Jeanne Williams is an acclaimed writer of historical novels. "Daughter of the Storm" is the story of Christy Sinclair and how she grows up among the people of Clanna a fictitious settlement on the Isle of Lewis not too far from Stornoway. She joined the group of Scottish crofters as a small child, an orphan girl reluctantly brought up by Mairi Mór, the clan leaders, whose own baby died at birth. David, Mairi's son is Christy closest companion, who encourages her to love the beautiful but hard island where life is a constant struggle against the elements and again rapacious English landowners eager to force tenant farmers from their homes. David is hurt and loses the use of his legs and so he starts on the path which will lead him to going to the mainland to study law. Rich with vivid setting and magnetic characters, Daughter of the Storm is a powerful description of island life.

The heart of the story is the struggle the people have with what have become known as "the clearances." This time the people are not being forced of their land for sheep but to provide hunting lands for the rich incomers. The development of the struggle is central to this book and make it well worth reading.

The following excerpt relates in a very graphic way the difficulties of the times.

They were blessed that the Minch was not in a turbulent mood. They spent the night in a fishing village on Uist and crossed next day to sail through Dornoch Firth to the mouth of the Carron, which flowed through the wide green valley beneath rounded dun hills. There was an urgent message for Father Coil in the little village of Ardgay. One of the old Knoydart women whom he had taken into his home was on her deathbed and pleading for the sacrament. He had to get back in the boat and make for Loch Nevis, but first he blessed Mairi and Christy.

"Do your best to convince the people not to resist the officers, if they will not heed the letter from Alexander Munro," he cautioned. "There's fear among the lairds that revolutionaries are inflaming tenants to violence. The greater that fear, the more cruelly the law will act to maintain order."

Mairi 's eyes blazed. "The order of the poor crushed underfoot or banished across oceans! But a slaughter like that at Sollas will help nothing. Never fear, Father. I'll try to hearten the people to endure even if they must flit."

One of the Greenyards men went with Father Coil to lend a hand with the oars. The other three tramped along with Mairi and Christy. The younger two, husky blond brothers named Angus and Diarmid Ross, took turns at carrying Cridlie.

The older man, graying Donald Ross, who said he was nearing seventy and limped from rheumatism; kept telling Mairi he could scarce believe the folk of Greenyards would be forced away. "Didn't I fight nine battles for the Crown?" he demanded. "Didn't I and other Highlanders help drub old Napoleon at Waterloo? What were we fighting for if it wasn't to be safe in our homes?"

"Och, Uncle Donald," said Angus, with a shake of his yellow hair. "You know how our kindred were driven from Glencalvie nine years ago. Didn't they scratch their names and grief on the kirk windows? Only six families were given other land. God knows where the others are."

"James Gillanders cleared Glencalvie," remembered Diarmid. "He drove four hundred people from Strathconan."

"Aye, and now that he's married the daughter of our laird, there's no bridle on his wickedness," said Angus. "It's true what the song says about him: 'He is a poor creature, -without responsibility, without honor, understanding, or shame . . .' Och, for the old days when we could take salmon from the river, and shoot grouse or a deer if we were hungered."

"Those rights were bought by city gentlemen," grunted Diarmid. "And now we're fined twenty pounds if we cut a tree for roof timbers or a bridge. Much Gillanders cares for a song!"

"The worse for him," shrugged Angus. "Look, here come the women to meet us! You'll be staying with Christina Ross, Mistress MacDonald. She has the letter from Alexander Munro. In it, he vows he has not asked for these evictions. He holds the lease on the glen. How can it be cleared without his approval?" "It seems the owners can do as they will," said Mairi .

To Christy it seemed that Munro might simply assure his tenants he did not authorize their removal but at the same time allow the landlord's factor to proceed. The Greenyards women called out greetings and warmly welcomed them.

Buxom, rosy-faced Christina Ross embraced Mairi , thanked her for coming, and brought her and Christy into the hearth room of a neat turf cottage and served them bannocks, milk, and barley broth.

"Can you read English?" Christina handed the precious letter to Mairi . "Doesn't Mr. Munro tell the laird he doesn't want us evicted?''

Mairi scanned the spidery writing, shook her head, and handed it to Christy. "You read handwriting better than I can. What does it say, lass?''

The letter was addressed to the laird, Major Robertson, who was also the father-in-law of the factor, Gillanders. "Mr. Munro says he has not asked for evictions," Christy read.

Mairi glanced around at the eager faces and warned, "That may not mean that he has refused to allow them."

"Then 'tis playing with words and truth!" flashed Christina. "If Mr. Munro will not support us, why does he not say so?"

"Pontius Pilate washed his hands," said Mairi .

In spite of what must have been her weariness from huddling in the boat all day with Cridhe and then walking so far, she sang far into the night for the folk of the glen. Her last song was the one she had played in Stornoway Castle.

You would be rid of us, you must break the stones,
You must sink the Highlands below the ocean.
One day will come justice .
Folk will bide safe in their homes.
There will be no one with power to cast them out.

Before dawn next morning, a lad burst into Christina's house, waking Christy from her sleep on the settle and bringing Christina and Mairi running from the bedroom.

"There's more than two score men coming!" the boy gasped. "Thirty-five constables and police superintendents from Dingwall and Fort William. I saw them come over the hills."

"So they're coming, the devils!" gasped Christina.

The lad's eyes were wide and frightened. "They had baskets of whisky and ale and swilled it like water. Swearing, they were, that they'd take no food till they'd taught the women of Greenyards not to interfere with law officers and writs."

Christy's heart pounded. She thought of what Mairi had told her of the constables at Sollas. They hadn't been drunk when they made their brutal charge on the women. Christina got Munro' s letter from the dresser and held it as if it were magic.

"Those high officials are educated men, not a gang of brawling constables. They'll have to heed Mr. Munro's letter." Hastily, she tied on her cap. "I'll go to meet them. But our men must get clean away or there's no telling what a crowd of drunken bullies might do to them." She seized the boy's shoulder and pushed him toward the door. "Run round the houses, laddie, and tell the men to hide. They cannot help, and would only wind up in jail where they'd be no use at all to their families."

Mairi fastened the brooch of her arisaid. "Will you let me carry Munro's letter, Christina? It may be the officers saw their grannies wear old-style clothes like these. Perhaps it'll startle them into reading Mr. Munro's message."

Christina gave over the letter and glanced toward Cridhe. "If you could bring your harp. It would show we mean no mischief."

In ages past, Christy thought, the harp had sung in battle, sung till armies grew too large to hear her. This was a very small army at Greenyards. Christy felt sick at her stomach and her legs would scarcely carry her but she put on the bravest face she could and caught up with Mairi.

Gentlemen in a carriage, a host of constables. The police carried brightly polished truncheons blazoned with the initials of the English queen, Victoria Regina. Perhaps seventy women of the glen waited with their plaids drawn over their heads. Most of the men had gone into hiding but Donald Ross, the old Waterloo veteran, stood with the women as did several other men and boys.

The officers in the carriage got out. A ruddy-faced, darkbrowed one walked to the head of the constables. "I am Sheriff Substitute Taylor from Tam," he shouted in Gaelic. "If you don't wish to bide in our tolbooth, clear the way.

Mairi stepped forward, Cridhe in her arms. "Sheriff Taylor, will you please read this letter from Alexander Munro? He says-

The officer glowered at her. "Are you that riot maker, Mairi of the Isles?''

"l am Mairi MacLeod MacDonald. I have made no riots."

"You are here instead of at your home on Lewis. I'll waste no time with your forgeries!"

''Sir!" Mairi cried. She held out the letter.

"Read them the Riot Act, sheriff," said a florid gentleman with such an air of authority that Christy thought he must be the procurator fiscal. Sheriff Taylor pulled a paper from his pocket and began to mouth the words.

The women, seeing that he meant to ignore Munro's letter, began to call out protests. 'Mr. Munro gave me this letter himself, sir!" pleaded Christina, taking it from Mairi and trying to thrust it into the sheriff's hand. "He says he does not want us to flit."

"Aye!" shouted several women. Another cried: "We pay our rents to Mr. Munro. If he's content, who can put us out?"

Others pressed forward, trying to make the sheriff listen. "Mr. Munro vowed before God that he has not asked for this clearance!" "Go ask him!" "Forbye, read his writing, sir!"

Taylor, livid, thrust the act into his pocket and stepped back. "Clear the way!" he told the police superintendents.

Christina Ross, still pleading, still holding out the letter, went down under the truncheons. They kicked her with hobnailed boots in the head, on her face and breasts and shoulders. Christy tried to shelter her but was knocked aside. Women snatched up sticks and rocks to defend themselves but went down under truncheons swung with all a strong man's force.

Christy found a stick and brought it down as hard as she could on a constable's arm as he tried to hit Mairi . The woman beside her was struck so hard that the truncheon broke in half. The part with Queen Victoria's initials came to rest by Christy's skirt.

Wild eyes in a whiskered, cursing face, the sour smell of whisky. Christy tried to get in front of Mairi, who was shielding Cridhe with her body. Christy was felled by a glancing blow. Mairi was knocked down on top of her. Before Christy came to her senses enough to move, her foster mother was dragged away.

Through a splitting headache, Christy heard the sheriff's voice. "Don't beat that one! She's wed to a major. We don't need him angry. Just handcuff her and throw her in the wagon.

A heavy boot crashed into Christy's skull. Instinctively, as her brain seemed to burst into white-hot flame, she threw her arms across the harp and fell into spinning darkness.

Yes, the clearances are the soul of this story and the reader will have deeper understanding of the devastation the island people experienced during that time.

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