MR. PORTEOUS VISITS THE SERGEANT
But what was the minister thinking about during the Sergeant's illness?
Miss Thomasina had told him what had taken place during her interview
with Smellie. Mr. Porteous could not comprehend the sudden revolution
in the mind of his elder. But his own resolution was as yet unshaken;
for there is a glory often experienced by some men when placed in
circumstances where they stand alone, that of recognising themselves as
being thereby sufferers for conscience' sake--as being above all earthly
influences, and firm, consistent, fearless, true to their principles,
when others prove weak, cowardly, or compromising. Doubts and
difficulties, from whatever source they come, are then looked upon as so
many temptations; and the repeated resistance of them, as so many
evidences of unswerving loyalty to truth.
"I can never yield one jot of my principles," Mr. Porteous said to Miss
Thomasina. "The Sergeant ought to acknowledge his sin before the Kirk
Session, before I can in consistency be reconciled to him!" And yet all
this sturdy profession was in no small degree occasioned by the
intrusion of better thoughts, which because they rebuked him were
unpleasant. His irritation measured on the whole very fairly his
disbelief in the thorough soundness of his own position, and made him
more willing than he had any idea of to be reconciled to Adam.
We need not report the conversation which immediately after this took
place in the Manse between Smellie and Mr. Porteous. The draper was
calm, smiling, and circumspect. He repeated all he had said to Miss
Thomasina as to the necessity and advantage of leniency, forgiveness,
and mercy; dwelling on the Sergeant's sufferings and the sympathy of the
parish with him, the noble testimony which the minister had already
borne to truth and principle; and urged Mr. Porteous to gratify the Kirk
Session by letting the case "tak' end": but all his pleadings were
apparently in vain. The minister was not verily "given to change!" The
case, he said, had been settled by the Session, and the Session alone
could deal with it. They were at perfect liberty to reconsider the
question as put by Mr. Smellie, and which he had perfect liberty to
bring before the court. For himself he would act as principle and
consistency dictated. And so Smellie returned to his room above the
shop, and went to bed, wishing he had left the Sergeant and his bird to
their own devices; and Mr. Porteous retired to his room above the study
with very much the same feelings.
In the meantime one duty was clear to Mr. Porteous, and that was to
visit the Sergeant. He was made aware of the highly contagious
character of the fever, but this only quickened his resolution to
minister as far as possible to the sick man and his family. He was not
a man to flinch from what he saw to be his duty. Cowardice was not
among his weaknesses. It would be unjust not to say that he was too
real, too decided, too stern for that. Yielding to feelings of any
kind, whether from fear of consequences to himself, physically,
socially, or ecclesiastically, was not his habit. He did not
suspect--nor would he perhaps have been pleased with the discovery had
he made it--that there was in him a softer portion of his being by which
he could be influenced, and which could, in favourable circumstances,
dominate over him. There were in him, as in every man, holy instincts,
stronger than his strongest logic, though they had not been cultivated
so carefully. He had been disposed rather to attribute any mere _sense_
or feeling of what was right or wrong to his carnal human nature, and to
rely on some clearly defined rule either precisely revealed in
Scripture, or given in ecclesiastical law, for his guidance. But that
door into his being which he had often barred as if against an enemy
could nevertheless be forced open by the hand of love, that love itself
might enter in and take possession.
Mr. Porteous had many mingled thoughts as one Saturday evening--in spite
of his "preparations"--he knocked at the cottage door. As usual, it was
opened by Mary. Recognising the minister, she went to summon Mrs.
Mercer from the Sergeant's room; while Mr. Porteous entered, and,
standing with his back to the kitchen fire, once more gazed at the
starling, who again returned his gaze as calmly as on the memorable
morning when they were first introduced.
Mrs. Mercer did not appear immediately, as she was disrobing herself of
some of her nursing-gear--her flannel cap and large shawl--and making
herself more tidy. When she emerged from the room, from which no sound
came save an occasional heavy sigh and mutterings from Adam in his
distress, her hair was dishevelled, her face pale, her step tottering,
and years seemed to have been added to her age. Her eyes had no tear to
dim their earnest and half-abstracted gaze. This visit of the minister,
which she instinctively interpreted as one of sympathy and
good-will--how could it be else?--at once surprised and delighted her.
It was like a sudden burst of sunshine, which began to thaw her heart,
and also to brighten the future. She sat down beside Mr. Porteous, who
had advanced to meet her; and holding his proffered hand with a firm
grasp, she gazed into his face with a look of silent but unutterable
sorrow. He turned his face away. "Oh! sir," at last she said, "God
bless you!--God bless you for comin'! I'm lanely, lanely, and my heart
is like tae break. It's kind, kind o' ye, this;" and still holding his
hand, while she covered her eyes with her apron as she rocked to and fro
in the anguish of her spirit, "the loss," she said, "o' my wee pet was
sair--ye ken what it was tae us baith," and she looked at the empty cot
opposite, "when ye used tae sit here, and he was lyin' there--but oh! it
was naething tae this, naething tae this misfortun'!"
The minister was not prepared for such a welcome, nor for such
indications of unbounded confidence on Katie's part, her words revealing
her heart, which poured itself out. He had expected to find her much
displeased with him, even proud and sullen, and had prepared in his own
mind a quiet pastoral rebuke for her want of meekness and submissiveness
to Providence and to himself.
"Be comforted, Mrs. Mercer! It is the Lord! He alone, not man, can
aid," said Mr. Porteous kindly, and feelingly returning the pressure of
her hand.
Katie gently withdrew her hand from his, as if she felt that she was
taking too great a liberty, and as if for a moment the cloud of the last
few weeks had returned and shadowed her confidence in his good-will to
her. The minister, too, could not at once dismiss a feeling of
awkwardness from his mind, though he sincerely wished to do so. He had
seldom come into immediate contact, and never in circumstances like the
present, with such simple and unfeigned sorrow. Love began to knock at
the door!
"Oh, sir," she said, "ye little ken hoo Adam respeckit and lo'ed ye. He
never, never booed his knee at the chair ye're sittin' on wi'oot prayin'
for a blessin' on yersel', on yer wark, an' on yer preaching. I'm sure,
if ye had only heard him the last time he cam' frae the kirk"--the
minister recollected that this was after Adam's deposition by the
Session--"hoo he wrastled for the grace o' God tae be wi' ye, it wad hae
dune yer heart guid, and greatly encouraged ye. Forgie me, forgie me
for sayin' this: but eh, he was, and is, a precious man tae me; tho'
he'll no' be lang wi' us noo, I fear!" And Katie, without weeping,
again rocked to and fro.
"He is a good man," he replied; "yes, a very good man is Adam; and I
pray God his life may be spared."
"O thank ye, thank ye!" said Katie. "Ay, pray God his life may be
spared--and mine too, for I'll no' survive him; I canna do't! nae mair
could wee Mary!"
Mary was all the while eagerly listening at the door, which was not
quite closed, and as she heard those words and the low cry from her
"mother" beseeching the minister to pray, she ran out, and falling down
before him, with muffled sobs hid her face in the folds of his
great-coat, and said, "Oh, minister, dinna let faither dee! dinna let
him dee!" And she clasped and clapped the knees of him who she thought
had mysterious power with God.
The minister lifted up the agonised child, patted her fondly on the
head, and then gazed on her thin but sweet face. She was pale from her
self-denying labours in the sick room.
"Ye maun excuse the bairn," said Katie, "for she haesna been oot o' the
hoose except for an errand sin' Adam grew ill. I canna get her tae
sleep or eat as she used to do--she's sae fond o' the guidman. I'm
awfu' behadden till her. Come here, my wee wifie." And Katie pressed
the child's head and tearful face to her bosom, where Mary's sobs were
smothered in a large brown shawl. "She's no' strong, but extraordinar'
speerity," continued Katie in a low voice and apologetically to Mr.
Porteous; "and ye maun just excuse us baith."
"I think," said the minister, in a tremulous voice, "it would be good
for us all to engage in prayer."
They did so.
Just as they rose from their knees, the slight noise which the movement
occasioned--for hitherto the conversation had been conducted in
whispers--caused the starling to leap up on his perch. Then with clear
accents, that rung over the silent house, he said, "I'm Charlie's
bairn!"
Katie looked up to the cage, and for the first time in her life felt
something akin to downright anger at the bird. His words seemed to her
to be a most unseasonable interruption--a text for a dispute--a
reminiscence of what she did not wish then to have recalled.
"Whisht, ye impudent cratur!" she exclaimed; adding, as if to correct
his rudeness, "ye'll disturb yer maister."
The bird looked down at her with his head askance, and scratched it as
if puzzled and asking "What's wrong?"
"Oh," said Katie, turning to the minister as if caught in some
delinquency, "it's no' my faut, sir; ye maun forgie the bird; the silly
thing doesna ken better."
"Never mind, never mind," said Mr. Porteous, kindly, "it's but a trifle,
and not worthy of our notice at such a solemn moment; it must not
distract our minds from higher things."
"I'm muckle obleeged to ye, sir," said Katie, rising and making a
curtsy. Feeling, however, that a crisis had come from which she could
not escape if she would, she bid Mary "gang ben and watch, and shut the
door". When Mary had obeyed, she turned to Mr. Porteous and said, "Ye
maun excuse me, sir, but I canna thole ye to be angry aboot the bird.
It's been a sore affliction, I do assure you, sir."
"Pray say nothing more of that business, I implore you, Mrs. Mercer,
just now," said Mr. Porteous, looking uneasy, but putting his hand
kindly on her arm; "there is no need for it."
This did not deter Katie from uttering what was now oppressing her heart
more than ever, but rather encouraged her to go on.
"Ye maun let me speak, or I'll brust," she said. "Oh, sir, it has indeed
been an awfu' grief this--just awfu' tae us baith. But dinna, dinna
think Adam was to blame as muckle as me. I'm in faut, no' him. It
wasna frae want o' respec' tae you, sir; na, na, that couldna be; but a'
frae love tae our bairn, that was sae uncommon ta'en up wi' yersel'."
"I remember the lovely boy well," said Mr. Porteous, not wishing to open
up the question of the Sergeant's conduct.
"Naebody that ever see'd him," continued Katie, "but wad mind him--his
bonnie een like blabs o' dew, and his bit mooth that was sae sweet tae
kiss. An' ye mind the nicht he dee'd, hoo he clapped yer head when ye
were prayin' there at his bedside, and hoo he said his ain wee prayer;
and hoo----" Here Katie rose in rather an excited manner, and opened a
press, and taking from it several articles, approached the minister and
said--"See, there's his shoon, and there's his frock; and this is the
clean cap and frills that was on his bonnie head when he lay a corp; and
that was the whistle he had when he signed tae the bird tae come for a
bit o' his piece; and it was the last thing he did, when he couldna eat,
to insist on me giein' a wee bit tae his bairn, as he ca'ed it, ye ken;
and he grat when he was sae waik that he couldna whistle till't. O my
bairn, my bonnie bairn!" she went on, in low accents of profound sorrow,
as she returned to the press these small memorials of a too cherished
grief.
"You must not mourn as those who have no hope, my friend," said the
minister; "your dear child is with Jesus."
"Thank ye, sir, for that," said Katie; who resolved, however, to press
towards the point she had in view. "An' it was me hindered Adam frae
killin' my bairn's pet," she continued, resuming her seat beside the
minister. "He said he wad throttle it, or cast it into the fire."
The minister shook his head, remarking, "Tut, tut! that would never have
done! No human being wished that."
"That's what I said," continued Katie; "an' whan he rowed up the sleeves
o' his sark, and took haud o' the bit thing tae thraw its neck, I wadna
let him, but daured him to do it, that did I; and I ken't ye wad hae
dune the same, fur the sake o' wee Charlie, that was sae fond o' you.
Oh, forgie me, forgie him, if I was wrang! A mither's feelings are no
easy hauden doon!"
Was this account the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?
Perhaps not. But then, good brother or sister, if you are disposed to
blame Katie, we defend not even this weary mourner from thee. Take the
first stone and cast it at her! Yet we think, as you do so, we see the
Perfect One writing on the ground; and if He is writing her
condemnation, 'tis in the dust of earth, and the kindly rain or winds of
heaven will soon obliterate the record.
"No more about this painful affair, I beseech of you," said the
minister, taking a very large and long pinch of snuff; "let us rather
try and comfort Adam. This is our present duty."
"God Himsel' bless ye!" said Katie, kissing the back of his hand; "but
ye maunna gang near him; dinna risk yer valuable life; the fivver is
awfu' smittal. Dr. Scott wull let naebody in."
"And have you no nurse?" inquired Mr. Porteous, not thinking of himself.
This question recalled to her mind what seemed another mysterious
stumbling-block. She knew not what to say in reply. Jock Hall was at
that moment seated like a statue beside the bed, and what would the
minister think when he saw this representative of parish wickedness in
an elder's house?
She had no time for lengthened explanations; all she said, therefore,
was, "The only nurse Dr. Scott and me could get was nae doot a puir
bodie, yet awfu' strang and fit tae haud Adam doon, whan aside himsel';
and he had nae fear o' his ain life--and was a gratefu' cratur--and had
ta'en a great notion o' Adam, and is kin' o' reformed--that--that I
thocht--weel, I maun jist confess, the nurse is Jock Hall!"
"Jock Hall!" exclaimed the minister, lifting his eyebrows with an
expression of astonishment; "is it possible? But I leave to you and the
Doctor the selection of a nurse. It is a secular matter, with which
officially I have nothing to do. My business is with spiritual things;
let me therefore see the Sergeant. I have no fear. I'm in God's hands.
All I have to do is my duty. That is my principle."
"Jist let me ben a minute first," asked Katie.
She went accordingly to the room and whispered to Jock, "Gang to the
laft; the minister is comin' ben--Aff!'
"Mind what ye're baith aboot!" said Jock, pointing to his patient. "Be
canny wi' him--be canny--nae preachin' e'enoo, mind, or flytin', or
ye'll rue't. Losh, I'll no stan't!"
As the minister entered the room he saw Jock Hall rapidly vanishing like
a spectre, as he stole to his den among the straw.
Mr. Porteous stood beside the Sergeant's bed, and Katie said to her
husband, bending over him--
"This is the minister, Adam, come tae see you, my bonnie man."
"God bless you and give you his peace!" said Mr. Porteous, in a low
voice, drawing near the bed as Katie retired from it.
The Sergeant opened his eyes, and slowly turned his head, breathing
hard, and gazing with a vacant stare at his pastor.
"Do you know me, Adam?" asked the minister.
The Sergeant gave the military salute and replied, "We are all ready,
Captain! Lead! we follow! and, please God, to victory!"
He was evidently in the "current of the heady fight", and in his
delirious dreams fancied that he was once more one of a forlorn hope
about to advance to the horrors of the breach of a beleaguered city, or
to mount the ladder to scale its walls. Closing his eyes and clasping
his hands, he added with a solemn voice, "And now, my God, enable me to
do my duty! I put my trust in Thee! If I die, remember my mother.
Amen. Advance, men! Up! Steady!"
The minister did not move or speak for a few seconds, and then said, "It
is peace, my friend, not war. It is your own minister who is speaking
to you."
Suddenly the Sergeant started and looked upward with an open, excited
eye, as if he saw something. A smile played over his features. Then in
a tone of voice tremulous with emotion, and with his arms stretched
upwards as if towards some object, he said, "My boy--my darling! You
there! Oh, yes, I'm coming to you. Quick, comrades! Up!" A moment's
silence, and then if possible a steadier gaze, with a look of rapture.
"Oh, my wee Charlie! I hear ye! Is the starling leevin'? Ay, ay--that
it is! I didna kill't! Hoo could ye think that? It was dear to you,
my pet, an'----" Then covering his face with his hands he said, "Oh!
whatna licht is that? I canna thole't, it's sae bricht! It's like the
Son o' Man!"
He fell back exhausted into what seemed an almost unconscious state.
"He's gane--he's gane!" exclaimed Katie.
"He's no' gane! gie him the brandy!" said Jock, as he slipped rapidly
into the room from the kitchen; for Jock was too anxious to be far away.
In an instant he had measured out the prescribed quantity of brandy and
milk in a spoon, and, lifting the Sergeant's head, he said, "Tak' it,
and drink the king's health. The day is oors!" The Sergeant obeyed as
if he was a child; and then whispering to Katie, Jock said, "The Doctor
telt ye, wumman, to keep him quaet; tak' care what ye're aboot!" and
then he slipped again out of the room.
The Sergeant returned to his old state of quiet repose.
Mr. Porteous stood beside the bed in silence, which was broken by his
seizing the fevered hand of the Sergeant, saying fervently, "God bless
and preserve you, dear friend!" Then turning to Mrs. Mercer, he
motioned her to accompany him to the kitchen. But for a few seconds he
gazed out of the window blowing his nose. At length, turning round and
addressing her, he said, "Be assured that I feel deeply for you. Do not
distrust me. Let me only add that if Mary _must_ be taken out of the
house for a time to escape infection, as I am disposed to think she
should be, I will take her to the Manse, if I cannot find another place
for her as good as this--which would be difficult."
"Oh, Mr. Porteous! I maun thank ye for----"
"Not a word, not a word of thanks, Mrs. Mercer," interrupted the
minister; "it is my duty. But rely on my friendship for you and yours.
The Lord has smitten, and it is for us to bear;" and shaking her hand
cordially, he left the house.
"God's ways are not our ways," said Katie to herself, "and He kens hoo
to mak' a way o' escape out o' every trial."
Love ceased to knock for an entrance into the minister's heart; for the
door was open and love had entered, bringing in its own light and peace.