Charles Macdonald, aged 70 years, a widower, having no family. This
poor man was also “keeled” for the Colonies, and, as he refused to go,
his house or cabin was levelled to the ground. What on earth could old
Charles do in America? Was there any mercy or humanity in offering
_him_ a free passage across the Atlantic? In England, Charles would
have been considered a proper object of parochial protection and
relief, but in Scotland no such relief is afforded except to “sick
folks” and tender infants. There can be no question, however, that
the factor looked forward to the period when Charles would become
chargeable as a pauper, and, acting as a “prudent man,” he resolved
to get quit of him at once. Three or four pounds would send the old
man across the Atlantic, but if he remained in Knoydart, it would
likely take four or five pounds to keep him each year that he lived.
When the factor and his party arrived at Charles’s door, they knocked
and demanded admission; the factor intimated his object, and ordered
the old man to quit. “As soon as I can,” said Charles, and, taking
up his plaid and staff and adjusting his blue bonnet, he walked out,
merely remarking to the factor that the man who could turn out an old,
inoffensive Highlander of seventy, from such a place, and at such a
season, could do a great deal more if the laws of the country permitted
him. Charles took to the rocks, and from that day to this he has never
gone near his old habitation. He has neither house nor home, but
receives occasional supplies of food from his evicted neighbours, _and
he sleeps on the hill!_ Poor old man, who would not pity him--who would
not share with him a crust or a covering--who?
Alexander Macdonald, aged 40 years, with a wife and family of four
children, had his house pulled down. His wife was pregnant; still the
levellers thrust her out, and then put the children out after her. The
husband argued, remonstrated, and protested, but it was all in vain;
for in a few minutes all he had for his (to him once comfortable) home
was a lot of rubbish, blackened rafters, and heaps of stones. The
levellers laughed at him and at his protests, and when their work was
over, moved away, leaving him to find refuge the best way he could.
Alexander had, like the rest of his evicted brethren, to burrow among
the rocks and in caves until he put up a temporary shelter amid the
wreck of his old habitation, but from which he was repeatedly driven
away. For three days Alexander Macdonald’s wife lay sick beside a bush,
where, owing to terror and exposure to cold, she had a miscarriage. She
was then removed to the shelter of the walls of her former house, and
for three days she lay so ill that her life was despaired of. These are
facts as to which I challenge contradiction. I have not inserted them
without the most satisfactory evidence of their accuracy.
Catherine Mackinnon, aged about 50 years, unmarried; Peggy Mackinnon,
aged about 48 years, unmarried; and Catherine Macphee (a half-sister
of the two Mackinnons), also unmarried; occupied one house. Catherine
Mackinnon was for a long time sick, and she was confined to bed when
the factor and his party came to beat down the house. At first they
requested her to get up and walk out, but her sisters said she could
not, as she was so unwell. They answered, “Oh, she is scheming;” the
sisters said she was not, that she had been ill for a considerable
time, and the sick woman herself, who then feebly spoke, said she was
quite unfit to be removed, but if God spared her and bestowed upon her
better health that she would remove of her own accord. This would not
suffice; _they forced her out of bed, sick as she was, and left her
beside a ditch from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m._, when, afraid that she would
die, as she was seriously unwell, they removed her to a house and
provided her with cordials and warm clothing. Let the reader imagine
the sufferings of this poor female, so ruthlessly torn from a bed of
sickness and laid down beside a cold ditch and there left exposed for
seven long hours, and then say if such conduct does not loudly call
for the condemnation of every lover of human liberty and humanity.
Peggy and her half-sister Macphee are still burrowing among the ruins
of their old home. When I left Knoydart last week there were no hope
whatever of Catherine Mackinnon’s recovery.
I challenge the factor to contradict one sentence in this short
narrative of the poor females. The melancholy truth of it is too
palpable, too well-known in the district to admit of even a tenable
explanation. Nothing can palliate or excuse such gross inhumanity,
and it is but right and proper that British Christians should be made
aware of such unchristian conduct--such cruelty towards helpless
fellow-creatures in sickness and distress.