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RETURNING from Iona on
the loveliest summer evening which I ever beheld, we reached a safe and
sheltered bay at the north end of the Island of Mull. I never saw a
harbour so well defended from the violence of winds and waves. A long
narrow island encircled it seawards, spreading its friendly wings over
every vessel that comes to seek its covert from the storms of ocean or
to await under its shelter for favourable weather to double the great
headland beyond. On the right hand where we entered, the land rises up
steep and abrupt from the shore. We sailed so close to the rocks, that
the branches of the trees were bending over us. The fragrance of the
birch was wafted on the breeze of summer, and a thousand Iittle birds,
with their sweet notes, were sing-in; to us from amid the branches,
bidding us welcome as we glided smoothly and gently past them. A
glorious view presented itself to me wherever I turned my eye. I saw the
lofty mountains of Ardriamurchan clothed in green to their very summits;
Suanard, with its beautifully-outlined hills and knolls; the coast of
Morven stretching away from us, rejoicing in the warmth of the summer
evening.
When we neared the
anchorage there was nothing to be seen but masts of ships, with their
flags floating lazily in the gentle breeze—nor to be heard, except the
sound of oars, and the murmur of brooks and streams, which, falling over
many a rock, were pouring into the wide bay, now opening up before us.
From side to side of the shore, on the one hand, there runs a street of
white houses; and immediately behind them there rises up a steep and
high bank, where the hazel, the rowan, and the ash grow luxuriantly, and
so very close to the houses that the branches seem to bend over their
tops. At the summit of this lofty bank the other portion of the small
town is seen between you and the sky, presenting a view striking for its
beauty and singularity.
The bay, however,
presented the most interesting sight. There were in it scores of vessels
of different sizes; many a small boat with its painters green oars; the
gay birlinn with its snow-white sails, and the war-ship with its lofty
masts and royal flag. But in the midst of them all I marked one ship
which was to me of surpassing interest. Many little boats were pressing
towards her, and I noticed that she was preparing to unmoor. There was
one man in our boat who had joined us at the *back of Mull, and who had
not during the whole day once raised his head, but who now was scanning
this great ship with the keenest anxiety.
"Do you know," I asked,
"what this ship is?"
"Alas!" said he, "'tis I
who do - know her. Grieved am I to say that there are too many of my
acquaintances in her. In her are my brothers, and many of my dearest
friends, departing on a long, mournful voyage for North America. And sad
is it that I have not what would enable me to accompany them."
We pulled towards the
vessel; for I confess I felt strongly desirous of seeing these warm
hearted men who, on this very day, were to bid a last farewell to the
Highlands, in search of a country where they might find a permanent home
for themselves and their families. It is impossible to convey to any one
who was not present a true idea of the scene which presented itself on
going on board. Never will it fade from my memory. They were here, young
and old—from the infant to the patriarch. It was most overwhelming to
witness the deep grief, the trouble of spirit, the anguish and
brokenness of heart which deeply furrowed the countenances of the
greater number of these men, here assembled from many an island and
distant portion of the Hebrides.
I was, above all, struck
with the appearance of one man, aged and blind, who was sitting apart,
with three or four young boys clustered around him, each striving which
could press most closely to his breast. His old arms were stretched over
them; his head was bent towards them; his gray locks and their brown
curly hair mingling, while his tears, in a heavy shower, were falling on
them. Sitting at his feet was a respectably dressed woman, sobbing in
the anguish of bitter grief; and I understood that a man who was walking
backwards and forwards, with short steps and folded hands, was her
husband. His eye was restless and unsettled, and his troubled
countenance told that his mind was far from peace. I drew near to the
old man, and in gentle language asked him if he, in the evening of his
days, was about to leave his native land.
"Is it I, going over the
ocean?" said he. "No! On no journey will I go, until the great journey
begins which awaits us all; and when that comes, who will bear my head
to the burial? You are gone; you are gone; to-day I am left alone, blind
and aged, without brother, or son, or support. To-day is the day of my
desolation, God forgive me! thou, Mary, my only child, with my fair and
lovely grandchildren, art about to leave me! I will return to-night to
the old glen; but it is a strange hand that will lead me. You, my
beloved children, will not come out to meet the old man. I will no more
hear the prattle of your tongues by the river-side, and no more shall I
cry, as I used to do, though I saw not the danger, 'Keep back from the
stream!' When I hear the barking of the dogs, no more will my heart leap
upwards, saying, 'My children are coming.' Who now will guide me to the
shelter of the rock, or read to me the holy book? And to-morrow night,
when the sun sinks in the west, where will you be, children of my love?
or who will raise the evening hymn with me?"
"O father," said his
daughter, creeping close to him, "do not break my heart!"
"Art thou here, Mary?"
said he. "Where is thy hand? Come nearer to me. My delight of all the
women in the world. Sweet to me is thy voice. Thou art parting with me.
I do not blame thee, neither do I complain. Thou hast my full sanction.
Thou hast the blessing of thy God. As was thy mother before thee, be
thou dutiful. As for me, I will not long stand. To-day I am stripped of
my lovely branches, and light is the breeze which will lay low my old
head. But while I live, God will uphold me! He was ever with me in every
trial, and He will not now forsake me. Blind though I be, yet blessed be
His name! He enables me to see at His own right hand my best Friend, and
in His countenance I can see gentleness and love. At this very moment He
gives me strength. His promises come home to my heart. Other trees may
wither; but the `Tree of Life' fades not. Are you all near me? Listen,"
said he, "we are now about to part. You are going to a land far away;
and probably before you reach it I shall be in the lofty land where the
sun ever shines, and where, I trust, we shall all meet again; and where
there shall be no partings, nor removals. No. Remember the God of your
fathers, and fall not away from any one good habit which you have
learned. Evening and morning, bend the knee. Evening and morning, raise
the hymn, as we were wont to do. And you, my little children, who were
as eyes and as a staff unto me—you, who I thought would place the sod
over me—must I part with you? God he my helper!"
I could not remain
longer. The little boat which was to bear the old man to the shore had
cone to the side of the ship. Those who were waiting on him informed him
of this. I fled; I could not witness the miserable separation.
In another part of the
vessel there was a company of men, whom I understood from their dress
and language to belong to the Northern Islands. They were keenly and
anxiously watching a boat which was corning round the point, urged alike
by sails and oars. Whenever they saw her making for the ship, they
shouted out: "It is he himself! Blessings on his head!" There was one
person among them who seemed more influential than the others. When he
observed this boat, he went to the captain of the ship, and I observed
that the sailors who were aloft among the masts and spars were ordered
to descend, and that the preparations for immediate sailing were
suspended. The boat approached. An aged, noble-looking man who was
sitting in the stern rose up, and although his head was white as the
snow, he ascended the side of the ship with a firm vigorous step,
dispensing with any assistance. The captain saluted him with the utmost
respect. He looked around him, and quickly noticing the beloved group
who had been watching for him, he walked towards them. "God be with
you!" he said to them, as they all rose up, bonnet in hand, to do him
reverence. He sat down among them. For a while he leaned his head on the
staff which was in his hand, and I observed that great tears were
rolling down his face—one of the most pleasant faces I had ever looked
on. They all grouped around him, and some of the children sat at his
feet. There was something in the appearance of this patriarchal man
which could not fail to draw one towards him. Such goodness and
gentleness surrounded him that the most timid would be encouraged to
approach him; and, at the same time, such lofty command in his eye and
brow as would cause the boldest to quail before him.
"You have come," said
they, "according to your promise; you never neglected us in the day of
our need. To-night we are to become wanderers over the face of the
ocean, and before the sun will rise over those hills we shall be for
ever out of their sight. We are objects of pity to-day—day of our ruin!"
"Let me not hear such
language," said the minister. "Be manly; this is not the time for you to
yield. Place your confidence in God: for it is not without His knowledge
that you go on this journey. It is through His providence that all
things are brought to pass: but you speak as if you were to travel
beyond the bounds of the kingdom of the Almighty, and to go whither His
Fatherly care could not extend unto you. Alas! is this all your faith?"
"That is all true,"
answered they; "but the sea —the great wide ocean?"
"The sea!" said he, "why
should it cast down or disquiet you? Is not God present on the great
ocean as on the land? Under the guidance of His wisdom, and the
protection of His power, are you not as safe on the wide ocean as you
ever were in the most sheltered glen? Does not the God who made the
ocean go forth on its proud waves? Not one of them will rise against you
without His knowledge. It is He who stills the raging of the sea. He
goeth forth over the ocean in, he chariots of the wind as surely as He
is in the heavens above. Oh, ye of little faith, wherefore do ye doubt?"
"We are leaving our
native land," said they.
"You are indeed leaving
the place of your birth," he replied, "the island where you were
nourished and reared. You are certainly going on a long journey, and it
need not be concealed that there are hardships awaiting you, but these
do not come unexpectedly on you: you may be prepared to meet them. And
as to leaving our country, the children of men have no permanent hold of
any country under the sun. We are all strangers and pilgrims; and it is
not in this world that God gives any of us that home from which there is
no departure."
"That is undoubtedly
true," said they; "but we go as 'sheep without a shepherd' — without a
guide to consult in our perplexities. Oh, if you had been going with
us!"
"Silence!" said he. "Let
me not hear such language. Are you going farther from God than you were
before? Is it not the same Lord that opened your eyelids to-day and
raised you from the slumber of the night, who rules on the other side of
the world? Who stood by Abraham when he left his country and his
kindred? Who showed himself to Jacob when he left his father's house,
and slept in the open field? Be ashamed of yourselves for your want of
trust. Did you say you were as 'sheep without a shepherd?' Is there any,
even the youngest of your children, who cannot repeat these words: `The
Lord 's my shepherd, I'll want not?' Has not the Great Shepherd of the
sheep said: 'Fear not; for I am with thee. Be not dismayed: for I am thy
God?' Has He not said: `When thou passest through the waters I will be
with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee?' There
are not, perhaps, houses of worship so accessible to you where you are
going, as they were in your native land : nor are ministers of religion
so numerous. But remember you the day of the Lord. Assemble yourselves
under the shelter of the rock, or under the shade of the tree. Raise up
together the songs of Zion, remembering that the gracious presence of
God is not confined to any one place; that, by those who sincerely seek
Him in the name of Christ, He is to be found on the peak of the highest
mountain, in the strath of the deepest glen, or in the innermost shade
of the forest, as well as in the midst of the great city, or in the most
costly temple ever reared by man's hands. You are all able to read the
Holy Word. Had it been otherwise, heavy indeed would be my heart, and
very sad the parting. I know you have some Bibles with you; but you will
to-day accept from me each a new Bible, one that is easily carried and
handled; and you will not value them the less that your names are
written in them by the hand which sprinkled the water of baptism on the
most of you—which has often since been raised up to Heaven in prayer for
you, and which will continue to be raised for you with good hope through
Christ until death shall disable it. And you, my little children, the
precious lambs of my flock, now about to leave me, I have brought for
you also some slight memorials of my great love to you. May God bless
you!"
"Oh," said they, "how
thankful are we that we have seen you once more, and that we have again
heard your voice!"
The people of the ship
were now generally gathering round this group, and even the sailors,
though some of them did not understand his language, perceived that it
was in matters pertaining to the soul he was engaged. There was so much
earnestness, warmth, and kindliness in his appearance and voice, that
they stood reverently still; and I saw several of them hiding the tears
which rolled down those cheeks that had been hardened by many a storm.
The reverend man
uncovered his head, and stood up. Every one perceived his purpose. Some
kneeled down, and those who stood cast their eyes downwards, when in a
clear strong voice he said, "Let us pray for the blessing of God." Hard
indeed would be the heart which would not melt, and little to be envied
the spirit which would not become solemnised while the earnest,
warm-hearted prayer was being offered up by this good man, who was
himself raised above the world. Many a poor faint-hearted one was
encouraged. His words fell like the dew of the evening, and the weak,
droop-in-branches were strengthened and refreshed.
While they were on their
knees, I heard heavy sighings and sobbings, which they strove hard to
smother. But when they rose up I saw through the mist of the bitter
tears which they were now wiping off, the signs of fresh hope beaming
from their eyes. He opened the Book of Psalms, and the most mournful,
the most affecting in every way, yet at the same time the most joyful
sacred song which I ever heard was raised by them all. The solemn sound
reached every ship and boat in the harbour. Every oar rested. There was
perfect silence; a holy calm as they sang a part of the 42d Psalm.
"O why art thou cast down,
my soul?
Why, thus with grief opprest,
Art thou disquieted in me?
In God still hope and rest:
For yet I know I shall Him praise,
Who graciously to me
The health is of my countenance,
Yea, mine own God is He." |
