Love and Music Will Endure (19 page)

The two men emerged from the plain whitewashed church and walked towards the waiting pony and trap. Suddenly the shorter, broader figure yelped in surprise as he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

‘I’d know that sailor’s roll of a walk anywhere. Will the pair of you come and have a
strupag
with me?’

Without waiting for a reply Màiri started to stride ahead. The two men glanced at each other behind her back. The Clach twisted his mouth downwards while John smiled and replied, ‘That’s kind of you, Màiri. Watching history being made gives you a dry mouth. I should like a rest before chasing after the Commissioners to Uig.’

Màiri’s words bubbled out in excitement, ‘Did you see their ship sail into Portree Bay? What a beautiful vessel! And our own Charles himself is one of the Commissioners.’

‘Well, it’s right that he should be here. After all, he stood up in Parliament and insisted on a Royal Commission. Mind you …’ The Clach paused with a smug smile, ‘… it was me who first put the idea in his head back in ’77 when I spoke at a meeting of the Gaelic Society in Inverness. As for the other ones – Napier appears to be an honest man, albeit a Lowlander, but all the rest are landowners.’

‘Sheriff Nicolson is a Skye man and not so high born,’ she retorted.

The Clach frowned, ‘I dare say but I’m concerned that there’s no-one to speak up for the crofters. It’s fortunate that John and I have been travelling around to help the witnesses prepare their
statements. You know how it is with the crofters, especially the
bodachs
, rambling on for ever about the old days and who owned what before the Famine. We need to drive home the message about getting fair rents and more land.’

Màiri laughed, ‘So that’s why one of the Commissioner gentlemen was a bit sharp with old MacLure today, “We need to hear what it is that you want, my good man, not catch phrases about fixity of tenure.” He could tell he was a blackbird mimicking another bird’s call.’

Seeing The Clach’s face stiffen, John changed the subject, ‘The Commission’s timing couldn’t be better. They’re arriving for the hearings in Glendale just after John MacPherson and the others return from prison. The reporters will be there in force. John has such a gift with words. The first time I heard him speak he told the audience how they would raise a spark in the heather that would set it all ablaze. How true that was.’

Màiri sniffed, ‘Aye, they did well enough in Glendale but they weren’t heroes like the Braes folk who faced the police and ended up bloodied and broken for their pains.’

John spoke with deliberation, ‘The Braes men – and women – were indeed the stuff of legend but times have changed. The whole of Britain heard about the violence meted out to innocent people and were horrified. But if we have more fighting now we could be accused of being as wild as the Irish Land League. That’s why John MacPherson was wise in agreeing to be arrested. “If we refuse to surrender and run to the hills we will be seen as being like chaff blown to the wind. But if we stand against the wind though we bend to the blast – yet we have shown that our principles are strong and just.” He’s right, we must keep our reputation for restraint.’

‘Well I prefer a good, honest fight, like when the Fianna set out for battle,’ she grumbled. ‘Here’s my house now,’ she said proudly, pointing to a substantial single storey cottage.

She ushered them into a comfortable room with a wooden settle in front of the fire. After prodding the peats back to life she swept into the kitchen, returning with bannocks, cheese and cold herring which she set before them. Watching her, John was struck by how neat and fastidious she was, darting around as she organised the meal. He could imagine how efficient and calm she would be as a nurse. Once they had started eating she spoke again, ‘I thought that Mr Lachlan himself might have been at the meeting today but maybe he thought that the witnesses would feel easier about speaking if he wasn’t there.’

‘That’s to his credit,’ observed John, ‘It was a very different matter yesterday at the Braes meeting. Lord MacDonald didn’t deign to attend in person but he sent that scunner of a factor, Alexander MacDonald, to represent him.’

‘Ah, the uncrowned king of Skye himself,’ laughed The Clach.

‘Well he didn’t seem so royal, squirming like an otter in a trap when the Commissioners asked him to give an assurance that none of the witnesses would be evicted for giving their evidence.’

‘I wish I’d been there to see it,’ said Màiri, ‘but I haven’t got the walking legs of my youth to march all that way from Skeabost. I’d have been glad for a place in a carriage,’ she added pointedly.

John looked uncomfortable but The Clach ignored her and continued, ‘He had no choice but to agree there would be no retribution for the witnesses. Then what did the fool do in the interval? He cursed Angus Stewart to his face for daring to ask for a guarantee of safety before giving his evidence. The Secretary heard what had happened and forced the factor to make an official statement promising immunity.’

Màiri nodded empatically, ‘Mr Lachlan is so different from that. He’s a fair and generous landlord; the evidence today showed that. It was made very clear that he has never evicted tenants.
Mind you, I was annoyed to hear William McClure complaining that Mr Lachlan had taken away the trap on the loch they had used for catching fish. But the sheriff cooked his goose on that one, “Are you aware that such devices for catching salmon are now prohibited by Act of Parliament?” What an ungrateful wretch! In the end McCLure had to agree that all those things were done by landlords who were there before Mr Lachlan.’

‘I think the people speak about old wrongs because no-one has listened to them before,’ said John mildly, ‘Lachlan MacDonald is much better than the usual appalling specimens of landowners but he’s not a saint is he? There were justified complaints about him not letting the crofters take shellfish from the shore or collect seaweed.’

‘I don’t know about all of that but there’s no denying that he paid for houses to be built and gave out free milk to the children,’ Màiri retorted.

Meanwhile The Clach had been tapping his fingers on his teeth and now he spoke, ‘This isn’t a black house that you’re living in, is it?’

‘Of course not,’ she bristled, ‘It’s whitewashed and full of light, by far the best house I’ve ever lived in.’

He smiled sardonically, ‘That’s exactly what I mean. And who gave it to you? The very same Lachlan MacDonald. No wonder you can see no wrong in the man.’

Màiri was red in the face now, ‘I praise him because he deserves it. He’s a good man who treats his tenants well.’

‘I don’t deny that he charges reasonable rents but as we heard today his tenants don’t have enough land. They’re poorer than their fathers and grandfathers were. They need bigger crofts to provide for their families, yet MacDonald rents out some of his better land to farmers and keeps some back for himself. He enjoys his shooting doesn’t he, with his friend Sheriff Nicolson?
Would he be willing to hand over any of that land to the crofters? I think not.’ The Clach shook his head vigorously.

Seeing the furious expression on Màiri’s face John intervened, ‘You know how vehement The Clach can be. I think he’s saying that no matter how fair a landlord might be – and there are a few honourable ones like Lachlan who don’t grind their tenants’ faces into the dust – he is like the sound apple in a barrel of rotten ones. He can’t help but be tainted by the others. He’s still one of a class of men who oppose true land reform. He can’t or won’t see that the solution to land hunger is in his own hands; give more land to the crofters. And I’m sorry to say it but your acceptance of this house rent free means that people will think that you’re in his pocket.’

‘What could I do? I could never have afforded to return to Skye without his help. I had to live in the Lowlands to earn my living.’ Her eyes flashed, ‘Both of you have fine houses, much grander than mine. You could afford to buy them for yourselves. I’ve had to make my own way as a widow … and one who was unjustly treated.’

John reached out to touch her trembling hand, ‘We’ve no wish to upset you or abuse your kind hospitality. I know what sterling work you have done for our cause. Your songs have touched so many hearts. But battle lines are hardening now. Landlords as a class are our enemy and we can’t make exceptions for the one or two who are more humane.’

Màiri sighed, shaking her head, ‘For the first time in my life I feel old. I can’t understand these new ideas.’ Her solid form sagged and shrank back in her chair. A heavy silence fell. Murdoch stared hard at The Clach, willing him to be quiet.

‘You’re a bard Màiri and bards are expected to be a law unto themselves. Now I’m afraid that we must continue our journey before nightfall. Your
strupag
has revived us for the next meeting.’

After they left she sat for a long time, staring into the fire. When she was a child she used to gaze at the flames, willing them to show her a vision of her future, but now all she could see was glowing peats. She felt as if she was being left behind. Down in Glasgow she had a position. People looked up to her. Maybe it had been a mistake to come home.

They sat buttressed by their deep leather armchairs in the shabby opulence of the Oxford and Cambridge Club. Both were tall, striking figures although Sir William Harcourt at six feet four inches was taller and broader than Lachlan MacDonald. Glasses of malt whisky waited at their elbows and a fug of smoke coiled from Harcourt’s cigar, braced between his fleshy lips.

‘I’m grateful, Home Secretary, for the opportunity to talk to you about the situation in the Isle of Skye. I hope I can give you an accurate report of what’s happening there. There are so many highly coloured newspaper accounts about lawlessness and rebellion,’ Lachlan spoke in a quiet but emphatic voice.

‘Yes, indeed, lurid tales of landowners being kidnapped and forced to appear before a jury of crofters and other similar nonsense. You’re a landowner yourself, of course, albeit an unusual one. I’ve been told that you’re known as the richest man on Skye.’

Lachlan grimaced.

Harcourt continued, ‘Whether true or not your fortune was honestly earned in the colonies, rather than inherited wealth. I also heard the interesting observation that you are the only landlord on the island who can safely venture out in a pony and trap. I take that to mean that your tenants have enough regard for you not to hurl missiles at you when you appear. If we were talking about Ireland those missiles would be bullets but in the Highlands only clods of earth or stones. An affront to the dignity but not deadly.’ He removed his cigar to expel smoke and to grin broadly.

Lachlan smiled politely, ‘It’s taken injustice on an unimaginable scale to rouse the slumbering rage of the Highlanders. It would be a black day indeed if warships were sent against such loyal and long suffering people. The last time such a force was sent was against the Jacobite rebellion, one hundred and fifty years ago.’

‘I know the history,’ Harcourt replied curtly, ‘You’ve no need to convince me of their loyalty. I’ve spent many summers sailing in the Hebrides. I’ve a deep regard – nay sympathy – for the people there. The Highlanders, and the Irish for that matter, have legitimate grievances. Some of the landlords in both countries have brought discredit to their class by conduct which no circumstances could justify. However, Her Majesty’s Government will not countenance violence. I have no compunction at striking down the Irish Dynamitards with their wicked bomb plots but,
entre nous
,’ here he leant forward and spoke in a stage whisper, ‘I have been begged by the landowners to send troops to Skye but on no account should they be from Highland regiments. What a damnable admission!’

The glassy blue of his eyes was bleak as winter seas. He sank back, his ageing gladiator’s face drooping with weariness, ‘Would to God that I could be like Pontius Pilate and wipe my hands of ruthless landowners and vicious officials.’ He stared hard at Lachlan who kept his dark, deep set eyes expressionless.

‘I’m concerned that violence could erupt in Skye at this difficult time when the Government has so many other urgent matters to deal with. I sense you’re an honourable man. We’re both pragmatists, younger sons who’ve had to make our own way in the world.’ He sighed heavily, ‘Everyone bombards me with their opinion. Her Majesty says that she can’t understand why her dear Highlanders have become so difficult. Her solution is mass emigration.’

Lachlan gritted his teeth, ‘That idea was tried before and has caused the groundswell of opposition we see now,’ he retorted
sharply. Then he added hastily, ‘Although of course Her Majesty is entitled to her views on the subject.’

‘Even when they’re wrong,’ Harcourt grinned wolfishly, clamping his teeth around his cigar. ‘I merely quoted the Queen, Sir. I didn’t say I agreed with her sentiments. On the contrary, I believe the crofters should have security of tenure and the landlords manage their estates properly, with humanity and restraint. However, as Home Secretary I can’t turn a blind eye if crofters break the law of the land and attack sheriff officers who are only carrying out their duty in delivering summonses.’ He took a sip of his malt, swishing it appreciatively around his teeth before placing the glass down firmly. Lachlan waited, alert and watchful as a heron.

Harcourt took a deep breath and cleared his throat, ‘Now, Lord Napier. I can’t criticise him publicly of course, but he has fanned the flames of discontent by raising false hopes. Advocating fair rents is acceptable but his fantastical scheme for recreating townships is another matter. He’s allowed the crofters to believe they will be given more land by Act of Parliament. As if the Government could confiscate landlords’ property and hand it over to the crofters!’

Both men shook their heads at the preposterousness of such an idea. Then Harcourt leaned forward with a boyish chuckle to tap the arm of Lachlan’s chair, ‘Come on, tell me more about the two characters who are screaming for gunboats. What are Ivory and MacDonald really like?’

Lachlan took a slow sip from his glass to give himself time to compose his answer. He was the cautious stalker while Harcourt was the sportsman who would squeeze his trigger too early, spooking the stag, ‘Well, if I start with Alexander MacDonald. He’s been the factor for Lord MacDonald – and many other landowners – for a considerable time. Alasdair Ruaidh, Red Alick
is his nickname. He’s a decent man and his family has a long history on Skye.’

‘He also has the nickname of “The uncrowned king of Skye” I believe.’

Lachlan gave a sharp barking laugh, ‘His grandfather, Dr Alexander MacDonald, was known as An Dotair Bàn – the
fair-haired
Doctor – and was well regarded. He too was a factor. The tenants liked him even though he used to go into their homes, opening all the windows to clear the peat smoke out and force fresh air on them. “But the smoke keeps the midges at bay,” they complained. His grandson wants to be fair but he’s become the scapegoat for the people’s anger against the landowners. His pride was hurt by the mockery he received at the trial of the Braes men. He’s like a sort of Gulliver, tied down fast by the laws he’s trying to enforce. The worry of it all has aged him prematurely.’

‘That sounds like a fair assessment. What about William Ivory?’ prompted Harcourt with a gleam of malice in his eye, ‘Not a man renowned for his diplomacy. If only the wretched homunculus would resign,’ he spluttered.

Lachlan’s lips curled into a smile despite himself.

‘I know I’m being indiscreet but the man has driven me to distraction,’ continued Harcourt, ‘Surely he can see that the dangers we have in Ireland; the murders in Phoenix Park, the risk of an armed uprising, might well need a military response while the agitation in Skye is only a skirmish in comparison. He seems to be determined to whip up hysteria so that he can force me into sending a gunboat. Have you any influence over the demented midget?’

‘I wish I had. Alasdair Ruaidh and Sheriff Spiers, both sensible men, can’t control him. I believe Ivory is determined to exact revenge for what he sees as the humiliations he suffered at the hands of the crofters. Fool he may be but he’s a fool who can cause a great deal of harm.’

He looked hard at the Home Secretary, ‘I think you’re warning me that the gunboat is likely to come. If our pocket Napoleon gets his marines, what will their orders be?’

Harcourt grunted, ‘From what I’ve heard Ivory’s tactics are to lead from the rear.’

Lachlan’s gaze didn’t falter, ‘He’s a ridiculous man but a dangerous one too. I must press you, Home Secretary, on this matter. Would the troops open fire if crofters resisted the police when they were trying to make an arrest? Would they enter the houses of tenants who had arrears of rent? Would they break up public meetings? I fear another Peterloo Massacre and the disorder that would follow.’

Harcourt crushed his cigar and stared back, his stony face reddening, ‘It’s not your place, Sir, to question my possible orders in a hypothetical situation. I have told you I have no inclination to send an expedition at all.’

Lachlan continued, unflinching, ‘I believe you have also intimated that your hand could be forced in this matter. The crofters would see it as a terrible betrayal if armed soldiers were used against them. After all, generations of Highlanders have fought and died valiantly for Queen and country, at Waterloo and in the Crimea. The Isle of Skye sent ten thousand fighting men, six hundred officers and twenty one generals to fight for our nation between 1780 and 1810 alone.’

He watched mesmerised as the veins in Harcourt’s forehead bulged and his eyes blazed. Lachlan remembered the time years ago when he was in India and a tiger had suddenly burst out of the forest ahead of him. He had held the animal’s ferocious glare while quietening his terrified horse. Then, as now, fear hung suspended for a breathless moment in time. Finally the tiger had turned around and loped away. Now Harcourt exhaled loudly and unclenched his fists.

‘Very well. If the gunboat were to be sent I would make it clear to the Lord Advocate that the troops would not under any circumstances be used to carry out police duties. They could march harmlessly around the island looking suitably martial, making young women’s hearts flutter and satisfying Ivory’s desire for glory. They would show the flag in the disturbed areas.’

‘As if Skye were some outpost of Empire?’

Harcourt grimaced but then adjusted his mouth into a half smile, ‘Come on now, that’s the best I can offer. Remember I’m a friend of the Highland people.’ He rubbed a large hand over his face, making it crumple like a creased handkerchief, ‘Politics is a hard trade. My family were all Tories. Tories don’t need policies but I believed that inactivity was not enough. So I horrified my family by becoming a Liberal. Now a Liberal government has to have policies or it would be like a doctor without patients. So we set up the Napier Commission to recommend changes to the land laws. Now we’re blamed because the Commission doesn’t meet every demand made. You’re known as an exemplary landowner but I would wager that you’ve been criticised by discontented tenants.’

‘Yes. I have. I’ve been publicly blamed for actions taken by my predecessor and lectured to by Radical gentlemen who told me that all property is theft. However, they are a small minority and the Skye crofters are almost to a man decent and God fearing. So it grieves me if they are treated harshly because the authorities imagine that they are Fenians.’

‘You’ve my word that any troops would only be used to show the government’s authority, not as armed police.’

‘I thank you for that assurance. We should offer a toast to the brave men of Skye.’

Harcourt stretched out his legs and raised his glass, ‘And we must drink to the downfall of Emperor Ivory, too. I’ve said
how much I love the Highlands. Let me tell you about the first occasion I travelled there. I was staying in Argyllshire and we were out for a gentle stroll one night when I spotted a magnificent horned head grazing on the hill. In the gloaming it looked like a truly mighty stag. So I rushed back to the house to seize my gun. I advanced cautiously on the beast and once I was close enough I put my finger to the trigger and …’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘… then a voice boomed in my ear, “You’re not gaen to shoot the meenister’s goat are ye?” There, I thought that would make you laugh. My friend Millais was with me and he’s always telling that story at my expense. He claims it’s the artist’s duty to mock the politician’s pretensions.’

They sat a little longer, talking warily about lighter matters. When he walked out into the street later Lachlan mused about how his duty seemed so often to be coaxing people into reasonable behaviour, whether it was a minister of the Crown touchy about his authority or vengeful crofters set on burning down a man’s house because they suspected, with no proof, that he had committed incest with his sister. Perhaps tigers were simpler to deal with.