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THE old minister having
no money to leave his boys when he died, wisely determined to give them,
while he lived, the best education in his power. The first thing
necessary for the accomplishment of his object, was to obtain a good
tutor, and a good tutor was not difficult to get.
James, as we shall call
the tutor of the manse boys, was a laborious student, with a most
creditable amount of knowledge of the elements of Greek and Latin. When
at college he was obliged to live in the top story of a high house in a
murky street, breathing an atmosphere of smoke, fog, and consumed
tallow; cribbed in a hot, close room; feeding on ill-cooked meat,
(fortunately in small quantities;) drinking doubly-diluted coffee;
sitting up long after midnight writing essays or manufacturing
exercises, until at last dyspepsia depressed his spirits and blanched
his visage, except where it was coloured by a hectic flush, which
deepened after a fit of coughing. When he returned home after having
carried off prizes in the Greek and Latin classes, what cared his mother
for all these honours? No doubt she was "prood o' oor James," but yet
she could hardly know her boy, he had become so pale, so haggard, and so
"unlike himself." What a blessing for James to get off to the Highlands!
He there breathed such air, and drank such water, as made him wonder at
the untaxed bounty of creation. He climbed the hills and dived into the
glens, and rolled himself on the heather; he visited old castles,
learned to fish, and perhaps to shoot, shutting both eyes at first when
he pulled the trigger. He began to write verses, and to fall in love
with one or all of the young ladies. That was the sort of life which
Torn Campbell the poet passed when sojourning in the West Highlands; ay,
for a time in this very parish too, where a lovely spot is yet pointed
out as the scene of his solitary musings. James had a great delight not
only in imparting the rudiments of language, but also in opening up
various high roads and outlying fields of knowledge. The intellectual
exercise braced himself, and delighted his pupils.
If ever "muscular
Christianity" was taught to the rising generation, the Highland manse of
those days was its gymnasium. After school hours, and on "play-days" and
Saturdays, there was no want of employment calculated to develop
physical energy. The glebe and farm made a constant demand for labour
which it was joy to the boys to contribute. Every season brought its own
appropriate and interesting work. But sheep-shearing, the reaping and
ingathering of the crops, with now and then the extra glory of a country
market for the purchase and sale of cattle, with tents, games,
gingerbread, horse jockeys, and English cattle dealers,—these were their
great annual feasts.
The grander branches of
education were fishing, sailing, shooting—game-laws being then unknown
—and also what was called "hunting." The fishing I speak of was not with
line and fly on river or lake, or the spearing of salmon in the pools,
though both these kinds of sport were in abundance; but sea-fishing,
with rod and white fly, for "seath" and mackerel in their season. It was
delightful towards evening to pull for miles to the fishing-ground in
company with other boats. A race was sure to be kept up both going and
returning, while songs arose from all hands and from every boat,
intensifying the energy of the rowers. Then there was the excitement of
getting among a great play of fish, which made the water foam for half a
mile round, and attracted flocks of screaming birds which seemed mad
with gluttony, while six or seven rods had all their lines tight, and
their ends bent to cracking with the sport, keeping every fisher hard at
work pulling in the fine lithe creatures, until the bottom of the boat
was filled with scores. Sometimes the sport was so good as to induce a
number of boats' crews to remain all night on a distant island, which
had only a few sheep, and a tiny spring of water. The boats were made
fast on the lee side, and their crews landed to wait for daybreak. Then
began the fun and frolic "sky-larking," as the sailors call it, among
the rocks—pelting one another, amid shouts of laughter, with clods and
wrack, or any harmless substance which could be collected for the
battle, until they were wearied, and lay down to sleep in a sheltered
nook, and all was silent but the beating wave, the "eerie" cries of
birds, and the splash of some sea-monster in pursuit of its prey. What
glorious reminiscences have I, too, of those scenes, and especially of
early morn, as watched from those green islands! It seems to me as if I
had never beheld a true sunrise since; yet how many have I witnessed! I
left the sleeping crews, and ascended the top of the rock, immediately
before daybreak, and what a sight it was, to behold the golden crowns
which the sun placed on the brows of the mountain-monarchs who first did
him homage; what heavenly dawnings of light on peak and scaur,
contrasted with the darkness of the lower valleys; what gems of glory in
the eastern sky, changing the cold, gray clouds of early morning into
bars of gold and radiant gems of beauty; and what a flood of light
suddenly burst upon the dancing waves, as the sun rose above the
horizon, and revealed the silent sails of passing ships; and. what
delight to see and hear the first break of the fish on the waters! With
what pleasure I descended, and gave the cheer which made all the
sleepers awake, and scramble to the boats, and in a few minutes resume
the work of hauling in our dozens! Then home with a will for breakfast —
each striving to be first on the sandy shore!
Fishing at night with the
drag-net was a sport which cannot be omitted in recording the enjoyments
of the manse boys. The spot selected was a rocky bay, or embouchure of a
small stream. The night was generally dark and calm. The pleasure of the
occupation was made up of the pull, often a long one, within the shadow
of the rocky shore, with the calm sea dimly reflecting the stars in the
sky, and then the slow approach, with gently-moving oars, towards the
beach, in order not to disturb the fish; the wading up to the middle to
draw in the net when it had encircled its prey; and the excitement as it
was brought into shallow water, the fish shining with their phosphoric
light; until, at last, a grand haul of salmon-trout, flounders, small
cod, seath, and lythe, lay walloping in the folds of the net upon the
sandy beach.
Those fishing excursions,
full of incident as they were, did not fully test or develop the powers
of the boys. But others were afforded capable of doing so. It was their
delight to accompany their father on any boating journey which the
discharge of his pastoral duties required. In favourable weather they
had often to manage the boat themselves without any assistance. When the
sky was gloomy, old Rory took the command. Such of my readers as have
had the happiness, or the horror, as their respective tastes may
determine, of sailing among the Hebrides in an open boat, will be
disposed to admit that it is a rare school for disciplining its pupils
to habits of endurance, foresight, courage, decision, and calm
self-possession. The minister's boat was about eighteen feet keel,
undecked, and rigged fore and aft. There were few days in which the
little Roe would not venture out, with Rory at the helm; and with no
other person would his master divide the honour of being the most famous
steersman in those waters. But to navigate her across the wild seas of
that stormy coast demanded "a fine hand," such as a rider for the Derby
prides himself in, and which can only be acquired by years of constant
practice. If Rory would have made a poor jockey, what jockey would have
steered the Roe in a gale of wind? I can assure the reader it was a
solemn business, and solemnly was it gone, about! What care in seeing
the ropes in order; the sails reefed; the boys in their right place at
the fore and stern sheets; and everything made snug. And what a sight it
was to see that old man when the storm was fiercest, with his one eye,
under its shaggy gray brow, looking to windward, sharp, calm, and
luminous as a spark; his hand clutching the tiller —never speaking a
word, and displeased if any other broke the silence, except the
minister, who sat beside him, assigning this post of honour as a great
favour to Rory, during the trying hour. That hour was generally when
wind and tide met, and "gurly grew the sea," whose green waves rose with
crested heads, hanging against the cloud-rack, and sometimes concealing
the land: while black sudden squalls, rushing down from the glens struck
the foaming billows in fury, and smote the boat, threatening, with a
sharp scream, to tear the tiny sail in tatters, break the mast, or blow
out of the water the small dark speck that carried the manse treasures.
There was one moment of peculiar difficulty and concentrated danger,
when the hand of a master was needed to save them. The boat has entered
the worst part of the tideway. How ugly it hooks! Three seas higher than
the rest are coming; and you can see the squall blowing their white
crests into smoke. In a few minutes they will be down on the Roe. "Look
out, Rory!" whispers the minister. "Stand by the sheets!" cries Rory to
the boys, who, seated on the ballast, gaze on him like statues, watching
his face, and eagerly listening in silence. "Ready!" is their only
reply. Down came the seas rolling, rising, breaking; falling, rising
again, and looking higher and fiercer than ever. The tide is running
like a race-horse, and the gale meets it; and the three seas appear now
to rise like huge pyramids of green water, dashing their foam up into
the sky. The first may be encountered and overcome, for the boat has
good way upon her; but the others will rapidly follow up the thundering
shock, and a sin-le false movement of the helm by even one
hair's-breadth will bring down a cataract like Niagara that would shake
a frigate, and sink the Roe into the depths like a stone. The boat meets
the first wave, and rises dry over it. "Slack out the main sheet, quick,
and hold hard; there—steady!" commands Rory in a low firm voice, and the
huge back of the second wave is seen breaking to leeward. "Haul in,
boys, and belay!" Quick as lightning the little craft, having again
gathered way, is up in the teeth of the wind, and soon is spinning over
the third topper, not a drop of water having come over the lee gunwale.
"Nobly done, Rory!" exclaims the minister, as he looks back to the
fierce tideway which they have passed. Rory smiles with satisfaction at
his own skill, and quietly remarks of the big waves, "They have their
road, and she has hers!" "Hurrah for the old boat!" exclaims one of the
boys. Rory repeats his favourite aphorism—yet never taking his eye off
the sea and sky—,, Depend on it, my lads, it is not boats that drown the
men, but men the boats !" I take it that the old Roe was no bad school
for boys who had to battle with the storms and tides of life. I have
heard one of these boys tell, when old and gray headed, and after having
encountered many a life storm, how much he owed to those habits of mind
which had been strengthened by his sea life with old Rory. [For the sake
of any genuine Celt who may be among my readers I print the following
song, still sung by many a boatman in the Western Islcs, who knows
nothing of either its subject or its author. It was composed by the
eldest son of the manse in honour of Rory. The air is the same as that
to which Sir W. Scott composed the song in the Lady of the Lake,
"Roderick Vic Alpin Dhu" :—
The "hunting" I have
alluded to as affording another branch of out-door schooling, was very
different from what goes under that term in the south. It was confined
chiefly to wild cats and otters. The animals employed in this work were
terriers. Two of the manse terriers which became famous were "Gaisgeach"
or "Hero," and "Cuilcag" or "Fly." They differed very considerably in
character: Gais; each was a large terrier with wiry black and gray hair;
Cuileag was of a dusky brown, and so small that she could be carried in
the pocket of a shooting jacket. Gaisgeach presumed not to enter the
parlour, or to mingle with genteel society; Cuileag always did so, and
lay upon the hearth-rug, where she basked and reposed in state.
Gaisgeach was a sagacious, prudent, honest police sergeant, who watched
the house day and night, and kept the farm-dogs in awe, and at their
respective posts. He was also a wonderful detective of all beggars,
foumarts, wild cats, and vermin of every kind, smelling afar off the
battle with man or beast. Cuileag was full of reticence, and seemed to
think of nothing, or to do nothing until seriously wanted; and then
indomitable courage bristled in every hair of her body. Both had seen
constant service since their puppyhood, and were covered with honourable
scars from the nose to the tip of the tail, each cut being the record of
a battle, and the :subject of a story by the boys.
The otters in the parish
were numerous, large, and fierce. There was one famous den called "Clachorain,"
or the otter's stone, composed of huge blocks, from which the sea wholly
receded during spring-tides. Then was the time to search for its
inhabitants. This was done by the terriers driving the otters out, that
they might be shot while making their way across a few yards of stone
and tangle to the sea. I have known nine killed in this one den during a
single year. But sometimes the otter occupied a den a few hundred yards
inland, where a desperate fight ensued between him and the dogs. Long
before the den was reached, the dogs became nervous and impatient,
whining and glancing up to the face of their master, and, with anxious
look, springing up and licking his hands. To let them off until quite
close to the den was sure to destroy the sport, as the otter would, on
hearing them bark, make at once for the sea. Gaisgeach could, without
difficulty, be kept in the rear, but little Cuileag, conscious of her
moral weakness to resist temptation, begged to be carried. Though she
made no struggle to escape, yet she trembled with eagerness, as, with
cocked cars and low cry, she looked out for the spot where she and
Gaisgeach would be set at liberty. That spot reached—what a
hurry-scurry, as oft they rushed, and sprang in! Gaisgeach's short bark
was a certain sign that the enemy was there; it was the first shot in
the battle. If Cuileag followed, the fight had begun in earnest.
One of the last great
battles fought by Cuileag was in that inland den. On gazing down between
two rocks which met below at an angle, Cuileag's head and the head of a
huge otter, amid loud barkings and the sound of a fierce combat, were
seen alternately appearing, as each tried to seize the throat of the
other. At last Cuileag made a spring, and caught the otter by the nose
or lip. A shepherd who was present, fearing the dog would be cut to
pieces, since the den was too narrow to admit Gaisgeach, (who seemed
half apoplectic with passion and inability to force his way in,)
managed, by a great effort, to get hold of the otter's tail, and to drag
it upwards through a hole resembling a chimney. He was terrified that
the otter, when it got its head out, would turn upon him and bite
him,—and what a bite those beautiful teeth can give!—but to his
astonishment, the brute appeared with Cuileag hanging to the upper lip.
Both being flung on the grass, Gaisgeach came to the rescue, and very
soon, with some aid from the boys, the animal of fish and fur was killed
and brought in triumph to the manse.
There is another story
about Cuileag which is worth recording. The minister, accompanied by
her, went to visit a friend, who lived sixty miles off in a direct line
from the manse. To reach the place he had to cross several wild hills,
and five arms of the sea or freshwater Lochs stretching for miles. On
their arrival the dog took her place, according to custom, on the
friend's hearthrug, from which, however, she was ignominiously driven by
a servant, and sent to the kitchen. She disappeared, and left no trace
of her whereabouts. One evening, about a fortnight afterwards, little
Cuileag entered the manse parlour, worn down to a skeleton, her paws cut
and swollen, and hardly able to crawl to her master, or to express her
joy at meeting all her dear old friends once more. Strange to say, she
was accompanied into the room by Gaisgeach, who, after frolicking about,
seemed to apologise for the liberty he took, and bolted out to bark over
the glebe, and tell the other dogs which had gathered round what had
happened. How did Cuileag discover the way home, since she had never
visited that part of the country before? How did she go round the right
ends of the lochs, which had been all crossed by boat on their onward
journey, and then recover her track, traveling twice or thrice sixty
miles? How did she live? These were questions which no one could answer,
seeing Cuileag was silent. She never, however, recovered that two weeks'
wilderness journey. Her speed was ever after less swift, and her grip
less firm.
The games of the boys
were all athletic,—throwing the hammer, putting the stone, leaping,
wrestlin- and the like. Perhaps the most favourite game was " shinty,"
called hockey, I believe, in England. This is played by any number of
persons, as many as a hundred often engaging in it. Each has a club, or
stick bent at the end, and made short or long, as it is to be used by
one or both hands. The largest and smoothest field that can be found is
selected for the game. The combat lies in the attempt of each party to
knock a ball beyond a certain boundary in his opponent's ground. The
ball is struck by any one on either side who can get at it. Few games
are more exciting, or demand more physical exertion than a good shinty
match.
I have said nothing
regarding a matter of more importance than anything touched upon in this
chapter, and that is the religious education of the manse boys. But
there was nothing so peculiar about it as to demand special notice. It
was very real and genuine; and perhaps its most distinguishing feature
was, that instead of its being confined to "tasks," and hard, dry,
starched Sunday lessons only, it was spread over all the week, and
consisted chiefly in developing the religious and domestic affections by
a frank, loving, sympathising intercourse between parents and children;
by making home happy to the "bairns;" by training them up wisely and
with tact, to reverence truth,— truth in word, deed, and manner; and to
practise unselfishness and courteous considerateness towards the wants
and feelings of others. These and many other minor lessons were never
separated from Jesus Christ, the source of all life. They were taught to
know Him as the Saviour, through whose atonement their sins were
pardoned, and through whose grace alone, obtained daily in prayer, they
could be made like Himself. The teaching was real, and was felt by the
boys to be like sunshine on dew, warming, refreshing, and quickening
their young hearts; and not like a something forced into the mind, with
which it had no sympathy, as a leaden bail is rammed down into a
gun-barrel. Once I heard an elderly Highland gentleman say that the
first impression he ever received of the reality of religion was in
connexion with the first death which occurred among the manse boys.
Need .I add, in
conclusion, that the manse was a perfect paradise for a boy during his
holidays! Oh, let no anxious mother interfere at such times with loving
grandmother and loving aunts or uncles! In spite of the Latin or Greek
lesson which his grandfather or the tutor delights to give him in the
morning, his excellent parents write to say that "too much idleness may
injure him." Not a bit! The boy is drinking in love with every drink of
warm milk given him by the Highland dairymaid, and with every look, and
kiss, and gentle hug given him by his dear grannie or aunts. Education,
if it is. worth anything, drawsi out as much as it puts in; and this
sort of education will strengthen his brain and brace his nerves for the
work of the town grammar-school, to which he must soon return. His
parents further write, "It does not do to pamper him too much, it may
make him selfish." Quite true as an educational axiom; but his
grandmother denies—bless her for it, dear, good woman I—that giving him
milk or cream ad libitum, with "scones" and cheese at all hours, is
pampering him. And his aunts take him on their knees, and fondle him,
and tell him stories, and sit beside him when he is in bed, and sing
songs to him; and there is not a herd or shepherd but wishes to make
hire happy; and old Rory has hint always beside him in the boat, and
gives him the helm, and, in spite of the old hand holding the tiller
behind the young one, persuades his "darling," as he calls him, that it
is he, the boy, who steers the boat. Oh! sunshine of youth, let it shine
on! Let love flow out fresh and full, unchecked by any rule but what
love creates; pour thyself down without stint into the young heart; make
the days of boyhood happy, for other days of labour and sorrow must
come, when the memory of those dear eyes, and clasping hands, and sweet
caressings, will, next to the love of God from which they flow, save the
man from losing faith in the human Heart, help to deliver him from the
curse of selfishness, and be an Eden in his memory when he is driven
forth into the wilderness of life! |
