Late Schoolmaster Of Drumtochty,
By A Few Friends,
it wud be usefu' for ae thing, it wud be bonnie for anither, aye, an'
something mair,” and Hillocks grew mysterious.
“A legacy, div ye mean,” inquired Jamie, “or what are ye aifter?”
“Weel, ye see,” exclaimed Hillocks with much cunning, “there's a man in
Kildrummie got a box frae his customers, an' it's never oot o' his hand.
When he taps the lid ye can see him reading the inscription, and he's a
way o' passin' it tae ye on the slant that's downricht clever. Ye canna
help seein' the words.”
“Gin we were thinkin' aboot a present tae a coal agent or a potato
dealer,” said Jamie, “I wud hae the box wi' the words, but Domsie's a
queer body, an' a'm jalousin' that he wud never use yir grand silver box
frae the day he got it, an' a'm dootin' it micht be sold fer some laddie
to get him better keep at the college.
“Besides,” continued Jamie thoughtfully, “a'm no sure that ony man can
tak up wi' a new box after fifty. He's got accustomed tae the grip o'
the auld box, and he kens whar tae pit in his thumb and finger. A coont
that it taks aboot fifteen year tae grow into a snuff-box.
“There's juist ae thing Domsie cares aboot, an' it's naither meat nor
drink, nor siller snuffboxes; it's his college laddies, gettin' them
forrit and payin' their fees, an' haudin' them in life till they're
dune.”
By this time the kirkyard was listening as one man and with both ears,
for it was plain Jamie had an idea.
“Ca' on, Jamie,” encouraged Drumsheugh, who had as yet given no sign.
“He's hed his ain time, hes Domsie, gaein' roond Muirtown market
collectin' the bank notes for his scholars an' seein' they hed their
bukes' A'm no denyin* that Domsie was greedy in his ain way, and gin the
Glen cud gither eneuch money tae foond a bit bursary for puir scholars
o' Drumtochty, a wudna say but that he micht be pleased.”
The matter was left in Drumsheugh's hands, with Doctor Davidson as
consulting counsel, and he would tell nothing for a fortnight. Then
they saw in the Dunleith train that he was charged with tidings, and a
meeting was held at the junction, Peter being forbidden to mention time,
and commanded to take the outcasts of Kildrummie up by themselves if
they couldn't wait.
“The first man a mentioned it tae was oor Saunders, an' he said naethin'
at the time, but he cam up in the forenicht, and slippit a note in ma
hand. 'He didna pit mickle intae me,' says he, 'but he's daein' fine wi'
the bairns. Neebur, a kent that meenut that the Glen wud dae something
handsome.
“Next morning a gied a cry at the Free Manse, and telt Maister
Carmichael. If he was na oot o' the room like a man possessed, and he
gied me every penny he hed in the hoose, ten pund five shilling. And at
the gate he waved his hat in the air, and cries, 'The Jamieson Bursary.'
“It was ae note from one man an' three frae his neebur, an' twa shilling
frae the cottars. Abody has dune his pairt, one hundred an' ninety-two
pounds frae the Glen.
“We sent a bit letter tae the Drumtochty fouk in the Sooth, and they've
sent fifty-eight pounds, wi' mony good wishes, an' what na think ye hev
the auld scholars sent? A hundred and forty pounds. An' last nicht we
hed three hundred and ninety pounds.”
“Ma word!” was all Hillocks found himself able to comment; “that wad get
a richt snuffbox.”
“Ye hev mair tae tell, Drumsheugh,” said Jamie; “feenish the list”
“Ye're a wratch, Jamie,” responded the treasurer of the Jamieson Bursary
Fund. “Hoo did ye ken aboot the Doctor? says he tae me laist nicht,
'Here's a letter to Lord Kilspindie. Give it to him at Muirtown, and I
would not say but he might make the sum up to four hundred.' So a saw
his lordship in his room, and he wrote a cheque and pit in a letter, an'
says he, 'Open that in the Bank, Drumsheugh,' an' a did. It was for ten
pounds, wi' a hundred on tae't, making up £500. Twenty pund a year tae a
Drumtochty scholar for ever. Jamie,” said Drumsheugh, “ye've gotten yir
bursary.”
It was arranged that the meeting of celebration should be held in the
parish kirk, which in those days was used for nothing except Divine
worship; but the Doctor declared this to be no exception to his rule.
“Kirk and school have been one in Scotland since John Knox's day, and
one they shall be while I live in Drumtochty; we 'ill honour him in
the kirk, for the good the Dominie has done to the bairns, and to pure
learning.”
The meeting was delayed till Professor Ross had come home from
Australia, with his F.R.S. and all his other honours, for he was marked
out to make the presentation; and every Drumtochty scholar within reach
was enjoined to attend.
They came from Kildrummie at various hours and in many conveyances, and
Hillocks checked the number at the bridge with evident satisfaction.
“Atween yesterday and the day,” he reported to Jamie, in the afternoon,
“aucht and twenty scholars hae passed, no including the Professor, and
there's fower expected by the next train; they'll just be in time,”
which they were, to everybody's delight.
“It's a gude thing, Hillocks,” said Jamie, “that bridge was mended;
there's been fifty degrees gane over it the day, Hillocks! to say
naithin' o' a wecht o' knowledge.”
The Doctor had them all, thirty-three University men, with Domsie and
Carmichael and Weelum MacLure, as good a graduate as any man, to dinner,
and for that end had his barn wonderfully prepared. Some of the guests
have written famous books since then, some are great preachers now, some
are chief authorities to science, some have never been heard of beyond
a little sphere, some are living, and some are dead; but all have done
their part, and each man that night showed, by the grip of his hand, and
the look on his face, that he knew where his debt was due.
Domsie sat on the Doctor's right hand, and the Professor on his left,
and a great effort was made at easy conversation, Domsie asking the
Professor three times whether he had completely recovered from the fever
which had frightened them all so much in the Glen, and the Professor
congratulating the Doctor at intervals on the decorations of the dinner
hall. Domsie pretended to eat, and declared he had never made so hearty
a dinner in his life, but his hands could hardly hold the knife and
fork, and he was plainly going over the story of each man at the table,
while the place rang with reminiscences of the old school among the
pines.
Before they left the barn, Doctor Davidson proposed Domsie's health,
and the laddies--all laddies that day--drank it, some in wine, some in
water, every man from the heart, and then one of them--they say it was
a quiet divine--started, In face of Doctor Davidson, “For he's a jolly
good fellow,” and there are those who now dare to say that the Doctor
joined in with much gusto, but in these days no man's reputation is
safe.
Domsie was not able to say much, but he said more than could have been
expected. He called them his laddies for the last time, and thanked
them for the kindness they were doing their old master. There was not an
honour any one of them had won, from a prize in the junior Humanity to
the last degree, he could not mention.
Before sitting down he said that they all missed George Howe that day,
and that Marget, his mother, had sent her greetings to the scholars.
Then they went to the kirk, where Drumtochty was waiting, and as Domsie
came in with his laddies round him the people rose, and would have
cheered had they been elsewhere and some one had led. The Doctor went
into the precentor's desk and gave out the hundredth psalm, which is
ever sung on great days and can never be sung dry. After which one of
the thirty-three thanked the Almighty for all pure knowledge, all good
books, all faithful teachers, and besought peace and joy for “our dear
master in the evening of his days.”
It was the Professor who read the address from the scholars, and this
was the last paragraph:
“Finally, we assure you that none of us can ever forget the parish
school of Drumtochty, or fail to hold in tender remembrance the master
who first opened to us the way of knowledge, and taught us the love
thereof.
“We are, so long as we live,
“Your grateful and affectionate
“Scholars.”
Then came the names with all the degrees, and the congregation held
their breath to the last M.A.
“Now, Drumsheugh,” said the Doctor, and that worthy man made the great
speech of his life, expressing the respect of the Glen for Domsie,
assigning the glory of a brilliant idea to Jamie Soutar, relating
its triumphant accomplishment, describing the Jamieson Bursary, and
declaring that while the parish lasted there would be a Jamieson scholar
to the honour of Domsie's work. For a while Domsie's voice was very
shaky when he was speaking about himself, but afterwards it grew strong
and began to vibrate, as he implored the new generation to claim their
birthright of learning and to remember that “the poorest parish, though
it have but bare fields and humble homes, can yet turn out scholars to
be a strength and credit to the commonwealth.”
The Professor saw Domsie home, and noticed that he was shaking and did
not wish to speak. He said good-bye at the old schoolhouse, and Ross
caught him repeating to himself:
“Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,
Labuntur anni;”
but he seemed very content Ross rose at daybreak next morning and
wandered down to the schoolhouse, recalling at every step his boyhood
and early struggles, the goodness of Domsie, and his life of sacrifice,
The clearing looked very peaceful, and the sun touched with beauty
the old weather-beaten building which had been the nursery of so many
scholars, but which would soon be deserted for ever. He pushed the door
open and started to see Domsie seated at the well-known desk, and in his
right hand firmly clasped the address which the scholars had presented
to him. His spectacles were on his forehead, his left elbow was resting
on the arm of the chair, and Ross recognised the old look upon his
face. It used to come like a flash when a difficult passage had suddenly
yielded up its hidden treasure, and Ross knew that Domsie had seen the
Great Secret, and was at last and completely satisfied.