The History of the Highland Clearances 29

The History of the Highland Clearances 29

The mother, brother and sisters set off in opposite directions, among the rocks, over hills,

through moor and moss, searching every place, and calling aloud for

them by name, but they could discover no trace of them. Night was now

approaching and with it all hopes of finding them, till next day, were

fast dying away. The mother was now returning “home” (alas! to what a

_home_), the shades of night closed in, and still she had about three

miles to travel. She made for the footpath, scrutinized every bush, and

looked round every rock and hillock, hoping to find them. Sometimes she

imagined that she saw her two lasses walking before her at some short

distance, but it was an illusion caused by bushes just about their

size. The moon now emerged from behind a cloud and spread its light on

the path and surrounding district. A sharp frost set in, and ice began

to form on the little pools. Passing near a rock and some bushes, where

the children of the tenants used to meet when herding the cattle, she

felt as if something beckoned her to search there; this she did, and

found her two little children fast asleep, beside a favourite bush, the

youngest with her head resting on the breast of the eldest! Their own

version of their mishap is this: that when they saw the officers they

crept out and ran in the direction of Inverie to tell their mother;

that they missed the footpath, then wandered about crying, and finally

returned, they knew not how, to their favourite herding ground, and

being completely exhausted, fell asleep. The mother took the young one

on her back, sent the other on before her, and soon joined her other

children near the ruins of their old dwelling. They put a few sticks up

to an old fence, placed a blanket over it, and slept on the bare ground

that night. Macdugald soon returned from his distant journey, found his

family shelterless, and again set about erecting some refuge for them

from the wreck of the old buildings. Again, however, the local manager

appeared with levellers, turned them all adrift, and in a few moments

pulled down and destroyed all that he had built up. Matters continued

in this way for a week or two until Macdugald’s health became serious,

and then a neighbouring farmer gave him and his family temporary

shelter in an out-house; and for this act of disinterested humanity

he has already received some most improper and threatening letters

from the managers on the estate of Knoydart. It is very likely that

in consequence of this interference Macdugald is again taking shelter

among the rocks or amid the wreck of his former residence.

 

John Mackinnon, a cottar, aged 44, with a wife and six children,

had his house pulled down, and had no place to put his head in,

consequently he and his family, for the first night or two, had to

burrow among the rocks near the shore! When he thought that the factor

and his party had left the district, he emerged from the rocks,

surveyed the ruins of his former dwelling, saw his furniture and other

effects exposed to the elements, and now scarcely worth the lifting.

The demolition was so complete that he considered it utterly impossible

to make any use of the ruins of the old house. The ruins of an old

chapel, however, were near at hand, and parts of the walls were still

standing; thither Mackinnon proceeded with his family, and having swept

away some rubbish and removed some grass and nettles, they placed a few

cabars up to one of the walls, spread some sails and blankets across,

brought in some meadow hay, and laid it in a corner for a bed, stuck a

piece of iron into the wall in another corner, on which they placed a

crook, then kindled a fire, washed some potatoes, and put a pot on the

fire, and boiled them, and when these and a few fish roasted on the

embers were ready, Mackinnon and his family had _one_ good diet, being

the first regular meal they tasted since the destruction of their house!

 

Mackinnon is a tall man, but poor and unhealthy-looking. His wife is

a poor weak women, evidently struggling with a diseased constitution

and dreadful trials. The boys, Ronald and Archibald, were lying in

“bed”--(may I call a “pickle” hay on the bare ground a bed?)--suffering

from rheumatism and cholic. The other children are apparently healthy

enough as yet, but very ragged. There is no door to their wretched

abode, consequently every breeze and gust that blow have free ingress

to the inmates. A savage from Terra-del-Fuego, or a Red Indian from

beyond the Rocky Mountains, would not exchange huts with these victims,

nor humanity with their persecutors. Mackinnon’s wife was pregnant

when she was turned out of her house among the rocks. In about four

days after she had a premature birth; and this and her exposure to

the elements, and the want of proper shelter and nutritious diet, has

brought on consumption from which there is no chance whatever of her

recovery.

 

There was something very solemn indeed in this scene. Here, amid the

ruins of the old sanctuary, where the swallows fluttered, where the

ivy tried to screen the grey moss-covered stones, where nettles and

grass grew up luxuriously, where the floor was damp, the walls sombre

and uninviting, where there were no doors nor windows, nor roof, and

where the owl, the bat, and the fox used to take refuge, a Christian

family was obliged to take shelter! One would think that as Mackinnon

took refuge amid the ruins of this most singular place, that he would

be let alone, that he would not any longer be molested by man. But,

alas! that was not to be. The manager of Knoydart and his minions

appeared, and invaded this helpless family, even within the walls of

the sanctuary. They pulled down the sticks and sails he set up within

its ruins--put his wife and children out on the cold shore--threw his

tables, stools, chairs, etc., over the walls--burnt up the hay on

which they slept--put out the fire, and then left the district. Four

times have these officers broken in upon poor Mackinnon in this way,

destroying his place of shelter, and sent him and his family adrift on

the cold coast of Knoydart. When I looked in upon these creatures last

week I found them in utter consternation, having just learned that the

officers would appear next day, and would again destroy the huts. The

children looked at me as if I had been a wolf; they crept behind their

father, and stared wildly, dreading I was a law officer. The sight was

most painful. The very idea that, in Christian Scotland, and in the

nineteenth century, these tender infants should be subjected to such

gross treatment reflects strongly upon our humanity and civilization.

Had they been suffering from the ravages of famine, or pestilence,

or war, I could understand it and account for it, but suffering to

gratify the ambition of some unfeeling spectator in brute beasts, I

think it most unwarranted, and deserving the emphatic condemnation of

every Christian man. Had Mackinnon been in arrears of rent, which he

was not, even this would not justify the harsh, cruel, and inhuman

conduct pursued towards himself and his family. No language of mine can

describe the condition of this poor family, exaggeration is impossible.

The ruins of an old chapel is the last place in the world to which a

poor Highlander would resort with his wife and children, unless he was

driven to it by dire necessity. Take another case, that of

 

Elizabeth Gillies, a widow, aged 60 years. This is a most lamentable

case. Neither age, sex, nor circumstance saved this poor creature from

the most wanton and cruel aggression. Her house was on the brow of a

hill, near a stream that formed the boundary between a large sheep farm

and the lands of the tenants of Knoydart. Widow Gillies was warned to

quit like the rest of the tenants, and was offered a passage first to

Australia and then to Canada, but she refused to go, saying she could

do nothing in Canada. The widow, however, made no promises, and the

factor went away. She had then a nice young daughter staying with her,

but ere the vessel that was to convey the Knoydart people away arrived

at Isle Ornsay, this young girl died, and poor Widow Gillies was left

alone. When the time for pulling down the houses arrived, it was hoped

that some mercy would have been shown to this poor, bereaved widow, but

there was none. Widow Gillies was sitting inside her house when the

factor and officers arrived. They ordered her to remove herself and

effects instantly, as they were, they said, to pull down the house!

She asked them where she would remove to; the factor would give no

answer, but continued insisting on her leaving the house. This she at

last positively refused. Two men then took hold of her, and tried to

pull her out by force, but she sat down beside the fire, and would

not move an inch. One of the assistants threw water on the fire and

extinguished it, and then joined the other two in forcibly removing

the poor widow from the house. At first she struggled hard, seized

hold of every post or stone within her reach, taking a death grasp of

each to keep possession. But the officers were too many and too cruel

for her. They struck her over the fingers, and compelled her to let go

her hold, and then all she could do was to greet and cry out murder!

She was ultimately thrust out at the door, from where she crept on her

hands and feet to a dyke side, being quite exhausted and panting for

breath, owing to her hard struggle with three powerful men. Whenever

they got her outside, the work of destruction immediately commenced.

Stools, chairs, tables, cupboard, spinning-wheel, bed, blankets, straw,

dishes, pots, and chest, were thrown out in the gutter. They broke

down the partitions, took down the crook from over the fire-place,

destroyed the hen roosts, and then beat the hens out through the broad

vent in the roof of the house. This done, they set to work on the walls

outside with picks and iron levers. They pulled down the thatch, cut

the couples, and in a few minutes the walls fell out, while the roof

fell in with a dismal crash!

 

When the factor and his party were done with this house, they proceeded

to another district, pulling down and destroying dwelling-places as

they went along. The shades of night at last closed in, and here was

the poor helpless widow sitting like a pelican, alone and cheerless.

Allan Macdonald, a cottar, whose house was also pulled down, ran across

the hill to see how the poor widow had been treated, and found her

moaning beside the dyke. He led her to where his own children had taken

shelter, treated her kindly, and did all he could to comfort her under

the circumstances.

 

When I visited Knoydart I found the poor widow at work, repairing

her shed, and such a shed, and such a dwelling, I never before

witnessed. The poor creature spoke remarkably well, and appeared to

me to be a very sensible woman. I expressed my sympathy for her,

and my disapprobation of the conduct of those who so unmercifully

treated her. She said it was indeed most ungrateful on the part of

the representatives of Glengarry to have treated her so cruelly--that

her predecessors were, from time immemorial, on the Glengarry

estates--that many of them died in defence of, or fighting for, the old

chieftains--and that they had always been true and faithful subjects. I asked why she refused to go to Canada?