*CHAPTER VIII.*
*MR. DUNCAN MCLEAN.*
In the course of the ensuing week, the last of the honourable family whohad so long dwelt beneath the roof-tree of Inverburn manse, quitted itsshelter for ever. Pen fails me to describe fitly that sad farewell. Itwas indeed a very rending of the heart-strings to the venerable ministerof Inverburn. In spite of the wording of the Act, that every ejectedminister should remove without the bounds of his Presbytery, Mr. Grayand his daughter went no farther than Adam Hepburn's house at Rowallan,where they were very warmly welcomed. So long as was permitted, theywould remain among their own kith and kin. The minister of Broomhillfound a shelter at Hartrigge, so that united and affectionate familywere not as yet separated one from the other.
On the next Sabbath day no kirk bell rang its sweet, familiar chimesthrough the quiet Sabbath air. The gates of the churchyard remainedclosed, and the only sign of life about the venerable pile was thecawing of hoarse-throated rooks, which had assembled by scores on theleafless boughs of the "birks of Inverburn," as if met in convocationover this strange and sad Sabbath day. Betty McBean had gone home toher brother Watty's house in the village; and blithe enough he was tosee her, being a bachelor, with no womenkind to make a bite for him orto clean up his house. On the Saturday word was carried through theparish by Watty that the Word would be preached next day in the barn atRowallan by their beloved shepherd, and all whose soul thirsted for theliving water were invited to attend. And, lo, at the hour of meeting,so great was the press thronging in Adam Hepburn's barn that it washastily decided to hold the meeting out of doors. So a kitchen tablewith a settle behind it was erected as a pulpit in the corn-yard, andfrom this the minister of Inverburn preached to his flock. Something inthe unusual nature of the proceedings seemed to stir all hearts and toimbue them with a holy enthusiasm. Never had the psalm been sung withsuch deep fervour; never had the attitude of the hearers been so raptand reverential. There was something in the knowledge that it wasagainst the law that they assembled together which lent a strange,sweet, yet fearful joy to their relish of that Sabbath day. Hartrigge,with all his family, was there, and the minister of Broomhill also tookpart in the service. When they separated, just before the twilight, allfelt that it had indeed been good for them to be there; and they saidone to another, that so long as they could get the Word by walking toRowallan for it, the king's decree might not prove such a hardship ashad been anticipated. But, alas for their vain hopes, their happycongratulations! the day was near at hand when listening to, as well aspreaching, the Word was to become a crime worthy of death itself.
The Laird of Inverburn, with Lady Hamilton and the young heir, haddriven in their coach that day to Lochlee, to hear John Methven preach.On their way home they passed so many dressed people on the roads,especially as they neared Inverburn, that a suspicion of the truth beganto dawn upon the mind of the laird.
Just outside their lodge gates they overtook Watty McBean and his sisterBetty, leisurely wending their way homewards. At a word from the lairdthe coachman pulled up his horses.
"Here, McBean," said the laird, in his peremptory fashion, "tell me whythere are so many people on the road at this hour. They look to me asif they had been at kirk somewhere, though very sure am I that none ofthem worshipped with me to-day at Lochlee."
"Did they no', Sir Thomas? but how should I ken whaur a' the folk haebeen wanderin' tae?" asked Watty, innocently. "Mebbe they've been awa'seein' their freens or takin' a bit walk tae theirsels, like Betty an'me."
Very red grew the face of Betty McBean, as she heard her brother utterthis deliberate falsehood, and she tugged vehemently at her cap strings,to give some vent to her feelings.
"I believe you are telling me a lie, sirrah!" said the laird,wrathfully, "and if you are it will be the worse for you. Here, youwoman, you were the manse maid, I think," he added, directing hisremarks to Betty. "Can you tell me whether it be true that yourminister is still in the parish, in fact that he is under the roof-treeof Adam Hepburn, at Rowallan?"
"Oh, Sir Tammas, my lord, dinna mak me tell a lee," said Bettypiteously; "ye wudna hae me get my auld maister into trouble. He----"
"Betty, if ye dinna haud yer tongue, and come on, it'll be the waur forye," shouted Watty in her ear, and taking her by the arm, dragged herright away from the coach, and past the gate of Inverburn, without somuch as making an apology to the laird.
Sir Thomas looked angry, but his wife sank back, laughing, in the coach,not sorry that Betty had not committed herself.
Lady Hamilton's sympathies were much with the Presbyterians, but she wasof too sweet and gentle a disposition to set up her own opinions inopposition to those of her husband.
"Eh, Watty McBean, man, hoo cud ye tell sic a barefaced lee?" queriedBetty when her brother released his grip on her arm. "Did the thocht o'the fire and brimstane, which the Word says is the portion o' leers, nopit the fear o' death on yer tongue?"
"Hoot ye silly crater, there's lees _an'_ lees!" quoth Watty, with anair of superior wisdom. "Was I gaun to get the minister and the flockinto a peck o' troubles wi' my lang tongue? I see I'll need to keep ane'e on you, Betty. Auld though you be, ye hinna muckle gumption."
"Ye're no feared either tae daur [defy] the laird," said Betty, with asigh.
"I'm no awn the laird naething, and he canna gar me speak against mywill," said Watty, calmly; and Betty, completely overcome by herbrother's undaunted spirit, relapsed into silence.
For several weeks the parish kirk at Inverburn remained closed, and thepeople worshipped with the ministers they loved either in barn orouthouse, or, when weather permitted, under the canopy of heaven. Such astate of affairs, which betokened such utter disregard and contempt forthe Prelacy, could not long be allowed to continue undisturbed. Thenext step taken by the bishops was to fill the places of the ejectedministers with curates of their own, so that the parishioners might nolonger have the closed doors of the churches to point at as an excusefor their behaviour.
Sir Thomas Hamilton, a staunch loyalist and an intimate friend of theBishop of Glasgow, offered his shelter and patronage to any gentlemanhis lordship might elect to minister in the church at Inverburn.
It was on the third Saturday in January that a notice was posted up onthe church door intimating that public worship would be resumed nextLord's Day by Mr. Duncan McLean, at the hour of noon.
The bellman was also sent round, and the news well circulated throughoutthe parish. It occasioned no little excitement and talk; but thepeople, with the exception of a few of the laird's pensioners in thevillage, had not the smallest intention of attending upon the curate'sministrations. Service was to be held at three of the afternoon in thesheltered glen behind the house of Hartrigge, and as Watty McBeanexpressed it--
"When folk could lift Presbyterian wheat for the gaun [going], it wasnalikely they wad be content wi' the curate's puir chaff."
About eleven o'clock on the Sabbath morning, Betty McBean, watching fromthe window, beheld the coach from Inverburn coming rapidly over themanse brae, towards the village.
"The laird's in't, Watty, an' a jimpy black body, wha'll dootless be thecurate, and Peter Rintoull, the bailiff, 's on the box aside thecoachman," she cried, excitedly. "I'll bet ye what ye like they'll becomin' seekin' you tae gang up by an' ring the bell."
"Let them come, I'm ready for them," said Watty serenely. "But gang youintae the ben-end [parlour], or yer waggin' tongue'll play mischief."
Only too thankful to be relieved from the necessity of again meeting thelaird's questioning gaze, Betty hastily retired into the ben-end just asthe coach drew up at the door.
"Watty, Watty McBean!" called out the coachman. "Coome oot; Sir Tammaswants ye!"
Watty took his pipe from his cheek, and retired slowly out to the door,a very uncouth looking figure in his rough homespun garb, and hisunwashed unshaven face surmounted by a dirty red night-cap!
"Why are you
not more decently attired, McBean? It is time you weregetting ready for the service," said the laird sternly. "This is thenew minister of the parish, Mr. Duncan McLean."
"Ay, so I was thinkin'. I canna say I'm prood tae see Mr. DuncanMcLean," said Watty, in his canny way, and giving his somewhat loosenether garments an expressive hitch. "If he's come tae a cauld pairt,it's no' his blame, puir chield. I'm thinkin' he'll no' be lang aforehe gangs back tae them that sent him."
Mr. McLean looked much surprised, and not too well pleased at the man'sfreedom of address.
"The man is witless, Mr. McLean, a half crazy loon, whom nobody heeds,"the laird explained, and then he turned his stern eye on Watty'sunruffled countenance. "Look here, McBean, go into the house and put onyour Sabbath garments as fast as you can; and see that you be up to ringthe kirk bell at the usual time."
"Eh, me? they telt me the Bishop wad send a bell-ringer an' a minister'sman wi' the curate," said Watty, with well-feigned astonishment. "SirTammas, it's perfectly unpossible that I could be ready at the time.Just look at me; I've a week's dirt tae scrape aff my skin, no' taemention that my claes taks an hour tae aire afore I cud pit them onwithout catchin' my death."
The laird bit his lip.
"This is gross impertinence, McBean, for which, as I sit here, I swearyou shall not go unpunished. Once for all, will you or will you not beready to perform your usual duties in the bell tower and the sessionhouse in half an hour?"
"That I winna, Sir Tammas; seein' the lord bishop, or whatever be histitle, has made the kirk session of Inverburn null and void, he has madethe minister's man null and void too; so Maister McLean maun e'en get aman for hissel," answered Watty, with fearless resolution. Then hefixed his keen eye on the ill-favoured face of the curate, and addresseda concluding remark to him. "Ye hae taen muckle upon yersel', youngman, tae step into the honoured shoon o' the Reverend Maister Gray. An'if ye get but a cauldrife hearin' this day ye may blame no' the faithfu'folks o' Inverburn, but them that sent ye."
With which comforting assurance Watty turned about, and entering his ownhouse, shut the door.
"If this is the disposition of the parish, Sir Thomas," said the curatesourly, "I fear stronger measures will be necessary ere long."
"If necessary, doubtless they will be taken, Mr. McLean," said thelaird. "But do not be cast down by the insolent utterance of ahalf-witted fellow like Watty McBean. I cannot think the people ofInverburn will so far forget their respect to me, as well as to those inpower, as to follow such an example."
One of the laird's servants was procured to undertake Watty's duties,and the bell was duly rung at the appointed time. But it appeared toconvey to the hearts of the people no welcome summons to the House ofGod. Only a few stragglers, and these persons of no note in the parish,came dropping into the church, and when the hour struck there were notmore than thirty persons present, and these included the laird and hisretinue from Inverburn. Nevertheless the service was proceeded with,and conducted after the true Episcopal fashion; prayers being read fromthe new book of service. The curate was humiliated and ashamed, thelaird furious, and on their way home to Inverburn the two discussedvarious plans whereby the people might be compelled to attend service inthe church.
The following morning Sir Thomas started on horseback to make a tour ofthe tenantry on his estate, in order to see what they had to say indefence of their absence from the church on the previous day. His firstplace of call was Rowallan, but before he reached the house he met AdamHepburn leading one of his work-horses to the smithy. Adam doffed hiscap to the laird, and stood still, not unprepared for what was coming.
"I have called to see for what reason you absented yourself from Divineservice yesterday, Hepburn?" the laird said briefly, and withoutgreeting of any kind. "Do you know that in so absenting yourself youwere guilty of a civil offence?"
"I know not as to that, Sir Thomas; but if a man's heart be not in theservice, he is better at home," replied Adam, quietly. "And the kinghas no power over a man's own conscience."
"See here, Hepburn," said the laird; "is that old man, yourfather-in-law, still under your roof-tree?"
"He is, Sir Thomas," answered Adam, in the same quiet tone.
"You know the wording of the Act which commands that the ejectedministers shall remove themselves without the bounds of the Presbytery?Rowallan is not without these bounds. I have it in my power to haveyour father-in-law punished, imprisoned if I like, by simply letting myfriend the bishop know how his commands are disobeyed."
A dark red flush rose to Adam Hepburn's brow, and he bit his lip. Thehot blood of his race sprang up at the laird's threatening and mockingwords.
"And you would make betrayal of the old man the price of mynon-attendance at the curate's preaching, Sir Thomas," he said withcurling lip. "Such a threat is scarcely worthy of your name. I fearthat such measures will not avail with the God-fearing people in theparish."
"You defy me then, sirrah; then be prepared to take the consequences,"said the laird furiously, and digging his spurs into his horse's sides,turned the animal's head, and rode away full gallop to Hartrigge, onlyto have his ire additionally kindled there by the cool defiance anddogged determination of Andrew Gray.