had been taken to the house previously and also the physical and mental condition of his frail sister. George’s thoughts, meanwhile, were fully occupied on planning the little expedition that he had in his mind for Douglas Polson and himself, which he intended putting into practice the following day.
He broke the silence discussing the idea with his uncle. ‘I cannot follow the usual tradition and observe a period of mourning as will be expected by the Sutherlands It is imperative I make my arrangements while they are unprepared. I need to strike immediately. As he had expected there was no objection from his uncle. Although he did not voice his opinion, George’s uncle had been greatly impressed the way his nephew had handled himself since his return, especially at the meeting of the clan elders and leaders held in the paddock.