WHEN Carmichael was Free Kirk minister of Dramtochty, and in the days of
his youth, he had casual ways, and went at his own free will. He never
came across the moor behind his manse on a summer day, and entered
the cool pine wood which separated it from the ploughed land, without
sitting down beside a certain pool of a burn which ran through the
fringe of the wood. Because the water broke over a little rock and then
gathered in a cup of gravel, and there was a heather bank where he could
he as comfortably as in his favourite study chair, which had seen the
Rebellion, but had changed its covering as well as its creed more than
once since then; because the Highland cattle came to drink at that pool
if you were not fussy and suspicious; and because all the sounds of the
moor--the bleating of the sheep, the cry of the grouse, and the wail
of the whaup and the drone of the bees--mingled in one music, and fell
pleasantly upon your ear. “For five minutes only,” he said to himself,
and then some Highland cows, with their absurd little calves, arrived,
and would have considered it ill-mannered for him to rise; and he fell
a-thinking while time flew. He rose with a start and hurried down to
the main road, and made for the bridge over the Tochty, fearful lest he
should be too late when the messenger came with momentous tidings from
the telegraph office at Kildrummie.
For two years the Glen had been in the most delightful state of
intellectual ferment, and it was freely said by those who could remember
that conversation had not risen to such a high level for fifty years,
not even during '43. It goes without saying that the subject which
exercised the minds and tongues of the Glen had to do, not with markets,
but with Kirks; and while many had feared that the golden age of the
Disruption would never be repeated in Drumtochty, when children were
taught the doctrine of spiritual independence as they were supping their
porridge, and women spoke freely about the principle of “Coordinate
Jurisdiction with Mutual Subordination” as they hoed turnips in the
fields, even Jamie Soutar was compelled to allow that the present
debate had points of excellence altogether its own. While the spirit of
disruption had wonderfully sharpened the edge of the intellect, the new
spirit of concord which was abroad had still more powerfully quickened
the feelings of the heart. By the fireside, where the guidwife darned
the stockings and the guidman read the _Muirtown Advertiser_ from the
first word of the advertisements to the last word of the printer's name,
out at work where they were planting potatoes or reaping the com, on
the way to market as they walked down to Kildrummie station on Friday
morning or crammed themselves by fives and sixes into Hillocks'
dog-cart, but most of all in the kirkyard or at the Free Kirk door,
men and women had been discussing with unswerving honesty and amazing
subtlety, but with great goodwill and eager longing, how the differences
between the Free Kirk and the Established could be reconciled, and upon
what terms of honour and self-respect they could be united so that there
should be again one Kirk in Scotland, as in the former days. According
to the light which Providence had been pleased to give to other
parishes, which was as twilight to the sunlight of Drum-tochty, they
also argued this great affair, till even Kildrummie had pronounced ideas
on the subject; and Rabbi Saunderson, the minister of Kilbogie, had
announced a course of twenty-five sermons on the “Principle of Unity
in the Christian Church, considered biblically, theologically,
historically, and experimentally.” The ecclesiastics on both sides had
not regarded the movement with conspicuous favour, and, while stating
that the end in view was not only admirable but one they had always
desired, they felt it their duty to point out difficulties. They
mentioned so many, indeed, and expounded them so faithfully, that it
would not have been wonderful if the people had lost heart and abandoned
a hopeless enterprise; for as a rule it had been the ecclesiastics who
spoke and the people who kept silence; the ecclesiastics who passed
measures and the people who paid for them. This time, however, the
younger ministers had taken the matter into their own hands, and refused
to serve themselves heirs to past controversies or to bind themselves to
perpetuate ancient divisions; they were men of another age, and intended
to face the new situation. There had been enough dividing in Scotland
since the days of the Covenanters; it was time there should be some
uniting, and when they were at it they wanted thorough-going and final
union. And the people, who in every country parish had, Sabbath after
Sabbath for more than a generation, passed one another in opposite
directions going to their kirks, began to inquire why they should not
all go in one direction and meet under one roof as their fathers had
done; and when people began to ask that question, both with their heads
and with their hearts, it was bound to be answered in one way.
The ecclesiastics had yielded under pressure, and as Carmichael went
down to the bridge he recalled, with a keen sense of humour, their
marvellous proceedings and the masterly game which had been played by
the diplomatists of the Kirks, their suave expressions of brotherly
love, their shrewd foresight of every move, their sleepless watchfulness
of one another, their adroit concessions which yielded nothing, their
childlike proposals which would have gained everything, and their
cheerful acquiescence in every delay. But the temper of the people was
not to be trifled with, and if the young party among the clergy were not
skilled in the wiles of Church Courts, they had considerable vigour of
speech, and the managers of affairs were given to understand that they
must bring things quickly to a head. Early last spring the leader of
the Free Kirk had submitted his terms, which the Established Kirk men
studied together for three days and then read in seven different ways,
and they in turn submitted their proposals, which were so simple and
direct that the great Free Kirk man was genuinely disappointed, and
wished that it had been his lot to negotiate with a Roman cardinal. But
the people were getting impatient, and when the Assemblies met in the
end of May, the pleasant spring-time, the terms had been adjusted, and
Carmichael ran over them as he came down the near road through Hillocks'
farm and pronounced them good. That the Free Church and the Established
should unite together; that its legal title should be the Church of
Scotland; that it should retain the ancient endowments and all
the accumulated funds of both the former Churches; that the
newly-constituted Church of Scotland should cease its legal connexion
with the State, but maintain the old parochial system; that the new
Church should re-arrange its resources so as to meet every religious and
moral want in Scotland, and work with the State for the well-being of
the Scots Commonwealth. The motions were proposed about the same time
in the two Assemblies, in speeches worthy of the occasion: in the
Established Kirk by a Scots noble; in the Free Kirk by the ablest
ecclesiastical statesman of his day; Carmichael was thankful that he was
in the Free Kirk Assembly when the motion was carried, with tears
and cheers, none objecting, and that he was in time, with a fearful
struggle, to get his head within the door of the Tolbooth, when the
ministers and elders of the Established Kirk stood up as one man at
the bidding of their moderator, and before Her Majesty's Lord High
Commissioner, and declared for union; and thankful that he was one
of the crowd that poured out of both Assemblies in the High Street of
Edinburgh and heard the bells of St. Giles, which had been the witness
of many a fierce conflict, ringing out the news of peace and concord
through the grey capital of the nation.
There was still one risk to be run and one barrier to be surmounted, for
the concordat of the Church required the sanction of Parliament. Through
the summer days the battle had been fought in the lobbies and committee
rooms of the House of Commons, and that afternoon it was to be decided;
and up to the last there was a chance that the bill might be thrown out,
and the heart's desire of Scotland once more refused at Westminster. For
there were cross-currents which no man could calculate; there were stiff
old Tories who hated the idea of the Church being disestablished; keen
Radicals who were determined that the Church should be also disendowed;
Episcopalians who were eager that the title of the Church of Scotland
should be left open to be claimed by that respectable, though limited,
dissenting community, which traces its descent through Archbishop Sharpe
and John Graham of Claverhouse; and a balance of men who disliked all
Churches equally, and were always ready to hinder religion, when they
could get an opportunity. If the bill were thrown out it would be a sad
calamity, and Lord Kilspindie had promised to telegraph to Dr. Davidson
the moment the bill passed the Commons; for it had been taken first in
the Lords (and carried with a brisk fight), and Carmichael proposed to
meet the messenger at Tochty bridge, and escort him to the manse.
It did not, however, surprise Carmichael to find the minister of the
parish of Drumtochty walking to and fro on the level ground from which
the wonderful arch of the ancient bridge sprang, and talking affably
with Hillocks on the prospects of harvest, but keeping all the time a
watchful eye on the distant point on the other side of the Glen where
the road emerged from the pine woods and the Kildrummie messenger would
first be seen.
“Glad to see you, Carmichael,” said the doctor, with just the faintest
suggestion of excitement in his manner; “I left a message at the manse
that if you called they were to send you down to the bridge, but I
rather suspected you would be here. For myself, I frankly confess
I could neither sit nor read, so I just turned out to wait for the
messenger. It's a historical day, Carmichael, charged with great issues
for Scotland.”
They climbed the stiff ascent, and stood on the arch through which the
Tochty ran, clear and sparkling, that summer evening.
“More than a century of Scots history has run since this bridge was
built, some of it sad enough; but, please God, we shall see good days
before they build the new bridge. What hinders the messenger? Kilspindie
expected to telegraph by five at latest, and now it's six o'clock.” The
doctor snuffed uneasily and wiped his eye-glasses. “I wish I had gone
down to Kildrummie. What's that, Carmichael, on the crest of the hill?
Your eyes are quicker than mine.”
“It's a man on horseback, and we'll soon know who he is, for he's riding
hard. I should recognize that horse. Why, it's Macfarlane's chestnut
that brings me up from the station in forty minutes and something to
spare, and Macfarlane's riding her himself. If the old chap hasn't
saddled a horse and ridden up to bring us the news post-haste! Isn't he
going! He would never come that speed if it were bad news. They've let
it out at the post office, as sure as we're standing here; and, look,
Macfarlane has seen us. He's waving his hat, doctor; the bill has
passed, and the Kirks are one.” They went down the other side of the
bridge, and Carmichael did not look at Dr. Davidson, for the doctor's
stately step was broken, and he was again polishing his eyeglasses.
The chestnut was covered with dust, and so was Macfarlane, and the mare
herself seemed to be triumphant when Macfarlane reined her in on the
other side of the bridge.
“Half expeckit to see you here, gentlemen,” for even Macfarlane, dealer
in horses, in coals, in manure, and hirer of carriages, was discomposed.
“Message came in at 6.48; had the mare ready; left at 6.60; done the
three miles in thirteen and a half minutes”--all this in one breath;
then, jumping off his horse and taking off his hat, “A telegram for you,
Dr. Davidson.”
He patted the chestnut on the neck for her good going, and tried to look
as if he did not know what was in the envelope. Dr. Davidson handed the
envelope to Carmichael, who understood the reason, and, stripping it
off, handed him the message.
“Quiet, lass, quiet!” said Macfarlane. Carmichael straightened himself,
and raised his hand to that weather-beaten soft hat of his, which was
the scandal of the Presbytery; the doctor unfolded the paper with a
shaking hand, a flush passed over his face, the tears--which already
were in his eyes--broke and rolled down his face, and he read out with
a trembling voice--“Bill carried by a majority of two hundred and
thirty-three. God bless the Kirk of Scotland, one again and for
ever!--Kilspindie.”
“Hip, hip, hurrah!” Carmichael was very young, but Macfarlane might
have known better, who was waving his cap with one hand and holding the
dancing mare with the other; while Hillocks was a spectacle of glory,
standing on the summit of the bridge and throwing in a hoarse shout.
Dr. Davidson took no part in the cheer, for he had turned aside and was
looking to the hill where the Parish Kirk peeped out from the trees, and
there were many thoughts in his mind.
“Dr. Davidson,” said Carmichael, still holding his hat in his hand, and
tuning his voice to affectionate respect, “you are minister this day
unto every man in the parish of Drumtochty, and you will add to all your
past kindnesses by letting me be your faithful assistant.”
The old man took Carmichael's hand in both his own, but for once he
could find no words.
“Ye saw them gang oot, doctor, and ye'll see them come back,” said
Hillocks, descending from the top of the bridge.
“I honoured them when they went out,” replied the doctor, finding speech
again, “and I love them coming back to their old Kirk.” It was agreed
between Carmichael and the doctor that half an hour from that time the
bells of the two kirks should be rung, and though neither bell dominated
more than the distance of three fields, Dr. Davidson declared that the
Free Church bell was distinctly audible in the kirkyard; while a group
of Free Kirk men gathered round their door remarked to one another that
they had never noticed before how sweet was the sound of the Old Kirk
bell. And they were speaking true, for the bells were ringing in their
hearts. While Parliament had been deliberating on the bill, the two
Kirks had been making their arrangements in faith for the uniting of
congregations, and it had already been determined that Dr. Davidson and
Carmichael should be joint ministers of the parish of Drumtochty, and
that the congregations should worship in the Parish Kirk. When there
was a will in Drumtochty there was always a way, and arrangements
were quickly made that the parish should gather again on the following
Sabbath into the kirk where their fathers had worshipped, and round
which the dust of generations lay. At eleven o'clock the Free Church
congregation met for the last time as a separate flock, in the building
which they had erected with great sacrifice, and which was sanctified by
many sacred memories; and then, after Carmichael had conducted a short
service, and Donald Menzies, one of the elders, had offered up a prayer
of thanksgiving wherein he carried the congregation with him to
the Mercy Seat, and moved even the stiffest, they sang the second
Paraphrase, “O God of Bethel! by whose hand,” and Carmichael pronounced
the benediction, with more than one pause between the words. Then they
went out through the door by which, more than a generation ago, the
congregation had entered, obeying their conscience, and testifying for
the freedom of Christ's Kirk. Without any marshalling or vain ceremony
they fell into a procession, and this was the order in which they went.
First came Carmichael in his gown and bands, his M.A. hood and college
cap, carrying in his hand his mother's Bible, and beside him Bumbrae,
Donald Menzies, Lauchlan Campbell, and the other elders, all dressed as
for the Sacrament. Behind them followed the choir, and then the people
as they pleased, family by family, parents and children together. Thrice
on the road they broke into singing, and these were the Psalms they
sang--the xcviii.--
“O sing a new song to the Lord,
For wonders He hath done:
His right hand and His holy arm
Him victory hath won”;
and the lxxxiv.--
“How lovely is Thy dwelling-place,
O Lord of hosts, to me!
The tabernacles of Thy grace
How pleasant, Lord, they be!”
and the cxxxiii.--
“Behold, how good a thing it is,
And how becoming well,
Together such as brethren are
In unity to dwell!”
They began to sing this Psalm as they were ascending the height on which
the Parish Kirk stood, and when they reached the top of the hill the
sound of the Psalm was still in the air. Then Carmichael and the elders
beheld a heartening spectacle. Dr. Davidson and, his people had also
met for worship in their kirk, and, being told by a swift messenger that
their brethren were at hand, they had come out through the kirkyard and
ranged themselves in two rows along the roadside; while in the centre
of the high road, and in front of his people, stood the parish minister,
with his ruling elder, Drum-sheugh, by his side. The two ministers faced
one another, and the people stood perfectly still; the glorious sunshine
poured down upon their heads, and on either side the fields were golden
unto the harvest. Clear but tender was Dr. Davidson's voice. “Reverend
and dearly-beloved brother, I greet you, your elders, and your
congregation in the name of the Lord, and, as senior minister of this
parish, I bid you welcome to the Kirk of Drumtochty.”
And then Carmichael--“Reverend and honoured father in the Gospel of
our Lord Jesus Christ, my people and I thank God that there is now one
congregation in Drumtochty, and that you are our minister.”
Drumsheugh grasped Bumbrae's hand, but what passed between those two
worthy men no one heard, and then Dr. Davidson and Carmichael headed the
united procession, with the elders behind them; and as they moved down
the sideway between the hedges, the Old Kirk folk fell in with the Free
Kirk, so that they passed through the kirkyard one united company, and
as they went they sang the Psalm cxxii.--
“I joy'd when to the house of God,
Go up, they said to me.
Jerusalem, within thy gates
Our feet shall standing be.”
And by a happy coincidence they were singing the last words as the
ministers and elders went in through the door--
“Now, for my friends' and brethren's sakes,
Peace be in thee, I'll say.
And for the house of God our Lord,
I'll seek thy good alway.”
It had been arranged between them, who were indeed as father and son,
that Dr. Davidson should take the service and Carmichael should preach
the sermon, and when the people were all seated, neither Established nor
Free now, but all Scots Kirk men with one heart, one faith, one love,
Dr. Davidson gave out another of the glorious Psalms, whose ancient
traditions and wealth of spiritual emotion had served the people so well
that day.
“Let us worship God this day, and sing unto the praise of His glorious
name Psalm cxxvi.”
“When Sion's bondage God turn'd back,
As men that dream'd were we.”
But he was not able to read further, and the congregation, who
understood, and whose own hearts were full, broke into the singing; and
at the noise thereof Carmichael awoke, for it was only a dream.
“What might have been,” he said to himself, with wistful regret, as he
descended the hill, and then his heart lifted, “and, please God, what is
going to be before my day is done.”