by R. W. Hughes
‘This life in the Highlands is hard and unforgiving,’ said Douglas as he re-joined George, looking at his friend’s pale face.
‘Yes, that is so and the likes of Paul Aberach is the norm,’ was the reply.
The group had only travelled a hundred paces back along the track when a single sharp crack was heard from the place of the ambush. As he was bringing up the rear, George was the only one in the party who bothered to turn at the sound of the shot.
Two large ravens fluttered into the air, obviously startled by the sound, but realising that there was no danger to them, floated back down to the scene of the recent skirmish. Paul Aberach stopped for a few moments before sending his young son, Ian, back to retrieve the small pistol, as it was too valuable a prize to be left behind unclaimed. George continued to watch as the young Ian Aberach returned to join the group; it had been a savage and bloody first conflict for the young fifteen-year-old.
But he had noticed during the frenzy of fighting, the lad conducted himself most admirably. He had seen him in one incident block a savage swing of a sword with his outstretched musket, then using the weapon as a club render his assailant unconscious, then he had proceeded to assist his father who was under pressure from two Sutherland Highlanders.
Five
The journey back to Tongue was a slow affair. The speed being dictated by the many walking wounded and those too seriously injured to walk who were carried on the several carts taken from the abandoned Sutherland villages they had passed through on route back to MacKay country. The inhabitants of these dwellings had fled into the hills at the approach of the MacKay advance party. George could sense the feeling amongst the returning group of Highlanders, even the injured men were in great spirits. They had inflicted a great defeat against their sworn enemies, avenging the deaths of their leader and his eldest son, and had reclaimed the lands the Earl of Sutherland had attempted to occupy. Plus, they had obtained much booty from their injured enemy in the process. A raiding party sent into the Sutherland’s lands after the skirmish had also returned—not only with their own stolen livestock but many more besides—with much plunder also being taken from the deserted villages and crofts they passed through.
But George was seriously conflicted, because even though he had trained as a lawyer and had learned to control his feelings in the courtroom and in the heated political debates with his colleagues, during the recent skirmish, he had lost control. He felt as if he had reverted to an animal with a terrible lust for killing, feeling no remorse for the men he had cut down in the battle. In fact it greatly disturbed him that during the heat of the fighting, he had sensed a great feeling of elation. It alarmed him to feel that under a thin veneer of education and respectability even in his generation, in his genes there still lay a savage animal.
Word of the success of the MacKay expedition against their old adversaries the Sutherlands and the heavy toll they had inflicted, spread like wildfire through the communities of the Highlands. Even though the Earl of Sutherland used his influence to have a warrant issued against George Charles MacKay to face charges of robbery and murder, there was no one available to serve the warrant. The rumours George had heard while in the port of Thurso were indeed proved to be true. The English General Wade had been recalled back to London, and none of the Lowland Scottish sheriffs were prepared to enter the Highlands in an attempt to serve such a warrant made out against the chief of the MacKay. Especially as there was also another story circulating that it was the Sutherlands who had been attempting to ambush the MacKays, and the tables had been cleverly reversed, and it was the Sutherlands that had been given a bloody nose.
To the Highlanders this was a rough form of justice, especially coming so soon after the active involvement of the Sutherlands in the assassination of Cormac and Donald MacKay. Any potential Lowland law enforcers could expect little or no help, assistance, or information coming from those communities.
After the skirmish at Ben Loyal, there settled on that part of the Highlands an uneasy peace. The Sutherlands and their supporters had taken a severe beating and gone to ground to lick their wounds. The MacKays had strengthened their position on the disputed lands, leaving a strong force of armed men in the fortified house in the village of Scourie. George meanwhile had taken the advice of his uncle, not venturing over the borders of the land they controlled until the situation became clearer. Even though he found these restrictions irksome, he realised for the time being anyway, it was sound advice. It also gave him more time to be with his mother. As time passed, his concern for her health was growing even though his sister was by her side nursing her for many hours both night and day. Even though they had physicians come from the city of Edinburgh, there seemed to be no improvement in her condition.
But at that time and unknown to them, events were unfolding which would place their recent conflict as very small fry compared to the forthcoming actions which were taking place within the country.
Along with his friend Douglas Polson, he had been delivering two pregnant nanny goats and several sacks of oats to the widow and children of Rory Morgan.
It was hard for crofter families in the winter in the Highlands, and it would be more difficult for the Morgan family now that the man of the house was no more, as it was Rory Morgan that had taken the ball meant for him. George had acutely felt their suffering, especially as it had come so soon after the loss of his father and older brother. He felt a deep sense of obligation towards that family.
On their return journey, they had taken the opportunity of shooting and seriously wounding a prime stag. In pursuit of the animal they had wandered over their boundary and into the territory under the control of the Sutherlands. They were both so intent in searching for, and following the faint blood spots left by the injured animal which had taken cover in a heavily wooded corpse, they were unaware they were being quietly observed by a group of men hidden by the thick foliage. As they entered a small clearing they were suddenly confronted by four well-armed Highlanders, all pointing their cocked muskets in their direction. Both men froze; realising their situation was precarious to say the least. They were too far away to rush the group, and would certainly be shot before they could cock and fire their own muskets, or even attempt to run back from whence they had come.
‘Are you the one they call George MacKay,’ shouted the leader of the group at the two now stationary men in the clearing. ‘Give a false name, deny you know the man they ask for,’ whispered Douglas without moving his lips.
‘What do you want of this man?’ shouted back a defiant George.
‘Are you ashamed of the name MacKay,’ came back the jeering reply, which was followed by guffaws of laughter and jeers from his companions.
‘I am George Charles MacKay,’ he shouted back, to the sound of a deep groan from his companion. There was a deathly silence as both George and Douglas steeled themselves for the shot they expected at any second.
‘Then I suggest George Charles MacKay,’ jeered the group leader, ‘you return to your own side of the fence and remove your stinking carcass off the Earl of Sutherland’s lands.’
Not sure that they had heard correctly. George and Douglas were slow to move, they looked at one another confusion showing on their faces, then slowly backed away from the group. Expecting all the time for the four men to be playing some sick game and they would open fire at any moment.
But nothing happened.
And soon they were out of range of the muskets and hurrying back to their own part of the Highlands, discussing why they had been allowed to live, and the Sutherlands had allowed such a prize to slip through their fingers, especially as it was so soon after the slaughter they had inflicted on the group’s associates. And the loss of the stag was a small price to pay for their freedom.
It was the following day that he was enlightened when a servant from the house, in a very agitated manner attracted his attention from the beach where Geo
rge was fishing from a skiff in the bay.
‘Your uncle requires your attendance at once. It is most urgent!’ the man shouted across the water, indicating for him to row to the shore. On beaching his boat on the shingle, he questioned the servant if he knew the reason for this summons, but the man did not know. He had just been told to find and tell George to make all haste to Tongue House. Thinking that his mother had had a relapse, he’d taken the man’s pony, driving the small animal as fast as was possible he arrived at Tongue House fearing the worst. Leaving the white foaming and exhausted animal panting in the courtyard, he bounded up the steps to the large entrance, then through into the main hall. His hasty return also coincided with the arrival of the heads of several nearby families who were members of the MacKay council, messengers having been sent to them also.
His urgent enquiries of his sister revealed that his mother had not had a relapse, so greatly relieved and his curiosity now aroused, he joined the group in the main hall, concluding that an attack by the Sutherlands must be imminent. When he entered, his uncle was standing with his back to the crackling in the great fire place, the clan’s coat of arms carved in the large stone lintel over the soot blackened opening which looked down on the large gathering of men that had now arrived, with more entering the room every minute. All the men not knowing the reason for the call, but like George thinking there was an attack imminent, had all come heavily armed, with musket, pistols, dirks and broadswords.
His uncle indicated for George to join him at the centre of the room and then raised his hands for silence, the subdued murmurings of the clansmen that were gathered in the great hall faded.
‘My friends!’ he stated, in a voice that had been developed by many years of speaking from the pulpit, and could be heard clearly by all the men in the hall.
One of the room’s great doors opened, making a loud creaking noise from dry hinges, and all heads in the room swung in that direction. George’s younger brother, Riavach, nervously entered. He was obviously acutely embarrassed by everyone staring in his direction, looking at his uncle for some support, but he was met only by a glowering scowl.
George felt a pang of sympathy for his younger, shy sibling, who had always been overshadowed by his two older more energetic brothers, subsequently being neglected by his father, finding more comfort in his mother’s and sister’s company.
‘Come! Stand by me Riavach,’ George said in a clear voice as his brother with a glance of appreciation in his direction made his way, shoulders hunched and head bowed towards his older brother.
‘My friends!’ started the Reverend again. ‘I have just been informed that on the nineteenth, August Prince Charles Edward landed in Scotland. He raised his standard at Glenfinnan, and has proclaimed his father king. The Camerons and MacDonalds along with all the Jacobites across the country are flocking to join his cause.’
There was a stunned silence in the hall as the significance of Alistair Monroe’s words registered on the gathering.
This explained to George why the Sutherland men had allowed Douglas Polson and himself to continue their journey unmolested several days previously. Even though the Sutherlands and MacKays fought one another like cat and dog, they had always been supporters of the Whigs; and anti-Jacobite. The group must have been aware of these events and under instructions to avoid any conflict with the MacKays or their supporters, as both the Sutherlands and the MacKays would be unlikely allies, against what was developing into a Jacobite Highland rebellion against the English Protestant Crown. There were loud shouts and explanations from the group of chiefs already in the hall.
‘We want no Popery rule in our area of the Highlands.’
‘James Edward attempted the same in ’15 and failed; this upstart will follow the same path.’ These were just some of the many angry shouts that came from the group of men standing in front of George and his uncle. Alistair Monroe raised his hands for quiet. Slowly the noise in the hall subsided.
‘I have sent messengers to call all the chiefs and sub chiefs of all the clans that owe allegiance, or come under the protection of the Clan MacKay; they are to make all haste for a meeting here at Tongue House to take their orders from the Chief of the Clan, your Lord Reay my nephew George Charles MacKay.
George was stunned. It suddenly dawned on him that it was he who would have to make the final decision on what course the clan with all its followers and dependants would take. A wrong decision in these circumstances which looked on the face of it as if it could well develop into a full blown civil war, where clan and family loyalties could be divided, it could well see the eventual break up and disintegration of the clan.
All his own and his followers’ brave exploits of the past, and all those of his ancestors over the last few hundred years, would be as nothing. There was a small consolation. It would be several days before all the chiefs could arrive, and that would give him time to discuss in detail the situation, and consider the advice that would be undoubtedly forthcoming from his uncle.
While the Reverend and George’s brother, Riavach, made arrangements in Tongue House and the surrounding buildings to accommodate all the leaders of the various family groups that made up the MacKays, who would shortly be converging on their home. He, in an effort to try and clear his head, decided to go walking in the grounds that surrounded the fortified house in an attempt to put some logic behind the events that were now taking place in the Highlands. He was aware of the history of the previous Jacobite Rebellion when in 1715 James Edward Stuart had raised his standard at Castletown in Braemar, supported by the Macgregors, MacLeans, MacDonalds and Camerons plus many more minor clans, and they had created havoc across the Highlands.
Then the Whig supporting clans, the Sutherlands, the MacKays with their supporters, the Rosses and Monroes and several other Whig supporters had held the Northern Highlands on behalf of the Protestant English Crown. Many of the men at present in the main hall of Tongue House, who were still discussing the present situation, had also been active in that earlier campaign.
Not that they were entirely happy with the rule of the Scottish Parliament—who they considered to be under the thumb of the English, and that their country was in reality being governed from the politicians in London. But as Presbyterians, the alternative of rule from Rome was just not acceptable. George was also aware this could well be a long drawn out conflict. The English were presently at war with Catholic Spain and France, and these countries would not hesitate to fund an uprising on England’s back door if they felt it would cause their enemy to divert troops to fight in that campaign.
However, he had been surprised. As his uncle had broken the news to the gathered group of Highlanders, he had sensed the feeling of elation that spread around the room, not of foreboding, as he would have expected but more of a cavalier do or die attitude. These men were looking forward to the inevitable conflict—whoever that conflict may be with. This feeling he could not share. His mind kept going back to the carnage of the attempted ambush; this would possibly continue on a much larger scale across the length and breadth of the country.
‘Such a waste!’ he said aloud to himself.
He had been quite absent-minded as he walked around the walls of Tongue house, stopping eventually on the moss covered great grey stone slabs that formed the northern fortifications of that side of the building. This fortified house had been the centre of the Clan MacKay’s authority in the area for hundreds of years; he wondered in the fast-moving events of the present how much longer this would be so. From his elevated position, he had a clear view on the still air across the Kyle of Tongue towards Tongue Bay and beyond.
In the late afternoon’s fading sunlight, he could just make out the faint outline of Roan Island beyond Ryle Rannoch. It was hard to believe that while he looked on this peaceful scene that the rest of the country was lurching into an abyss of civil war. He stayed in this quite tranquil spot, lost in his thoughts, as
the sun set in the far distance. As the August light slowly faded, he made his way back to the entrance of the house still deep in thought. He already realised that his path had already been planned; it was inevitable that the Clan MacKay would join forces and ally themselves to the clan Sutherland, as had been the case of the rising of 1715.
But what would he do if he came across Nicolas Duncan, nephew of the Earl of Sutherland and the assassin of his brother and father? He knew in his heart of hearts— alliance with the Sutherlands or not—every sinew in his body would scream for revenge, no matter what the circumstances or the situation. Only death alone would stop him from attempting to fulfil the oath he had made to himself, as he had stood over his father’s and brother’s grave.
Before the meeting with the senior members of the clan which had been arranged for several days hence, he had the opportunity to discuss with his uncle about his doubts of supporting the Whigs and the English Crown as the clan had done in the past, or throw in their lot with the Stuart cause. George was quite surprised by his uncle’s reaction, which started with a history lesson of the MacKay’s family tree of this he had heard several times before. But this time he could sense a slight hint of panic in his uncle’s voice.
‘Your ancestors were of the Clan Morgan; in 1039, King Duncan of Scotland gave his nephew Modden the area of Caithness. Modden lost his life at Thurso attempting to wrest his gift from the then present owners, the Norsemen. Modden’s grandson, Donald Dughall MacKay, 1st Earl of Reay, along with his wife’s clan the Morgans succeeded in claiming their gift in 1133 by driving the Norsemen from Caithness. Your ancestors fought with Wallace and Robert the Bruce in their battles for Scotland’s independence. Roy MacKay along with supporters was at the battle of Flodden in 1513 where John Riavach MacKay fell. Donald MacKay 1529-1550 supported James V at the battle of Solway Moss, the Clan MacKay supported Charles, son of James VI and also Queen Mary, in 1562. We are at present surrounded by clans that support the Whig cause, and the families that make up the Clan MacKay are also of this strong conviction. To try and lead those on a different path could destroy this clan that has been in existence before they were first mentioned in the Great Book of Deer in 1132. The generals of the Prince’s Army have released a proclamation that they intend to rid the Highlands of all the followers of the Presbyterian religion. They leave us no choice but to take whatever action is needed to defend ourselves. You risk all that your ancestors strived and died for if you deviate from the road that has been followed in the past.’
