Harkness – MacGillivray Stories

This is a literary version of “The Fall of Ewen.” It is set on the Isle of Eigg, in the days when island families depended on the annual shearwater harvest to survive — and when small children were sent up sheer cliff faces to bring the eggs and chicks home.

The Fachachs of Eigg

The transition was so subtle that it was almost imperceptible to anyone who was not a native of the island. Perhaps it was the way the gusty chill of the air slowly gave way to a gentle warmth that seemed to seep into the soul. Perhaps it was the way the sea no longer drenched the local children playing on the beach with icy spray, making them braver as they ventured farther into the water. Or perhaps it was the sight of the Manx shearwaters returning to the cliffs to lay their eggs. That must surely have been it.

The landscape took on a golden glow as spring gradually loosened its grip on the island, making way for summer. With the arrival of the warmer season, children as young as five began searching the cliffs of Eigg for the eggs and chicks of the Manx shearwater.

These were not like the children of later generations who searched for birds’ nests as a hobby or collected colourful eggs for display. These children gathered eggs and chicks because their families depended upon them for food.

Most of the islanders were poor, and food was scarce. Apart from a few head of livestock and the fish caught from the surrounding sea, there was little to sustain them.

Long before anyone could remember, the people of Eigg had harvested the eggs and chicks of the Manx shearwater.

As mentioned elsewhere, the people of the Scottish Highlands and Islands were Gaelic-speaking, although their language and culture were gradually eroded as English became increasingly dominant. But that is another story.

To return to the point, the shearwater chicks were known locally as “fachach” in Gaelic, and the people of Eigg themselves came to be nicknamed the “Fachachs” because of their annual harvesting of the birds. The word fachach is often said to mean something like “fat chick.”

The Manx Shearwaters

Manx shearwaters are seabirds that come ashore only to breed and raise their young. One might imagine that they simply nested without concern, but over countless generations they had learned where danger lay. Their greatest predators were the islanders.

Whatever instinct led them to nest high on the cliffs proved a wise one. They laid their eggs deep inside narrow burrows, hidden among rocky ledges beyond the easy reach of adults. By day the birds remained hidden, returning mainly under cover of darkness. Their chicks seemed safe. Or so they believed.

The islanders, however, also learned. They knew that only the small hands of children could reach deep into the burrows where adults could not. So the children became part of the annual harvest.

Perhaps it seems strange today that mothers allowed such dangerous work. Yet hunger has a way of silencing many fears. When food is scarce, every member of a family is expected to contribute. What appears harsh to later generations may have seemed necessary to those struggling simply to survive.

The children themselves were often eager participants. To them, climbing the cliffs was both work and adventure. They competed to see who could collect the most eggs and chicks, encouraged by the praise of parents and neighbours. What began as survival had also become a test of courage.

Ewen was one of those children.

Ruaridh’s Son

As the son of Ruaridh, the island’s strongest and most respected man, he felt the weight of expectation from an early age. Ruaridh wanted his son to become the best climber, the strongest worker, and the bravest boy on Eigg. After all, an apple does not fall far from the tree.

Ruaridh expected his son to become the sort of man he himself had become. On Eigg there was little room for weakness. Boys grew into men quickly, or not at all.

Ewen idolised his father and longed to earn his approval. Fear of heights was nothing compared with the fear of disappointing him. He would do whatever his father asked, hoping to earn his trust, affection, and pride.

He also loved the taste of the young birds, although he received only a small portion because it had to be shared among his many brothers and sisters. His father had taught him that helping to feed the family was everyone’s responsibility.

Yet he was still only a child. More than anything else he loved to play, and climbing the cliffs with the other boys often felt like an adventure rather than work.

Together they stood at the foot of the towering cliff face, staring upwards.

A tremor of fear passed through Ewen, but he quickly pushed it aside.

He looked towards his father, who smiled back.

Ewen raised a trembling hand in a small wave, secretly hoping his father might suddenly call him back and tell him to stay safely below. Instead, Ruaridh continued talking proudly with the other men, boasting that his son would return with the largest haul of eggs and chicks.

Ewen studied his father’s broad shoulders and weathered face, trying to remember every detail.

Then he ran towards him.

Throwing his arms around his father’s leg, he hugged him tightly.

Taken by surprise and unaccustomed to such affection, Ruaridh rested his rough hand on the boy’s hair for a moment longer than usual. He almost told him to stay behind.

Almost.

But the other men were watching, and Ewen was smiling up at him.

“Off you go, lad,” he said quietly.

Ewen’s eyes silently begged his father to call him back, but Ruaridh mistook the look for determination.

The Climb

With hunched shoulders, Ewen began climbing. Knowing his father was watching, he climbed faster and higher, determined to make him proud. Among the children, no one climbed better.

He never admitted that he was afraid of heights. His father would surely have laughed and reminded him that no one in their family feared anything.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he forced his trembling hands and legs higher up the cliff.

With an experienced eye, he searched every crack and crevice.

Soon he found a burrow.

Stretching his arm deep inside, he felt an egg.

Success.

He slipped it carefully into his sack.

Then another. And another.

Now, if only he could find a chick.

Secretly, he hoped to keep one as a pet.

His father would never approve. To Ruaridh, birds were food.

But Ewen loved birds.

He secretly cried whenever his mother cooked the fluffy chicks.

If only he could raise one himself.

Higher still, he spotted another small opening.

From within came a faint squeak.

His heart quickened.

Carefully he reached inside.

There it was. A tiny chick.

He lifted it gently from the burrow and gazed into its dark eyes. At that moment he felt an instant bond.

Softly he stroked its down.

“I’ll call you Little Donald,” he whispered. “You can live beside our house. I’ll bring you little fish.”

The chick answered with a tiny chirp.

It made Ewen smile.

It was also the sound that sealed his fate.

The Fall

The little bird trembled in his hands.

Then came a sharp cry from above.

It was not the cry of anger, but of terror—the desperate call of a parent searching for its young.

The mother shearwater swooped at him, striking with her beak and wings.

Startled, Ewen tried to protect himself.

Then another bird attacked. And another.

Within moments the air was alive with frantic wings.

Perhaps they had endured generations of losing their young to the islanders. Perhaps instinct alone drove them. Whatever the reason, the birds defended their nesting place with desperate courage.

Ewen could fend off one bird. He could not fend off them all.

Before raising his arms to protect himself, he gently placed the little chick back upon the ledge.

Then he lost his balance.

Ewen fell.

As he tumbled through the air, the cliff disappeared.

He saw only his father’s face.

“Did I do well, Father?”

He longed to hear the answer.

Then the sea rushed up to meet him.