Entry Island

My horror and confusion is absolute, and it is only the restraining arm of my father that stops me from getting to my feet and shouting out in protest. I watch in total stupefaction as the men, women and children of the village are herded on to the jetty by constables in uniform wielding long wooden batons. There are boys I was at school with being struck across the arms and legs by those stout ash truncheons. Women and girls, too. Kicked and punched. They have with them, it seems, only such belongings as they have been able to carry from their homes. And I see for the first time the rowing boat ferrying its human cargo from the jetty to the tall ship.

Finally I find my voice. ‘What’s happening?’

My father’s own voice is grim as he responds through clenched teeth. ‘They’re clearing Sgagarstaigh.’

‘Clearing Sgagarstaigh of what?’

‘Of people, son.’

I shake my head, perplexed. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘They’ve been clearing folk off the land all over the Highlands ever since the government defeated the Jacobites at Culloden.’

‘Jacobites?’

My father glares at me in exasperation. ‘Jesus, son, did they teach you nothing at school?’ Then he shakes his head angrily. ‘Aye, right enough, maybe they wouldn’t. They say that history is only written by the victors.’ He raises his head, drawing phlegm into his mouth, and spitting into the flow of water that tumbles down the hill. ‘But I heard it from my father, who heard it from his. And now you’re hearing it from me.’

A cheer, carried to us on the edge of the rain, draws our eyes back to the chaos unravelling below, and we see that the roof of one of the blackhouses has fallen in, sending a shower of sparks into the air to be carried off in the wind.

My father turns back to me. ‘The Jacobites were supporters of the Stuart kings that once ruled Scotland and England, son. Just about a hundred years ago there was an uprising all across the Highlands. Jacobites who wanted to restore the Stuarts to the throne. With the Young Pretender, Prince Charlie, at their head, they marched south and came within striking distance of London. But in the end they were driven back, and finally crushed at a place called Culloden, near Inverness.’ He sucked in a long, slow breath and shook his head. ‘It was a slaughter, son. And afterwards, the government sent a battalion of criminals from English jails on a rampage through the Highlands. They killed Gaelic speakers and raped their women. And in London the government passed laws that made it illegal to wear the kilt or play the bagpipes. If you spoke the Gaelic in a court of law you were deemed not to have spoken at all, and so there was no way of getting justice.’

It is the first time I have heard any of this, and I feel a growing sense of outrage.

‘The government wanted to destroy the old clan system, so there could never be another uprising. They bribed some of the old clan chiefs, and sold off the estates of others to wealthy Lowlanders and Englishmen. And the new breed of lairds, like Guthrie, and Matheson, and Gordon of Clunie, wanted the people off their land. You see, sheep are more profitable than people, son.’

‘Sheep?’

‘Aye, they want to turn over all the land to sheep.’

‘But how can they do that?’

My father’s laugh was full of bitterness and no humour at all. ‘The landowners can do what they like, boy. They have the law on their side.’

I shake my head. ‘But... how?’

‘Because the law is made to keep the powerful in power, and the rich wealthy. As well as the poor in poverty. Tenants like us can barely survive on what we produce on our crofts. Well, you know that! But it doesn’t stop us having to pay rent, even though we have no money. So the landlords issue notices of eviction. If we can’t pay up we get thrown off. Burned out of our homes so we can’t go back to them. Forced on to boats and sent off across the sea to Canada and America. That way they’re rid of us once and for all. The bastards even pay our passage. Some of them. They must reckon it’s cheap at the price.’

I find it hard to take in everything my father is saying. I am bewildered. I had always thought that Baile Mhanais and everything I know here would be for ever. ‘But what if you don’t want to go?’

‘Pfah!’ My father’s contempt explodes from his mouth like spittle. ‘You don’t have any choice, son. Your life is not your own. Like I’ve told you before, the laird owns the land and everything on it. And that includes us.’ He removes his cap to sweep his hair back from his forehead before pulling it back on again. ‘Even under the old clan chiefs. If they wanted us to go and fight in whatever war they’d given their support to, we had to drop everything and march off to battle. Give them our lives. Even if it was for some bloody cause that meant nothing to us.’

More shouts from below draw our attention.

‘Jesus,’ my father almost whispers. ‘The poor buggers are jumping off the ship now.’