THE ISLE IN THE WESTERN SEAS
IT must have taken the little band of missionaries, even if the wind
were in their favour, fully a day to make the coast of "Calyddon" or
"the Land of Forests," as Scotland was then called by the Britons south
of the Clyde.
They landed first, we are told, on the island of Oronsay, but on
climbing a hill to look out over the waste of waters, Columba caught
sight of the far faint coast of Ireland lying like a blue cloud on the
horizon. It was more than he could bear, and the mariners put out to
sea again, sailing northwards till they reached the little island of Hy
or Iona, off the coast of Mull. (Hy or Hii means "the island"; Iona
"the blessed island.") The bay where they landed still bears the name
of Port'a Curraigh or "the Bay of the Wicker Boat." No trace of the
hills of Erin was to be seen from the low-lying rocks of Iona, nothing
but the blue mountains and the dark crags of the Hebrides and the
white-capped waves of the sea. Here, therefore, the ambassadors of
Christ resolved to build their little monastery and to make their home.
It was a happy choice. No better quarters could have been found for a
missionary station. Iona, separated only by a narrow channel from the
island of Mull, lay exactly opposite to the friendly kingdom of
Dalriada, and the missionaries had only to sail up the chain of lochs,
now united by artificial means and called the Caledonian Canal, to find
themselves in the heathen country of the Picts. The weird and austere
beauty of the Hebrides with their wild rocks and foaming seas did not
at first appeal to the Gaels of Ireland, fresh from the green hills and
smiling landscapes of their native land. The bare crags and the dark
mountains, the grey skies and the hollow waves that beat perpetually on
those bleak shores,
and bring
The eternal note of sadness in,
the wailing of the wind through the caves and the narrow channels
fretted into weird shapes by the ocean tide, made a music which was
alien to their ears, and strangely melancholy to their warm Irish
hearts. Again and again the passionate note of longing for the dear
mother-country breaks out in the writings of Columba.
'Twere sweet to sail the white waves that break on the shores of Erin,
'Twere sweet to land 'mid the white foam that laps on the shores of
Erin,
My boat would fly were its prow once tumed to the dear land of Erin,
And the sad heart cease to bleed.
There's a grey eye that ever turns with longing look to Erin,
No more in life again to see the men and maids of Erin.
There's a mist of tears in the melting eye that sadly turns to Erin,
Where the birds' songs are so sweet.
Hy, he calls the "land of ravens"; it was only after many years that he
was to sing of the place of his exile as
Hy of my love, Hy of my heart,
dear then as the land of his labours and of his apostolate for Christ,
and very close in his affections to the country of his birth.
The poet-heart of Columbcille could sing of his regret for the island
of his birth; but he was not the man to let it interfere with his work
for God in the island of his adoption. Iona consisted for the most part
of barren and desert moor. Columba asked and obtained it as a gift from
Conal, King of the Dalriadan Scots, and set his monks at once to
cultivate the soil. The huts of the brethren were built in a circle
round the church, with a guest-house and a simple refectory adjoining.
The building was of wood and wattles, and the work proceeded rapidly.
The hut of Columba was in the most elevated spot of the monastic
enclosure, and here, during the short intervals between his missionary
journeys, he spent his time in prayer, study, and the transcription of
the Holy Scriptures. Iona had its writing school for the training of
the younger monks, and became famous later for the excellence of its
scribes. Adamnan in his Life of St. Columba mentions the scriptorium
with its waxen tablets and the styles for writing, the inkhorns and the
pens, with the brushes and the colours for illuminating the manuscripts.
In all the labours of the day Columba took his part; no work was too
humble for the holy abbot, and he exacted from others the same cheerful
diligence as he himself practised. No one was allowed to be idle, there
was work enough for all, and each was expected to take his share. When
the manual labours were ended for the day, the monks betook themselves
to prayer, reading, or writing, while the less expert could always
employ themselves in works of charity for the common good. Even while
the brethren were engaged in active labour, they strove to occupy their
minds with thoughts of God, so that their work might be hallowed by
prayer and bring its blessings on their mission. When the toils of the
day were at an end they took their rest on their hard pallets of straw;
but Columba slept on the bare ground with a stone for pillow, as had
been his custom from his earliest years.
The rule of a Celtic community recommended hospitality to guests as
strongly as personal austerity, and nowhere was this rule more
faithfully observed than at Iona. No sooner were the monks settled in
their new home, than pilgrims came from every quarter to ask counsel of
Columba or to embrace the religious life under his direction. The holy
abbot, who sought in every action of his life to make atonement by true
humility for the movement of pride that had cost him so dear, would go
himself to meet them. Kneeling before them he would loosen their
sandals and wash their feet, which he kissed with reverent devotion;
performing for them, in imitation of his Divine Master, this lowliest
of services. At every hour of the day or night shouts might be heard
across the narrow channel that divided Iona from the island of Mull. At
this signal the brethren would leave their work to go down to the shore
where, stepping into their "curraghs," they would row across the Sound
to fetch the pilgrims.
Some of these were merely moved by a desire to see and speak to the
holy man whose fame had already reached their ears. Some were in need
of advice, some of material help. Some had a load of sin and sorrow on
their souls, and desired the Saint's absolution; some were suffering
from diseases, and sought his prayers and blessing; while others wished
to leave the world and join the brethren in their life of penance.
There was no sorrow to which the loving sympathy of Columbcille did not
extend, no necessity which did not appeal to his charity. He dealt with
them all in turn, and gave to each according to his need.
It was on one of these occasions that Columba, engaged at the moment in
transcribing the Scriptures, foretold sadly that one of the pilgrims
who was heard shouting lustily on the seashore, would shortly upset his
inkhorn. The visitor, a too enthusiastic admirer, in his eagerness to
embrace the Saint, fulfilled the prediction to the letter. Luckily the
sleeve of Columba's tunic was the only thing that suffered. He had
probably put the precious manuscript in a place of safety.
He was careful with those who desired to embrace the religious life,
and would make trial of their vocation with wise severity. He knew well
that in those wild days it was no uncommon thing for men who had led
evil lives to desire to make atonement for their sins in a monastery.
Given that the repentance were sincere, he wholly approved their
design, for many of the Saints of the Church have been converted
sinners. But he knew also the weakness of human nature and the strength
of the evil habits of a lifetime, and demanded that such penitents
should go through a long probation and prove their sincerity by
humility and obedience to those in charge of them before they were
admitted to the religious life.
For these would-be monks he founded communities on some of the
neighbouring islands, where wise and saintly men might try their virtue
by a probation which lasted sometimes for seven years or even longer
when necessary.
On one occasion when Columba was visiting one of these foundations on
the island of Himba, he ordered that in honour of his presence, some
savoury addition should be made to the frugal midday meal. The brethren
gratefully partook of the holiday fare in the spirit in which it was
given--with one exception. This was one of the penitents who was
undergoing his probation and who seemed to think it more perfect to
refuse the proffered dainty. Columba with kindly insistence offered the
dish with his own hands to the reluctant brother, and pressed him to
partake of it, thinking that some scruple might be distressing him. But
he was met with an abrupt refusal. For a moment Columbcille was silent,
then looking at the man sternly he said: "You refuse the comfort which
I and your superior think it right to offer you. The time will come
when you will become a thief again as you were of old, and will steal
venison for your own pleasure in the forests of your native place." The
prophecy was fulfilled. Not long after, the man returned to his evil
life, and died unrepentant in his own country.
In spite of these precautions the community at Iona increased so
rapidly that the island soon became too small to hold it, and little
bands of devoted men were sent forth to found other monasteries on the
mainland, to spread the faith and love of Christ. There are more than
ninety churches in Scotland that can trace their foundation to the time
of Columba; and each church, according to the custom of the time, had
its neighbouring monastery.
The first missionary journey of Columba was to the Scots of Dalriada.
They were Christians it is true, but living as they did surrounded on
all sides by a heathen population, they were apt to be influenced more
or less by the customs of their neighbours. It was necessary that
friendly relations should be established with these men, themselves
originally of Irish extraction, before attempting the conversion of the
Picts. The monks of Iona were hardy mariners as well as tillers of the
soil. The holy island had its little fleet of curraghs which varied in
size according to the number of ox-hides used in their construction. In
these frail barks the missionaries would brave the stormy seas of the
Hebrides and all the dangers of the deep, secure in their trust in God
and the prayers of their holy abbot. There were sharks, and whales too,
on the coasts of Caledonia in those days, and the curraghs were small
protection against such monsters; but the hearts of the mariners were
stout and their faith was strong. They sailed northwards to far St.
Kilda and the Orkney and Shetland Isles, where the ruins are still to
be seen of churches which they founded.
The holy abbot would take his turn at the oars with the rest, and when
he was not with the missioners on their travels would follow them in
spirit from his cell at Iona, shielding and protecting them by his
prayers. He knew by the supernatural light that God had given him when
they were in danger, and suffered with them in all the hardships they
endured. The interests of the last and least of them were as dear to
him as his own. Small wonder then that the memory of the holy life
lived more than thirteen hundred years ago is fragrant and living
still, and that the name of Columba is cherished in the land of his
adoption even to the present day.