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Issue No. 47 September 2008 NEWSLETTER OF THE ORKNEY FAMILY HISTORY SOCIETY 17 FThe problem was that Burroughs was not a wealthy man and to increase his income he simply raised the crofters’ rents and if they could not pay he evicted them. This was carrying on the tradition started by uncle George William Traill who had evicted about one quarter of the island’s population from his Westness estates to make way for sheep rearing. While his was a policy being actively pursued in the Scottish Highands, the clearances in Rousay were the only ones ever to take place in Orkney. Frederick Traill Burroughs was determined to clear all crofters off his land and speaking before the 1884 Napier Commission which was founded to investigate the excesses of the Clearances he said ‘I think they (the people) have as much right to my commons as I have to their clothes; the land is mine, and the coats and hats theirs, and I cannot see how they can claim the pasture. It did never belong to them.’ Any tenant who gave evidence before the visiting Royal The life of the Orkney crofter. Crushing clods; the oxen, one probably borrowed from a neighbour, pull a flagstone flagstone on which the ‘operator’ stands. A Tom Kent photograph. Orkney Library Photo Archive. Commission was evicted. There is little doubt that he was determined to clear every tenant from his estate and but for the passing of the Crofters’ Act of 1886 he would have succeeded. Burroughs is remembered in the islands as the worst of the Orkney lairds; some achievement when most of the lairds are remembered as notorious exploiters of the people. Perhaps Burroughs simply couldn’t handle the civilian situation. He had spent a lifetime in the army where his commands would have been instantly obeyed and then he came up against the stubbornness of the Orcadians. Despite this he is credited with a number of firsts on Rousay; the building of Trumland Pier; first ploughing match; first school picnic; opening of island schools; a steamship service; a Post Office; a resident doctor, etc. Outwith Orkney there were still honours to be had. He was appointed honorary colonel both of the Warwickshire Regiment and his own regiment which had now amalgamated to form the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders. In 1904 he was knighted by King Edward VII. Despite the years of acrimony on Rousay, the local paper, The Orcadian, reported that after his Royal investiture he was welcomed back on Rousay by his tenants singing ‘He’s a jolly good fellow.’ Just before chairing a regimental dinner to mark the fiftieth anniversary of Balaclava he took ill but soon recovered and by the end of the year he moved to London. He was soon to suffer a relapse, however, and died on the 9th April 1905 at the age of 75. Lieutenant General Frederick Traill Burroughs was buried at Brompton Cemetery, London. One of the pall bearers was the Lord Lieutenant of Orkney and Shetland. The mourners included at least one Admiral and three Generals. A memorial service was held in Rousay and there is a plaque to his memory in St Magnus Cathedral, Kirkwall, Orkney. L If you have a tale to tell, why not tell it in our December issue. Send it to me (a Word doc would be appreciated to save me retyping) at— johnsin@gotadsl.co.uk—by November 11th and I’ll do the rest. Photos welcome too. Good quality JPEGS are perfect.
18 NEWSLETTER OF THE ORKNEY FAMILY HISTORY SOCIETY Issue No. 47 September 2008 The Strange End of John Fubbister By John Gottfred The true story of a most remarkable incident at Pembina River Post in !807 It was four days after Christmas in the year eighteen- hundred and seven at the little fur post huddled next to the Pembina River in southern Manitoba. Hanging low in the winter’s sky, the watery sun shone bleakly through the ice crystal fog, and the snow lay deep around the aspens standing lonely sentinel along the frozen river. Only the occasional crack of a tree bursting with the cold penetrated the silence. These were the darkest days of winter, when the men were confined by darkness and cold to their cramped shelters for more than sixteen hours a day. Many a strange tale is told of the queer happenings upon such lonely days. Why did not David Thompson give up the game of checkers after losing a game to the Devil incarnate on such a long winter’s night? Yes, strange things indeed happened to the minds of men in such isolated and lonely haunts. Alexandre Henry [the younger], the chief of the post, was worried. Early that afternoon a breathless messenger had straggled into the little outpost with the news that the Sioux had attacked the Saulteurs at Grand Fourches, and had killed the company’s friend, the great chief Tabashaw. Such news boded ill for business, and might also jeopardize the lives of his men. Henry’s thoughts were interrupted by a tapping at the door. Fearing more bad news, he motioned to one of his clerks to admit the messenger. The door opened, and an icy blast of air rushed into the little room. On the threshold stood John Fubbister, one of the men working for Henry’s HBC rival, who had been visiting for the new Year festivities. Still barely a boy, the little Orkneyman’s eyebrows were covered with frost, his eyes were moist, and he suppressed a shiver as his nose dripped. ‘Damn your eyes man, shut the door!’ Henry bawled at the clerk. Grabbing Fubbister by the shoulder and hauling him in- side, the clerk put his shoulder to the rough panelled door and slammed it against the freezing wind. ‘Well man, speak up, what is it?’ Queried Henry to the trembling Orkneyman. A knot of pain flashed across Fubbister’s forehead, and he blurted out ‘Please sir, I... I’m not well sir. Might I warm meself by your fire sir?’ Under Henry’s basilisk gaze, John’s eyes fell to the floor. One of the clerks by the fire spoke up indignantly. ‘Mind your place Fubbister. You and your mates should be cozy enough in your quarters!’ Henry motioned for the man to be silent. He could read what was in the minds of his clerks. After all, who would want to abandon their place at the hearth to a man who might bring God-alone knew-what contagion into their midst? Henry recollected all he had feared about John Fubbister. He had joined the HBC two years previous, hailing from the Orkney Isles. Fubbister’s boss Hugh Heney, had said that he had done good service although he was still a lad. Still it was an unusual request. Perhaps it was the Christmas spirit still coursing through Henry’s veins, or perhaps it was a sudden pity as another bout of pain wracked John’s body, but regardless, he motioned John towards the fire. ‘It’s all right. Sit down and warm yourself, man.’ Avoiding the eyes of his clerks, Henry climbed up the steep stairs to his warm room above, his thoughts once again returning to the responsibilities at the post. Sir! Mister Henry sir!’ Henry awoke with a start. He had dozed off, slumped over his tiny desk, pencil in hand. He leaned over to peer down the stair ladder at his clerk below. ‘What the Devil is it now?’ He queried. ‘Fubbister would speak with you if you would so favour him.’ Fearing that the worst might befall the man, Henry A ‘The Strange End of John Fubbister’ is just one of a series of stories on people, places and events that has appeared in the Northwest Journal. The stories are presented in fictionalised form, and often contain commonly held beliefs about the events described, regardless of their accuracy. A short explanatory note at the end of the article gives the known facts of the story. This article is protected by Canadian copyright and is the property of the Northwest Journal ISSN 1206 - 4203. It is included in our newsletter with all reproduction requirements observed.
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