Hating to be a burden on the family I was eager to work. Too weak for
farm duties, I helped about the house and came, in course of time, to
earn a good word from grannie. Tho of the same age, there was a great
difference between Allan and myself. He could lift weights I could not
move, did not get tired as I did, and as the stronger took care of me We
were all happy and getting-on well when trouble came from an unlooked
for quarter. The master got notice from the factor that, on his lease
running out the following year, the rent would be raised. He did not
look for this. During his lease he had made many improvements at his own
cost and thought they would more than count against any rise in the
value of farm lands. He remonstrated with the factor, who said he could
do nothing, his lordship wanted more revenue from his estate and there
was a man ready to take the farm at the advanced rent. He was sorry, but
the master had to pay the rent asked or leave the place. If I go, what
will be allowed me for the improvements I have made? Not a shilling; he
had gone on making them without the landlord's consent. You saw me
making them and encouraged me, said the master, and I made them in the
belief I would be given another tack to get some of the profit out of
them. The factor replied, Tut, tut, that's not the law of Scotland. The
master felt very sore at the injustice done him. On his lordship's
arrival from London, accompanied by a party of his English friends, for
the shooting, the master resolved to see him. On the morning he left to
interview him we wished him good luck, confident the landlord would not
uphold the factor, and we wearied for his return. The look on his face
as he came into the kitchen showed he had failed. He told us all that
passed. On getting to the grand house and telling the flunkey he had
come to see his master, the flunkey regarded him with disdain, and
replied his lordship was engaged and would not see him. Persisting in
refusing to leave the door and telling that he was a tenant, the flunkey
left and returned with a young gentleman, who asked what was his
business, saying he was his lordship's secretary. On being told, the
young man shook his head, saying his lordship left all such matters to
his factor, and it would do no good to see him. Just then a finely
dressed lady swept into the hall. Pausing, she cried, 'Tompkins, what
does that common-looking man want here? Tell him to go to the servants'
entry.' 'He wants to see his lordship,' was the reply. 'The idea!'
exclaimed the lady as she crossed the floor and disappeared by the
opposite door. The master could hear the sounds of laughter and jingle
of glasses. 'My, good man,' said the secretary, 'you had better go: his
lordship will not see you today.' 'When will he be at liberty to see
me?' asked the master, 'I will come when it suits his pleasure. I must
have his word of mouth that what the factor says is his decision.' The
secretary looked perplexed, and after putting a few questions, among
them that he had paid his rent and wanted no favor beyond renewal of his
lease on the old terms, he told my father to wait a minute and left. It
might be half an hour or more when a flunkey beckoned the master to
follow him. Throwing open a door he entered what he took to be the
library, for it had shelves of books. His lordship was alone, seated by
the fireplace with a newspaper on his lap. 'Now, say what you have to
say in fewest words,' said the nobleman. Standing before him the master
told how he had taken the farm 19 years ago, had observed every
condition of the lease, and had gone beyond them in keeping the farm in
good heart, for he had improved it in many ways, especially during the
past few years when he had ditched and limed and levelled a boggy piece
of land, and changed it from growing rushes into the best pasture-field
on the farm. 'Gin the farm is worth more, it is me who has made it and I
crave your lordship to either give me another tack at the same rent or
pay me what my betterments are worth.' His Lordship turned and touched a
bell. On the flunkey appearing, he said to him, 'Show this fellow to
the door,' and took up his newspaper. As the master finished, he said to
us, 'Dear as every acre of the farm is to me, I will leave it and go
where the man who works the land may own it and where there are no lords
and dukes, nor baronets. I am a man and never again will I ask as a
favor what is my due of any fellow-mortal with a title.' We went to bed
that night sorrowful and fearing what was before us.
When he took anything in hand the master went through with it. Before
the week was out he had given up the farm, arranged for an auction sale,
and for going to Canada. My heart was filled with misgivings as to what
would become of me. I knew crops had been short for two years, and,
though he was even with the world, the master had not a pound to spare,
and depended on the auction-sale for the money to pay for outfit and
passage to Canada. I had no right to expect he would pay for me, and all
the more that he would have no use for a lad such as I was in his new
home. It was not so much of what might happen to myself after they were
gone that I thought about, as of parting with the family, for I loved
every one of them. I knew they were considering what to do with me, and
one day, on the master getting me alone, he seemed relieved on telling
me the new tenant of the farm was going to keep me on for my meat. I
thanked him, for it was better than I looked for. These were busy days
getting ready. Alice noticed that, in all the making of clothes, there
were none for me, and I overheard her ask her mother, who answered in a
whisper, that they had not money enough to take me along with them.
Alice was more considerate than ever with me. To their going grannie
proved an obstacle. She would not leave Scotland, she declared, she
would be buried in it, she would go to no strange country, let alone a
cold one like Canada, nor cross the sea. Her favorite of the family was
Robbie, on whom she doted. 'You will not leave him?' asked the mistress.
'Ou, he'll gang with me to Mirren's,' the name of her daughter in
Glasgow. 'Oh, no; Robbie goes with us to Canada.' It was a struggle with
the dear old soul, and in the end she decided she would brave the
Atlantic rather than part with her boy.
The last day came. The chests, and plenishing for the home they looked
forward to in Canada, had gone the day before and been stowed in the
ship at Troon, and the carts stood at the door to receive the family and
their hand-bags. The children and all were seated and the master turned
to me before taking his place. He shook my hand, and tried to say
something, but could not, for his voice failed. Pressing half a crown in
my little fist he moved to get beside the driver, when Robbie cheeped
out astonished, 'Is Gordie no to go wi' us?' 'Whist, my boy; we will
send for him by-and-by.' At this Robbie set up a howl, and his brothers
and sisters joined in his weeping. The master was sorely moved and
whispered with his wife. 'His passage-money will make me break my last
big note,' I heard him say to her. 'Trust in the Lord,' she answered,
'I canna thole the thought of leaving the mitherless bairn to that hard
man, John Stoddart; he'll work the poor weak fellow to death.' Without
another word, the master hoisted me on top of the baggage, the carts
moved on, and Robbie looked up into my face with a smile. We were driven
alongside the ship as she lay at the quay. She was a roomy brig, and was
busy taking on cargo. Our part of the hold was shown to us, and the
mistress at once began to unpack the bedding, and to make the best of
everything. 'Is it not an awful black hole to put Christians into?'
asked a woman who was taking her first survey. 'Well, no, I do not think
so; it is far better than I expected.' She had a gracious way, the
mistress, of looking at everything in the best light.
In the afternoon a man came on board to see the captain about taking
passage, and they agreed. He had no baggage, and as the ship only
supplied part of the provisions he had to go to buy what he needed for
the voyage. He asked the master to let me go with him to help to carry
back his bedding and parcels. We went from shop to shop until he had got
everything on his list; last of all he visited a draper and bought
cloth. On getting back to the ship he was tapped on the shoulder by a
seedy looking fellow who was waiting for him, and who said, 'You are my
prisoner.' The man started and his face grew white. I thought it strange
he did not ask what he was a prisoner for. 'Will you go quietly or will
I put these on?' asked the man, showing a pair of handcuffs in his coat
pocket. 'I will give you no trouble,' was the answer, 'only allow the
boy to stow these parcels and bags in my berth.'
'I think the boy had better come with you; I will wait till he is
ready.' I wondered what he could want with me. He led us up the street
to a large building where he placed us in charge of a man even more
greasy and with a worse look than himself. It was quite a while before
he returned and led us into a large room. There was a long table, at its
head sat two well-dressed gentlemen, and at each side men with papers
before them. 'May it please your lordship and Bailie McSweem, the
prisoner being present we will now proceed.' He went on to explain that
the prisoner was a member of one of those political associations that
were plotting to subvert the government of the country, even thinking
they could organize a revolution and drive his majesty from the throne.
He need not dwell on the danger State and Church were in from the
plottings of those desperate men, and the need of all upholders of the
Crown and Constitution suppressing them with a firm hand.
The gentleman who was addressed as his lordship nodded in approval, and
said, 'There is no need, Mr Sheriff, of referring to those unhappy
matters as we are fully cognizant of them. What about the prisoner?'
'He is a member of the Greenock union, proceedings were about to be
taken for his arrest on a charge of sedition, when somehow he got wind
of what was about to take place and, knowing he was guilty, attempted
to flee the country. I can produce, if you say so, witnesses to prove
that he skulked into Troon by back streets and secured passage to Canada
on the Heatherbell, which sails in a few hours. I have one witness now
present.'
His lordship remarked the Sheriff deserved credit for his vigilance and
the promptitude with which he acted. 'I suppose,' he added, 'we have
nothing more to do than order his being sent to Greenock for examination
and trial?'
'That is all we need do.' answered the Sheriff. Just then a loud voice
was heard in the hall demanding admission, a sound as if the door-keeper
was pulled aside, and a sharp-featured man came in. 'What business have
you to enter here?' demanded the Sheriff.
'I will soon show you. What are you doing with that man?' pointing to
the prisoner.
'Leave at once, or I will order you to be ejected.'
The man, who was quite composed, said to the prisoner, 'Mr Kerr, do you
authorize me to act as your attorney?'
'Yes,' he answered. 'Very well, then, I am here by right. Now, Mr
Sheriff, hand me over the papers in the case.'
The Sheriff, who was red in the face, 'I shall not, you have no right
here; you're not a lawyer.'
Addressing the magistrates the man said he was a merchant, a burgess of
the city of Glasgow, had been chosen by the accused as his attorney and
was acting within his rights in demanding to see the papers. The
magistrates consulted in a whisper and his lordship remarked there could
be no objection. The Sheriff, however, continued to clutch them. 'You
ask him,' was the order of the stranger to Kerr, 'he dare not refuse
you.' Reluctantly the Sheriff handed them to the stranger, who quickly
glanced over them. 'Is this all?' he demanded. 'Yes, that is all,'
snapped the Sheriff.
'Where is the warrant for Kerr's arrest?'
'None of your business where it is.'
Speaking to the bench, the stranger said there was neither information
nor warrant among the papers he held in his hand. The only authority
they had for holding Kerr was a letter from a clerk at Greenock, stating
one Robert Kerr, accused of sedition, had fled before the papers could
be made out for his arrest, and that, if he was found trying to take
ship at Troon, to hold him. 'I warn you,' said the stranger, shaking his
fist, 'that you have made yourselves liable to heavy penalties in
arresting Robert Kerr on the strength of a mere letter. There is no
deposition whatever, no warrant, and yet a peaceable man, going about in
his lawful business, has been seized by your thief-takers and made
prisoner. If you do not release him at once I go forthwith to Edinburgh
and you will know what will happen you by Monday.' He went on with much
more I do not recall, but it was all threats and warnings of what would
befall all concerned if Kerr was not released. The Sheriff at last got
in a word. 'The charge is sedition and ordinary processes of procedure
do not apply.'
'You might have said that 30 years ago when you infernal Tories sent
Thomas Muir of Huntershill to his death, and William Skirving and others
to banishment for seeking reform in representation and upholding the
right of petition, but you are not able now to make the law to suit your
ends. You are holding this man without shadow of law or justice, and I
demand his being set at liberty.'
'Quite an authority in law!' sneered the Sheriff.
'Yes, I have been three times before the court of session and won each
time. I knew your father, who was a decent shoemaker in Cupar, and when
he sent you to learn to be a lawyer he little thought he was making a
tool for those he despised. Pick a man from the plow, clap on his back a
black coat, send him to college, and in five years he is a Conservative,
and puckers his mouth at anything so vulgar as a Reformer, booing and
clawing to the gentry and nobility. Dod, set a beggar on horseback and
he will ride over his own father, and your father was no lick-the-ladle
like you, but a Liberal who stood up for his rights.' The bitterness and
force with which the stranger spoke cowed his hearers.
'These insults are too much,' stammered the Bailie.
The stranger at once turned upon him. 'O, this is you McSweem, to whom I
have sold many a box of soap and tea when you wore an apron and kept a
grocer's shop. Set you up and push you forward, indeed. You have got a
bit of an estate with your wife's money and call yourself a laird! The
grand folk having taken you under their wing, you forget that you once
sat, cheek-by-jowl, with Joseph Gerrald, and now you sit in judgment on
a better man than a dozen like you.'
'Mr Sheriff,' shouted his lordship. 'Remove this man to the cells.'
'I dare you to put a finger on me,' and he grasped a chair ready to
knock down the officer who advanced to obey the order. 'I am within my
lawful rights. Dod, wee Henderson would ask nothing better than to
prosecute you before the lords of session were you to keep me in jail
even for an hour. Release this innocent man Kerr, and let us go.'
'You are a vulgar bully,' exclaimed his lordship haughtily.
The stranger dropped his bitter tone, and asked smoothly, 'May I ask
your lordship a question? Will you condescend to say how many of your
lordship's relatives are in government offices, and is it true your
wife's mother draws a pension, all of them living out of taxes paid by
the commonalty whom you despise?'
His lordship affected not to hear him, and beckoning the Sheriff to draw
near, he conferred with the magistrates in whispers. I overheard Bailie
McSweem say, 'I know him, he's a perfect devil to fight; better have
nothing to do with him,' and the Sheriff's remark, 'He has got a legal
catch to work on.' When the Sheriff went back to his seat, h is lordship
said curtly, 'The accused is discharged,' and he and McSweem hurriedly
left. The stranger gripped Kerr by the shoulder and pushed him before
him until we reached the street. 'Now, I must leave you, for I must see
what my customers are out of.'
'Tell me your name?' asked Kerr, 'that I may know who has done me such
service.'
'Never mind; you are under no obligation to me. A wee bird told me you
were in trouble and I am glad to have been in time to serve you.'
'You do not know all the service you have done; you have saved more than
myself from jail, and an innocent wife and children from poverty. Do let
me know your name that I may remember it as long as I live.'
'Daniel M'farlane, and my advice is to quit Scotland right off, for
these devils are mad angry at your giving them the slip. They will get
the papers they need from Greenock and have you in jail if you are here
tomorrow.' A grip of the hand, and the stranger was gone. The whole
scene was such a surprise, so novel to me, that every part of it
fastened on my memory.
On reaching the brig we found the sailors stowing away casks of water.
Kerr and myself had been given the same berth, and Allan and Robbie had
the next one. Saying he was dead-tired, for he had been on his feet
since leaving Greenock, Kerr turned in though the sun had not set. An
hour or so after, a number of men came to the wharf to see him. I found
him asleep. They asked if I was the lad the officer took along with him
to be a witness. Gathering in a quiet corner they had me repeat all
that took place. They said they were Liberals and glad to hear the black
nebs had won.
The noise overhead of washing the deck awoke me, and I knew by the
motion of the ship we were sailing. On getting up I saw Troon several
miles behind and Ailsa Craig drawing near. Allan and myself, with Robbie
between us, were snuggled on the lee side of the longboat when Kerr
appeared. He was interested on hearing of the men who came to visit him
and said it was hard to be hounded out of Scotland, which he did not
wish to leave, for saying constitutional reforms were called for. 'I am
no worse used,' he added, 'than the man whom that county we are looking
at starved when he was among them and built monuments to him when he was
dead.' The town of Ayr was in sight and he named several of the points
Burns had named in his songs. 'Think, my laddies, of a man like Burns
being told by the officials over him to keep his Liberal views to
himself, that it was not for him to think but to be silent and obedient.
And he had to swallow their order to prevent his losing the petty office
which stood between his children and starvation.'
The breeze that had taken the brig so far down the firth soon died away,
and we rocked gently south of Ailsa Craig. In the hold folk were busy
getting things in some sort of order, while on deck the sailors were
putting everything in shipshape. This breathing spell was fortunate, for
at dark the wind came in squalls, and on rounding the Mull of Cantyre
the ocean swells sent most of the passengers to their berths seasick. I
escaped and was able to help the family and Mr Kerr, who almost
collapsed, and was not himself for a week. His first sign of recovery
was his craving for a red herring. The mistress was early up and
bustling round to find she had to face an entire change in the methods
of housekeeping to which she had been used. There was a little house
between the two masts named the galley, and here the cooking was done.
The cook was an old man, gruff and crusty, who had spent most of his
life in a Dundee whaler. In the Arctic region his good nature had got
frozen and was not yet thawed out. He would allow nobody near and got
angry when suggestions were tendered. He made good porridge and tasty
soup, anything else he spoiled. As these alone were cooked in bulk and
measured out, the passengers took to the galley the food they wished to
be cooked. That each family get back what they gave in, the food was
placed in bags of netted twine and then slipped into the coppers of
boiling water. The mistress was a famous hand at roley-poley, and for
the first Sunday after sea-sickness had gone, she prepared a big one as
a treat. It looked right and smelled good, but the first spoonful showed
it had a wonderful flavor. In the boiler the net beside it held a nuckle
of smoked ham. The laughter and jokes made us forget the taste of the
ham and not a scrap of the roley-poley was left. Our greatest lack was
milk for the children, and we all resented being scrimped in
drinking-water, though before the voyage ended we became reconciled to
that, for the water grew bad.