Graeme Burnet: His Bloody Project

In the middle of the living quarters was a long table at which the Smokes took their meals. Around this table were assembled myself and my father; Lachlan Broad, who was the owner of the sheep I had killed; and his brother, Aeneas. Kenny Smoke himself sat at the head of the table. There was nothing of the convivial atmosphere that usually attended gatherings in the Smoke household. Lachlan Broad had refused Kenny Smoke’s offer of a dram and sat quite erect with his hands clasped on the table in front of him, the right enclosing the fist of his left, gripping and ungripping it as if his hands were a beating heart. His gaze was directed at the dresser behind my father and I. Broad, it should be said, was a most impressive specimen of the human race. He stood six feet tall, with wide shoulders and great meaty hands. He had been known to carry the carcass of a stag, which two men might struggle to lift, the length of the village. His narrow eyes were pale blue and his great heavy head was topped with thick yellow hair, which grew to his shoulders, this colouring on account, it was said, of some Norse blood on his mother’s side of the family. He never appeared to feel the cold and even in the black months strode around in an open chemise. As if he were not unmistakeable enough, he habitually wore a yellow neckerchief, tied at his throat. His brother was of smaller stature, plump with a ruddy complexion and small bird-like eyes. He had little to say for himself, but habitually brayed like a tinker’s ass at whatever remark his kinsman made. Aeneas sat at his brother’s shoulder, his left ankle resting on his right knee, and was absorbed in the business of cleaning the muck from his boot with a pocketknife.

Kenny Smoke puffed quietly on his pipe and constantly smoothed the whiskers of his great moustache with his thumb and middle finger. My father, whose pipe remained in his pocket, held his cap in both hands in his lap and stared at the table in front of him. We were awaiting the arrival of Calum Finlayson, a boatman from Camusterrach, who at that time held the position of constable to the parish.¶ It remained bright and sunny outside, which only served to emphasise the sombre atmosphere in the house. Presently, Mr Finlayson made his appearance and greeted the company in a cheerful manner. Kenny Smoke stood up and shook his hand heartily and made some enquiries about the wellbeing of his family. The constable accepted the offer of a cup of tea and Carmina Smoke was summoned. She busied herself preparing the tea and setting out a cup and saucer in front of each of us, even though it was only Mr Finlayson who was wanting it. Lachlan Broad observed her intensely, as if appraising a piece of livestock at market.

¶ The village or parish constable was an official elected by members of the community to serve as a go-between between the factor and the people. It was his role to enforce the crofters’ terms of tenancy and to settle disputes. The factor, in turn, was the steward or agent charged with the running of the estate on behalf of the laird. The factor was, generally speaking, an unpopular and feared figure.

When the tea had been poured and Carmina Smoke had retired to the back chamber, Calum Finlayson opened the proceedings.

‘Let us see whether we cannot settle this matter amicably, gentlemen,’ he said.

Kenny Smoke nodded earnestly and said, ‘Indeed.’

Lachlan Broad exhaled noisily through his nose, and his brother emitted his braying laugh. Calum Finlayson ignored this rude sound and, in a gentle tone, requested that I relate as precisely as possible what had occurred that afternoon. I felt quite anxious in front of the assembled men, but told the story to the best of my ability, omitting only the interlude at the waterfall, which could reasonably be construed as a neglect of my duty to keep watch over the livestock. I included the detail of being stung by the hornet, calculating that it might be thought that it was this that had distracted me when the ram had wandered off. I also stated that when I found the sheep, its eyes had already been put out, this in order to stress the suffering of the beast and my lack of choice in acting as I did.

When I had finished, Mr Finlayson thanked me for my account. I had kept my eyes all this time on the table in front of me, but thinking that this might be the end of the ordeal I now raised them. Lachlan Broad shifted his weight in his seat and gave a dismissive snort through his nose. He leaned forward as if intending to speak, but Mr Finlayson raised a finger in his direction to silence him.

‘Was it not your duty, Roddy,’ he asked, ‘to keep watch over the animals for the duration of the afternoon?’

‘It was,’ I replied.

‘And did you keep watch?’

‘I did, Mr Finlayson.’ I was suddenly afraid that someone might have seen me make my way towards the waterfall and was about to be brought forth to contradict my story.

‘So how can it be,’ asked Mr Finlayson, his tone still placid, ‘that the sheep was able to wander off into the bog?’

‘I cannot say,’ I replied.

‘Perhaps your attention wandered,’ he said.

‘If the sheep strayed while I was guarding it, then my attention must have wandered,’ I said. I was relieved that there did not appear to be any witness to appear against me. ‘I wish to say that I am sorry for the suffering of the sheep and I am willing to do what is required to compensate Mr Mackenzie for its loss.’

Mr Finlayson nodded as if he was pleased by my remark. Kenny Smoke took his pipe from his mouth and said, ‘We all know that it’s not possible to keep track of fifty sheep on a hillside. The boy has said he’s sorry, should we not leave it at that?’

Lachlan Broad turned his gaze upon him. ‘I note that it is not your sheep that has been bludgeoned to death, Mr Murchison, and while we all appreciate your hospitality, I do not see that your opinion has any bearing on this matter.’ His brother sniggered and shifted his weight on his seat.

Mr Finlayson raised his hand to quell any further discussion and addressed his comments to Lachlan Broad. ‘Nevertheless, Mr Murchison is quite right to state that it is no easy task to keep track of the livestock and if a mistake has been made then it was an honest mistake and no malice has been intended.’

‘There is malice in abundance in that boy,’ said Broad, directing a thick finger at me.

Mr Finlayson stated that we were not there to make insulting remarks, but that if Mr Mackenzie now wished to put some questions to me, he was free to do so.

Broad satisfied himself by muttering something about the impossibility of getting a word of truth out of me.

Mr Finlayson allowed a few moments of silence to settle on the room and then stated that if everyone was satisfied with what they had heard, it fell to him to determine on the matter. ‘I propose,’ he said, ‘that for the loss of the ram, John Macrae pay thirty-five shillings in compensation to Lachlan Mackenzie, that being the price at market for such a beast.’

‘And what about the winter feed and labour I have incurred in rearing the animal?’ said Broad.

Calum Finlayson appeared to give this question due consideration. ‘Had you sold the beast at market, these costs would not have been restored to you. Furthermore, in addition to the thirty-five shillings, you also have the fleece and flesh of the animal.’

‘Aye, what’s left of them after the crows had set about it,’ said Broad.

Mr Finlayson ignored this remark and turned to my father to ask if his determination was acceptable. My father indicated with a brief nod that it was.

‘It seems to me,’ persisted Lachlan Broad, ‘that you are letting the boy off scot-free. Surely there should be some additional punishment.’