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pointed out the remains of clustered dwellings, shell middens, cooking hearth pits, part of a burial ground, and a heap of round “boiling stones.” These, he explained, were necessary because the primitive clay cooking pots of the early inhabitants could not withstand direct heat, so stones had to be roasted in the fire and then added to the water in the pots to prepare food.
    After another mile or so of slow uphill walking on the machair , we reached the most dramatic ancient remnant of all—the thick broken walls of Teampall na h-Uidhe. Located on a high point with broad vistas in all directions across this lonely, wind-smoothed landscape, and immediately adjoining the circular foundations of an Iron Age dun (fort), the teampall , Bill suggested, was founded in the days of the earliest Christian missionaries. “It’s possible that St. Columba himself was here, but more than likely it was first built by followers of St. Maelrubha of Applecross.”
    Doubtless, with a more learned crowd, there would have been murmurs of recognition at this point. We, however, remained mute in mutual blissful ignorance.
    â€œY’mean these stones date from the second or third century AD ?!” asked one of the group finally.
    â€œWell—certainly the stones might, but these walls are what remain of a fortified chapel built by Alasdair Crotach around 1528. He was the clan chief of the MacLeods of Harris who also rebuilt St. Clement’s Church at Rodel—our ‘Cathedral of the Isles’—which I’m sure you’ve all visited…”(Some vague but unconvincing murmurs here from our group.)
    Anne and I were moved by the power and presence of this bold ruin built upon the two-thousand-year-old foundations of one of many hermitage chapels and monasteries scattered along the ragged island coastlines of Scotland and Ireland.

    Teampall na h-Uidhe
    â€œWhat a faith they must have had…,” murmured Anne as she stroked the smooth, ancient corbel stones. Bill overheard the comment and smiled in agreement. “Oh, yes,” he said, “makes us all look a little religiously…wimpy today, wouldn’t you say?”
    There was a hearty roar of laughter from behind us. We all turned to face the beaming bearded face of a thin, elderly man dressed entirely inblack. He had lagged behind for much of the walk, seemingly lost in his musings and constantly stopping to stare at the vista over Northton, Rodel, and the wild lochan-laced spine of the island.
    â€œSorry—sorry,” he said, still chuckling. “Couldn’t help but hear your last remark there, Mr. Lawson.”
    Bill wasn’t sure whether to smile or apologize. Religious sensitivitiesare thin-skinned here, although, even from his brief remark, the man’s accent seemed very nonlocal.
    â€œCharles Campbell…er…Reverend Charles Campbell.”
    Bill looked even more uncomfortable but gave a noncommittal “Aha…”
    â€œFrom Melbourne, Australia. Or close by, anyway. But I suppose y’recognize an Aussie accent, Mr. Lawson. Y’must have many of us comin’ to you for our family charts.”
    Bill’s face brightened with relief, obviously pleased he hadn’t offended a potential customer. “Oh yes, indeed,” he smiled. “A lot. Canada was the most popular place with the lairds here to send their clansmen in the clearances…but Australia was not uncommon at all.”
    â€œYes, I know. We’ve got a bunch of Campbells around where I have my church. And my great-grandfather left here in the late 1800s. And quite a few MacLeods too—their ancestors were pretty disgruntled about being cleared, particularly as this was once all MacLeod territory!”
    â€œI imagine they were,” said Bill. “Do you have family here now?”
    â€œI’m not too sure…yet. That’s where I might need your help, Mr.