PREPARING FOR THE SACRAMENT.
English folk have various festivals in the religious year, as becometh
a generous country, but in our austere and thrifty Glen there was only
one high day, and that was Sacrament Sabbath. It is rumoured--but one
prefers not to believe scandals--that the Scottish Kirk nowadays is
encouraging a monthly Sacrament, after which nothing remains in the way
of historical declension except for people to remain for the Sacrament
as it may occur to them, and for men like Drumsheugh to get up at
meetings to give their religious experiences, when every one that has
any understanding will know that the reserve has gone out of Scottish
character, and the reverence from Scottish faith. Dr. Davidson's
successor, a boisterous young man of bourgeois manners, elected by
popular vote, has got guilds, where Hillocks' granddaughter reads
papers on Emerson and refers to the Free Kirk people as Dissenters, but
things were different in the old days before the Revolution. The
Doctor had such unquestioning confidence in himself that he considered
his very presence a sufficient defence for the Kirk, and was of such
perfect breeding that he regarded other Kirks with unbroken charity.
He was not the man to weary the parish with fussy little schemes, and
he knew better than level down the Sacrament. It was the summit of the
year to which the days climbed, from which they fell away, and it was
held in the middle of August. Then nature was at her height in the
Glen, and had given us of her fulness. The barley was golden, and,
rustling in the gentle wind, wearied for the scythe; the oats were
changing daily, and had only so much greenness as would keep the
feathery heads firm for the handling; the potatoes having received the
last touch of the plough, were well banked up and flowering pleasantly;
the turnips, in fine levels, like Hillocks', or gently sloping fields,
like Menzies', were so luxuriant that a mere townsman could not have
told the direction of the drills; the hay had been gathered into long
stacks like unto the shape of a two-storied house, and the fresh
aftermath on the field was yielding sweet morsels for the horses of an
evening; the pasture was rich with the hardy white clover, and one
could hear from the road the cattle taking full mouthfuls; young spring
animals, like calves and lambs, were now falling into shape and
beginning independent life, though with an occasional hankering after
the past, when the lambs would fall a-bleating for their mothers, and
calves would hang about the gate at evening, where they had often
fought shamelessly to get a frothy nose once more into the milk-pail.
Our little gardens were full a-blow, a very blaze and maze of colour
and foliage, wherein the owner wandered of an evening examining flowers
and fruit with many and prolonged speculations--much aided by the smoke
of tobacco--as to the chance of gaining a second at our horticultural
show with his stocks, or honourable mention for a dish of mixed fruit.
The good wife might be seen of an afternoon about that time, in a
sun-bonnet and a gown carefully tucked up, gathering her berry harvest
for preserves, with two young assistants, who worked at a modest
distance from their mother, very black as to their mouths, and
preserving the currants, as they plucked them, by an instantaneous
process of their own invention. Next afternoon a tempting fragrance of
boiling sugar would make one's mouth water as he passed, and the same
assistants, never weary in well-doing, might be seen setting saucers of
black jam upon the window-sill to "jeel," and receiving, as a kind of
blackmail, another saucerful of "skim," which, I am informed, is really
the refuse of the sugar, but, for all that, wonderfully toothsome.
Bear with a countryman's petty foolishness, ye mighty people who live
in cities, and whose dainties come from huge manufactories. Some man
reading these pages will remember that red-letter day of the
summer-time long ago, and the faithful hands that plucked the fruit,
and the old kitchen, with its open beams, and the peat fire glowing
red, and the iron arm that held the copper-lined pan--much lent round
the district--and the smack of the hot, sweet berries, more grateful
than any banquet of later days.
[Illustration: Gathering her berry harvest.]
The bees worked hard in this time of affluence, and came staggering
home with spoil from the hills, but it was holiday season on the farms.
Between the last labours on the roots and the beginning of harvest
there was no exacting demand from the land, and managing farmers
invented tasks to fill up the hours. An effort was made to restore
carts and implements to their original colour, which was abruptly
interrupted by the first day of cutting, so that one was not surprised
to see a harvest cart blue on one side and a rich crusted brown on the
other. Drumsheugh would even send his men to road-making, and
apologise to the neighbours--"juist reddin' up aboot the doors"--while
Saunders the foreman and his staff laboured in a shamefaced manner like
grown-ups playing at a children's game. Hillocks used to talk vaguely
about going to see a married sister in Glasgow, and one year got as far
as Kildrummie, where he met Piggie Walker, and returned to have a deal
in potatoes with that enterprising man. More than once Drumsheugh--but
then his position was acknowledged--set off on the Monday for
Carnoustie with a large carpet bag containing, among other things, two
pounds of butter and two dozen eggs, and announced his intention of
spending a fortnight at the "saut water." The kirkyard would bid him
good-bye, and give him a united guarantee that Sabbath would be kept at
Drumtochty during his absence, but the fathers were never astonished to
see the great man drop into Muirtown market next Friday on his way
west--having found four days of unrelieved gaiety at that Scottish
Monaco enough for flesh and blood.
This season of small affairs was redeemed by the Sacrament, and
preparations began far off with the cleaning of the kirk. As early as
June our beadle had the face of one with something on his mind, and
declined to pledge himself for roups of standing corn, where his
presence was much valued, not on business grounds, but as an official
sanction of the proceedings. Drumtochty always felt that Dr. Davidson
was fully represented by his man, and John could no longer disentangle
the two in his own mind--taking a gloomy view of the parish when he was
laid up by lumbago and the Doctor had to struggle on single-handed, and
regarding the future when both would be gone with despair.
"Ay, ay, Hillocks," he once remarked to that worthy, "this 'll be a
queer-like place when me an' the Doctor 's awa'.
"Na, na, a' daurna promise for the roup, but ye can cairry it on
whether a 'm there or no; prices dinna hang on a beadle, and they 're
far mair than appearances. A 'm juist beginning tae plan the reddin'
up for the Saicrament, an' a 've nae speerit for pleesure; div ye ken,
Hillocks, a' wud actually coont a funeral distrackin'."
"Ye hev an awfu' responsibility, there 's nae doot o' that, John, but
gin ye juist jined the fouk for ae field, it wud be an affset tae the
day, an' the auctioneer wud be lifted."
With the beginning of July, John fairly broke ground in the great
effort, and was engaged thereon for six weeks, beginning with the
dusting of the pulpit and concluding with the beating of Drumsheugh's
cushion. During that time the Doctor only suggested his wants to John,
and the fathers themselves trembled of a Sabbath morning lest in a
moment of forgetfulness they might carry in some trace of their farms
with them and mar the great work. It was pretty to see Whinnie
labouring at his feet in a grassy corner, while John watched him from
the kirk door with an unrelenting countenance.
The elders also had what might be called their cleaning at this season,
examining into the cases of any who had made a "mistak'" since last
August, and deciding whether they should be allowed to "gang forrit."
These deliberations were begun at the door, where Drumsheugh and Domsie
stood the last five minutes before the Doctor appeared, and were open
to the congregation, who from their places within learned the
offenders' prospects.
"The Doctor 'll dae as he considers richt, an' he 's juist ower easy
pleased wi' onybody 'at starts a-greetin', but yon's ma jidgment,
Dominie."
"I do not wish to dispute with you, Drumsheugh"--Domsie always spoke
English on such occasions--"and the power of the keys is a solemn
charge. But we must temper a just measure of severity with a spirit of
mercy."
"Ye may temper this or temper that," said Drumsheugh, going to the root
of the matter, "but a' tell ye, Dominie, there's ower mony o' thae
limmers in the country juist noo, an' a 'm for making an example o'
Jean Ferguson."
So Jean did not present herself for a token on the approaching
Fast-day, and sat out with the children during the Sacrament with as
becoming an expression of penitence as her honest, comely face could
accomplish. Nor did Jean or her people bear any grudge against the
Doctor or the Session for their severity. She had gone of her own
accord to confess her fault, and was willing that her process of
cleansing should be thorough before she received absolution. When a
companion in misfortune spoke of the greater leniency of Pitscowrie,
Jean expressed her thankfulness that she was of Drumtochty.
"Nane o' yir loose wys for me--gie me a richt minister as dis his
duty;" which showed that whatever might be her deflections in practice,
Jean's ideas of morals were sound.
Preparations in the parish at large began two weeks before the
Sacrament, when persons whose attendance had been, to say the least,
irregular slipped in among the fathers without ostentation, and
dropping into a conversation on the weather, continued, as it were,
from last Sabbath, used it skilfully to offer an apology for past
failures in church observance.
"It's keepit up wonderfu' through the week, for a' never like ower
bricht mornin's," old Sandie Ferguson would remark casually, whose
arrival, swallow-like, heralded the approach of the great occasion.
"The roads are graund the noo frae the heich (high glen); we 've hed an
awfu' winter, neeburs, up oor wy--clean blockit up. Them 'at lives
ablow are michty favoured, wi' the kirk at their door."
"It's maist extraordinar' hoo the seasons are changin'"--Jamie Soutar
could never resist Sandie's effrontery--"A' mind when Mairch saw the
end o' the snow, an' noo winter is hangin' aboot in midsummer. A'm
expeckin' tae hear, in another five year, that the drifts last through
the Sacrament in August. It 'll be a sair trial for ye, Sandie, a
wullin' kirkgoer--but ye 'll hae the less responsibility."
"Millhole 's here, at ony rate, the day, an' we 're gled tae see
him"--for Drumsheugh's pride was to have a large Sacrament--and so
Sandie would take his place at an angle to catch the Doctor's eye, and
pay such rapt attention to the sermon that any one not knowing the
circumstances might have supposed that he had just awaked from sleep.
Ploughmen who on other Sabbaths slept in the forenoon and visited their
sweethearts the rest of the day, presented themselves for tokens on the
Fast-day, and made the one elaborate toilette of the year on Saturday
evening, when they shaved in turns before a scrap of glass hung outside
the bothy door, and the foreman, skilled in the clipping of horses, cut
their hair, utilising a porridge bowl with much ingenuity to secure a
round cut. They left early on the Sabbath morning, and formed
themselves into a group against the gable of the kirk,--being reviewed
with much satisfaction by Drumsheugh, who had a keen eye for absentees
from the religious function of the year. At the first sound of the
bell the ploughmen went into kirk a solid mass, distributing themselves
in the servants' pews attached to the farmers' pews, and maintaining an
immovable countenance through every part of the service, any tendency
to somnolence being promptly and effectually checked by the foreman,
who allowed himself some ease when alone on other days, but on
Sacrament Sabbath realised his charge and never closed an eye. The
women and children proceeded to their places on arrival, and the
fathers followed them as the bell gave signs of ceasing. Drumsheugh
and Domsie then came in from the plate and the administration of
discipline, and the parish waited as one man for the appearance of John
with the Bible, the Doctor following, and envied those whose seat
commanded the walk from the manse down which the procession came every
Sabbath with dignity, but once a year with an altogether peculiar
majesty.
Drumtochty exiles meeting in London or other foreign places and
recalling the Glen, never part without lighting on John and passing
contempt on all officials beside him. "Ye mind John?" one will say,
wagging his head with an amazement that time and distance has in no
wise cooled, and his fellow glensman will reply, "Ay, ye may traivel
the warld ower or ye see his marrow." Then they will fall into a
thoughtful silence, and each knows that his neighbour is following John
as he comes down the kirkyard on the great day. "Comin' in at the door
lookin' as if he didna ken there wes a body in the kirk, a' aye coontit
best," but his friend has another preference. "It wes fine, but, man,
tae see him set the bukes doon on the pulpit cushion, and then juist
gie ae glisk roond the kirk as much as tae say, 'What think ye o'
that?' cowed a' thing." It has been given to myself amid other
privileges to see (and store in a fond memory) the walk of a University
mace-bearer, a piper at the Highland gathering, a German stationmaster
(after the war), and an alderman (of the old school), but it is bare
justice to admit, although I am not of Drumtochty, but only as a
proselyte of the gate, that none of those efforts is at all to be
compared with John's achievement. Within the manse the Doctor was
waiting in pulpit array, grasping his father's snuff-box in a firm
right hand, and it was understood that, none seeing them, and as a
preparation for the strain that would immediately be upon them, both
the minister and his man relaxed for a minute.
"Is there a respectable attendance, John?" and the Doctor would take a
preliminary pinch. "Drumsheugh does not expect many absentees."
"Naebody 's missin' that a' cud see, sir, except that ill gettit
wratch, Tammie Ronaldson, and a' coont him past redemption. A' gaed in
as a' cam doon, and gin he wesna lyin' in his bed sleepin' an' snorin'
like a heathen."
"Well, John, did you do your duty as an officer of the church?"
"A' stood ower him, Doctor, an' a' juist said tae masel', 'Shall a'
smite wi' the sword?' but a' left him alane for this time." And so
they started--John in front with the books, and the Doctor a pace
behind, his box now in the left hand, with a handkerchief added, and
the other holding up his gown, both dignitaries bare-headed,
unself-conscious, absorbed in their office.
The books were carried level with the top button of John's
waistcoat--the Psalm-book being held in its place by the two extended
thumbs--and neither were allowed to depart from the absolute horizontal
by an eighth of an inch, even going up the pulpit stairs. When they
had been deposited in their place, and slightly patted, just to settle
them, John descended to make way for the Doctor, who had been waiting
beneath in a commanding attitude. He then followed the minister up,
and closed the door--not with a bang, but yet so that all might know he
had finished his part of the work. If any one had doubted how much
skill went to this achievement, he had his eyes opened when John had
the lumbago, and the smith arrived at the kirk door three yards ahead
of the Doctor, and let the Psalm-book fall on the pulpit floor.
"We 're thankfu' tae hae ye back, John," said Hillocks. "Yon wes a
temptin' o' Providence."
Once only had I the privilege of seeing John in this his glory, and the
sight of him afflicted me with a problem no one has ever solved. It
might, indeed, be made a branch of scientific investigation, and would
then be called the Genesis of Beadles. Was a beadle ever a baby? What
like was he before he appeared in his office? Was he lying as a
cardinal in petto till the right moment, and then simply showed himself
to be appointed as one born unto this end? No one dared to hint that
John had ever followed any other avocation, and an effort to connect
John with the honourable trade of plumbing in the far past was justly
regarded as a disgraceful return of Tammie Ronaldson's for much
faithful dealing. Drumtochty refused to consider his previous history,
if he had any, and looked on John in his office as a kind of
Melchizedek, a mysterious, isolated work of Providence.
He was a mere wisp of a man, with a hard, keen face, iron-grey hair
brushed low across his forehead, and clean-shaven cheeks.
[Illustration: He was a mere wisp of a man.]
"A 've naething tae say against a beard," on being once consulted, "an'
a 'm no prepared tae deny it maun be in the plan o' Providence. In
fact, gin a' wes in a private capaucity, a' michtna shave, but in ma
public capaucity, a 've nae alternative. It wud be a fine story tae
gang roond the Presbytery o' Muirtown that the Beadle o' Drumtochty hed
a beard."
His authority was supreme under the Doctor, and never was disputed by
man or beast save once, and John himself admitted that the
circumstances were quite peculiar. It was during the Doctor's famous
continental tour, when Drumsheugh fought with strange names in the
kirkyard, and the Presbytery supplied Drumtochty in turn. The minister
of St. David's, Muirtown, was so spiritual that he left his voice at
the foot of the pulpit stairs, and lived in the Song of Solomon, with
occasional excursions into the Lamentations of Jeremiah, and it was
thoughtless not to have told Mr. Curlew that two or three dogs--of
unexceptionable manners--attended our kirk with their masters. They
would no more have thought of brawling in church than John himself, and
they knew the parts of the service as well as the Doctor, but dogs have
been so made by our common Creator that they cannot abide falsetto, and
Mr. Curlew tried them beyond endurance. When he lifted up his voice in
"Return, return, O Shulamite, return, return," a long wail in reply,
from below a back seat where a shepherd was slumbering, proclaimed that
his appeal had not altogether failed. "Put out that dog," said the
preacher in a very natural voice, with a strong suggestion of bad
temper, "put that dog out immediately; it's most disgraceful that such
. . . eh, conduct should go, on in a Christian church. Where is the
church officer?"
"A'm the Beadle o' Drumtochty"--standing in his place--"an' a'll dae
yir pleesure;" and the occasion was too awful for any one, even the
dog's master, to assist, far less to laugh.
So Laddie was conducted down the passage--a dog who would not
condescend to resist--and led to the outer gate of the kirkyard, and
John came in amid a dead silence--for Mr. Curlew had not yet got his
pulpit note again--and faced the preacher.
"The dog 's oot, sir, but a' tak this congregation tae witness, ye
begood (began) it yirsel'," and it was said that Mr. Curlew's pious and
edifying chant was greatly restricted in country kirks from that day.
It was not given to the beadle to sit with the elders in that famous
court of morals which is called the Kirk Session, and of which strange
stories are told by Southern historians, but it was his to show out and
in the culprits with much solemnity. He was able to denote the exact
offence in the language of Kirk law, and was considered happy in his
abbreviations for technical terms. As a familiar of the Inquisition,
he took oversight of the district, and saw that none escaped the
wholesome discipline of the Church.
"Ye 're back," he said, arresting Peter Ferguson as he tried to escape
down a byroad, and eyeing the prodigal sternly, who had fled from
discipline to London, and there lost a leg; "the' 'll be a meetin' o'
Session next week afore the Saicrament; wull a' tell the Doctor ye're
comin'?"
"No, ye 'll dae naething o' the kind, for a 'll no be there. A 've nae
suner got hame aifter ma accident but ye're tormentin' me on the verra
road wi' yir Session. Ye drave me awa' aince, an' noo ye wud harry
(hunt) me aft again."
"A weel, a weel"--and John was quite calm--"dinna pit yirsel' in a
feery farry (excitement); ye 'll gang yir ain wy and earn yir ain
jidgment. It wes for yir gude a' spoke, and noo a 've dune ma pairt,
an' whatever comes o't, ye 'll no hae me or ony ither body tae blame."
"What think ye 'll happen?"--evidently sobered by John's tone, yet
keeping up a show of defiance. "Ye wud think the Session wes the
Sheriff o' Perthshire tae hear ye blawin' and threatenin'."
"It's no for me tae say what may befa' ye, Peter Ferguson, for a 'm no
yir jidge, but juist a frail mortal, beadle though I be; but a' may hev
ma thochts.
"Ye refused the summons sax month syne, and took yir wys tae
London--that wes contumacy added tae yir ither sin. Nae doot ye made
certain ye hed escapit, but hed ye? A' leave it tae yirsel', for the
answer is in yir body," and John examined Peter's wooden leg with an
austere interest.
"Ay, ay, ma man," he resumed--for Peter was now quite silenced by this
uncompromising interpretation of the ways of Providence--"ye aff tae
London, an' the Lord aifter ye, an' whuppit aff ae leg. Noo ye declare
ye 'll be as countermacious as ever, an' a 'm expeckin' the Lord 'll
come doon here an' tak the ither leg, an' gin that disna dae, a' that
remains is tae stairt on yir airms; and, man Peter, ye 'll be a
bonnie-like sicht before a' 's dune."
This was very faithful dealing, and it had its desired effect, for
Peter appeared at next meeting, and in due course was absolved, as
became an obedient son of the Church.
John did not, however, always carry the sword, but bore himself gently
to young people so long as they did not misbehave in church, and he had
a very tender heart toward probationers, as being callow members of
that great ecclesiastical guild in which he was one of the heads.
When one of those innocents came to take the Doctor's place, John used
to go in to visit them in the dining-room on Saturday evening, partly
to temper the severity of his wife, Dr. Davidson's housekeeper, who
dealt hardly with the lads, and partly to assist them with practical
hints regarding pulpit deportment and the delivery of their sermons.
One unfortunate was so nervous and clinging that John arranged his
remarks for him into heads--with an application to two classes--and
then, having suggested many points, stopped under the yew arch that
divided the kirkyard from the manse garden, and turned on the shaking
figure which followed.
"Ae thing mair; aifter ye 're dune wi' yir sermon, whether ye 're
sweatin' or no, for ony sake fa' back in yir seat and dicht (wipe) yir
broo," which being done by the exhausted orator, made a great
impression on the people, and was so spread abroad that a year
afterwards it won for him the parish of Pitscowrie.