Glengarry was peopled down to the end of last century with a fine
race of men. In 1745, six hundred stalwart vassals followed the
chief of Glengarry to the battle of Culloden. Some few years later
they became so disgusted with the return made by their chief that
many of them emigrated to the United States, though they were
almost all in comfortable, some indeed, in affluent circumstances.
Notwithstanding this semi-voluntary exodus, Major John Macdonell of
Lochgarry, was able in 1777, to raise a fine regiment--the 76th or
Macdonald Highlanders--numbering 1086 men, 750 of whom were Highlanders
mainly from the Glengarry property. In 1794, Alexander Macdonnell
of Glengarry, raised a Fencible regiment, described as “a handsome
body of men,” of whom one-half were enlisted on the same estate. On
being disbanded in 1802, these men were again so shabbily treated,
that they followed the example of the men of the “Forty-five,”
and emigrated in a body, with their families, to Canada, taking
two Gaelic-speaking ministers along with them to their new home.
They afterwards distinguished themselves as part of the “Glengarry
Fencibles” of Canada, in defence of their adopted country, and called
their settlement there after their native glen in Scotland. The chiefs
of Glengarry drove away their people, only, as in most other cases in
the Highlands, to be themselves ousted soon after them.
The Glengarry property at one time covered an area of nearly 200 square
miles, and to-day, while many of their expatriated vassals are landed
proprietors and in affluent circumstances in Canada, not an inch of the
old possessions of the ancient and powerful family of Glengarry remains
to the descendants of those who caused the banishment of a people who,
on many a well-fought field, shed their blood for their chief and
country. In 1853, every inch of the ancient heritage was possessed by
the stranger, except Knoydart in the west, and this has long ago become
the property of one of the Bairds. In the year named, young Glengarry
was a minor, his mother, the widow of the late chief, being one of his
trustees. She does not appear to have learned any lesson of wisdom from
the past misfortunes of her house. Indeed, considering her limited
power and possessions, she was comparatively the worst of them all.
The tenants of Knoydart, like all other Highlanders, had suffered
severely during and after the potato famine in 1846 and 1847, and some
of them got into arrear with a year and some with two years’ rent,
but they were fast clearing it off. Mrs. Macdonell and her factor
determined to evict every crofter on her property, to make room for
sheep. In the spring of 1853, they were all served with summonses of
removal, accompanied by a message that Sir John Macneil, chairman of
the Board of Supervision, had agreed to convey them to Australia. Their
feelings were not considered worthy of the slightest consideration.
They were not even asked whether they would prefer to follow their
countrymen to America and Canada. They were to be treated as if they
were nothing better than Africans, and the laws of their country on a
level with those which regulated South American slavery. The people,
however, had no alternative but to accept any offer made to them. They
could not get an inch of land on any of the neighbouring estates, and
any one who would give them a night’s shelter was threatened with
eviction.
It was afterwards found not convenient to transport them to Australia,
and it was then intimated to the poor creatures, as if they were
nothing but common slaves to be disposed of at will, that they would
be taken to North America, and that a ship would be at Isle Ornsay,
in the Isle of Skye, in a few days, to receive them, and that they
_must_ go on board. The _Sillery_ soon arrived. Mrs. Macdonell and
her factor came all the way from Edinburgh to see the people hounded
across in boats, and put on board this ship whether they would or not.
An eye-witness who described the proceeding at the time, in a now rare
pamphlet, and whom we met a few years ago in Nova Scotia, characterises
the scene as heart-rending. “The wail of the poor women and children
as they were torn away from their homes would have melted a heart of
stone.” Some few families, principally cottars, refused to go, in spite
of every influence brought to bear upon them; and the treatment they
afterwards received was cruel beyond belief. The houses, not only of
those who went, but of those who remained, were burnt and levelled to
the ground. The Strath was dotted all over with black spots, showing
where yesterday stood the habitations of men. The scarred half-burned
wood--couples, rafters, cabars--were strewn about in every direction.
Stooks of corn and plots of unlifted potatoes could be seen on all
sides, but man was gone. No voice could be heard. Those who refused to
go aboard the _Sillery_ were in hiding among the rocks and the caves,
while their friends were packed off like so many African slaves to the
Cuban market.
No mercy was shown to those who refused to emigrate; their few articles
of furniture were thrown out of their houses after them--beds, chairs,
tables, pots, stoneware, clothing, in many cases, rolling down the
hill. What took years to erect and collect were destroyed and scattered
in a few minutes. “From house to house, from hut to hut, and from barn
to barn, the factor and his menials proceeded, carrying on the work of
demolition, until there was scarcely a human habitation left standing
in the district. Able-bodied men who, if the matter would rest with
a mere trial of physical force, would have bound the factor and his
party hand and foot, and sent them out of the district, stood aside
as dumb spectators. Women wrung their hands and cried aloud, children
ran to and fro dreadfully frightened; and while all this work of
demolition and destruction was going on no opposition was offered by
the inhabitants, no hand was lifted, no stone cast, no angry word was
spoken.” The few huts left undemolished were occupied by the paupers,
but before the factor left for the south even they were warned not
to give any shelter to the evicted, or their huts would assuredly
meet with the same fate. Eleven families, numbering in all over sixty
persons, mostly old and decrepit men and women, and helpless children,
were exposed that night, and many of them long afterwards, to the cold
air, without shelter of any description beyond what little they were
able to save out of the wreck of their burnt dwellings.
We feel unwilling to inflict pain on the reader by the recitation of
the untold cruelties perpetrated on the poor Highlanders of Knoydart,
but doing so may, perhaps, serve a good purpose. It may convince the
evil-doer that his work shall not be forgotten, and any who may be
disposed to follow the example of past evictors may hesitate before
they proceed to immortalise themselves in such a hateful manner. We
shall, therefore, quote a few cases from the pamphlet already referred
to:--
John Macdugald, aged about 50, with a wife and family, was a cottar,
and earned his subsistence chiefly by fishing. He was in bad health,
and had two of his sons in the hospital, at Elgin, ill of smallpox,
when the _Sillery_ was sent to convey the Knoydart people to Canada.
He refused to go on that occasion owing to the state of his health,
and his boys being at a distance under medical treatment. The factor
and the officers, however, arrived, turned Macdugald and his family
adrift, put their bits of furniture out on the field, and in a few
minutes levelled their house to the ground. The whole family had now
no shelter but the broad canopy of heaven. The mother and the youngest
of the children could not sleep owing to the cold, and the father, on
account of his sickness, kept wandering about all night near where his
helpless family lay down to repose. After the factor and the officers
left the district Macdugald and his wife went back to the ruins of
their house, collected some of the stones and turf into something like
walls, threw a few cabars across, covered them over with blankets,
old sails, and turf, and then, with their children, crept underneath,
trusting that they would be allowed, at least for a time, to take
shelter under this temporary covering. But, alas! they were doomed to
bitter disappointment. A week had not elapsed when the local manager,
accompanied by a _posse_ of officers and menials, traversed the country
and levelled to the ground every hut or shelter erected by the evicted
peasantry. Macdugald was at this time away from Knoydart; his wife
was at Inverie, distant about six miles, seeing a sick relative; the
oldest children were working at the shore; and in the hut, when the
manager came with the “levellers,” he found none of the family except
Lucy and Jane, the two youngest. The moment they saw the officers they
screamed and fled for their lives. The demolition of the shelter was
easily accomplished--it was but the work of two or three minutes; and,
this over, the officers and menials of the manager amused themselves
by seizing hold of chairs, stools, tables, spinning-wheels, or any
other light articles, by throwing them a considerable distance from the
hut. The mother, as I said, was at Inverie, distant about six or seven
miles, and Lucy and Jane proceeded in that direction hoping to meet
her. They had not gone far, however, when they missed the footpath and
wandered far out of the way. In the interval the mother returned from
Inverie and found the hut razed to the ground, her furniture scattered
far and near, her bedclothes lying under turf, clay, and _debris_, and
her children gone! Just imagine the feelings of this poor Highland
mother on the occasion! But, to proceed, the other children returned
from the shore, and they too stood aside, amazed and grieved at the
sudden destruction of their humble refuge, and at the absence of their
two little sisters. At first they thought they were under the ruins,
and creeping down on their knees they carefully removed every turf and
stone, but found nothing except a few broken dishes. A consultation
was now held and a search resolved upon. The mother, brother and
sisters set off in opposite directions, among the rocks, over hills,
through moor and moss, searching every place, and calling aloud for
them by name, but they could discover no trace of them. Night was now
approaching and with it all hopes of finding them, till next day, were
fast dying away. The mother was now returning “home” (alas! to what a
_home_), the shades of night closed in, and still she had about three
miles to travel. She made for the footpath, scrutinized every bush, and
looked round every rock and hillock, hoping to find them. Sometimes she
imagined that she saw her two lasses walking before her at some short
distance, but it was an illusion caused by bushes just about their
size. The moon now emerged from behind a cloud and spread its light on
the path and surrounding district. A sharp frost set in, and ice began
to form on the little pools. Passing near a rock and some bushes, where
the children of the tenants used to meet when herding the cattle, she
felt as if something beckoned her to search there; this she did, and
found her two little children fast asleep, beside a favourite bush, the
youngest with her head resting on the breast of the eldest! Their own
version of their mishap is this: that when they saw the officers they
crept out and ran in the direction of Inverie to tell their mother;
that they missed the footpath, then wandered about crying, and finally
returned, they knew not how, to their favourite herding ground, and
being completely exhausted, fell asleep. The mother took the young one
on her back, sent the other on before her, and soon joined her other
children near the ruins of their old dwelling. They put a few sticks up
to an old fence, placed a blanket over it, and slept on the bare ground
that night. Macdugald soon returned from his distant journey, found his
family shelterless, and again set about erecting some refuge for them
from the wreck of the old buildings. Again, however, the local manager
appeared with levellers, turned them all adrift, and in a few moments
pulled down and destroyed all that he had built up. Matters continued
in this way for a week or two until Macdugald’s health became serious,
and then a neighbouring farmer gave him and his family temporary
shelter in an out-house; and for this act of disinterested humanity
he has already received some most improper and threatening letters
from the managers on the estate of Knoydart. It is very likely that
in consequence of this interference Macdugald is again taking shelter
among the rocks or amid the wreck of his former residence.
John Mackinnon, a cottar, aged 44, with a wife and six children,
had his house pulled down, and had no place to put his head in,
consequently he and his family, for the first night or two, had to
burrow among the rocks near the shore! When he thought that the factor
and his party had left the district, he emerged from the rocks,
surveyed the ruins of his former dwelling, saw his furniture and other
effects exposed to the elements, and now scarcely worth the lifting.
The demolition was so complete that he considered it utterly impossible
to make any use of the ruins of the old house. The ruins of an old
chapel, however, were near at hand, and parts of the walls were still
standing; thither Mackinnon proceeded with his family, and having swept
away some rubbish and removed some grass and nettles, they placed a few
cabars up to one of the walls, spread some sails and blankets across,
brought in some meadow hay, and laid it in a corner for a bed, stuck a
piece of iron into the wall in another corner, on which they placed a
crook, then kindled a fire, washed some potatoes, and put a pot on the
fire, and boiled them, and when these and a few fish roasted on the
embers were ready, Mackinnon and his family had _one_ good diet, being
the first regular meal they tasted since the destruction of their house!
Mackinnon is a tall man, but poor and unhealthy-looking. His wife is
a poor weak women, evidently struggling with a diseased constitution
and dreadful trials. The boys, Ronald and Archibald, were lying in
“bed”--(may I call a “pickle” hay on the bare ground a bed?)--suffering
from rheumatism and cholic. The other children are apparently healthy
enough as yet, but very ragged. There is no door to their wretched
abode, consequently every breeze and gust that blow have free ingress
to the inmates. A savage from Terra-del-Fuego, or a Red Indian from
beyond the Rocky Mountains, would not exchange huts with these victims,
nor humanity with their persecutors. Mackinnon’s wife was pregnant
when she was turned out of her house among the rocks. In about four
days after she had a premature birth; and this and her exposure to
the elements, and the want of proper shelter and nutritious diet, has
brought on consumption from which there is no chance whatever of her
recovery.
There was something very solemn indeed in this scene. Here, amid the
ruins of the old sanctuary, where the swallows fluttered, where the
ivy tried to screen the grey moss-covered stones, where nettles and
grass grew up luxuriously, where the floor was damp, the walls sombre
and uninviting, where there were no doors nor windows, nor roof, and
where the owl, the bat, and the fox used to take refuge, a Christian
family was obliged to take shelter! One would think that as Mackinnon
took refuge amid the ruins of this most singular place, that he would
be let alone, that he would not any longer be molested by man. But,
alas! that was not to be. The manager of Knoydart and his minions
appeared, and invaded this helpless family, even within the walls of
the sanctuary. They pulled down the sticks and sails he set up within
its ruins--put his wife and children out on the cold shore--threw his
tables, stools, chairs, etc., over the walls--burnt up the hay on
which they slept--put out the fire, and then left the district. Four
times have these officers broken in upon poor Mackinnon in this way,
destroying his place of shelter, and sent him and his family adrift on
the cold coast of Knoydart. When I looked in upon these creatures last
week I found them in utter consternation, having just learned that the
officers would appear next day, and would again destroy the huts. The
children looked at me as if I had been a wolf; they crept behind their
father, and stared wildly, dreading I was a law officer. The sight was
most painful. The very idea that, in Christian Scotland, and in the
nineteenth century, these tender infants should be subjected to such
gross treatment reflects strongly upon our humanity and civilization.
Had they been suffering from the ravages of famine, or pestilence,
or war, I could understand it and account for it, but suffering to
gratify the ambition of some unfeeling spectator in brute beasts, I
think it most unwarranted, and deserving the emphatic condemnation of
every Christian man. Had Mackinnon been in arrears of rent, which he
was not, even this would not justify the harsh, cruel, and inhuman
conduct pursued towards himself and his family. No language of mine can
describe the condition of this poor family, exaggeration is impossible.
The ruins of an old chapel is the last place in the world to which a
poor Highlander would resort with his wife and children, unless he was
driven to it by dire necessity. Take another case, that of
Elizabeth Gillies, a widow, aged 60 years. This is a most lamentable
case. Neither age, sex, nor circumstance saved this poor creature from
the most wanton and cruel aggression. Her house was on the brow of a
hill, near a stream that formed the boundary between a large sheep farm
and the lands of the tenants of Knoydart. Widow Gillies was warned to
quit like the rest of the tenants, and was offered a passage first to
Australia and then to Canada, but she refused to go, saying she could
do nothing in Canada. The widow, however, made no promises, and the
factor went away. She had then a nice young daughter staying with her,
but ere the vessel that was to convey the Knoydart people away arrived
at Isle Ornsay, this young girl died, and poor Widow Gillies was left
alone. When the time for pulling down the houses arrived, it was hoped
that some mercy would have been shown to this poor, bereaved widow, but
there was none. Widow Gillies was sitting inside her house when the
factor and officers arrived. They ordered her to remove herself and
effects instantly, as they were, they said, to pull down the house!
She asked them where she would remove to; the factor would give no
answer, but continued insisting on her leaving the house. This she at
last positively refused. Two men then took hold of her, and tried to
pull her out by force, but she sat down beside the fire, and would
not move an inch. One of the assistants threw water on the fire and
extinguished it, and then joined the other two in forcibly removing
the poor widow from the house. At first she struggled hard, seized
hold of every post or stone within her reach, taking a death grasp of
each to keep possession. But the officers were too many and too cruel
for her. They struck her over the fingers, and compelled her to let go
her hold, and then all she could do was to greet and cry out murder!
She was ultimately thrust out at the door, from where she crept on her
hands and feet to a dyke side, being quite exhausted and panting for
breath, owing to her hard struggle with three powerful men. Whenever
they got her outside, the work of destruction immediately commenced.
Stools, chairs, tables, cupboard, spinning-wheel, bed, blankets, straw,
dishes, pots, and chest, were thrown out in the gutter. They broke
down the partitions, took down the crook from over the fire-place,
destroyed the hen roosts, and then beat the hens out through the broad
vent in the roof of the house. This done, they set to work on the walls
outside with picks and iron levers. They pulled down the thatch, cut
the couples, and in a few minutes the walls fell out, while the roof
fell in with a dismal crash!
When the factor and his party were done with this house, they proceeded
to another district, pulling down and destroying dwelling-places as
they went along. The shades of night at last closed in, and here was
the poor helpless widow sitting like a pelican, alone and cheerless.
Allan Macdonald, a cottar, whose house was also pulled down, ran across
the hill to see how the poor widow had been treated, and found her
moaning beside the dyke. He led her to where his own children had taken
shelter, treated her kindly, and did all he could to comfort her under
the circumstances.
When I visited Knoydart I found the poor widow at work, repairing
her shed, and such a shed, and such a dwelling, I never before
witnessed. The poor creature spoke remarkably well, and appeared to
me to be a very sensible woman. I expressed my sympathy for her,
and my disapprobation of the conduct of those who so unmercifully
treated her. She said it was indeed most ungrateful on the part of
the representatives of Glengarry to have treated her so cruelly--that
her predecessors were, from time immemorial, on the Glengarry
estates--that many of them died in defence of, or fighting for, the old
chieftains--and that they had always been true and faithful subjects.
I asked why she refused to go to Canada?
“For a very good reason,” she said, “I am now old, and not able to
clear a way in the forests of Canada; and, besides, I am unfit for
service; and, further, I am averse to leave my native country, and
rather than leave it, I would much prefer that my grave was opened
beside my dear daughter, although I should be buried alive!”
I do think she was sincere in what she said. Despair and anguish were
marked in her countenance, and her attachment to her old habitation and
its associations were so strong that I believe they can only be cut
asunder by death! I left her in this miserable shed which she occupied,
and I question much if there is another human residence like it in
Europe. The wig-wam of the wild Indian, or the cave of the Greenlander,
are palaces in comparison with it; and even the meanest dog-kennel
in England would be a thousand times more preferable as a place of
residence. If this poor Highland woman will stand it out all winter in
this abode it will be indeed a great wonder. The factor has issued an
_ukase_, which aggravates all these cases of eviction with peculiar
hardship; he has warned all and sundry on the Knoydart estates from
receiving or entertaining the evicted peasantry into their houses under
pain of removal.
Allan Macdonald, aged 54, a widower, with four children, was similarly
treated. Our informant says of him:--“When his late Majesty George IV.
visited Scotland in 1823, and when Highland lairds sent up to
Edinburgh specimens of the bone and sinew--human produce--of their
properties, old Glengarry took care to give Allan Macdonald a polite
invitation to this ‘Royal exhibition.’ Alas! how matters have so sadly
changed. Within the last 30 years _man_ has fallen off dreadfully in
the estimation of Highland proprietors. Commercially speaking, Allan
Macdonald has now no value at all. Had he been a roe, a deer, a sheep,
or a bullock, a Highland laird in speculating could estimate his
‘real’ worth to within a few shillings, but Allan is _only_ a man.
Then his children; they are of no value, nor taken into account in
the calculations of the sportsman. They cannot be shot at like hares,
blackcocks, or grouse, nor yet can they be sent south as game to feed
the London market.”
Another case is that of Archibald Macisaac, crofter, aged 66; wife 54,
with a family of ten children. Archibald’s house, byre, barn, and
stable were levelled to the ground. The furniture of the house was
thrown down the hill, and a general destruction then commenced. The
roof, fixtures, and woodwork were smashed to pieces, the walls razed to
the very foundation, and all that was left for poor Archibald to look
upon was a black dismal wreck. Twelve human beings were thus deprived
of their home in less than half-an-hour. It was grossly illegal to have
destroyed the barn, for, according even to the law of Scotland, the
outgoing or removing tenant is entitled to the use of the barn until
his crops are disposed of. But, of course, in a remote district, and
among simple and primitive people like the inhabitants of Knoydart, the
laws that concern them and define their rights are unknown to them.
Archibald had now to make the best shift he could. No mercy or favour
could be expected from the factor. Having convened his children beside
an old fence where he sat looking on when the destruction of his home
was accomplished, he addressed them on the peculiar nature of the
position in which they were placed, and the necessity of asking for
wisdom from above to guide them in any future action. His wife and
children wept, but the old man said, “Neither weeping nor reflection
will now avail; we must prepare some shelter.” The children collected
some cabars and turf, and in the hollow between two ditches, the old
man constructed a rude shelter for the night, and having kindled a fire
and gathered in his family, they all engaged in family worship and
sung psalms as usual. Next morning they examined the ruins, picked up
some broken pieces of furniture, dishes, etc., and then made another
addition to their shelter in the ditch. Matters went on this way for
about a week, when the local manager and his men came down upon them,
and after much abuse for daring to take shelters on the lands of
Knoydart, they destroyed the shelter and put old Archy and his people
again out on the hill.
I found Archibald and his numerous family still at Knoydart and in a
shelter beside the old ditch. Any residence more wretched or more
truly melancholy, I have never witnessed. A feal, or turf erection,
about 3 feet high, 4 feet broad, and about 5 feet long, was at the end
of the shelter, and this formed the sleeping place of the mother and
her five daughters! They creep in and out on their knees, and their bed
is just a layer of hay on the cold earth of the ditch! There is surely
monstrous cruelty in this treatment of British females, and the laws
that sanction or tolerate such flagrant and gross abuses are a disgrace
to the Statute book and to the country that permits it. Macisaac and
his family are, so far as I could learn, very decent, respectable, and
well-behaved people, and can we not perceive a monstrous injustice
in treating them worse than slaves because they refuse to allow
themselves to be packed off to the Colonies just like so many bales of
manufactured goods?