THE CORBIES AT THE FEAST.
Now when after all the call came for me to be placed minister of the
parish, and I was placed there with the solemn laying on of the hands of
the Presbytery, I thought in my folly as every young minister does, that
the strivings of my life had come to an end. Whereas, had I known it,
they were but beginning. For the soil was being fattened for the crop of
troubles I was to harvest into a bitter garner ere many years had come
and gone.
Strait and onerous were the charges the reverend brethren laid upon me.
I had been of the Hill-folk in my youth. So more than once I was
reminded. It might be that I was not yet purged of that evil taint.
Earnestness in labour, sanctity of life, would not avail alone. I must
keep me in subjection to the powers that be. I must purge myself of
partial counsel and preach the Gospel in moderation--with various other
charges which I pass over in silence.
Yet all the while I had the conceit within me that I knew better than
these men could tell me what I had come to Balmaghie to perform. I
minded me every day of the Bennan top and of the men that had been slain
on the heather--specially on the poor lad in the brown coat. And I was
noways inclined to be over-lenient with those who had wrought the
damage, nor yet with those who had stood by with their hands in their
pockets and whistled while the deed was being done.
After the ordination, as was the custom, there was a great dinner spread
in a long tent set up by the Kirk Clachan of Shankfoot.
Here the Presbytery, the elders and such of the leading men of the
parish as were free of scandal (few enough there were of these!) were
entertained at the expense of the session.
One there was among the brethren who had watched me keenly all the
day--Cameron, the minister of Kirkcudbright, an unctuously smiling man,
but with a sidelong and dubious eye that could not meet yours. He had
the repute of great learning, and was, besides, of highest consideration
among the members, because he was reckoned to be the blood brother of
the famous Richard Cameron, who died at Ayrsmoss in the year of 1680,
and whether that were so or no, at least he did not deny it.
As for me, I talked mostly to a little wizened, hump-shouldered man,
with a hassock of black hair which came down over his forehead, and
great eyes that looked out on either side of a sharp hawk’s nose. A
peeping, peering, birdlike man I found him to be--one Telfair of
Rerrick, the great authority in the South Country on ghosts and all
manifestations of the devil.
“Methinks the spirit of evil is once more abroad,” I heard Telfair say
in a shrill falsetto to his next neighbour as they sat at meat. “Rerrick
hath seen nothing like it since the famous affair of the Ringcroft
visitation, so fully recounted in my little pamphlet--which, as you are
aware, has run through several editions, not alone in Scotland, but also
among the wise and learned folk of London. The late King even ordered a
copy for himself, and was pleased to say that he had never read anything
like it in all his life before; and by the grace of God he never would
again. Was not that a compliment from so great a prince?”
“A compliment indeed,” cried Cameron of Kirkcudbright, nodding his head
ironically, yet watching me all the time as I talked with Nathan Gemmell
of Drumglass; “but what is this new portent?”
“’Tis but the matter of a bairn-child near the village of Orraland,
which, as all the world knows, is the heart of my parish. A bairn, the
son of very respectable folk, looking out upon the moon, had a vision of
a man in red apparel cutting the moon in two with a sword of flame,
whereat the child screamed and ran in to its mother to tell the marvel.
And as soon as they came to me, I said: ‘There is that to be done to-day
which shall cut the Kirk of God in twain within the bounds of this
Presbytery.’”
“Truly a marvellous child, and of insight justly prophetic!” said
Cameron, again nodding as he went about the ordering of his dinner and
calling the waiting folk to be quick and set clean platters before the
hungry Presbyters.
“Now,” said Telfair, looking straight at me, “there hath nothing
happened this week in the Presbytery save the ordaining of this young
man. Think ye that through him there will come this breaking asunder of
the Kirk?”
Cameron smiled sardonically.
“How can ye suppose it for a moment? Mr. MacClellan is a youth of
remarkable promise and rumour. We have, indeed, yet to learn whether
there be aught behind this sound and show of religion and respect for
the authority of the Kirk.”
All this time Drumglass was pouring forth without stint his joy at my
settlement among them.
“Be never feared for the face o’ man, young sir,” he cried. “Be bold to
declare what ye think and believe, and gif ye ken what ye want and
earnestly pursue it, tak’ auld Drumglass’ word for it, there are few
things that ye may not attain in this world.”
At long and last the day came to an end. The ministers of the Presbytery
one by one took horse or ferry and so departed. I alone returned with
Nathan Gemmell over to the house of Drumglass. For I was deadly wearied,
and the voice of Nathan uplifted by the way to tell of old things was
like the pleasant lappering of water on the sides of a boat in which one
rocks and dreams. Indeed, I was scarce conscious of a word he said, till
in the gloom of the trees and the creamy evening light, we met the two
lasses, Jean and Alexander-Jonita walking arm in arm.
As we came within the shadow, they two divided the one from the other,
the wild lass going to her father’s side, Jean being left to come to
mine.
“I saw you not at the ordination, Alexander-Jonita!” said her father.
“No,” she answered sharply, “it was a brave day for the nowt to stray
broadcast over the fell, and there was never a man, woman, or bairn
about the house. Well might I remain to keep the evil-doers from the
doors.”
I felt a soft hand touch mine as if by accident, and a low voice
whispered close to my ear.
“But I was there. I watched it all, and when I saw you were kneeling
before them all with the hands of the ministers upon your head, I had
almost swooned away!”
The soft hand was fully in mine now. I was not conscious of having taken
it, but nevertheless it lay trembling a little and yet nestling
contentedly in my palm. And because I was tired and the day had been a
labour and a burden to me, I was comforted that thus Jean’s hand abode
in mine.
I pressed it and said, perhaps more gently than I ought, “Little one, I
am glad you were there. But the work is a great one for so young and
unworthy as I. It presses hard upon me!”
“But you have good friends,” said Jean, “friends that--that think of you
always and wish you well.”
We had fallen a little way behind, and I could hear Alexander-Jonita in
her high clear voice telling her father how she had found a sick sheep
on the Duchrae Craigs and carried it all the way home on her back.
“What,” cried her father, “ower the heather and the moss-hags?”
“Aye,” she answered, as if the thing were nothing, “and what is more the
poor beast is like to live and thrive.”