MUTTERINGS OF STORM.
(_The Narrative of Quintin MacClellan resumed._)
It was a day of high summer when the anger of mine enemies drew finally
to a head, and that within mine own land of Balmaghie. The Presbytery
were in the habit of meeting at a place a little way from the centre of
the parish, called Cullenoch--or, as one would say in English, “The
Woodlands.”
In twos or threes they came, riding side by side on their ponies, or
appearing singly out of some pass among the hills. So, as I say, the
Presbytery assembled at Cullenoch, and the master of it, Andrew Cameron
of Kirkcudbright, was there, with his orders from wily Carstaires, the
pope of the restored Kirk of Scotland.
To this day I can see his aspect as he rose up among the brethren with a
great roll in his hand--solemn, portentous, full of suave, easy words
and empty, sonorous utterances.
“Fathers and brethren,” he said, looking on us with a comprehending pity
for our feebleness of capacity, “there hath come that from Her Most
Noble and Christian Majesty the Queen Anna, which it behooves us to
treat with all the respect due to one who is at once the Anointed of
God, and also as the fountain of all authority, in some sense also the
Head of the Church!”
As he finished he laid upon the table a great parchment, and tapped it
impressively with his finger.
“It is, if I may be permitted the words, the message of God’s vicegerent
upon earth; whom His own finger has especially designed to rule over us.
And I am well assured that no one among the brethren of the Presbytery
will be so ill-advised as not at once to sign this declaration of our
submission and dutiful obedience to our Liege lady in all things.”
This he uttered soundingly, with much more to the same purpose, standing
up all the time, and glowering about him on the look-out for
contradiction.
Then, though I was the youngest member of the Presbytery, save one, I
felt that for the ancient liberty of the Kirk and for the sake of the
blood shed on the moors, I could not permit so great a scandal as this
to pass. I rose in my place, whilst Cameron looked steadily upon me,
endeavouring to browbeat me into silence.
Somewhat thus I spoke:
“The most learned and reverend brother brings us a paper to sign--a
paper which we have neither seen nor yet heard read. It comes (he tells
us) from the Church’s head, from God’s vicegerent. It is to be received
with hushed breath and bowed knee. ‘The Head of the Church!’ says Mr.
Cameron--ah, brethren, the men who have so lately entered into rest
through warring stress, sealed with their blood the testimony that the
Kirk of God has no head upon earth. The Kirk of Scotland is the Kirk of
Jesus Christ, the alone King and Head of the Church. The Kirk of
Scotland is more noble, high and honourable in herself than any human
government. She alone is God’s vicegerent. She alone has power within
her own borders to rule her own affairs. The Kirk has many faults, but
at least she will surely never permit herself to be ruled again by
Privy Councils and self-seeking state-craft. Is she not the Bride, the
Lamb’s wife? And for me, and for any that may adhere to me, we will sign
no test nor declaration which shall put our free necks beneath the yoke
of any temporal power, nor yet for fear of this or that Queen’s Majesty
deny the Name that is above every name.”
Whilst these words were put into my heart and spoken by my voice, I
seemed, as it were, taken possession of. A voice prompted me what I was
to speak. I heard the sound of rushing wings, and though I was but
lately a herd-lad on the hills of sheep I knew that the time had come,
which on the day of the Killing on the Bennan Top I had seen afar off.
Whilst I was speaking, Cameron stood impatiently bending the tips of his
politic fingers upon the document on the table. A dark frown had been
gathering on his brow.
“This is treason, black treason! It is blank defiance of the Queen’s
authority!” he cried; “I will not listen to such words. It is the voice
of a man who would raise the standard of rebellion, and disturb the
peace of all the parishes of our Kirk, recently and adequately settled
according to the laws of the land.”
But I had yet a word to say.
“I am neither rebel nor heretic,” said I; “I am, it is true, the
youngest and the least among you. But even I am old enough to have seen
men shot like running deer for the liberties of the Kirk of God. I have
heard the whistle of the deadly bullet flying at the command of kings
and queens called in their day Heads of the Church. I have seen the
martyr fall, and his blood redden the ooze of the moss hag. We have
heard much of tests and papers to sign, of allegiances to other divine
vicegerents upon earth, even to such Lord’s anointeds as James and
Charles, the father and the uncle of her in whose name the Privy Council
of Scotland now demands this most abject submission. But for myself I
will sign no such undertaking, give countenance to no bond which might
the second time deliver us who have fought for our ancient liberties
with weapons in our hands, bound hand and foot to the powers
temporal--yea, that we might wrest the powers of the spiritual arm from
the Son of God and deliver them to the daughter of James Stuart.”
“And who are you,” cried Cameron, “thus to teach and instruct men who
were ministers when you were but a bairn, to reprove those who have
wrought in sun and shine, and in gloom and darkness alike, to make the
Kirk of Scotland what she is this day?”
There was a noise of some approval among the Presbytery. I knew,
however, that I had small sympathy among those present, men fearful of
losing their pleasant livings and fat stipends. Nevertheless, very
humbly I made answer. “It is not Quintin MacClellan, but the word he
speaks that cannot be gainsaid. There is also an old saying that out of
the mouths of babes and sucklings God expects the perfection of praise.”
“Fool!” cried Cameron, “ye would endanger and cast down the fair fabric
of this Kirk of Scotland, ignorantly pulling down what wiser and better
men have laboriously built up. Ye are but a child throwing stones at
windows and ready to run when the glass splinters. You stand alone among
us, sir--alone in Scotland!”
“I stand no more alone,” I replied, “than your brother Richard Cameron
did at Ayrsmoss when he rode into the broil and tumult of battle for the
honour of the Covenant. The Banner of Christ’s cause that was trampled
in the peat-brew of the moss of Ayr, is a worthier standard than the
rag of submission which lies upon the table under your hand.”
Cameron was silent. He liked not the memory of his great brother. I went
on, for the man’s pliable pitifulness angered me.
“Think you that Richard Cameron would have signed words like these? Aye,
I think he would. But it would have been with his sword, cutting the
vile bond into fragments, giving them to the winds, and strewing them
upon the waters.”
Then the Presbytery would hear no more, but by instant vote and voice
they put me forth. Yet ere I went from their midst, I cried, “If there
be any that think more of the freedom of God’s Kirk in this land of
Scotland than of their stipends and glebes, let them come forth with
me.”
And two there were who rose and followed--Reid of Carsphairn, a man
zealous and far-seeing, and one other, a young minister lately come
within the bounds.
So the door was shut upon us, and they that hated us were left to
concert their measures without let or hindrance.
And for a moment we three clasped hands without the door.
“Let us stand by each other and the word of truth,” I said, “and the
truth shall never make us ashamed.”