Mac’s mother raised sheep on Family Hill even though she refused to slaughter and subsequently cook the docile creatures. When I asked why she was willing to stew goat meat but not mutton her answer was simple; goats cried when their throats were slit while sheep accepted death quietly, and this lack of reaction unsettled Momma. From the time I met Mac’s mother until her death mutton was never cooked in her kitchen, the sheep she lovingly tended on Family Hill were always sold and the proceeds deposited in the bank.
Things changed on Family Hill after she died. Bluesy now lived alone in the family home, and we moved into the new house Momma had built overlooking the sail loft. Mac’s brother Lemore had built a house on the hillside but it was unoccupied for quite some time, and the white house on the corner sat empty as well. The only other building on the family’s land was that belonging to Nolly, a chalet he had built for himself at the very top of the hill. Sheep were still tethered on the property but never slaughtered and cooked, I guess Bluesy felt the same way as Momma did when it came to slitting their throats!
One evening Nolly came to our house and told us to call the police, a crime had been committed on the property and he felt the intruder was close by. Once the police had been called, Nolly led us up the hill-side to show us what he had discovered, and I have never forgotten the strange and gruesome sight. One of Bluesy’s ewes was lying on its side, and on closer inspection I saw that one of her hind legs was missing. It had obviously been hacked off with a cutlass, and the helpless animal had bled to death. Who on earth would DO such a wicked thing? Nolly whispered that he had seen a light flickering inside the white house, and we sat on the grass and waited for the police to come before investigating further.
Two police officers finally arrived and, once briefed, were guided to the white house. The five of us quietly ascended the steps, and immediately saw that the front door had been broken. On entering the house the first thing I noticed was the aroma of meat- someone had cooked recently and the smell lingered in the stale air. Nolly explained that he had seen a light flickering inside the house and sure enough, a candle with warm wax sat on the kitchen counter. There was no sign of an intruder, but when we entered the bed-room I noticed a tell-tale wooden spoon peeking out from under the bed.
The policemen lifted the bed and there the culprit lay, arms wrapped around a pot of hot food as he cowered in fear. He was naked except for a pair of ragged underwear, and didn’t struggle as the police hauled him from his hiding place. The unfortunate fellow was thin to the point of emaciation and trembling with fear, and I felt rather sorry for him as he was marched to the station in his grubby underwear. Evidently the man was from the mainland, and after that night’s episode we never saw or heard anything about him again.
Over the years I have wondered what became of the man. I figured anybody desperate enough to hack one leg from a live animal in order to eat must have had serious mental issues, it seemed a rather bizarre way to appease hunger! Bluesy was SO upset by the death of his sheep in such a cruel manner, and even though mutton was never cooked on Family Hill he bemoaned the wicked waste of good meat. As for me? Some people count sheep in order to fall asleep. My dreams were filled with sheep trying to stand on three legs!
