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.[3] 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.
[3] “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).
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 Mr. 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 Naver 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-na-h-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
(1819). 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 counter-marchings 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, Mr. 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.