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I remained for about a year
in the capacity of tutor in the family of Mr. Robert MacKid,
Sheriff-Substitute of Sutherland, who lived at Kirkton, in the parish of
Golspie. I shall briefly sum up what I remember of this period.
It was a very short time
previous to my residence in Mr. MacKid's family that the first
"Sutherland Clearance" took place. This consisted in the ejection from
their minutely-divided farms of several hundreds of the Sutherlandshire
aborigines, who had from time immemorial been in possession of their
mountain tenements. This sweeping desolation extended over many
parishes, but it fell most heavily on the parish of Kildonan. It was the
device of one William Young, a successful corn-dealer and land-improver.
He rose from indigence, but was naturally a man of taste, of an
ingenious turn of mind, and a shrewd calculator. After realising some
hundreds of pounds by corn-dealing, he purchased from Sir Archibald
Dunbar of Thundertown a small and valueless property in Morayshire
called Inverugie. It lay upon the sea-shore, and, like many properties
of more ancient date, it had been completely covered with sea-sand which
had drifted upon its surface. For this small and worthless spot he paid
a correspondingly small price—about £700—but, tasking his native and
vigorous genius for improvement, he set himself at once to better his
bargain. Making use of a plough of peculiar construction, he turned the
sand down and the rich old soil up, and thus made it one of the most
productive properties in the county. This, with other necessary
improvements, however, involved him in debt; but, just as it became a
question with him how to pay it, his praise in the north as a scientific
improver of land reached the ears of the Stafford family, who, in
connection with their immense wealth, were racked with the anxiety to
improve their Highland estate. As William Young had been so successful
on the estate of Inverugie they thought he could not but be equally so
on the Sutherland estate. Young introduced the depopulating system into
Sutherland. ["Clearances" had, however, been effected in some parts of
Sutherland previous to this period, although to a smaller extent. From
along the banks of the river Oykell, for instance, many families were
evicted, in the year 1780. (Statement by the Rev. Dr. Aird, of Creich).]
This system, during his tenure of office as commissioner on the
Sutherland property, was just at its commencement. It was first brought
to bear on the parish of Kildonan. The whole north and south sides of
the Strath, from Kildonan to Caen on the left bank of the river, and
from Dalcharn to Marrel on the right bank, were, at one fell sweep,
cleared of their inhabitants. The measures for their ejectment had been
taken with such promptness, and were so suddenly and brutally carried
out, as to excite a tumult among the people. Young had as his associate
in the factorship a man of the name of Sellar, who acted in the
subordinate capacity of legal agent and accountant on the estate, and
who, by his unprincipled recklessness in conducting the process of
ejectment, added fuel to the flame. It was said that the people rose
almost en masse, that the constables and officials were resisted and
their lives threatened, and the combination among the peasantry was
represented as assuming at last so alarming an aspect that the
Sheriff-Depute of the county was under the necessity of calling in the
military to quell the riot. A detachment of soldiers was accordingly
sent from Fort-George, a powder magazine was erected at Dornoch, and
every preparation made as for the commencement of a civil war. But the
chief magistrate of the county, shrewdly suspecting the origin of these
reports, ordered back the military, came himself alone among the people,
and instituted a cool and impartial enquiry into their proceedings. The
result was that the formidable riot, which was reported to have for its
objects the murder of Young and Sellar, the expulsion of the
store-farmers, and the burning of Dunrobin Castle, amounted after
all only to this, that a certain number of the people had congregated in
different places and had given vent to their outraged feelings and sense
of oppression in rash and unguarded terms. It could not be proved that a
single act of violence was committed. Sellar laboured hard to involve my
father and mother in the criminality of these proceedings, but he
utterly failed. The peasantry, as fine as any in the world, were treated
by the owners of the soil as "good for nothing but to be cast out and
trodden under feet of men," while the tract of country thus depopulated
was divided into two large sheep farms, one of which was given in lease
to William Cluness of Cracaig, and the other to a Mr. Reid from
Northumberland.
The reckless lordly
proprietors had resolved upon the expulsion of their long-standing and
much-attached tenantry from their widely-extended estates, and the
Sutherland Clearance of 1819 was not only the climax of their system of
oppression for many years before, but the extinction of the last remnant
of the ancient Highland peasantry in the north. As violent tempests send
out before them many a deep and sullen roar, so did the advancing storm
give notice of its approach by various single acts of oppression. I can
yet recall to memory the deep and thrilling sensation which I
experienced, as I sat at the fireside in my rude, little parlour at
Achness, when the tidings of the meditated removal of my poor flock
first reached me from headquarters. It might be about the beginning of
October, 1818. A tenant from the middle of the Strath had been to Rhives,
the residence of Mr. Young, the commissioner, paying his rent. He was
informed, and authorised to tell his neighbours, that the rent for the
half-year, ending in May, 1819, would not be demanded, as it was
determined to lay the districts of Strathnaver and Upper Kildonan under
sheep. This intelligence when first announced was indignantly
discredited by the people. Notwithstanding their knowledge of former
clearances they clung to the hope that the "Ban-mhorair Chataibh" (the
Duchess of Sutherland) would not give her consent to the warning as
issued by her subordinates, and thus deprive herself of her people, as
truly a part of her noble inheritance as were her broad acres. But the
course of a few weeks soon undeceived them. Summonses of ejectment were
issued and despatched all over the district. These must have amounted to
upwards of a thousand, as the population of the Mission alone was 1600
souls, and many more than those of the Mission were ejected. The
summonses were distributed with the utmost preciseness. They were handed
in at every house and hovel alike, be the occupiers of them who or what
they might—minister, catechist, or elder, tenant, or sub-tenant,
out-servant, or cottar—all were made to feel the irresponsible power of
the proprietor. The enormous amount of citations might also be accounted
for by the fact that Air. Peter Sellar had a threefold personal interest
in the whole matter. He was, in the first place, factor on the
Sutherland estate at the time ; then, he was law agent -for the
proprietors; and, lastly, the lessee or tacksman of more than a third of
the county to be cleared of its inhabitants. It may easily be conceived
how such a three-plied cord of worldly interest would bind him over to
greater rigour, and even atrocity, in executing the orders of his
superiors on the wretched people among whom he was thus let loose like a
beast of prey. But the effects produced by these decided measures I now
distinctly remember. Having myself, in common with the rest of my
people, received one of these notices, I resolved that, at the ensuing
term of Martinmas, I would remove from Achness, and go once more
permanently to reside under my father's roof, although I would at the
same time continue the punctual discharge of my pastoral duties among
the people till they also should be removed. I could not but regard the
summoning of the minister as tantamount to the putting down of the
ministration of the Word and ordinances of religion in that part of the
country. And, indeed, it is a fact, that, although this desolate
district is still occupied by shepherds, no provision has, since that
time, been made for their spiritual wants. I left Achness, therefore,
about the middle of November, 1818, sold my cow at the Ardgay market,
and got my furniture conveyed to Kildonan by my father's horses and my
own. The people received the legal warning to leave for ever the homes
of their fathers with a sort of stupor—that apparent indifference which
is often the external aspect of intense feeling. As they began, however,
to awaken from the stunning effects of this first intimation, their
feelings found vent, and I was much struck with the different ways in
which they expressed their sentiments. The truly pious acknowledged the
mighty hand of God in the matter. In their prayers and religious
conferences not a solitary expression could be heard indicative of anger
or vindictiveness, but in the sight of God they humbled themselves, and
received the chastisement at His hand. Those, however, who were
strangers to such exalted and ennobling impressions of the Gospel
breathed deep and muttered curses on the heads of the persons who
subjected them to such treatment. The more reckless portion of them
fully realised the character of the impenitent in all ages, and indulged
in the most culpable excesses, even while this divine punishment was
still suspended over them. These last, however, were very few in
number—not more than a dozen. To my poor and defenceless flock the dark
hour of trial came at last in right earnest. It was in the month of
April, and about the middle of it, that they were all—man, woman, and
child--from the heights of Farr to the mouth of the Naver, on one day,
to quit their tenements and go—many of them knew not whither. For a few,
some miserable patches of ground along the shores were doled out as
lots, without aught in the shape of the poorest hut to shelter them.
Upon these lots it was intended that they should build houses at their
own expense, and cultivate the ground, at the same time occupying
themselves as fishermen, although the great majority of them had never
set foot on a boat in their lives. Thither, therefore, they were driven
at a week's warning. As for the rest most of them knew not whither to
go, unless their neighbours on the shore provided them with a temporary
shelter; for, on the day of their removal, they would not be allowed to
remain, even on the bleakest moor, and in the open air, for a distance
of twenty miles around.
On the Sabbath, a
fortnight previous to the fated day, I preached my valedictory sermon in
Achness, and the Sabbath thereafter at Ach-na-h-uaigh. Both occasions
were felt by myself and by the people from the oldest to the youngest,
to be among the bitterest and most overwhelming experiences of our
lives. In Strathnaver we assembled, for the last time, at the place of
Langdale, where I had frequently preached before, on a beautiful green
sward overhung by Robert Gordon's antique, romantic little cottage on an
eminence close beside us. The still-flowing waters of the Laver swept
past us a few yards to the eastward. The Sabbath morning was unusually
fine, and mountain, hill, and dale, water and woodland, among which we
had so long dwelt, and with which all our associations of " home " and "
native land " were so fondly linked, appeared to unite their attractions
to bid us farewell. My preparations for the pulpit had always cost me
much anxiety, but in view of this sore scene of parting, they caused me
pain almost beyond endurance. I selected a text which had a pointed
reference to the peculiarity of our circumstances, but my difficulty was
how to restrain my feelings till I should illustrate and enforce the
great truths which it involved with reference to eternity. The service
began. The very aspect of the congregation was of itself a sermon, and a
most impressive one. Old Achoul sat right opposite to me. As my eye fell
upon his venerable countenance, bearing the impress of eighty-seven
winters, I was deeply affected, and could scarcely articulate the psalm.
I preached and the people listened, but every sentence uttered and heard
was in opposition to the tide of our natural feelings, which, setting in
against us, mounted at every step of our progress higher and higher. At
last all restraints were compelled to give way. The preacher ceased to
speak, the people to listen. All lifted up their voices, and wept,
mingling their tears together. It was indeed the place of parting, and
the hour. The greater number parted never again to behold each other in
the land of the living. My adieu to the people of Ach-nah-uaighe was
scarcely less affecting, although somewhat alleviated by the
consideration that I had the prospect of ministering still to those
among them who had leases of their farms, and whom Mr. Sellar, the
factor and law agent, had no power to remove.
The middle of the week
brought on the day of the Strathnaver Clearance (i819). It was a
Tuesday. At an early hour of that day Mr. Sellar, accompanied by the
Fiscal, and escorted by a strong body of constables, sheriff-officers
and others, commenced work at Grummore, the first inhabited township to
the west of the Achness district. Their plan of operations was to clear
the cottages of their inmates, giving them about half-an-hour to pack up
and carry off their furniture, and then set the cottages on fire. To
this plan they ruthlessly adhered, without the slightest regard to any
obstacle that might arise while carrying it into execution.
At Grumbeg lived a
soldier's widow, Henny Munro. She had followed her husband in all his
campaigns, marches, and battles, in Sicily and in Spain. Whether his
death was on the field of battle, or the result of fever or fatigue, I
forget; but his faithful helpmeet attended him to his last hour, and,
when his spirit fled, closed his eyes, and followed his remains to their
last resting-place. After his death she returned to Grumbeg, the place
of her nativity, and, as she was utterly destitute of any means of
support, she was affectionately received by her friends, who built her a
small cottage and gave her a cow and grass for it. The din of arms,
orders, and counter-orders from headquarters, marchings and
countermarchings and pitched battles, retreats and advances, were the
leading and nearly unceasing subjects of her winter evening
conversations. She was a joyous, cheery old creature; so inoffensive,
moreover, and so contented, and brimful of good-will that all who got
acquainted with old Henny Munro could only desire to do her a good turn,
were it merely for the warm and hearty expressions of gratitude with
which it was received. Surely the factor and his followers did not
personally know old Henny, or they could not have treated her as they
did. After the cottages at Grummore were emptied of their inmates, and
roofs and rafters had been lighted up into one red blaze, Air. Sellar
and his iron-hearted attendants approached the residence of the
soldier's widow. Henny stood up to plead for her furniture--the coarsest
and most valueless that well could be, but still her earthly all. She
first asked that, as her neighbours were so occupied with their own
furniture, hers might be allowed to remain till they should be free to
remove it for her. This request was curtly refused. She then besought
them to allow a shepherd who was present and offered his services for
that purpose, to remove the furniture to his own residence on the
opposite shore of the loch, to remain there till she could carry it
away. This also was refused, and she was told, with an oath, that if she
did not take her trumpery off within half-an-hour it would be burned.
The poor widow had only to task the remains of her bodily strength, and
address herself to the work of dragging her chests, beds, presses, and
stools out at the door, and placing them at the gable of her cottage. No
sooner was her task accomplished than the torch was applied, the widow's
hut, built of very combustible material, speedily ignited, and there
rose up rapidly, first a dense cloud of smoke, and soon thereafter a
bright red flame. The wind unfortunately blew in the direction of the
furniture, and the flame, lighting upon it, speedily reduced it to
ashes.
In their progress down
the Strath, Ceann-na-coille was the next township reached by the
fire-raising evictors. An aged widow lived there who, by infirmity, had
been reduced to such a state of bodily weakness that she could neither
walk nor lie in bed. She could only, night and day, sit in her chair ;
and having been confined for many years in that posture, her limbs had
become so stiff that any attempt to move her was attended with acute
pain. She was the mother-in-law of Samuel Matheson, and had, with her
family, been removed by Mr. Sellar from Rhimisdale some time before. His
treatment of her and others on that occasion had brought Mr. Sellar into
trouble, but now, in the Providence of God, she was once more in his
power. "Bean Raomasdail," or "the good wife of Rhimisdale," as she was
called, was much revered. In her house I have held diets of catechising
and meetings for prayer, and been signally refreshed by her Christian
converse. When the evicting party commenced their operations in her
township, the aged widow's house was among the very first that was to be
consigned to the flames. Her family and neighbours represented the
widow's strong claims on their compassion, and the imminent danger to
her life of removing her to such a distance as the lower end of the
Strath, at least ten miles off, without suitable means of conveyance.
They implored that she might be allowed to remain for only two days till
a conveyance could be provided for her. They were told that they should
have thought on that before, and that she must immediately be removed by
her friends, or the constables would be ordered to do it. The good wife
of Rhimisdale was, therefore, raised by her weeping family, from her
chair and laid on a blanket, the corners of which were held up by four
of the strongest youths in the place. All this she bore with meekness,
and while the eyes of her attendants were streaming with tears, her pale
and gentle countenance was suffused with a smile. The change of posture
and the rapid motion of the bearers, however, awakened the most intense
pain, and her cries never ceased till within a few miles of her
destination, when she fell asleep. A burning fever supervened, of which
she died a few months later.
During these proceedings,
I was resident at my father's house, but I had occasion on the week
immediately ensuing to visit the manse of Tongue. On my way thither, I
passed through the scene of the campaign of burning. The spectacle
presented was hideous and ghastly! The banks of the lake and the river,
formerly studded with cottages, now met the eye as a scene of
desolation. Of all the houses, the thatched roofs were gone, but the
walls, built of alternate layers of turf and stone, remained. The flames
of the preceding week still slumbered in their ruins, and sent up into
the air spiral columns of smoke; whilst here a gable, and there a long
side-wall, undermined by the fire burning within them, might be seen
tumbling to the ground, from which a cloud of smoke, and then a dusky
flame, slowly sprang up. The sooty rafters of the cottages, as they were
being consumed, filled the air with a heavy and most offensive odour. In
short, nothing could more vividly represent the horrors of grinding
oppression, and the extent to which one man, dressed up in a "little
brief authority," will exercise that power, without feeling or
restraint, to the injury of his fellow-creatures. |
