EVERY country has its own sports, and Scotland has golf, but golf only
satisfies the lighter side of the Scots; the graver side of the Scot
finds its exercise in the prosecution of a heretic. Nothing so delights
this theological and argumentative people as a heresy hunt, and they
have no more ill-will to a heretic than sportsmen have to a fox. It
sometimes occurs to me that they dally with cases in order that they may
be prolonged, and that the sportsmen may have a good run after the
fox. I have even dared to think that they would be willing to preserve
heretics as foxes are preserved in hunting counties in order that they
might have a good time now and again. Every one throws himself into a
heresy case, from the highest to the lowest, from the Duke in his castle
to the shepherd on the hills, from the lawyer in his office to the
railway guard in his van. They all read about it and form their opinion,
and take sides and watch the event, and the issue of the case is a
national incident. From the conflict of wits, in which the hardest heads
have tried conclusions on the deepest subjects, the people return to
business shrewder than ever, more confident and self-satisfied.
We had missed the connexion, and the North train had gone fifteen
minutes ago, and how I was to reach the station of Pitrodie that night
was a question beyond solution. The station master could give no help,
and only suggested that I might sleep at the inn and take the morning
train, but in that case I would have been too late for the funeral to
which I was going. When he heard the nature of my errand he bestirred
himself with much more zeal, for, although a Scot may not facilitate
your journey for a marriage, which he regards as an event of very
doubtful utility, and associated with little geniality, he is always
ready to assist you to a funeral to which the heart of the Scotch people
goes out with pathetic interest.
“Would you mind travelling in the guard's van of a luggage train and ye
would be in fine time?”
On the contrary, I would be delighted, for I had never travelled in such
circumstances, and the guard's van would be a pleasant variety upon a
third-class carriage.
The guard received me with considerable cordiality and gave me his
seat in the van, which was decorated with pictures of kirks and eminent
divines. For a while he was engaged with various duties, shunting trucks
and making up his train, but after we had started and were out upon the
line he came and placed himself opposite.
“Now,” he said, “we've a run of twenty miles, and it's not likely we'll
be interrupted, for the rails are clear at this time of night, and we're
an express goods. I regard it,” he said, “as a providence that ye lost
yer train, for if I'd been asked what I would like this very nicht I
would ha said, 'Gie me a minister.'”
When I expressed my pleasure at his respect for the cloth, and my
willingness to be of any service to him, he waved his hand as one
does who has been misunderstood. “It's no,” he said, “releegious
conversation that I'm wantin', although I'm willing enough to have that
at a time, but there's a point in the Robertson-Smith heresy case that I
would like to have cleared up to my satisfaction.”
A tall and grey-bearded man, about fifty years of age, with a keen eye
and a shrewd face, he leant forward from his place, and, with the light
of the lamp shining on his face, he began: “Now, ye see, the first
article in the libel against Prof. Robertson-Smith has to do with the
construction of the Book of Deuteronomy,” but I will not inflict what he
said, for it took ten miles of the railway to open up his point. As we
rattled along the birling of the heavy break van was like music to words
of sonorous sound--“Pentateuch,” “Mosaic Authorship,” “Confession of
Faith.”
For another ten miles we discussed the length and breadth of the eminent
Hebrew scholar's views till we reached a crisis, which happened also to
be a junction on the railway. “One minute,” he said, “and we maun stop,
for we're coming to the junction.” The point we were at was the place
of the Song of Solomon in the Old Testament. “Now, I contend,” he
continued, “that it hes to be read spiritually, and I've given three
reasons. I've three mair, but I maun shunt the trucks. I'll be back in
ten minutes, and ye'll not forget that the discussion is no closed
but just adjourned, and I've the richt to give the other three reasons
before ye reply.” And then, after the three had been given and thirty
more, we parted as the day was breaking. At Pitrodie station he crossed
the platform with me, and shook hands till my bones were almost broken.
“It's been a very edifying nicht, and I'll gie fair consideration to all
your arguments. Mind ye, I'm proud o' the Professor, for he's a michty
scholar, and I wouldna like to see him put out o' the kirk, but I'm
jalousing that he's a heretic.” I stood at a turn of the road and saw
the train pass, and my friend waved his hand to me from the back of the
van, but I could see him sadly shake his head. He was still jalousing
(suspecting) that Prof. Robertson-Smith was a heretic.