Life or Land: A McCargar Story

By Yvonne McCargar

Two Scottish brothers escape their home life to join the British army. There is a revolution brewing across the Atlantic and land is being offered in exchange for service. It is a risk they choose to take.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9781779418227

Yvonne McCargar

Although it is a work of fiction, as a ninth-generation descendant I have always been intrigued by the McCargar story and how they came to North America. Besides being a writer, I am a married mother of two working as a dental hygienist living in Ottawa, Ont. CA.It is a well paced story, engaging with defined characters. The book is intriguing and readers will want to keep turning the page to find out what life has in store for these brothers.C.Olmstead Burnstown, Ont

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Life or Land

A McCargar Story

Yvonne McCargar

Life or Land

Copyright © 2024 by Yvonne McCargar

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-1-77941-821-0 (Hardcover)

978-1-77941-820-3 (Paperback)

978-1-77941-822-7 (eBook)

Table of Contents

Rise

Duty

Battles Begin

Thomas

Joseph

Sarah

Rebecca

What Was Old Is New

FOR JOHN AND LEAH

"Where there is life

There is hope…"

– John Gay

RISE

As he pushed his small frame against the door to the cottage, the worn loose wood scraped the dirt floor. Before his eyes could become accustomed to the dark sooty air his father barked, Where have ya been?

Joseph, struggling to regain his sight, looked around the room only to see his mother and younger brother huddled together in the far corner.

I was fixing the wall at the far end of the field, he answered.

Always the hero, eh boy?

He could see his father clearly now. His sinister dark eyes reflected what little light there was in the room and the spittle that had accumulated in the corners of his mouth, disappeared in his coarse unwashed beard.

No sir. I just wanted to help. I knew you wanted it done.

What do I care? I don’t own the land. You did it for her eh? She’s been after me to do it, so you went and done it. Ain’t that right, boy? If it t’were me who asked you’d be draggin’ your feet, wouldn’t ya, boy? Can’t wait for me to kick off so that you can run things, ain’t that right, boy? He spat while he hauled himself out of the chair by the fire.

No Sir, replied Joseph, meeting his eye.

Givin’ me lip, are ya? You little worthless piece of shit! He backhanded his son across the face with such force that his feet lifted from the ground and his slight body flew into the air before hitting the wall where it crumpled and slid to the floor. Joseph lay motionless.

Get up! Get up you weak worthless dog! On your feet! He stood over the boy puffing from anger and exertion debating whether to lift his boot. Not worth the effort he decided turning his bulky frame, so he shuffled back to his chair and his cup.

Joseph now stood before the same cottage door and shook himself from his daydream. He was no longer that helpless boy he thought as he pushed his way into the darkness. The fire smouldered but its heat was blocked by the same sleeping sinister sentinel. How did he make it home from the hillside? He had last seen his father’s bloated frame passed out beside his mother’s grave as the Holy Father presided over her internment. The woman couldn’t even have a respectful burial. When the last shovel of earth had fallen on her grave he couldn’t stay, he needed to think, and he had left his younger brother frozen in disbelief by their mother’s grave. Thomas must’ve rolled their excuse for a father into the cart that had carried her up the hill after he left.

Looking around he thought about how the cottage hadn’t changed much over the years. His mother had tried in vain to make it comfortable but no matter how hard she tried; it was never that. Home was never a place of refuge; it was only a roof over their heads. If he could’ve found food and shelter elsewhere, he would’ve gladly gone. Had she ever loved the man? He couldn’t fathom it. Did she choose him? He had asked her that once before and she didn’t really provide a direct answer. She had said it was God’s will. Had God finally decided to bring her home? No. She had been sent. Her frail body bent from overwork could not recover from the last beating she took from her husband.

Joseph’s gaze then turned to his younger brother who he just noticed sitting at the table resting his head over his crossed arms.

Get your things, said Joseph in a raspy voice.

Thomas looked at him with questioning eyes.

Get your things, repeated Joseph. Don’t say or ask anything. Just get your things – only what you can carry. We aren’t coming back.

The young men quietly gathered what little they owned and bundled it ready for travel. Joseph stuffed what was left of the food in his pack.

It’ll be eaten by rodents by the time the whiskey’s gone, said Joseph, answering the reproach in his brother’s face.

As they left the cottage Joseph could not shake off the hope that the old man would come racing out in a rage. Without their mother to intervene, he would have gladly pummelled him into the ground. But what would that solve? It wouldn’t bring her back. He quickened his pace eager to put distance with what was now his past. Thomas fell in step; he too couldn’t leave fast enough.

They walked in silence the rest of the day. Thomas didn’t question where they were going. He trusted Joseph. Many times, Joseph had taken a beating meant for him. Should he ever forget, the dent in the bridge of Joseph’s nose was there to remind him.

It was nightfall when they finally stopped and ate the dried oat bread in silence. With their stomachs not near full they wrapped themselves in their plaids and laid down back-to-back to conserve warmth and waited for sleep.

Do you think Ma was ever happy? asked Thomas.

Maybe when she was younger, but I don’t know. All I remember was him angry and her crying.

Thomas thought for a while. I don’t remember her cryin’, just sad is all.

I guess you were too young. The crying just made him worse so eventually she stopped.

Do you ever want to be married? he asked.

Joseph didn’t answer for some time. Thomas thought maybe he had drifted off to sleep.

I tell you this much, he started finally. "If I ever find a woman that I would want to have my children, I would never treat her like he treated our mum. Maybe he was good to her in the beginning but when the whiskey took hold, that was his ‘wife’. Don’t ever forget that Thomas, stay clear of the whiskey. Grog gives you sustenance, but whiskey lights a fire that burns those around you. Some men can hold theirs but not many and there’s no tellin’ if we are one of them. And there’s one thing I’m sure of, I never want to be like him."

Thomas listened with intent. His older brother was usually right about things and if Joseph said it, then that’s how it was. As sleep took hold he thought of their mother and that she was now able to rest, and he hoped she was finally at peace.

Waking to a cold morning they gathered their bundles and continued on their journey. Joseph imagined their father waking to a cold cottage. His first thought would be of the whiskey one of his friends had brought and the second would be why hadn’t the fire been stoked. He’d probably bellow for them to do it then give up and return to his blessed beverage for warmth.

Smoke rose from a hillside in the distance, and they pictured in their minds a cottage like the one they had left with smoke belching from its hearth but as they approached it, they realized that was not the case.

The former thatch roof and its central beam were mere smouldering embers that had fallen within the confines of the earthen walls. Its site confirmed to Joseph that they were making the right choice in leaving.

The fire was evidence of eviction. It was 1775 and it was happening all over. Tenant farmers were not needed as owners decided they would no longer raise cattle. Cattle required more hands to tend than did sheep making the change in livestock a profitable business decision. The strong central beams that were given to tenants to build their homes were being systematically destroyed to prevent the homes from being rebuilt. No value was given to the home built around the beam. The toil and sacrifice that raised the walls and thatched the roof was of no consequence. Joseph wondered where the family had gone.

Where are we going? Thomas finally asked.

America, replied Joseph.

But we have no money. How will we get passage? said a worrying Thomas in disbelief. Thrill and fear danced in his head and threatened the outward calm he wanted his brother to believe.

I don’t have all the details worked out but don’t worry. We have a few choices. First, we could pay our passage with servitude, indenture ourselves for a number of years but that would split us up and we could end up under the thumb of some other bastard. Same life, different land. Our only other option is to join up and become British soldiers.

We’re not soldiers. We don’t know anything about soldiering. Don’t you have to join up for twenty years?

We’re strong, we can learn. They teach you how to be a soldier. There is a revolt in the colonies, and they need men – men just like us. They are offering 50 acres of land for service and a shorter term of commitment. I heard it was five years. Think of it, Thomas, five years, and we get our own land. No one can evict us and between the two of us we’d have a whopping 100 acres.

"If we live," Thomas replied under his breath.

"There is nothing for us here. If we stay, we’ll slowly starve to death."

You’ve been thinking about this for a while, realized Thomas.

Yes, but I couldn’t leave her, not with him, replied Joseph.

Thomas bowed his head in silence. His shoulder length hair was jet black and much darker than his brother’s reddish brown but like his, it was tied at the nape of his neck. The soft fuzz on his face was being replaced by the thicker, coarser hair of maturity. He couldn’t resist stroking his face periodically to reassure himself that it was there, a sure sign that he was now a man. I guess I’ll take my chances as a soldier, decided Thomas.

I thought you might. We can watch each other’s backs. Remember this is our chance, anything we build will be our own. Just imagine.

Thomas listened as Joseph continued.

No hero stuff Thomas, promise me. Hero’s end up in the ground long before their time.

Thomas listened but thought it was Joseph who would have to pay heed to his own words. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself.

There’s another thing Thomas…

The hesitation in Joseph’s voice filled Thomas with trepidation.

What?

The old man has debts. It’s not our fault but the law sees it different. If they can’t get money out of him, maybe they’ll turn to us.

What can we do about that? Have you thought that one through?

I have an idea, yes. We’ll sign up under another name.

Thomas was stunned. Change their names?

I’ve been thinking about it for a while so it can’t be a name that anyone recognizes, otherwise we may have some explaining to do. It has to be a new name that no one has ever heard of, that way we can make up our own history and no one will know our secret.

And what’s the new name? Are you sure that this plan will work?

No, I’m not sure, but it’s worth the risk. From now on your name is Thomas McCargar. I thought we’d better keep our first names, less chance of screwing up.

How do you spell it?

M-C-C-A-R-G-A-R.

MCC not MAC? Doesn’t that sound more Irish?

Exactly. What Irishman do you know who can trace their relations back as far as us Scots?

"But we don’t sound Irish," worried Thomas.

No, we don’t but we can say we’ve been living amongst the Scots so long we become one. It’ll be good for a laugh.

Where have we been living? Have you thought that one out too?

So many people have been uprooted from their homes. I doubt anyone will care, but if they ask, just tell them our home is close to the sea near where the hills start to rise and was burnt, and they won’t ask anymore. They’ll know we didn’t own anything so the where won’t be important. The less details we have to remember the more chance it’ll work. Besides the way I hear it is they always are needin’ men so they oft times trick em into joining.

As a sign of agreement, Thomas mirrored the steps of his brother as he thought a soldier would.

–

Where was that damn woman? She let the fire go out! When he got a hold of her, she wouldn’t forget again. He had slept in his chair and his head and back hurt. Where was she? Then he remembered. She was in the ground up on the hill. His temper was momentarily subdued at the thought she had spent a colder night than he.

Those good for nothin’ sons of hers didn’t think to feed the fire before they went out to the fields so now, he would have to do it himself.

He heaved his bulky swollen frame out of the chair and shuffled about the room. Where was that poker? His wife was always hiding it. She’d give it up but not before he made her. The stupid woman would never learn.

The poker lay in full view leaning against the table. The boys must’ve forgotten to hide it from him. He needed it, not just for the fire but as a weapon now that they were bigger and stronger and now that she was dead. Joseph wanted to kill him; he was sure. He saw it in his eyes the last time they had fought. It was his mother that stopped him then and now it would be the poker. If he winded up dead, it would be his own fault. Besides, he’d still have Thomas. Thomas, unlike his brother, did what he was told.

Using the poker as a cane he searched the room for peat to rebuild the fire but instead came upon a full bottle of whiskey.

My, my, my, what do we have here?

His empty cup was across the room on the floor by his chair, so he raised his lips to the bottle and felt the warmth slide down his gullet and soothe his bitter soul. Let them build the fire when they got back, he was warm for now.

There was a knock at the door.

Who the hell would bother him now?

Who is it? He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance.

It’s Robertson.

His neighbour. He liked Robertson, they were of the same mind, but he didn’t want to share his whiskey, so he stashed the bottle behind a small cupboard and limped to the door.

It’s nice of you to come by but as you can see my home isn’t very inviting at the moment. The boys forgot to feed the fire before they left.

I hadn’t meant to stay. The missus just wanted me to check on you. We was wondering if you were alright since there was no smoke coming from your chimney. We wanted to make sure you was alright bein’ alone and all, Robertson rocked from side to side looking uncomfortable.

I’m not alone. Those good for nothin’ sons of hers didn’t stoke the fire before they went to the fields is all.

They’re not in the fields, said Robertson, the colour rising in his face.

Where else would they be? Robertson looked around the room and noticed how bare it looked.

Where do you keep the food MacFearcain? he said hoping he wouldn’t have to spell it out for the man.

For the first time MacFearcain took notice of his surroundings. The table was cleared and the linen cloth that protected the last loaf of bread was gone. As realization dawned upon him; his eyes took on a panicked and wild look. They’ve gone and left me? Where’d they go? They can’t travel far on that food. When they return there’ll be hell to pay!

I don’t think they’re coming back, Robertson stammered.

What? Why? Where would they go?

The English is askin’ for men to join up. My boy was talkin’ ’bout it the other day.

It felt like betrayal giving him this information. They were friends. But even though they were friends, he felt many times that MacFearcain was too hard on his family. Still, he was the head of the household and he deserved to know the truth.

They canna do that, they have responsibilities here.

You canna stop them if they wanna go.

Like hell I can’t. The militia don’t take thieves.

That, they do but your boys are no thieves.

They are if I say they are. Where’d you say you saw the militia last?

They were in the village but that wa’ two days ago.

Someone will know where they’re at. Can’t be too far. When I let them know that they are indentured to me, they’ll boot them back into my custody. The law is the law and if they try to leave again, I’ll send them to be with their damn mother.

You don’t mean that…?

Like hell I don’t!

Who’s going to believe your own sons are indentured to you? Robertson stammered.

I’m no tellin’ them they are my sons, are you daft? They are my labour, indentured to me for as long as I say they are.

I’ll leave you to it then, said Robertson, bending his head and backing away from the door. He was not about to become a part of MacFearcain’s scheme. Secretly he hoped the old man wouldn’t be able to find them.

–

Joseph had decided they would join up far from where they lived. The natural and closest battalion would be Glasgow, but they were going to head in the opposite direction towards Edinburgh. It was much farther but they couldn’t take a chance on their father coming for them. There was no doubt he would, the old brute was nothing if not resourceful when it came to his ability to be conniving.

Along the way in the mornings, they would check the streams for fish, allotting only an hour of their precious travel time to try and catch one then they would stop at dusk and hope to snare a bird or rabbit. If nothing turned up, then they would eat whatever nettles or watercress they could find. Either way they were only three days from their destination. No one had ever starved in three days.

On the third day with empty bellies, they arrived in the outskirts of Edinburgh. The boys had never seen such a place. Sounds of close quarters, horse hooves and voices filled the smoke and urine tainted air. It was exciting but it was the smell of bread, as they passed some of the buildings, that caused their mouths to water and stomachs to grumble and focused them on their quest. They were searching for a pub where soldiers might frequent. It was there they would allow themselves to be recruited.

Joseph had heard of the ways in which the British recruited in pubs. Many were sorry the day after drinking all night with a recruiting officer. They would awaken the next day in barracks having signed their lives over to the army. The pittance of money they were given to sign would be mostly gone from other soldiers taking advantage of their drunken state and their lives of soldiering would begin.

Thomas planned to allow them to give them free drink and food but then he would get down to business with his wits in place and negotiate a better position for them both. They needed to stay together and be placed in a good battalion. They couldn’t wish for a higher rank than that of a common soldier, for that money was needed, but being placed under a seasoned commander was their best hope for staying alive when they would inevitably have to face combat. It was key they didn’t look too eager or desperate.

You’re walking rather slow brother, what is it you’ve got on your mind? Thomas finally asked.

I’m thinking about how we can rightly go into a pub with no intention of buying anything. I don’t want to just walk up to a soldier and ask for what we want cause we will give away our intent.

What’s the error in that? queried Thomas.

If things is too easy for them, they won’t give us our due.

Right.

Maybe we can make our way round back and offer labour or inquire as to where there might be work? suggested Thomas trying to solve their dilemma.

Too much like begging, besides they probably get too many offers of work, people are starvin’. I guess there’s no way round it, we are goin’ in there and sittin’ down with the first officer we see and ask what they are offerin’

But I thought…

Joseph flashed his stormy black eyes at his brother. You let me do the talking. If they ask you a question you look to me and I will answer, ya hear? Joseph strode ahead with purpose.

The pub was dimly lit, and it smelled of stale smoke and the dank sweat of patrons who were no longer there. It took Joseph a moment to focus only to see two old men crouched over their ale in the corner. The bar keeper looked at them expectantly.

Lookin’ for a British officer, said Joseph.

Signing up, are you? asked the barkeep as he wiped out another glass.

So, what if I am?

Nothin’ just askin’ but, if you are, you’re a bit early. There won’t be an officer in here until after they’re done drillin’ for the day and it’ll be long dark by then. You want somethin’ in the meantime?

No, we’re good,

The barkeep nodded knowingly.

Joseph was sure they weren’t the first young men he’d witnessed with the same purpose and not a penny to their name. The brothers left the bar.

Now what? asked Thomas.

We’ll check that stream out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and ease the hollowness in our guts.

Retracing their steps out of town they left the road and headed off towards the stream, the long dry grass rustling in their wake. The sound made Joseph anxious. The what ifs were plaguing him. What if the old man figured out where they had headed? What if he figured out that they didn’t head towards the closest battalion which was only a day away? What if he didn’t wait until he got to the bottom of that bottle Joseph had been hoarding?

It had taken months skimming off his opened bottles to fill one that would give them enough time to escape. Joseph had no idea when he would use it but knew it would come in handy eventually. Their mother’s death hastened his plan. He only hoped it worked. The bastard was as sly as he was mean. If he saddled up the mule, he could very well be upon them at any moment. The uncertainty ate away his hunger, but he hid it from his brother, no sense both of them worrying. The sooner they could get swallowed up by a regiment the further away they would be from their father’s heinous grasp.

Joseph studied Thomas, watching him patiently jiggling the fly trying to entice a fish to take it. It was probably an effort in futility as the fish were deeper this time of year. What he needed was a line with weight and some bait that they didn’t have.

At seventeen, Thomas was almost as tall as him. His hair was dark like their mother’s while Joseph had his father’s brown mane. Luckily that was the only thing of his that he saw in himself. Their mother used to remark that they looked like her brothers to which his father would bark that they probably weren’t even his offspring. He would carry on until his mother hung her head and shut her mouth. It seemed his father didn’t like to hear the sound of her voice because anything she said he would use as an opportunity to manipulate her words to make sure she felt humiliated. Eventually she stopped speaking and just moved about the cottage with her head bent low trying to go unnoticed while she went about her work. Death was no doubt a relief.

Do you really think Da will follow us? asked Thomas.

I do, nodded Joseph. He needs us to work the land.

"How can he force us to