EARLIER COLONISTS:
Geil Morison - leader of the branch of Clan Morison stranded on the island
Sikka - a Scandinavian fisherwoman who eventually became Monstrousness
Shoney - Sikka’s child - (ruled by Monstrousness, and later by Twist)
Edward Douglas - former Earl of Ormond (ruled by Exile)
Marion Douglas - Edward’s daughter (ruled by Devotion)

LATER COLONISTS:
Walter Stewart, Earl of Galloway - leader of the expedition (ruled by Loss)
Margaret (Meg) Stewart - Walter's daughter (ruled by Love Inconvenienced)
Patrick Douglas, Earl of Ormond - Edward’s brother (ruled by Betrayal)
Archibald Stewart - Walter’s brother (ruled by Sacrifice)
Effy - a cook (ruled by Cultural Shift)
Canny - an entertainer (ruled by Found Family)
Assorted nobles and soldiers (many of them claimed by Escape)

A branch of Clan Morison is stranded on the island. Sikka also travels to the island in her sealskin kayak; most of Clan Morison distrusts her, thinking her a selkie. However, she becomes close to Finley (the chieftain), and later bears a child. When Finley dies, leadership of the clan passes to Geil; out of favour, Sikka and her child Shoney relocate to the caves. She becomes Monstrousness.

In Scotland, the Reformation is in full swing - Catholicism is now illegal. Edward Stewart, Earl of Ormond, is outed as an unrepentant Catholic by his brother, Patrick; he flees to the Western Isles with his daughter, Marion. They are accepted by Clan Morison.

A Few years later, James VI sends a group of nobles to ‘civilise’ the Outer Hebrides - they take set out in five ships with seven hundred underlings. The expedition is led by Walter Stewart, Earl of Galloway. They are shipwrecked on the island, most dying in the tempest.

Walter’s daughter, Margaret, is separated from the others at first and encounters Marion; they quickly develop an attraction for one another but Edward has reservations about their sudden romance.

The servants Effy and Canny encounter Shoney and spend some time wandering drunkenly around the island and discussing revolution.

The other colonists have set up camp on the West coast, preparing to defeat the island’s occupants. Clan Morison, disguised as spirits, lead them into the marsh and gorse thicket to a heavy defeat. Some survivors try to escape the island; others flee to the eastern cliffs. There, Patrick persuades Archibald to kill Walter, supposedly a sacrifice to placate the 'spirits'.

Effy and Canny appear with Shoney, who tells the colonists that there is a passage through the sea caves to the castle basement - perfect for an ambush. This is a deception - they are trapped in the caves with the tide coming in. Another battle ensues; Patrick is killed and Archibald is captured. Shoney is accepted by Clan Morison, along with Effy and Canny. It is not known how Marion's relationship with Meg ends.

This plot is loosely based on Shakespeare's Tempest, sharing various themes and plot points with that play - in fact, it's possible to map each character to their Shakespearean equivalent. Given that this version occurs on the island on which Betrayal is trapped, our version is less of a romance and more of a tragedy.

The main part of the action is set shortly after 1600, at around the time the play is believed to have been written; this is also when the Gentlemen Adventurers of Fife set out “to plant policy and civilisation in the hitherto most barren Isle of Lewis” at the direction of James VI and I. In real life, the Gentlemen Adventurers encountered Clan Macleod, who put up a fierce resistance that was ended in part by the betrayal of one of the sons of the chieftain by his own brother.

Sikka is of northern Scandinavian origin. John MacAulay, a Gaelic historian, has suggested that selkie myths may have originated with muddled sightings of Sami people in sealskin kayaks; there is, however, no clear evidence for this, only stories.

“My little one, little one, little one, listen
For soon I must go back to sea, back to fishing.
You're the lord of this isle, though you'll never be fair;
Though they'll spite you and scorn you, will Morison's heir.
You're a-sleek and a-silky, as ever can be
And you're born of the dark of the deeps of the sea.
My little one, little one, little one, listen
Let the shade be your home and the light be your prison….”

Know you, then: this Edward Douglas, who once was Earl of Ormond, was neither witch, nor traitor, nor author of such calamity as ever befell this place. Banished from my noble seat by my brother's hand, and accused of cleaving to the Catholic cause in spite of His Majesty's decree, I fetched at last upon a distant shore by some special providence, my daughter yet no more than an infant in my arms. This land I found to be neither barbarous nor truly barren, for some portion of its soil had been cultivated by those few of Clan Morison who had made the isle their home some three-score years past.

They offered me refuge, and my daughter Marion too, and so we lived awhile in some small dignity in an upper room of that castle wherein dwelt the heirs of Clan Morison. Some score of years did pass, inside which span my Marion grew to be a fine young woman and closest bosom friend of Geil Morison, the very same who now stood at the head of the clan. And only slight sadness did afflict my heart, for robbed though I was of my exalted station, my generous Saviour had preserved my faith and my books, and my dear daughter besides. Moreover, the company of those others that dwelt here was most agreeable, devoted as all were to the true Church (let not that Shoney be regarded, nor Shoney’s heathen dam, being rather more fish than flesh!)

Ah! How foolish was I to think myself secure from those ills which did plague my remembrance – for the King had named these isles foul dens of barbarism where witchery and popery did prosper, spared for too long such civilisation as might be brought by the King’s own murderers and pirates. And so it was that seven hundreds did come to this isle by ship and by tempest, led by one whom I once had called cousin: Walter Stewart, Earl of Galloway. And also among that rabble was one whom I once had called brother: Patrick, now Earl of Ormond! And delivered alone to the southern shore by the washing of some rascally tide was one I was to call daughter: Margaret, Galloway’s own child.

When first I learnt that my Marion had borne love’s tender bud with a follower of the King’s faith, my thoughts were all chastisement. I put this Margaret to work at once, gathering logs and piling them up – tall enough, I had thought, to mask my Marion’s sweeter nature behind the crabbed semblance of her father. And yet, in time, my own hot temper became temperate, and I did [no further scraps of this text were found]

When first I looked upon thy face, I thought
I looked upon some spirit of this isle.
My heart was tender then, and still untaught;
I knew not of the smile that lovers smile.
I gazed upon thee long without a care -
I never saw a spirit like to thee -
But then thou never fadest into air,
It pleased thee not to set thy captive free.
Now, though I know thee to be flesh and blood
Still might I take thee for a thing divine
In wonder and delight as then I stood
Fain would I take thee, sweetest Meg, for mine.
If passion’s flame doth set thy heart alight
Then burn, and let our spirits both take flight.

[Scene: a room in the castle. EDWARD is writing. GEIL enters.]

EDWARD: “Good cousin -“
GEIL: “Noble Edward, dost thou heed me?
'Tis time to meet with Galloway and's armies
Upon the mire, as mist lies thick before him.
Thy brother too, false Ormond, that depos'd thee
Is by some stranger fortune there delivered -
Then wouldst thou have thy vengeance?”
EDWARD: “Not for endings.
If thou wilt only let me see my brother
And speak with him -“
GEIL: “I answer not thy bidding.
This night, I'll have those villains hunted soundly -
My kin do make themselves like airy spirits
And in that guise, do bring them to our mercy.”

[ARCHIBALD and PATRICK observe WALTER, who stands alone at the cliff edge. A little way from them, a group of some hundred soldiers stands exhausted from battle.]

ARCHIBALD: What dost thou say, friend Patrick?
PATRICK: Only this:
What strange misfortune visits us this night
Is by thy brother's folly beckon'd hither.
He stands, salt-addled, more a-dream than waking
Counting not the measure of his faults.
The sea-kiss'd sleepers, fat and pale as seals,
And all who spirit-taunted, bloodied, stain
The cheek of this accursed isle, do shriek -
Then dost thou hear those seven-hundred slain
Cry, “Save yourselves! Surrender up this Walter
To the waves! Let he who raised disaster
Sink in leaden slumber. Set us free!”?
ARCHIBALD: Thou art a knave.
PATRICK Nor I, good Archibald,
Nor thou, if thou willst see this done
To calm the spited spirits of this isle.
For he that yields such flesh as is his own
And so delivers those of lesser stars
Is through that deed ennobled; fortune seeks
A worthy Earl of Galloway in thee.
ARCHIBALD: Nay, peace – I know not how you came by Ormond
Nor will I yet attend to feeble rumour –
Then hearken, sir, and comprehend my purpose:
If I must needs dispatch this deadly duty
I do it for a truce to all our woes
As I alone may broker such a bargain -
I’ll ask no other – this is my commission
And my damnation!

[He walks forwards, plunges his sword into Walter’s side. The blow turns Walter to face his brother – he looks into his eyes, puzzled, and then tumbles over the edge of the cliff.]

ARCHIBALD: So the deed is done.

[He falls to his knees, looking utterly broken. PATRICK looks on, expressionless. SHONEY, EFFY and CANNY enter. SHONEY is rather monstrous in appearance - he has his mother’s blessing, after all; EFFY and CANNY are clearly both serving women.]

EFFY: My lord –
PATRICK [startled]: What clucking chicken trips this way?
EFFY: Sooth, an it please your lordship, none at all
But – pardon, gracious lord – one at your service
And then one more, that you perhaps did think
Were lost betwixt the waves.
PATRICK: I know thee, then,
And yet I cannot call to mind thine eyes.
CANNY: My lord, they close in darkness.
PATRICK: So they do,
But what’s this crooked-pated fellow here?
SHONEY: My name is Shoney.
PATRICK: Art thou then a man,
Or else a fowl withal, with power of speech?
[Indicates Shoney’s hand, held out in greeting] Is this a fin? And did thy dam compose
This unbaked form?
SHONEY: O ho! She did, but not
Before I gave entreaty unto her.
PATRICK [to EFFY and CANNY]: Fie, drunkards – would you look for wisdom in
The murky riddles of this mooncalf’s fancy?
CANNY: My lord, I prithee list
For we have followed down that twisted trail of shadow
And therein, whiles we wondered, came an answer.
PATRICK: What dost thou mean by this?
SHONEY: There is a cavern.
Its lip is seaswell-moistened twice a day;
Its tail is close entwined about that castle
Where Morison and Douglas and his daughter
Suppose themselves defended, all unknowing!

[At this, PATRICK appears intrigued – he leans towards the others and their voices drop to a whisper. The vision fades.]

[Scene: a room in the castle. EDWARD sits, writing. GEIL enters, holding ARCHIBALD at sword-point.]

EDWARD: [to GEIL] My goodly friend, thy cheeks are richly gilded -
And what triumphal vault adorns that temple!
Thy brazen bearing speaks of battle’s spoils,
[pointedly, to ARCHIBALD] Its tithe the tongue of him who silenced falls.
ARCHIBALD: I bear the name of Archibald, Lord Stewart -
EDWARD: Of Erskine, aye, and Galloway’s thy brother;
But dost thou know me?
ARCHIBALD: Truly, I do not.
EDWARD: [To GEIL] Sweet Geil, wilt thou leave us?
GEIL: If it please you. [Exits]
EDWARD: Now, prithee: tell thy story and confession –
How came you to this isle and for what purpose?
ARCHIBALD: We hoisted sail by pleasure of the King
Who bade us bring his conquest to those shores
That lie betwixt Barray and Trotternish,
Where barbarous and bloody-finger’d tribes
Do scorn the law of God with popish tricks
Whiles witches whoop and shriek the devil’s gibes.
EDWARD: How brave! Thyself and all thy complices
Did seek to tame these isles and reap their bounties.
But say: who led thee on this enterprise -
The Earl of Galloway of that of Ormond?
ARCHIBALD: My brother, who by knavery and treason
Lies dashed to pieces ‘gainst the steely rocks –
O, what debased and violent urge compelled me….
EDWARD: Peace, thou wretch, and tell me of thy fellows.
ARCHIBALD: Alas, Sir John Dalziel and George of Carnock
Did fall in battle, slain by damned spirits –
Two hundred men I saw, by hell-kites slaughtered!
Then, fain would I have fled into the tempest,
With [muffled] and good [muffled].
EDWARD: I’ll hear of this anon, but what of Patrick,
Who’s now the Earl of Ormond?
ARCHIBALD: Now no more.
He perished to the waves in that dark cavern
Whereat whose maw our battle was concluded.
But ask not of that thrice-accursed deceiver
Whose knavery begat a brother’s ruin.
EDWARD: Another brother, Archibald – behold:
Before you stands that Edward, he who once
Was named both Earl of Ormond and at last
A sorcerer, inclined to popish craft.
Now would I had the art to turn the tides
And calm the tempest’s bellowing besides.

Here follows the last confession of Archibald Stewart, knave and vilest murderer under God's own heaven. O, Walter, blessed brother - I would have followed thee to the farthest shore and then beyond, if this frail mind had not been poisoned by the villainy of thrice-cursed Ormond. It grieves me much that any might imagine 'twas dull ambition drove my hand - had I in truth meant to supplant thee, how wretched a man would Galloway have gained as Earl! For all the deficiencies of our endeavour, methinks we might have sooner brought the King's civilisation to these isles had I first perished to the waves off this forsaken shore! No spirits haunt these drear hills save those of mischief and malcontent - and I, the sport of foulest fortune, whose own mocking imps do plague this land. When first we struck sail from Fife, our companies were possessed only of an exalted fervour to see the King’s conquest done. With such gladness would we have banished the popish canker and all attendant witcheries hence. Alas, we knew not the true eminence of the devil’s own power over these isles, for our venture was doomed from the outset.

As author of our principal tragedy, I am sorely compelled to catalogue each of our misfortunes. First, ensnared betwixt the coils of that fell tempest who doth gird this land, our ships foundered and some five hundred souls were lost, my niece Meg among them. Steadfast and resolute, we set to our purpose – but were in turn set upon by Clan Morison in the guise of fearsome spirits. By these vexations, George of Carnack was driven into a thick briar and set aflame; Sir John Dalziel came to his grave in that foul mire that masks its own nature with pale meadow-flowers – and by this means was two hundred of us tricked to ash and worms. Many more fled back into the crashing waves.

Barely three hundreds remained, and the greater part of that force was betrayed to the tide by those two rascally and drunken knaves and the thing of darkness that dogged their tottering footfall. Ah, but all such misdeeds stand veiled in the shadow of a more appalling villainy. Our captain, Galloway’s noble Earl, is slain – and what base and treasonous weed hath choked his own twin? Only this Archibald, who must evermore bear the great guilt of his wickedness….

There were standing two knaves on a provident shore,
And they saw not their ship nor their master no more.
Then said one to the other, “'tis true we should wait
For our ship and our master, be they ever so late.”
“They are drown'd,” said the other, “and so too are we,
With this bottle of liquor I'll show that to thee.”
But another stood watching, in the waves dancing wild,
Neither fish nor flesh either; the brave silkie-child.

…

Then a climb and a clamber o’er treacherous rocks
To the cove where the waves break in showers and shocks,
And it’s there, where the caves have been carved in the crags,
That the beast made a home out of paper and rags.
In that place full of secrets, of dark and deceit,
Never sure, never ceasing, where shore and sea meet –
Their assailants, the sailors, they say, were beguiled
By the maid and the cook and the sly silkie child.

…

O'er yonder dread summit, by the crack of the tides,
Lie the bones of my lord - aye, and others besides;
At the mouth of the ocean, the battle is done
And our bands, twice consum'd by the sea, all are gone.
If ye please, earthy spirits, I'd cleave unto you,
With my master o'erthrown, and the ship and the crew.
Let me dwell here at last, ev'ry fault reconcil'd
With my good friends the cook and the sweet silkie child.