Chapter 11 - Conversations with a Lawyer

There are some favorite quotes, and some new words that I learned in this chapter.

As they head out from the castle towards Fort William, the day is bleak and shrouded in fog:

The noise of the horses’ hooves seemed muffled in the fog. Voices carried strangely through the damp air, so that calls from one end of the long string were sometimes heard easily at the other, while the sounds of nearby conversations were lost in broken murmurs. It was like riding through a vapor peopled by ghosts. Disembodied voices floated in the air, speaking far away, then remarkably near at hand.

This is the strange quality of fog. It muffles sounds and limits visibility. In fact, I'm surprised that the smell of fog wan't mentioned. You've never smelled fog? It's sort of a damp, fresh, clean, invigorating jolt when inhaled deeply. I love it. Where I live, we frequently have fog in the seasonal change between summer and autumn, and the fog lies low over the ground early in the morning, and then typically burns off by mid-morning.

I remember where I grew up that sometimes the fog would come in so thick, that it was literally impossible to see your hand in front of your face. Walking our long driveway to school on one occasion, I held my black-gloved hand within 12" of my face and I was absolutely unable to see it. Even as young as I was, 10 or 11 years old, I remember laughing to myself how that saying could actually be true. The description here in the story is equally vivid: "It was like riding through a vapor peopled by ghosts." What a great simile to convey the distinct nature of the riding group; on a single journey but with, as we soon find out, veiled objectives.

The picture of Ned Gowan, the lawyer/solicitor, is one of classic 18th-century, bookish clerk-type; and, yet there is a sense of something more.

I was quite curious to know what had led a man of Mr. Gowan’s obvious qualifications to take up a post in the remote Scottish Highlands, far from the amenities of civilized life to which he must be accustomed.

"Well, as to that,” he said, in answer to my questions, “as a young man, I had a small practice in Edinburgh. With lace curtains in the window, and a shiny brass plate by the door, with my name inscribed upon it. But I grew rather tired of making wills and drawing up conveyances, and seeing the same faces in the street, day after day. So I left,” he said simply.

He had purchased a horse and some supplies and set off, with no idea where he was going, or what to do once he got there. “Ye see, I must confess,” he said, dabbing his nose primly with a monogrammed handkerchief, “to something of a taste for…adventure. However, neither my stature nor my family background had fitted me for the life of highwayman or seafarer, which were the most adventurous occupations I could envision at the time."

This appears to be a little out of character for someone who in all other respects appears quite clinical and calculating. But, as usual, it seems that Diana anticipates this view by having Claire recount that "...the little man on the bay mare, dry as his bones might be, and steeped to the marrow in the law, had by his own testimony the soul of a romantic." So there it is; the wanderlust in all of us come to fruition in the business-like mannerisms of one Mr. Ned Gowan. (Wow, kinda sounds like I've got the whole Rod Serling/Twilight Zone thing going on there).

One of my new words is found here:

"Dougal might have been made chief at the time, but ’twas felt he’d not the judgment for it yet.” He shook his head. “Oh, there was a great stramash about it all. There were cousins and uncles and tacksmen, and a great Gathering to decide the matter.”

"Stramash": a row or uproar. Great word. We have those all the time at work. At least now I know what to call it besides "arguing".

Ned continues discussing various topics with Claire, and she recounts:

We passed the rest of the day in pleasant conversation, wandering among his reminiscences of the dear departed days when men were men, and the pernicious weed of civilization was less rampant upon the bonny wild face of the Highlands.

What beautiful imagery to convey the ruggedness, idealism, and conservative nature of the Highland clansmen. In one sentence a volume of information is passed to us to understand the deep roots of nationalistic pride that beat within the heart of every true-blooded Scotsman in the MacKenzie clan.

We soon come to find out why Jamie was invited on the rent-collecting expedition, as he is proffered as an exhibit of English cruelty which is designed to cause the country farmers to contribute financially to the Jacobite rising. So now a larger picture is emerging; one of political instability, intrigue, and recognition.

Another new word comes to my ears among the descriptions of the country folk: crofter. Not having experienced this term, a quick search reveals that a crofter is one who works a plot of land, typically in the service of the feudal lord or "laird". Hmm...just like me and the IRS today.

One of the more interesting terms I ran across was the sgian dhu (which appears to be pronounced SKEEan doo, please correct me if someone has a different understanding), the ceremonial knife carried in the stocking of traditional clansman. Besides the knife, there are so many traditions associated with the regalia that I was detoured a bit with my own research into the history of this small knife and the variations depending on clan, etc. I even found a site that is all about kilts (and shares once and for all what men really wear underneath them) which can be found here.

I really enjoyed Claire's little detour in her mind considering the significance of the stones:

...the spot would have been one of terrible mystery and powerful magic; a spot where people would have disappeared without warning. Or appeared, perhaps, out of thin air.

This whole logical-consequence-imagining of Claire was very interesting to me in the sense of where the story may take us. This aligns neatly with legends and fairy tales and anchors the story firmly in legends. This is a very powerful literary device and, to my way of thinking, gives the Outlander story the mythic fuel it needs to outlive its current generation.

Interrupting her thoughts, Dougal and Jamie have an argument regarding the ethics of Dougal's agenda to leverage Colum's authority for support of the Stuart rebellion. The exchange is edged with tension, as Dougal challenges Jamie's allegiance:

"Your obedience is to the chieftain of the clan, and outside of Leoch, I am Colum's head and arms and hands as well as his legs."
"And never saw I a better case of the right hand not knowin' what the left is up to," came the quick rejoinder..."What d'ye think the right is going to say about the left collecting gold for the Stuarts?"

Jamie's response is sharp and witty, and once again, another reference that has a foundation in scripture. The original context applies to money that is given to the poor, not financing a war-chest:

Matt. 6:3-4  But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly.

Whether intentional or not, the irony of using that reference in the context of war and rebellion had impact on me. While it was explained earlier in the story that Jamie lived at a monastery for four months which cured him of his swearing, I suppose he could have picked up a couple of Bible passages here and there. For the common rural clansman of the day, though, quoting scripture might not come as easily since printed Bibles were not something as readily available as we have in this day and age; a reference like that might be a bit more obscure.

I did enjoy the brief sword fighting lesson Jamie shared with Claire; now I have some tactics I can use in my next broadsword fight at work. (I'm sure they'll never expect me to use a left-handed sgian dhu to gain the advantage).