AT BAY.
(_The Narrative of Quintin MacClellan is resumed._)
Dark was the day, darker the night. The matters which had sundered me
from the Presbytery mended not--nor, indeed, was it possible to mend
them, seeing that they and I served different gods, followed other
purposes.
It was bleak December when the brethren of the Presbytery arrived to
make an end of me and my work in the parish of Balmaghie. They came with
their minds made up. They alone were my accusers. They were also my sole
judges. As for me, I was as set and determined as they were. I refused
their jurisdiction. I utterly contemned their authority. To me they were
but mites in the cheese, pottle-bellied batteners on the heritage and
patrimony of the Kirk of Scotland. Siller and acres spelled all their
desires, chalders and tiends contained all the rounded tale of their
ambitions.
But for all that, now that I am older, I can scarce blame them--at
least, not so sorely as once I did.
For to them I was the youngest of them all, the least in years and
learning, the smallest in influence--save, perhaps, among the Remnant
who still thought about the things of the Kirk and her spiritual
independence.
I was to the Presbytery of Kirkcudbright but the troubler of Israel, the
disturber of a quiet Zion. Save for poor Quintin MacClellan, the
watchman might have gone from tower to tower along ramparts covered and
defended, and his challenge of “What of the night?” have received its
fitting answer from this point and that about the city, “The morning
cometh! All is well!”
Yet because of the Lad in the Brown Coat with his dead face sunk in the
Bennan flowe I could not consent to putting the Kirk of Scotland, once
free and independent, under the control, real or nominal, the authority,
overt or latent, of any monarch in Christendom.
More than to my fathers, more than to my elders it seemed to me that the
old ways were the true ways, and that kings and governments had never
meddled with religion save to lay waste the vineyard and mar the bridal
portion of the Kirk of God.
But all men know the cause of the struggle and what were the issues. I
will choose to tell rather the tale of a man’s shame and sorrow--his,
indeed, who had taken the Banner of the Covenant into unworthy hands,
yet time after time had let it fall in the dust. Nevertheless, at the
hinder end, I lived to see it set again in a strong base of unhewn
stone, fixed as the foundations of the earth. Nor shall the golden
scroll of it ever be defaced nor the covenant of the King of kings be
broken.
* * * * *
So on the day of trial, from all the parishes of the Presbytery east and
west, gathered the men who had constituted themselves my judges--nay,
the men who were already my condemnators. For Cameron had my sentence in
his pocket before ever one of the brethren set a foot over his doorstep,
or threw a leg across the back of his ambling sheltie.
I had judged it best to be quiet and staid in demeanour, and had gone
about to quiet and persuade the folk of Balmaghie, who were eager to
hold back the hunters from their prey.
The Presbytery had sent to bid me preach before them, even as the
soldiers of the guard had bidden Christ prophesy unto them, that they
might have occasion to smite Him the oftener on the mouth. So when I
came before them they posed me with interrogatories, threatened me with
penalties, and finally set me to conduct service before them, that they
might either condemn me if I refused, alleging contumacy; or, on the
other hand, if I did as they bade me, they would easily find occasion to
condemn the words of my mouth.
Then I saw that though there was no way to escape their malice, yet
there was a way to serve the cause.
So I went up into the pulpit after the folk had been assembled, and
addressed myself to them just as if it had been an ordinary Sabbath day
and the company met only for the worship of God.
For I minded the word which my good Regent, Dr. Campbell, had spoken to
me in Edinburgh ere I was licensed to preach, or thought that one day I
myself should be the carcase about which the ravens should gather.
“When ye preach,” said Professor Campbell, “be sure that ye heed not the
five wise men!”
So I minded that word, and seeing the folk gathered together, I cast my
heavy burden from me, and called them earnestly to the worship of Him
who is above all courts and assemblies.
Then in came Cameron, the leader of their faction, jowled with
determination and rosy-gilled with good cheer and the claret wine of St.
Mary’s Isle. With him was Boyd, also a renegade from the Society Hill
Folk. For with their scanty funds the men of the moss-hags had sent
these two as students to Holland to gather lear that they might
thereafter be their ministers. But now, when they had gotten them
comfortable down-sittings in plenteous parishes, they turned with the
bitter zest of the turncoat to the hunting of one who adhered to their
own ancient way.
But though I could have reproached them with this and with much else, I
judged that because they were met in the Kirk of God no tumult should be
made, at least till they had shown the length and breadth and depth of
their malice.
Then, when at the last I stood single and alone at their bar and was
ready to answer their questions, they could bring nothing against me,
save that I had refused their jurisdiction. Their suborned witnesses
failed them. For there was none in all the parish who wished me ill, and
certainly none that dared testify a word in the midst of the angry
people that day in the Kirk of Balmaghie.
“Have ye naught to allege against my life and conduct?” I asked of them
at last. “Ye have set false witnesses to follow me from place to place
and wrest my words. Ye have spied here and there in the houses of my
people. Ye have tried to entrap my elders. Is there no least thing that
ye can allege? For three years I have come and gone in and out among
this folk of Balmaghie. I have companioned with you. I have sat in your
meetings. I have not been silent. Ye have watched me with the eyes of
the greedy gled. Ye have harkened and waited and sharpened claws for me
as a cat does at a mouse-hole----”
“Will ye submit and sign the submission here and now?” interrupted
Cameron, who liked not the threatening murmur of approbation which began
to run like wild-fire among the folk.
“There is One,” answered I, the words being as it had been given to me,
“whose praise is perfected out of the mouths of babes. It is true that
among you I am like a young child without power or wisdom. Ye are great
and learned, old in years and full of reverence. But this one thing a
young man can do. He can stand by the truth ye have deserted, and lift
again the banner staff ye have cast in the mire. As great Rutherford
hath said, ‘Christ may ride upon a windle straw and not stumble.’”
Then I turned about to the people, when the Presbytery would have
restrained me from further speech.
“Ye folk of this parish,” I said, “what think ye of this matter? Shall
your minister be thrust out from among you? Shall he bow the head and
bend the knee? Must he let principle and truth go by the board and
whistle down the wind? I think ye know him better. Aye, truly, this
parish and people would have a bonny bird of him, a brave minister,
indeed--if he submitted before being cleared of that whereof, all
unjustly, his enemies have accused him, setting him up in the presence
of his people like a felon in the dock of judgment!”
Then indeed there was confusion among the black-coated ravens who had
come to gloat over the feast. I had insulted (so they cried) their
honourable and reverend court. I had refused a too lenient and
condescending accommodation. Thus they prated, as if long words would
balance the beam of an unjust cause.
But at that moment there came a stir among the folk. I saw the elders of
the congregation appear at the door of the kirk. And as they marched up
the aisle, behind them thronged all the men of the parish, in still,
stern, and compact mass.
Then a ruling elder read the protest of the common people. It was simple
and clear. The parish was wholly with me, and not with mine enemies.
Almost every man within the bounds had signed the paper whereon was
written the people’s protest. The Presbytery might depose the minister,
but the people would uphold him. Every man in Balmaghie knew well that
their pastor suffered because he had steadfastly preferred truth to
compromise, honour to pelf, conscience to stipend. That the Presbytery
themselves had sworn to uphold that which now they condemned.
“Are ye who present this paper ordained elders of the Kirk?” asked
Cameron of the leaders, glowering angrily at them.
“We are,” responded Nathan Gemmell, stoutly.
“And ye dare to bring a railing accusation against the ministers of your
Presbytery?”
“We are free men--ruling elders every one. You, on your part, are but
teaching elders, and, save for the usurpation of the State, ye are
noways in authority over us,” was the answer.
“And who are they for whom ye profess to speak?” continued Cameron,
looking frowningly upon Drumglass and his fellows.
“They are here to speak for themselves!” cried Nathan Gemmell, and as he
waved his hand, the kirk was filled from end to end with stalwart men,
who stood up rank behind rank, all very grave and quiet.
I saw the ministers cower together. This was not at all what they had
bargained for.
“We are plainly to be deforced and overawed,” said Cameron. “Let us
disperse to-day and meet to-morrow in the Kirk of Crossmichael over the
water.”
And lo! it was done--even as their leader said. They summoned me to
stand at their bar on the morrow in the Kirk of Crossmichael, that I
might receive my doom.
But quietly, as before, I told them that I refused their court, that I
would in no wise submit to their sentence, but would abide among my
people both to-morrow and all the to-morrows, to do the duty which had
been laid upon me, in spite of anathema, deposition, excommunication.
“For,” said I, “I have a warrant that is higher than yours. So far as I
may, in a man’s weakness and sin, I will be faithful to that mandate, to
my conscience, and to my God.”