Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

‘What would you suggest?’ said the constable. ‘A public flogging?’

I had already received, in front of my siblings, a most thorough beating from my father, but I did not think it was my place to divulge this. Nor did my father see fit to mention it.

‘I can think of worse ideas,’ said Broad, fixing his gaze on me. ‘Perhaps we might beat some truth out of the runt.’

‘Aye, beat some truth out the runt,’ repeated Aeneas Mackenzie.

Calum Finlayson stood up and leant across the table towards the two men. ‘I did not come here to listen to foul language and insults,’ he said. ‘The boy has owned up to his deed and should be commended for doing so. I have proposed a settlement in your favour. If it is not acceptable, I suggest that you take the matter to the police.’

Lachlan Broad glowered at him. The suggestion was quite impractical as such an action would involve a journey of seventy miles to Dingwall, and, moreover, any failure to accept the adjudication of the constable would be poorly received in the community. ‘Perhaps the factor would be interested in hearing about what has occurred.’

‘I can assure you,’ said Mr Finlayson, ‘that the factor has more important matters to concern himself with than the loss of a sheep. As Mr Macrae has accepted my proposal I suggest you do the same.’

Lachlan Broad indicated with a gesture of his hand that he accepted the judgement. My father, who had barely spoken during the proceedings, then raised a craggy finger. The constable asked him if there was something he wished to say.

‘The matter of payment,’ said my father.

‘Yes?’ said Mr Finlayson.

With some difficulty my father explained that while he accepted the settlement, he did not, at that time, have thirty-five shillings, nor anything like it.

This caused Lachlan Broad and his brother great mirth. ‘I am sorry to hear that, John Black,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I could take that gloomy daughter of yours instead. I’m sure I could put a smile on her face.’

‘We could both put a smile on her gloomy face,’ put in Aeneas Mackenzie, with a stupid giggle.

Kenny Smoke rose from his seat and leaned across the table. ‘I will not have such talk in my house, Lachlan Broad.’

‘Perhaps you would rather I had one of your daughters,’ said Broad. ‘The eldest is quite ripe now.’

Kenny Smoke became quite red in the face and I was sure he was about to fly at him, but Calum Finlayson rose from his seat and placed a hand on his chest.

Lachlan Broad broke into a laugh, his arms folded across his chest. Kenny Smoke remained standing for some moments, glaring at Broad, who smirked back at him. My father stared at the table in front of him. Under the table I could see his hand worrying at the coarse cloth of his breeches.

Eventually, Kenny Smoke resumed his seat and Mr Finlayson, no doubt anxious to bring the proceedings to a close, continued, ‘Given Mr Macrae’s circumstances, I propose that the sum agreed be paid at a rate of one shilling per week until it is settled.’

Lachlan Broad shrugged his shoulders. ‘So be it,’ he said in a mocking tone, ‘I would not wish to be the cause of any hardship to my poor neighbour here.’

And in this way the discussions were concluded. Lachlan Broad pushed back his chair and slapped his brother twice on the thigh to indicate that they were leaving. When they were gone Kenny Smoke let go a long breath and uttered an oath which does not bear repeating here. Mr Finlayson told me that I had conducted myself well. Kenny Smoke went to the dresser and fetched a bottle of whisky and four glasses, which he placed on the table between us. I was gratified that he had included a glass for me, but, before the whisky could be poured, my father stood up and thanked Mr Finlayson for the fairness of his ruling, though I could not help but think that he would have happily agreed to Lachlan Broad’s proposal to have me flogged. Kenny Smoke begged him to share a dram, but he refused. Father then prodded me on the arm and we left. I feared a second beating when we got home, but I was merely deprived of my supper. I lay on my bunk picturing Kenny Smoke and Calum Finlayson drinking whisky and laughing about the incident while my father nursed his pipe in the gathering gloom.

* * *

My cell here in Inverness is five paces long and two wide. Two planks fastened to the wall and covered with straw serve as a bed. There are two pails in the corner, one in which I perform my ablutions, the other for my bodily functions. An unglazed window, the size of a man’s hand, sits high in the wall opposite the door. The walls are thick, and only by standing with my back pressed to the door am I able to see a small rectangle of sky. The purpose of the window is, I imagine, less to afford the occupant of the cell a view than to allow a little air to circulate. Nevertheless, in the absence of other diversions, it is surprising how much entertainment can be gleaned from watching the slow alterations in a small patch of sky.

My gaoler is a great brute of a fellow, so wide he has to turn sideways to enter my cell. He wears a leather waistcoat, a filthy chemise hanging outside his breeches and heavy boots which clatter noisily as he makes his way up and down the flagstones of the passage outside. He keeps his breeches tied around his ankles with string. This puzzles me as I have seen no mice or other vermin here, but I have not asked him the reason for it. Nor have I asked his name.

The gaoler treats me with neither kindness nor contempt. In the morning he brings me a piece of bread and some water and, if my pail is full, he removes it. In the first few days I made some attempts to converse with him, but he did not respond. When the table and chair at which I am writing this document were brought to me, he made no comment. He is not a mute, however, as I have sometimes heard him conversing in the passage. I suppose I am a matter of no concern to him and no different from the occupants of the other cells along the passage. There is, in any case, little to talk about here. After he has left, I hear him performing the same duties in the remaining cells. I have not seen anything of my fellow inmates and nor do I have any wish to, as I have no desire to fraternise with criminals. At night, men often cry out in the coarsest terms or hammer on the doors of their cells with their fists, activities which only serve to set the other men shouting for quiet. These periods of uproar last for some time, before all of a sudden the clamour subsides and there are only the faint sounds of the night outside.

Every second day I am taken from my cell and allowed to stretch my legs in a cobbled enclosure. On the first occasion I was unsure of what to do there. On account of the height of the walls, no sunlight reaches the ground and the cobbles are slimy and overgrown with moss. I observed that around the edges of the yard, a path had been worn and so I took to pacing around the perimeter. The gaoler remains all the time at the entrance, but I do not have the impression that he is observing me. I feel some pity towards him. His life here appears no more pleasant than mine and long after I have left this place he will remain. The distance around the yard is twenty-eight paces, and I generally complete around sixty circuits in the time allowed to me. This is roughly the distance between Culduie and Camusterrach and I try to imagine that this is where I am walking.

Later in the day I am brought a bowl of soup with a piece of bread or a bannock. The majority of my time is passed in the production of this document. I cannot see that what I am writing here will be of interest to anyone, but I am glad to have some activity with which to occupy myself.

In the first days of my incarceration, I had little time to accustom myself to my new surroundings, inundated as I was by numerous visits from officers of the law. I was frequently taken to a room in another part of the gaol in order that I might be interrogated about my deeds. The same questions were put to me on so many occasions, so that I no longer had to think about my responses. I frequently had the impression that it would please my interlocutors if I were to invent some other version of events or to attempt in some way to absolve myself of responsibility for what I have done, but I did not do so. I have been treated courteously by everyone and would have liked to repay their kindness, but I could see no purpose in lying. Often, when I had repeated my story for the third or fourth time, those present would exchange glances as if I had amused them in some way, or was a mystery to them. However, having reflected on this, I imagine that such gentlemen are more accustomed to dealing with criminals who are disinclined to admit their guilt. Eventually, I told my story in the presence of a writer, and after numerous cautions that I was not obliged to do so, signed my name to a statement.