God's Highlander (26 page)

‘An administrator with very little power of administration. It's an intolerable situation.'

Charles Graham stood up from the table, pushing back against his chair so hard it crashed noisily to the floor behind him. ‘My obligations to the estate of the late Lord Kilmalie mean I must carry out a survey. It doesn't decree that I need be present. I shall return to Edinburgh first thing in the morning.'

‘Will someone please explain what's happening?' Wyatt had been a confused onlooker until now.

‘Yes, tell him, John. The minister has a right to know. Mr Cameron, too. Tell them how you've persuaded the new Lord Kilmalie to give you absolute power over the Kilmalie estates – and its tenants. Full executive powers “for as long as you are making a profit”, I believe is the wording. Answerable to no one but a man in far-off Australia! Here….'

Charles Graham picked up the documents and threw them down the table towards Wyatt. ‘Read for yourself how one man's ruthless ambition has been achieved. Read it – and then warn the people of the estate what they can expect from a man who does this to his friends. God help them, Minister. I doubt if anyone else can.'

T
HE SNOWS REACHED the Highlands earlier than usual in the winter of 1842. Travelling from the Arctic circle, the wind piled cloud upon dark grey cloud. Then one day the wind suddenly dropped and the clouds no longer sped across the sky but hung over the mountain-tops, swollen and menacing. The Highlanders waited anxiously as the gap between sky and land closed. It seemed that when a sharp mountain-top touched the plump belly of the grey mass overhead its contents would empty upon the Highland landscape.

This was exactly how it occurred. As the grey of day became the black of night, the cloud sagged upon the heights of Ben Nevis. An eerie silence gripped the land, and when Eskaig awoke the next morning four feet of snow blanketed the village and surrounding mountains.

Wyatt had seen Mairi only once since their visit together to the Munro home, and it had been an unsatisfactory meeting. Mairi came to church with her mother, father, six brothers and Tibbie. Somehow, Wyatt never seemed able to speak to her without one of the others being present. Now he knew they would probably not meet again until the spring.

The weather was not allowed to interfere with the important church conference held in Edinburgh halfway through November. Minister Coll Kennedy came from Letterfinlay by boat, travelling along Loch Lochy and the lower reaches of the Caledonian Canal to Corpach. Here he joined Wyatt and two other local ministers in Donald McKay's steam-launch for the passage to Glasgow,
en route
to Edinburgh. With the future of the Kilmalie tenants so uncertain, Wyatt had thought of cancelling his trip to Edinburgh. However, Garrett was unlikely to make a move against the Highlanders in such weather, and
the conference was vitally important to the future of the Church in Scotland.

It was a rough and uncomfortable voyage, almost as though the Lord was putting their resolution to the test. For the whole of the journey the four preachers discussed the future of the church to which they had dedicated their lives. From all over Scotland hundreds of ministers were doing the same as they converged upon the Scots capital.

Arrangements had been made for the ministers to be lodged in houses of church members. Coll Kennedy and Wyatt were billeted with a very elderly widow who was terrified when one of the Edinburgh elders informed her that her charges were from the Highlands. Her relief when she saw they were not coarse, armed or red-bearded was evident. However, Coll Kennedy was disgruntled when she informed the two clergymen she did not allow drinking, smoking or swearing inside her house.

‘If I come here again, I'll wear my tartan, carry a claymore with me and walk in shouting my clan motto. She'll not care what I do afterwards, just as long as I keep quiet.'

‘What is the motto of the Kennedy clan?' Wyatt was curious. As far as he knew, his own family had neither tartan nor motto.

Coll Kennedy had said more than he intended and he appeared slightly self-conscious. ‘It's French. “Avise la fin.” '

“‘Consider the end.” ' Wyatt grinned. ‘It's very apt, Coll. Our landlady's rules might succeed in saving you for greater things.'

‘I don't think the family is particularly noted for observing the motto. One of them, some centuries ago, roasted the Abbot of Crossraguel in his castle. It couldn't have enhanced his chances of a place in heaven, although it
did
vastly increase his temporal land-holdings. '

The two men were sharing a room, and Wyatt paused in his unpacking. He realised he knew very little about the happy-go-lucky preacher from Letterfinlay.

‘Which of your ancestors
lost
the family fortunes and made it to heaven?'

‘Oh, it was never lost. The sixteenth earl is my brother. Another brother is a baronet. We're also distantly related to the lords of Kilmalie.'

Wyatt's open-mouthed astonishment brought a smile to the face of Coll Kennedy. ‘Don't let it overawe you, Wyatt.
I'm
never likely to have
a title. There are six older brothers between me and the earldom. My father was in the habit of telling his friends I'd joined the Church in order to gain a heavenly inheritance, because I'll never have one here on earth.'

‘With such a background why are you fighting the landowners – people like your own brother – over the issue of patronage?'

‘Being well-bred doesn't mean I have no principles.' Coll Kennedy's indignation lasted only a matter of seconds. ‘While we're on the subject of principles, I
refuse
to set off on an unknown journey without drinking to whatever lies ahead….'

With a wink at his companion, Coll Kennedy produced a bottle of whisky from his baggage. ‘Share this with me, Wyatt. God knows – and He alone – it's certainly an unknown road we'll all be travelling if the Convocation votes to stand or fall on the patronage issue. There's no way we can retreat with honour.'

 

On 17 November 1842, 474 dissatisfied ministers of the Church of Scotland assembled in St George's Church, Edinburgh, to listen to Dr Chalmers, one of the Church's most respected ministers. He took as his text ‘Unto the upright there ariseth light in the darkness'. He proceeded forcibly, and with great skill, to relate his text to the darkness that had caused the Church to stray from the path wherein lay its duty.

It was the largest gathering of ministers Edinburgh had ever witnessed, and the people of the Scots capital sensed they were bearing witness to an historic occasion. When the service was over the ministers adjourned to Roxburgh Church, close to the university where Wyatt had been a student. Along the route the pavements were lined by silent members of the Church, most with heads bowed in prayer, calling for wisdom to prevail at the Convocation.

The ministers were anxious to reach the right decision. Their livelihood and the future of their families were at stake, along with their Christian principles.

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?'