Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

‘I intend to spend the night there,’ I said.

‘But you must get there first.’ He pondered my dilemma for a moment and then, taking me by the elbow, led me along the village. ‘We will fetch you a garron,’ he said, excited by his plan. ‘You can ride to Jeantown and bring it back on your return. You come back tomorrow?’

I nodded dumbly.

‘All the better!’ he said.

‘But I have no money to pay for a garron,’ I said.

He waved away my protests.

‘Leave it to Archibald Ross,’ he said. ‘I have no doubt you will find some way to re-pay me in the future.’

He was then struck by the idea that the following evening, once I had returned the pony, we could take some ale in the inn.

‘Then perhaps you will feel able to tell me about your mysterious errand,’ he said.

I had no choice but to accompany Archibald to the courtyard behind the Big House where I had first made his acquaintance. He strutted across the cobbles with impressive assurance and put his head inside the stable door. Presently a hand appeared beneath the stone archway.

‘Have a pony saddled for Mr Macrae here,’ Archibald said without explanation.

The hand, who was perhaps fifty years old, looked askance at me, but he did not demur. As we waited in the courtyard, Archibald filled his pipe and lit it. His dog sat at his feet and gazed at him with great devotion. It struck me that Flora might currently be employed in the kitchens, so I leaned against the wall to conceal myself from the window. Archibald instructed me to make sure the pony was properly fed and watered before my return journey. After some minutes the hand led out an ancient piebald garron. Archibald slapped it roughly on the haunch and invited me to mount it, which I did with some difficulty. Any pleasure I might have felt (for there was nothing I had ever wished for more than to ride a pony) was entirely spoiled by the situation I found myself in. Archibald walked me to the front of the Big House and sent me on my way with another hearty smack to the pony’s rear and a declaration that we would drink the inn dry the following night.

The garron plodded forward at no more than walking pace. I tried digging my heels into its sides as I had seen other riders do, but it refused to quicken its tempo. No matter, as we trekked back towards the village I assessed the courses of action open to me. My first thought was simply to tether the garron at the junction which led to the Pass and continue on foot. An abandoned pony would quickly garner attention, however, and I imagined a party being quickly assembled to apprehend me. I had to remind myself that I was not a fugitive. Was I not free to go wheresoever I pleased? I was not in breach of any law or regulation, and if I wished to ride to Jeantown on a pony loaned by a friend, it was no concern of the powers-that-be or anyone else. Indeed, to Lachlan Broad my exile would no doubt be a matter of satisfaction. Even to my father it would likely be a blessing. My existence had not prevented any of the tribulations which had befallen us. In truth, it had been my own actions and foolishness which had brought about a great deal of our troubles and my continued presence in Culduie would do nothing to avert whatever ills were to come. It was with these thoughts that I continued on horseback beyond the junction and began the slow ascent to the Pass.

It became apparent, too, that Archibald Ross was quite correct. To walk the eighteen miles over the Pass would have been quite impractical, not only because of the distance involved, but also because on foot I would have cut a far more conspicuous figure. Riding a pony, even one as ancient and lame as mine, bestowed a certain authority. Those individuals I passed on the road simply bid me good morning or even touched their caps to me. No one (as I had imagined they would) interrogated me about my destination or accused me of stealing my mount. I began to feel as I ascended higher into the mountains that Archibald’s intervention had been a matter of great providence; that this was, after all, what was intended for me. As the road became more deserted, I allowed myself to contemplate what might lie in store beyond Jeantown. No doubt, as Archibald had said, there were no end of opportunities in the cities to the south. I might establish myself in some employment there and in so doing prove myself of far greater worth to my family than had I stayed to await our fate. I might even be able to send home funds to raise my family out of their abject state. In time, perhaps Jetta could join me and we could live in comfort and happiness. Such thoughts, however, did not detain me for long.

Towards the head of the Pass, the air grew frigid. The wind buffeted tussocks of brown grass by the roadside. The garron’s head dropped lower and his pace grew heavier. I dismounted by a burn to allow him to drink a little. I was by this time cold and hungry and cursed myself for not filling my pockets with bannocks before I left the house. I pulled my cap low over my eyes and continued on foot, leading the garron by the reins. It took some hours to reach the head of the Pass. I sat down on a boulder and gazed out at the grey vista before me. The road twisted downwards through a craggy glen. Beyond that was a stretch of water. I do not know what I had expected to find, but the scene before me filled me with a kind of dread. I realised that I had no idea where I was going or, if I ever reached Jeantown, I had no real idea of what I would do there. Certainly the shilling in my pocket would not take me very far. Perhaps I could find some outbuilding to sleep in and some scraps of food to eat, but this prospect did not fill me with joy. No matter how wretched my life in Culduie, I had no wish to live like a mendicant. I thought then of Jetta, who would certainly have missed me by now, and I imagined how unhappy my desertion would make her. And I felt keenly how contemptible it was to have thought to leave. Like a tethered dog, I had reached the limits of my territory. I climbed onto the garron and dug my heels into his flanks, but the exhausted beast refused to move. I dismounted and with some effort coaxed him to follow me back down the Pass. It was late in the afternoon before we reached Applecross.

Not wishing to meet Archibald Ross, I approached the Big House with even greater trepidation than usual. In order to placate him I had concocted a story that the fellow I was to see in Jeantown had in fact met me on the road, thus allowing me to return that same day. It mattered little to me whether Archibald would believe such a preposterous tale, but in any case, he did not appear. The sound of the garron’s hooves on the cobbles brought the hand from the stables. He took the reins from me without a word and I thanked him for the use of the pony.

I felt terribly weary as I approached Culduie, both from the exertions of the day and from the certainty that there was now no escape from whatever providence had in store. Set against this, whatever my father had to say about my absence was a matter of indifference to me. I wanted nothing other to lay down on my bunk and sleep. As I stepped over the threshold, I was surprised to see a black-clad figure seated at the table with his back to the door. I recognised him by his close cropped hair as Reverend Galbraith. My father was at the head of the table. Jetta was loitering by the dresser like a dark ghost. Even in the dim light, her face was pale. I assumed that the minister had come to report his sighting of me in Camusterrach that morning, but this was not the case. On the table was a sheet of parchment, folded in thirds and bearing a broken wax seal.

The minister instructed me to sit and then said, ‘Your father has today received this letter.’

He reached across the table and pushed it towards me with his fingertips. His knuckles were gnarled and swollen. I took up the paper and unfolded it. As the light was insufficient to read, I took the letter to the fire. It was written in an elegant hand and headed with the words, underlined, ‘Notice of Eviction’. I do not recall the precise wording of the letter, but it first named my father (‘the tenant’) and specified the extent of the croft, house and outbuildings. It then stated that the factor, through the authority vested in him by the laird, hereby gave notice for the tenant to quit the said property by the 30th day in September 1869, this date being determined to permit the tenant time to lift the crops from the ground. There followed a list of grounds for eviction: failure to maintain the croft to a proper standard; failure to properly maintain houses and outbuildings; appropriation of the property of the laird; agitation against the office of the village constable; and arrears of rent and fines imposed. Various sums were then enumerated, the total far exceeding the value of all our livestock and worldly goods. It was signed and dated by the factor.