THE SERGEANT ALONE WITH THE STARLING
Mr. Smellie called upon the Sergeant next forenoon. His manner was cold
and formal, as that of one who had power, if not right, on his side, and
whose pride was flattered by the conviction that his real or supposed
opponent was in the wrong. His reception was equally cold, for although
Adam had respect for his minister, and also for Mr. Menzies, he had, as
we have already said, none whatever for Mr. Smellie.
"Mr. Mercer," said Smellie, "I have called on you, in order first of all
to correct a grave error you have committed in regard to Mary Semple,
the child boarded by the Kirk Session with Mrs. Craigie."
"I'm not aware, Mr. Smellie," replied the Sergeant, "that _you_ are the
Kirk Session, or have any richt whatsomever to correct my error, as ye
ca't, in this matter."
Smellie smiled sarcastically, and added, "In a friendly way, at least,
Mr. Mercer. You, of course, ken that the whole expense of the bairn
must be borne by yersel', for I don't believe that the Session will pay
one farthing to you--not a farthing!--as you have ta'en her from Mrs.
Craigie on your ain responsibility."
"I ken a' that; and I ken also that I mean to keep her frae Mrs.
Craigie, unless the Session and the law hinder me, and compel me to gie
her up; which is no' likely; but if they do, on them be the curse of
injuring the orphan. Understan' then that I mean to keep her at my ain
expense, even should the Session offer to pay for her. Anything else,
Mr. Smellie?"
"Weel then, Mr. Mercer," said Smellie, "see til't, see til't; for there
will be determined opposition to you."
"I have had worse in my day, Mr. Smellie," drily replied the Sergeant,
"and I'm no' feared. In the meantime Mary remains here, and I'm
determined she'll never return to Mrs. Craigie--that's settled. An' if
the Session kent the woman as I do, and maybe as ye do, they wad be
thankfu', as I am, that Mary is wi' me and no' wi' her. Onything mair
to complain o' in what ye ca' a freendly way?"
"Oh, naething, naething!" said Mr. Smellie, with pent-up annoyance,
"except that the committee which the Session appointed--that's me and
Mr. Menzies--to deal with you about this scandal--a most unpleasant
business--mean to ca' upo' you this evening at six, if that hour will
suit."
"As weel, or as ill, as ony other hour, Mr. Smellie," replied Adam, "for
I dinna mean to be dealt wi', either by you or by Mr. Menzies."
"No' to be dealt with, Mr. Mercer! Do ye mean to say that ye won't even
receive the committee?" he asked with amazement.
"That's jist exactly what I mean, Mr. Smellie!" replied Adam; "I don't
mean to receive your committee, that's plain, and you may tak' a minute
o't. If ye wish to ken why, ye had better speer at Mr. Porteous. But ye
needna trouble yoursel' wi' me. What I have said I'll stan' to like a
man; what I have promised I'll perform like a Christian; and what I
canna do, I winna do! If ye need mair explanation, this maybe will
suffice:--that I'll no' kill my bird for you, nor for the Session, nor
yet for the minister, nor for the hail parish; and that ye may as well
try tae kill me wi' blank cartridge, as try yer han' in persuading me to
kill the starling. Sae, Mr. Smellie, as far as that business is
concerned, ye may gang hame, and no wat yer shoon to come my gait ony
mair."
"Sae be't, sae be't!" replied Smellie, with a cackle of a laugh, as much
as to say, "I have him!" He then bowed and departed, walking silently
like a cat along the street, but not purring. Yet he seemed to be
feeling for something with the long hairs which projected from his
whiskers like bristles.
Poor Adam! Now began such a week in his history as he never had
experienced before. Oh! it was cold, dark, and dreary! He had to drink
the cup of loneliness in the midst of his fellowmen--the bitterest cup
which can be tasted by anyone who loves his brother. But all his
suffering was kept within his own heart, and found "no relief in word,
or sigh, or tear".
What a sinner he had become in the opinion of many of the respectable
inhabitants of Drumsylie! What a double distilled spirit of evil!--far
over proof, for no _proofs_ are ever applied to such evil spirits.
Drumsylie was all agog about him. He was as interesting as a shipwreck
to a seaport town; as a great swindle to a stock exchange; or as a
murder to a quiet neighbourhood! What had he done! What had he been
guilty of! Some said, or at least heard that some one else had said,
that he had insulted the minister and the Kirk Session; others, that he
had secretly supported himself as a poacher; others that he had been
heard to declare, that rather than kill the bird, he would, out of mere
spite and obstinacy, give up the eldership, the Church, ay, even
Christianity itself; others, that he had stolen a child from Mrs.
Craigie, whom, though a woman, he, a soldier, had threatened to strike
in his own house. He was a terror even to evil doers!
Most marvellous is this birth and upbringing of lies! Who lays the
first egg? How does it multiply so rapidly? And how singular is the
development of each of the many eggs--through all the stages of evil
thoughts, suspicious hints, wondering _if's_ and _maybe's_, perversions,
exaggerations, fibs, white lies--until it is fully hatched into
out-and-out lies repeated with diligence, malice, and hate! We can give
no account of this social phenomenon except the old one, of the devil
being first the parent of the whole family, and his then distributing
and boarding out each to trustworthy friends to be hatched and trained
up in the way it should go in order to please him, its parent.
In Drumsylie, as in other towns, there were some who so indulged the
self-pleasing habit of confessing and mourning over the sins and
shortcomings of their neighbours, that they had little time or
inclination to confess their own. Some of these confessors might be
heard during this week in Adam's history lamenting:--"Oh! it's a
dreadfu' place this! Eh! it's eneuch to keep ane sleepless to think
o't! Whan a man like Adam Mercer, wi' a' his knowledge and profession,
becomes a scoffer, and despises ordinances, and," &c. &c.
But it would be unjust to Drumsylie and the Sergeant to affirm that this
state of public feeling had not very many marked exceptions. Some,
chiefly among the poor, truly loved him and sympathized with him, and
openly confessed this. Many protested, in private at least, against his
treatment. But such is, alas! the moral cowardice, or maybe the
thoughtlessness only, of even good men, that few expressed to Adam
himself their goodwill towards him, or their confidence in his
righteousness. It is indeed remarkable, in a free country of brave men,
how very many there are who, before taking any decided part in questions
which distract communities, small or great, attentively consider on
which side the hangman is, or seems likely to be. The executioner's
cord seen in the possession of this or that party has a wonderful
influence on the number of its adherents. As far as appearances went,
this sign of authority and power was supposed for the time being to be
in the possession of the Rev. Daniel Porteous. And so the cautious and
prudent consoled themselves by saying: "It is not our business", or
"Least said soonest mended", or "Why quarrel with the minister?" or "Why
displease my aunt, or my uncle, who are so bigoted and narrow?" or "Mr.
Porteous and the majority of Session may be wrong, but that is their
affair, not ours". Such were some of the characteristic sayings of the
men who were doubtful as to the side which possessed Calcraft and his
cord of office.
Mr. Smellie had communicated Adam Mercer's resolution to Mr. Menzies,
and this had deterred him from attempting to follow in the track of
expostulation with Adam, which it was evident would lead to nothing.
Smellie had failed--who could succeed? Mr. Menzies ought to have
_tried_. Some success by one good man in dealing with another good man,
is certain.
The Session met on the next Sunday after Adam's quarrel with his
minister, or rather of his minister with him. The court was, as usual,
"constituted by prayer". But whether the spirit of prayer constitutes
the spirit of every meeting opened by it, may, without offence, be
questioned. It is unnecessary to condense the debates--for debates
there were at this meeting. Adam, with a soldier's gentlemanly feeling,
did not attend, lest it might be supposed that he wished to influence
the court. Smellie, in spite of some opposing murmurs of dissent,
ascribed his absence to "contumacious pride", and the minister did not
contradict him.
Mr. Porteous addressed the court. He asked whether it was possible for
them to stop proceedings in the case of Mr. Mercer without stultifying
themselves? Had they not taken the very mildest and most judicious
course, and considered both what was due to themselves and also to their
erring brother? Yet they had not only failed to obtain the slightest
concession from him, but he had gone so far as even to refuse to receive
or confer with their own committee! The case was no doubt most
distressing to them all, but, as far as he could see, it would bring
well-merited ridicule on all Church discipline if they dropped it at
this stage. To appoint another deputation would be disrespectful to the
dignity of the court; and as for himself, he had done all he could since
their last meeting to bring about an amicable settlement: for, on the
previous Sabbath evening, he had had a private interview in the manse
with Mr. Mercer, which had terminated, he grieved to say, in a most
unsatisfactory manner.
Such was the general tenor of the minister's harangue. It was in vain
that Mr. Gordon, backed by William Simpson, farmer, of Greenfield, and
Andrew Grainger, watchmaker, argued against the minister--the latter
declaring that the Session were putting back the hands of the clock, and
falling behind time.
But all in vain! Adam, by the casting vote of the Moderator, was
"suspended" from the eldership; that is, deprived for a time of his
official position. Mr. Gordon and the two elders who supported him,
vehemently protested against what they called the "tyrannical proceeding
of the majority". Most fortunately for the cause of justice, the Rev.
Daniel was not a bishop who could rule his parish presbyters as his own
"principles", whims, or--pardon the irreverent insinuation--his
indigestion, might dictate. There was a higher court, and there was the
law of the land, higher than the court, to curb the minister's will, or
as he always called it when in a passion--his conscience. The sentence
of the Session might be, as was confidently anticipated, reversed by the
Presbytery, though the district was notoriously narrow and prejudiced,
and some of the clergy fancied that moving straws showed how the winds
of heaven blew, when they were only stirred by their own breath.
When Adam returned on that Sunday afternoon from church, he fortunately
did not know, though he more than suspected, what the decision of the
Kirk Session had been. He knew certainly that his case must not only
have come before the court, but must also, from its nature, have caused
such a division of opinion as would make his position as an elder one of
remark, of suspicion, and, to him, of personal pain. It was a temporary
comfort, however, that he had no certain bad news to communicate to
Katie, and that he could say, as he did with truth, "It wasna for me to
be present, or to interfere. They have done their duty nae doot, an' I
have done mine as far as I could."
When his humble Sunday meal was over, and before sunset, Adam went to
visit one or two of the sick, infirm, or bedridden, who were on his list
to attend to as an elder. Not until he was on his way to their homes
did he realise the fact that, for the present at least, he was probably
no longer an elder. But as he never had formed the habit of visiting
the sick as a mere official, but had made his office only a better
means, given him in God's providence, for gratifying his benevolent and
Christian feelings, he went, as he was wont to do, with a peaceful
spirit and loving heart. The poor and suffering whom he visited
received him with their usual kindness and gratitude. They _felt_ that
Adam could not be a bad or false man; that in him was love--love in its
meekness, calmness, self-possession, sympathy, and forgiveness of
others. They could not, perhaps, explain the grounds of their perfect
and unreserved confidence in him, yet they could not--it was
impossible--entertain any doubts of his Christian character which could
hinder their hearts from feeling what they in many cases expressed with
their lips, that "A _real_ guid man is Adam Mercer! It's me that should
say't, for he has been aye kind and guid to me. I'm no saying wha's
richt or wrang; I ken this only, that I'll stan' by Adam! I wish we had
mair like him!"