God's Highlander (2 page)

As the three men joined the others, Wyatt caught another brief glimpse of the dark-haired girl, her face flushed with anger. Then the Highlanders began to walk away, and Wyatt lowered his stick, greatly relieved.

John Garrett was less pleased. ‘You should have kept out of things and allowed the militia to deal with them,' he said angrily to Wyatt. ‘It's high time they were taught a lesson.'

‘I've come here as their minister and will need their acceptance before I can be inducted. It won't be given if half of them are cut down by militiamen within minutes of my arrival.'

John Garrett sat his horse and looked at Wyatt thoughtfully for some moments. Then he shrugged. ‘The people of Eskaig will have little say in your induction. You've been appointed by Lord Kilmalie, and that's an end to the matter. Anyway, the rabble you saved are from the mountains. I doubt if they've ever seen the inside of a church, or spoken to a minister before. They're parasites. The sooner they're driven off good sheep-grazing land the better it will be for everyone.'

‘Missionaries sent out by the Church are tramping thousands of miles through the jungles of Africa to bring God to the heathens, Mr Garrett. Are you saying I should abandon my own people because there are a few miles of Highlands between them and my kirk?'

‘I didn't appoint you as their minister. What you do here is between you and Lord Kilmalie. Just don't get in my way, that's all.'

The factor jerked his horse about. A lad of about ten was hurrying along the bank of the loch, away from the village. John Garrett called out to him: ‘You there … boy. Come here. Help the minister to carry his things to the manse.'

For a moment the boy hesitated, and it seemed he might refuse. A woman's voice called from the crowd of retreating villagers and, sulkily, the boy came to where Wyatt stood beside the mounted factor.

John Garrett scowled down at the boy. ‘If I ever have occasion to call you again, you'll come running, you understand? What's your name?'

‘Ewan Munro … sir.'

The scowl had not completely disappeared when the factor returned his attention to Wyatt.

‘You're expected at my house for dinner tonight. You'll find it about three miles along the road, this side of Corpach. My wife and daughter consider it their duty to wring the last drop of information from anyone foolish enough to leave the city for the Highlands. If you've another suit in your luggage, I suggest you wear it. That one stinks of the fish Donald McKay carried in his boat on the last trip.'

W
YATT COULD NOT draw a single word from Ewan Munro during the half-mile walk from the jetty to the minister's manse. It was evident the boy was poor. His ragged clothing, bare feet and skinny limbs bore witness to this, but he refused to be drawn on the subject of his family. Even when asked a direct question the boy would only grunt ambiguously.

Wyatt's bag and trunk were deposited unceremoniously on the doorstep of the single-storey whitewashed cottage, and Ewan Munro walked away, still without speaking. His manner was untypical of the respect usually shown by the Scots to their churchmen. Wyatt would have a hard time gaining the respect of these people, but the rules governing the Church of Scotland were clear: a minister had to be approved by the community he was to serve before he could be inducted into their parish.

He did not doubt they
would
eventually accept his induction as their new preacher, albeit with some reluctance. Only a very brave or a very foolhardy man would openly defy Lord Kilmalie and refuse to accept the landlord's nominee. Nevertheless, Wyatt would need the support of his congregation if he was to make a success of his appointment.

The manse was a comfortable little house, kept neat and tidy. There was food in the cupboard, too, although Wyatt doubted whether such thoughtfulness had emanated from the villagers.

Wyatt spent a little time exploring the house and then made his way to the church.
His
‘kirk'.

Situated close to the manse, the stone-built church was probably the largest building in Eskaig. As an acknowledgement of its status it possessed a slate roof, the only one in the village. The inside of the
building was whitewash-clean and starkly simple. As he stood in the pulpit and looked around him, Wyatt tried to imagine what it would be like to preach a sermon to a packed church.

After spending a while enjoying such self-indulgence, Wyatt descended the five wooden steps from the pulpit and for some minutes remained on his knees in front of the altar with its simple wooden cross before going outside to the churchyard. Here in a quiet corner he eventually found what he was looking for. It was a simple stone headstone on which was inscribed: ‘Reverend Donald Jamieson. Died serving his fellow men, 19 September 1836.'

Looking down at the grave, memories of his childhood flooded back to Wyatt. Childhood days on the Isle of Lewis – his
Eilean an Fhraoich
, or ‘Island of Heather' – but here the
happy
memories came to an end.

In common with many other landlords, the proprietor of Lewis had tasted London life – and the simple pleasure of living among the Highlands and Islands of Scotland palled against all the capital had to offer.

Unfortunately, London society life required money. The landlord's first step was to raise the rents of the tenants. They were doubled … trebled … and doubled again. Then the discovery was made that larger profits could be made by clearing tenants from their holdings and grazing sheep on the hills and in the glens of the islands. Soon flocks of the bleating woolly creatures were being driven north in their thousands and tens of thousands. Tiny cloven hoofs ground the proud traditions of the clansmen into the soft turf on which they had so often spilled their blood when fighting their laird's battles.

Turned out of their homes and dispossessed of rented lands, the Highlanders were resettled on rocky shores useless for sheep-grazing. When they complained the Highlanders were told they must learn to earn a living from the sea. Disillusioned and bewildered by all that was happening about them, many set sail for new lands. Others – and they were becoming fewer with every passing year – clung tenaciously to the only way of life they had ever known. Defying landlords, sheep and all that nature itself sent against them, they fought to retain their identity.

On the Isle of Lewis, Wyatt's father exhausted himself fighting for justice for his people, but his efforts were in vain. He left with the last of his parishioners and trod the long road from the Isles. A weary and defeated man, he dropped dead outside the village of Eskaig. His death
was attributed to ‘natural causes', but those who were closest to him knew he died of a broken heart.

While all this was happening, Wyatt had been gaining renown as a fearless soldier in the Kaffir Wars in Natal, in far-off South Africa. Landing in Africa as a sergeant, Wyatt saved the life of his commanding officer in action and succeeded in beating off an attack by warring Zulus. For this feat he was commissioned as a lieutenant on the field of battle. Twelve months later, by now a captain, but broken in health, he was in a ship heading for Scotland. What had promised to be a brilliant career was brought to an end by a recurring fever which struck down great numbers of the British soldiers in Natal.

The officer whose life had been saved by Wyatt died of the same fever. He was the heir of Lord Kilmalie, landlord of Eskaig. The Scots peer never forgot the man who had saved his son's life, albeit for only a brief period. It was Lord Kilmalie who helped Wyatt through university, and when the living of Eskaig became vacant there was only one minister the titled landlord would have there.

Wyatt was still engrossed in memories of the past when he set off to keep his dinner engagement with the factor and his family later that evening. He was no more than half a mile from Eskaig when the train of his thoughts was broken by the sound of shouting from the undergrowth, close to the loch's edge. Moments later a barefoot boy broke from the tangle of gorse and heather. It was Ewan Munro.

The boy was carrying a fair-sized salmon in his hands and when he saw Wyatt an expression of alarm came to his face. Then he turned and fled, vanishing into the foliage on the other side of the road as quickly as he had appeared.

‘Hey! Wait a minute….' Wyatt ran to where the boy had disappeared and called again. He could hear the crashing of undergrowth ahead of him along a narrow overgrown glen that appeared to follow the course of a stream, deep into the mountains, away from the loch.

Acting on an impulse, Wyatt followed the path of the boy for perhaps ten minutes. When he stopped he could no longer hear sounds of the boy's flight. He continued the chase until he came up against a barrier of almost impenetrable thorn-bushes and was forced to admit defeat. Ewan Munro had given him the slip.

The shouting near the water's edge had moved off towards Eskaig
by now. Whoever was searching for the ragged young boy was not aware he had made good his escape to the mountains.

Thoughtfully, Wyatt made his way back to the road. Seeing Ewan Munro had perturbed him. He was not concerned that the boy had so obviously poached a salmon from the loch – he looked as though he had need of it – but where was the boy going? Were there others not far away as badly off as himself?

Wyatt mulled over the questions until he saw the houses of Corpach in the distance. Almost immediately he came upon the house occupied by Lord Kilmalie's factor.

If the house had been built with the intention of impressing those who saw it with the importance of its occupier, it was an undoubted success. Built of stone, it was a rounded turret-like structure, standing a slim four storeys high. Tall pines flanked a long driveway and also marked the boundaries of the house and its extensive gardens.

The inside of the house fulfilled all the promise of its exterior. Shown in by a servant, Wyatt was met in the hallway by the two Garrett women.

The factor's wife, Charlotte, was a small, thin, grey woman with such an air of tiredness about her that Wyatt wondered whether she was not in fact ill. She greeted Wyatt unenthusiastically, her hand as limp as her expression. Then she introduced the preacher to her daughter.

Evangeline Garrett was everything her mother failed to be. Not tall, the factor's daughter was well rounded in a way that had been considered highly fashionable only twenty years before. She also chattered incessantly, and Wyatt quickly learned that John Garrett had not exaggerated his daughter's interest in the latest news from Edinburgh and Glasgow.

The factor did not appear to be in the house, and in answer to Wyatt's question Evangeline said: ‘Someone came to the house to say there were poachers somewhere along the loch. Father went out to help catch them…. But, tell me, what are people talking about in Edinburgh? Is there anything new happening there? And the clothes…. What are the women wearing?'

Wyatt smiled. ‘My visit to Edinburgh was brief. I stayed at Lord Kilmalie's house for only two nights and spent the days in the office of the Moderator. The women who came there wore bonnets and cloaks, as far as I noticed. As for Glasgow, the parish where I worked contains
the worst slums in Scotland. Clothes worn there have been handed down by so many generations it's impossible to tell if they were
ever
fashionable.'

Evangeline found his reply disappointing, but some interest returned when her mother's questioning brought out the fact that the newly arrived Eskaig minister had served with the Army in the Kaffir Wars in Africa.

Wyatt was in the middle of relating some of his experiences in Africa when a loud voice was heard calling from the hall. Charlotte Garrett started as though caught out in some misdemeanour and hurried from the room. Moments later John Garrett strode in. He made no apologies for not being at home to greet his invited guest. Indeed, his opening words contained an implied criticism.

‘I expected to meet you on the road. I've been nigh to Eskaig chasing poachers. They're becoming so brazen we'll have them stealing fish from the garden pond if we don't put a stop to them.'

Wyatt remembered the scared and ragged boy he had seen on the road. ‘Perhaps they're hungry.'

‘Hungry?' The factor dismissed the suggestion scornfully. ‘They're
lazy
. Too damned lazy to work for a living.
They're
the reason Lord Kilmalie's estate isn't providing him with the return it should. The Highlands won't begin to pay their way until we get rid of tenants and cottars and bring in sheep.'

Wyatt bit back an angry retort based on his own experiences. He did not want to begin his ministry in Eskaig by falling out with the factor.

He was saved from having to make a reply when Evangeline handed a well-filled glass of whisky to her father.

‘Drink this and forget about your old work for one evening. I'm fed up with hearing about poachers and sheep and Highland clearances. Wyatt's the first person to come to Eskaig from a city for
months
. I want to hear of the things that are happening in the
real
world. Where people talk about parties and the theatre and can go visiting dressed respectably because they know they won't arrive wet, bedraggled and covered in mud.'

If John Garrett noticed his daughter's use of the minister's first name, he made no comment, and his manner softened as he looked at her.

‘I doubt if a preacher has an eye for fashions – and the Scots aren't the best-dressed women in the world, not even in Edinburgh.'

‘Oh, I don't know. I expect Wyatt met quite a few fashionable ladies while he was staying with Lord Kilmalie – as his guest.'

It was apparent from the very casualness of her manner that Evangeline knew well the effect the information would have on her factor father. She was not disappointed.

John Garrett lowered his whisky-glass and stared at Wyatt. ‘You stayed at Lord Kilmalie's house? As a guest?'

The appointment of a minister to a living was a comparatively minor matter. Most preachers were selected without the landowner ever seeing them. His appointment would be dealt with by those paid to administer the landlord's estates. For a titled landowner to entertain a minister in his own home was almost unheard of!

Before Wyatt could reply, Evangeline added more fuel to the speculative fire she had lit in the mind of her father.

‘Wyatt was in the Army with Lord Kilmalie's son – the one who died. He was an officer, too – a captain.'

John Garrett made a rapid reassessment of the man standing before him. Only
gentlemen
became officers in the Queen's army. Wyatt Jamieson might be no more than a minister in the Church of Scotland now, but there was more to his background than was usual –
and
he had the ear of Lord Kilmalie.

The factor was a very important man in this remote Highland community but he, too, was an employee. He and the Edinburgh-based landowner did not always agree on the methods needed to keep the Highland estate profitable – especially when it involved the forcible eviction of peasant tenants. Managing the Eskaig estate was easier when Lord Kilmalie was kept in the dark about such activities. John Garrett wanted things to remain that way.

‘Well! You've led an interesting life, Minister. Small wonder Evangeline seems delighted with your company. She seldom meets anyone who can talk of anything other than sheep, fishing or poaching. Your coming here will be good for her. You'll find her good company; she's a bright girl. A
clever
girl, though I say so myself. But your glass is empty. Evangeline, give the minister another whisky while I go off and find your mother. It's time we ate.'

Evangeline poured Wyatt another generous drink, and as he took it
from her he thought he heard the sound of voices raised in argument somewhere towards the rear of the house. The factor's daughter immediately suggested that Wyatt should come with her to see the garden she had designed. It was dusk outside, and it would soon be impossible to see anything, but Wyatt concurred. It was clear she was trying to keep him from hearing the argument between her parents.

As they reached the front door John Garrett bellowed angrily. Then there came the sound of running feet as Charlotte Garrett ran across the stone-flagged hall and fled upstairs, her face turned from Evangeline and their guest.