CHAPTER VIII.
_A FIELD PREACHING_.
Sunday in summertime among the hills is not like other days of theweek, and it is not like the Sundays given to less favoured scenes. Itis free from the smothering sense of restraints experienced in cities,shut up as it were for the day, with their inhabitants paraded throughthe streets in solemn raiment returning home to depressing lunches anddrowsy afternoons. It seems rather to foreshadow that bright eternalSabbath we looked forward to in childhood, ere faith grew dim-sightedor criticism had been heard of,--that day when every act shall bespontaneously holy, and each sacred observance a delight. The glorioussunshine, the bright breezy sky streaked and dappled with shiningwhite clouds, the crimson moors and the all-pervading scent of theheather, the hum of bees and the chirp of grasshoppers in the herbage,a silence that is musical with faint and distant sounds, burnsbabbling in the hollows, lambs bleating on the braes, all speak to thespirit of perfect peace and freedom and holy gladness.
The Sangster family preferred walking to church that morning. It was along walk, but they set forth in good time and the phaeton would bringthem home. It was with some misgiving lest she was yielding to theallurements of sense, that Mrs. Sangster consented to gratify thisdesire of the young people, but prudential considerations seemed torecommend the arrangement. Sophia could have no better opportunity forfree and friendly talk with Mr. Wallowby, and Peter could walk withMary Brown. Mary had two or three thousand pounds, and was a 'nicegirl,' and should his lordship Peter, so incline, would not be anunsuitable connection. Peter's private idea was not unlike hismother's, indeed their views in secular matters were wonderfullyalike, and each could count on the support of the other without theunpleasant feeling of conspiracy, which comes of putting schemes intowords, when they are apt to confront one so strangely and stare oneout of countenance. He was therefore the earliest in the hall andstood hatted and gloved, ready to step forward so soon as his intendedcompanion should issue from her room.
'What brings that fool Wallowby, in such a hurry?' he thought tohimself, as the latter appeared shortly after him, also equipped forthe walk But the 'fool Wallowby' had his own plans. He too was mindedto cross the moorland with 'that jolly Brown girl,' as he called herto himself, rather than with the other 'stick' who had so little tosay for herself.
'I think we have got ready too soon,' said Peter; 'the ladies will notcome down stairs for twenty minutes at least, they take so long todress,' and he moved as if for the door.
'One expects to have to wait,' replied Wallowby, and he stood hisground.
Presently Mary appeared, descending the stairs. Wallowby secured herbook as she reached the landing, and placed himself at her side; andPeter, not to be cut out, had to make a dash for her parasol on thestand, and so constitute himself a third in the party. They set forth,and when Mrs. Sangster got down stairs she beheld to her disgust MaryBrown disappearing in the shrubbery attended by both the squires.
'Bother that lassie!' she muttered, but whether it was her owndaughter or the other will never be known. At that moment Sophia, inperfect tranquility, was still giving her orders in the kitchen forthe family dinner.
Mr. Sangster kept his room. He often did so of a Sunday, for the timehad not yet arrived when a godly divine should stigmatize takingmedicine on Sunday as a form of Sabbath breaking.
Eventually Sophia was ready to start, and at the same moment the twoministers appeared. Mrs. Sangster was of course taken possession of bythe elder, and there was nothing for it but to let the ineligibleescort Sophia. There was consolation then in remembering how slow andsafe she was. No fear of _her_ being hurried into an entanglingadmission during one moorland walk, but 'Oh! if Providence had onlyseen fit to grant her a bright lively girl like Mary Brown!'
No misgiving oppressed the soul of Roderick. The Sabbath in any casewas to him a day of holy calm, whose devout associations he hadcultivated by long habit into a sacred joy. To-day these wereexhausted by the surroundings. The sunshine on the hills seemed tobring him into the very presence of a loving creator, and thecompanion by his side was one whose image in his thoughts had longstood for the embodiment of the good and beautiful. It was no vulgarlove-making that he poured forth as they walked along, but theenthusiastic utterances of a devout young heart brimming over withpiety and content.
And she? She looked up in his face and softly smiled. No need forwords, the light in her eye spoke more eloquently than poets had eversung. Poor youth! That light had shone as brightly and the smile hadbeen as sweet--less vague and more intelligent--when a little whilebefore she stood at the kitchen table and bade the cook put ten eggsinstead of twelve in the custard for dinner.
Yet she really liked Roderick Brown. He was so good and so kind. Shehad known him all her life, and she knew that he admired her. He didnot exactly say so, in fact she did not expect that, it would havebeen too frivolous; but his voice grew softer when he spoke to her,his eyes glowed, and his pale face would sometimes flush. She did notunderstand much of what he said, but she knew she was not clever, andwas content it should be so. It was 'nice' to hear him talk aboutheaven in his earnest eloquent way; it sounded all so real, and shefelt always more sure of going there when she was with him--he was sogood.
Over the moor, down a brae, across a burn and up another slope.Moorland again, past a peat hag with the new cut turf drying in thesun. Straggling groups dotted the outlook, the dwellers in many adistant shieling, all converging towards the common goal--thepreaching tent. Old men and women, mothers with their children,shepherds with their dogs, lads and lasses, the latter carrying theirheavy shoes and stockings in their hands, till they should come to thelast burn before reaching the kirk, there, after a preliminaryfootbath, to put them on and appear before the congregation decentlyclad.
Joseph Smiley, ever on the alert, produced his chairs as the Lady ofAuchlippie and her suite entered the assembly and took her place inthe front with a condescending smile, and Mr. Dowlas disappeared fromview behind the curtains of the tent.
Roderick not being as yet an ordained minister, was not authorized tocelebrate the sacraments of the church, which necessitated theoccasional intervention of some one who was, as on the presentoccasion, when Mr. Dowlas was to perform the rite of baptism, as mightbe guessed from frequent thin small wails which issued intermittinglyfrom the neighbouring covert. Immediately in front of the tent werethe elders and deacons seated on the uncomfortable benches whichJoseph had constructed, and near them the older and more devout of thepeople sat on their folded plaids, on stools or bunches of bracken.These were the more earnest church members, denominated the 'far benchristians' by their neighbours. Behind, reclining at their ease onthe elastic heather, where it sloped upward from the grassy level,were the general company, who felt diffident about includingthemselves with the 'professors,'--men, women, children and colliedogs, basking in the sun and fanned by breezes sweet with the heatherand the wild thyme.
Mr. Wallowby had all the prejudices of a middle-class Englishman.Whatever differed from the use and wont of his native county andcountry was wrong, and a good many things in the North had thereforemet with his disapproval; but of all the matters on which sane mencould differ, the most preposterous appeared to him to be churchaffairs, in a country where the established religion was not entitledto be called a church at all, but only, by a supercilious adoption ofthe native speech, a 'Kirk,' as something altogether different;though, to be sure, all bodies of Christians not affiliated to hischurch were in the same position, excepting the Latin and Greekcommunions, which being older than his, are wont to treat it withprecisely the same contemptuous disrespect. The present conventiclepromised at least more interest than a schismatic service in a kirk,and Mr. Wallowby had come in a mood of bland condescension to enjoythe humours of the scene, and amuse his superior mind with Sawney athis devotions. But when he seated himself in the silent assemblage,the spirit of the scene seemed to fall on him, and he found himselfstrongl
y impressed.
The minister shortly appeared in gown and bands, and although silenceoverspread the crowd before, it seemed to deepen as the worshippersstraightened themselves in their seats, and fixed their gaze intentlyon his face. Around, the swelling hills showed not a sign of life orhabitation; yet in this sequestered hollow a thousand souls perhaps,were gathered together for prayer. The minister gave out a psalm, andthe whole congregation presently burst forth in song. At first thevoice of the precentor quavered uncertain and thin in the wide expanseof the open air, then one by one a few others tremulously joined in,till at length the ear of the people caught the familiar cadence of'Bangor,' and the multitudinous voice rose in a mighty swell, fillingup that recess in the hillside, brimming over and reverberating amongthe rocks around. Here and there around him he would perceive themomentary jar of a bad voice or a false ear, but these were overbornein the vast flood of sound, in which every one joined with a seemingintensity of feeling that counterbalanced mere technicalimperfections, and fulfilling the purpose of all art, that ofconveying emotion from soul to soul, the song of those unculturedvoices impressed him as he had never been by choir and organ under thefretted roof of church or minster.
Mr. Dowlas preached from the Canticles, applying the apostrophe to theShulamite to such as had wandered from the truth. The audiencelistened with silent and deep attention, but without any of theejaculation and amens with which Mr. Wallowby's dissentingfellow-countrymen relieve and stimulate their fervour. Some agedgrandmother would occasionally shake her head in concurrence with theminister's words, but that was all.
At the beginning of the sermon a slight rustling attracted JosephSmiley's attention. He looked up and beheld Tibbie Tirpie taking herseat on the outskirts of the crowd. She was accompanied by a youngwoman who leant on her arm and appeared delicate and pale till shecaught sight of Joseph, when her cheeks became suffused with crimson,and she bent down her head. A look of annoyance came into his sharp,squirrel-like eyes, but he passed his hand across his mouth, whichappeared to act like the wet sponge over a much be-written slate, andleft it blank and sober as before.
There were four babies to be baptized at the conclusion of the sermon,and during the singing of a hymn, Joseph, as master of the ceremonies,proceeded to the clump of hazel bushes and thence ushered three wellpleased mothers, each with her latest born held proudly in her arms.As struts the brood hen before her chippering train, calling theuniverse to witness the last new life added to the mighty sum by herpraiseworthy exertions, so sailed these worthy women behind thebeadle, and took their places with rustle and importance in front ofthe congregation. The husband of each came diffidently behind, andstood in front of his proprietress, tall, awkward, and a littleshame-faced before all the people, the length of leg and arm appearingsadly in its owner's way, and the hands especially difficult todispose of. Behind the matrons came Mary Brown, carrying the littlewaif rescued by her brother from the sea, Roderick himself bringing upthe rear. Their appearance created a sensation, and a hum of enquiryran through the congregation, for many were as yet ignorant of theaddition to the minister's family. Mary gave her own name to thelittle one, and Roderick presented it for baptism as the several sirespresented theirs, vowing to bring it up in the nurture and admonitionof the Lord.
Mr. Dowlas concluded the service, and while the younger and theEnglish-speaking part of the congregation rose to depart, the oldermembers drew more closely together before the tent, and Roderick atonce commenced the afternoon service in Gaelic for their behoof. Manyof them having come long distances, it was best that the two servicesshould follow each other without interval, that they might start theearlier on their return home. In reverent haste the retiringworshippers withdrew from the ground, that they might not disturb theGaelic congregation, and in ten minutes every one of them was out ofsight. Joseph's duties were now over till the breaking up of themeeting, and as he did not understand Gaelic he withdrew to a mossybank hard by, where birch trees warded off the afternoon sun, andstretched himself at length to enjoy a little repose. He had drawnfrom the crown of his tall black hat a bannock and a hunch ofskim-milk cheese wrapped in a turkey red cotton handkerchief which hespread out on his knees, and proceeded to refresh himself. While hewas still so engaged there approached him from the thicket in his rearTibbie Tirpie.
'I wuss ye gude day! Joseph Smiley.'
Joseph snorted with impatience, and the squirrel-like gleam came intohis eyes, but he merely answered--
'Gude day to ye! Tibbie,' sweeping together the scattered fragments ofhis repast, and causing them all to disappear in one comprehensivegulp. Then he wiped his mouth with the red cloth, replaced it in thehat, and resumed his wonted look of solemn composure.
'A weel, Tibbie! an' it's a graund discourse we hae heard this day;an' I houp it'll do ye gude. He's a godly man, Mester Dowlas, an' he'sgaen hame wi' Mistress Sangster til a verra gude denner I mak naedoubt. But you an' me has haen a feast of fat things o' hisprovidence. Marrow an' fatness truly, tho' it's juist a when bannockswe may hae to stay the flesh withal an' aiblins just a drappie o'something to wash a' down. Will ye taste, hinnie?' Thereupon he aroseand retreated some steps to where the tree stems would conceal himfrom any wandering eye among the congregation, and drew forth from hisbosom a flat bottle, which he applied to his lips, throwing back hishead the while. After a prolonged gulp he paused for breath, andpassed the bottle to his friend with one hand, while with the back ofthe other he wiped his lips.
'Pruive all things! Eppie. Try the speerits, an' I'm thinkin' ye'llfind them not that bad.'
Eppie tasted and sipped, and tasted again, very well pleased, nodded,and returned the bottle, which was forthwith emptied where the bulk ofits contents had already been poured.
'Hech! but my eyes are enlichtened like Jonathan's, an' noo let'scrack about the preachin'.'
'Joseph! I hae bed a wee, as ye said. What is't a' comin' til?'
'Bed sin yest're'en! No muckle bidin' there I ween! But let's layworldly business by, this holy Sawbith day, an' think o' wirsauls!--our puir perishin' sauls!'
`An' what'll come o' your saul? Joseph Smiley, an' you sinnin' wi' thehigh haund an' wrangin' my puir lass Tibbie. Saw na ye hoo she wase'en ower blate to forgather wi' the neighbours, an' gaed creepin'hame afore the kirk wad skell?'
'The mair fule she! There's naething kenned again her. What maks herblate?'
'It's no for you to speer! Them 'at pet the cat e'y kirn, can bestfesh't out. Ye ken what's wrang, an' ye beut to mak it richt!'
'Hech! Tibbie, ye're troubled an' carefu' about mony things. But _wan_thing is needfu', as the Scriptur says, an' this is the Sawbith day,an' I'se speak o' naething else but that same. Think o' yer saul!Tibbie, yer sinfu' saul!'
'Speak o' yer ain sins, ye rascal! an' let mine be. Yer saul's blackwi' them, an' it's time ye was mendin'.'
'Na, na, Tibbie! that wad be _works!_ an' they're filthy rags. I'm a'for grace!'
'For grace? ye villain! Grace Grimmond belike, gin' a' folk says betrue. An' what's to come o' Tibbie? But ye'se never wad wi' Graceonybody, sae lang as Tibbie's to the fore! Tak my word for't.'
'Ye tak me up wrang, neighbour, it's the kingdom o' heaven I'm after,whaur they neither marry nor are given in marriage. An' I houp ye'llwin there yet! It's no o' women, puir silly earthen vessels I'mspeakin' or wull speak this holy day.'
'But ye'll hae to speak o' them! Ay, an' speak plenn--or I'se doon t'eyminister an' hae ye up afore the Kirk-Session the maament the kirkskells. I'm for nae mair o' yer parryin' I'se tell ye--ye thocht yehad puir Tibbie a' by her lane, yon fore nicht, doon i' the loanin',whan ye ca'd God to witness ye took her for yer lawfu' wife, an' juistwanted it keepit quiet till the bawbees was gathered for theplennissin'. But ye didna keek ahint the dike, an' ye kenna wha washearkenin'!'
Joseph's countenance fell, his eyes opened wider, and strove to readin the other's face whether the witness suggested was a reality or amere _ruse_ to overawe him. He took the red handkerchief from his hat,an
d mopped his brow as a partial screen for his features, and findingevasion no longer possible, concluded to mitigate his opponent'sexcitement, and man[oe]uvre for time.
'Ye needna thrape that gate, Mistress Tirpie, gin Tibbie wad hae me; Ikenna the lass in a' Glen Effick I'd sooner wad wi', but what ye saidey noo about the bawbees an' the plennissin' hauds true yet. I cannatak the lassie hame an' no a bed for her to lie down on, an' what forwad ye be raisin' a din an' a clash? It's a filthy fowl 'at files itsain nest. An' it's yer ain dochter the folk wad lichtly, gin ye didnahaud yer tongue.
'But ye can bide wi' me, Joseph, till yer gear's gathered; I'se beblythe to hae ye.'
Na, na, Luckie! Ilka pat till its ain cleek! we maun hae our ainfire-side.'
'An' it's little fireside me an' Tibbie's like tae hae gin ye haudback muckle langer! I hae na claes eneugh to keep her warm, an' shehasna strength to tak' wark, an' hoo can she get her strength onsowans an' kirn-milk? An' that's a' I hae to gie her. Ye maun keep yerwife, Joseph, e'en gin ye dinna bide wi' her.'
'An' hoo's a man to gather the bawbees, gin he's payin' them awafaster nor they come?'
'_Ye_ ken that, Joseph; an' I'm thinkin' it's a denty pose ye haehidden awa in some auld hugger, an' hae na the heart to spend. We a'ken ye for a hard thrifty body 'at winna spend yer ain, gin ye canfinger ither folk's.'
Ye're hard on me, Luckie, but I'se do what I can. I hae nae siller inmy pouch the day but a bawbee for the plate, seein' it's Sawbith, butI'll tell ye what I wull do, speak to the minister. An' he's the gudeman wi' the free haund and the saft heid. Gin ye getna a' ye need outo' _him_, yer tongue winna wag sae souple, as I hae fand it can thishour back.'
And here, to avoid rejoinder he ran down the slope and took his placedemurely on a stool by the tent to await the conclusion of theexercises.
Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa Page 8