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1753-1782.
MY father, Alexander
Sage, minister of Kildonan, Sutherlandshire, my grandfather's sixth
son, was born at the manse of Lochcarron on the 2nd of July, 1753.
After acquiring the first rudiments of his education under the
paternal roof, he was sent to the school of Cromarty. The teacher,
Mr. John Russel, was a man of great worth, an expert scholar, and a
licentiate of the Church. The gentry, the clergy, and the upper
class of tenants, in the shires of Ross, Cromarty, and Inverness,
sent their sons to his school. His method of teaching had not
perhaps the polished surface of those systems which are most
approved of now, but it was minute, careful, and substantial. In the
elementary rules his pupils received a training they could never
afterwards forget. My father could, at the age of seventy, repeat
the construction rules of Ruddiman's "Rudiments" and of Watt's
"Grammar" as accurately and promptly as he was accustomed to do when
the fear of Mr. John Russel was before his eyes. When the pupils
began to read Latin, they were taught to speak the language at the
same time. Among the more advanced classes not a word in the school
did any of them dare address to the teacher, or to each other, but
in Latin, and thus they were made familiar with the language. Mr.
Russel was a most uncompromising disciplinarian. The dread of his
punishment was felt, and its salutary exercise extended, not only
within the four corners of the schoolroom, but over the length and
breadth of the parish. The trifler within the school on week-days,
the sauntering lounger on the streets or oil the links of Cromarty
on the Sabbath-days, had that instinctive terror of Mr. Russel that
the beasts are said to have of the lion. The truant, quailing under
his glance, betook himself to his lesson; the saunterer on the
links, at the first blink of him on the brae-head, returned to his
home. In addition to this peremptoriness, Mr. Russel exercised a
spirit of vital piety. Profoundly versant in Scripture truth and in
experimental religion, he was the companion of all who feared God.
His love of discipline arose from a love of God, of moral duty, and
of the sacred rights of an enlightened conscience.
A characteristic
anecdote is related of him. Mr. John Cameron, a student of divinity
and parochial schoolmaster of Tain, was on his trials before the
Presbytery with a view to license. This young man possessed a fund
of natural humour, and would not hesitate, for the sake of a jest,
to sacrifice that which was important and sacred. He was afterwards
minister of Falkirk in Caithness. Mr. Cameron and Mr. Russel were
fellow-travellers on their way to the Presbytery seat where Mr.
Cameron had some of his trial discourses to deliver before the
court. They were at such a distance from their journey's end that
they had to take up their quarters at an inn by the way. Mr. Cameron
said that he had composed and committed to memory three Calvinistic
prayers to offer before the Presbytery. Having fixed them in his
memory, he kept them there in retenite, he said, to give them fresh
to the Presbytery. Mr. Russel, however, contrived, much to poor
Cameron's annoyance, to extract every one of them from him before
they parted. When they came to the inn, and before they had their
supper, Mr. Russel proposed family worship. To this Mr. Cameron did
not venture to object; besides, as Mr. Russel was a preacher of some
standing, he had no apprehension that there would be any demand for
his personal services. He was mistaken. Mr. Russel asked him to
pray, "and the end of it was," as Cameron himself told it, "that off
went one of my best prayers." After supper they were shown to their
beds, and were to be bed-fellows. Mr. Cameron was about to hasten to
a corner of the room to his private devotions, but Mr Russel
prevented him. "My friend, it is more becoming that we should pray
together first, and then pray separately before we go to bed; and,
as you are to be engaged to-morrow in prayer and preaching, you
cannot any better prepare yourself than by being frequently engaged
in social prayer." Mr. Cameron felt that an inroad had already been
made on his stock of prayers, and to the new proposal he stoutly
objected. But it would not do. Mr. Russel was peremptory—he must
again pray; "so," as he related, "down I bent to my knees, and away
went two-thirds of my stock." In the morning, when they were both
dressed, Mr. Russel said, "We are entering upon our journey, and we
ought to begin it with prayer together; let us kneel, and you'll
proceed: it will suitably prepare you, and put your mind in a proper
frame for the duties before you. Cameron resisted the proposal, but
to no purpose. "I repeated my last prayer," said Cameron, "and where
or how to get new ones in place of them I didn't know, unless I
could splice them together."
Mr. Russel was a
preacher of great power and unction. In 1774 he was settled minister
of the high Church, Kilmarnock, and from thence he was, in the year
1800, translated to Stirling, where he continued until his death in
the year 1817.
Mr. John Russel,
minister of the second charge of Stirling, died on the 23rd
February, 1817, in his 77th year and the 43rd of his ministry. Of
somewhat uncouth aspect, with a stern and gloomy countenance, he was
a fearless and most effective preacher. In his poem of "The Twa
Herds," the poet Burns has celebrated him thus:-
What herd like Russel
tell'd his tale;
His voice was heard through muir and dale."
And in the "Holy Fair," in these lines:-
"His piercin' words, like Highland swords,
Divide the joints and marrow
His talk o' hell, whare devils dwell,
Our vera saul does barrow."—Ed.
A contemporary of my
father, under Mr. Russel's tuition at Cromarty, was Charles Grant,
one of the directors of the E. I. Company, member of Parliament for
Inverness-shire, and father of Lord Glenelg. He was then a shop-lad
in the employment of William Forsyth, an enterprising merchant. How
long my father remained at the school of Mr. Russel I do not
recollect. His father came frequently to see him, and took a lively
interest in the progress of his education and in the moral culture
of his mind. Iie went to the Aberdeen University in 1776, and
prosecuted his studies at King's College. One of the professors, Ir.
Thomas Gordon, was a model of Scottish scholarship. Latin was his
element, the classics his friends; while his minute knowledge of the
language of Rome, unbalanced by an enlarged mental quality, rendered
him a pedant. He loved to express himself, not only to his students,
but to his friends, in the correct and studied periods of Sallust,
or Cicero, or Livy. The students called him "Jupiter." One of my
father's class-fellows was Duncan Munro of Culcairn. This gentleman
was pervaded with an inexhaustible fund of drollery, in which he was
wont to indulge at the risk of a broken head. May father, on one
occasion, was one of those who, for "value received ' at the hands
of Duncan, was able and willing to repay him. The students of King's
College had a ball or dance in the College lobby every Saturday
evening. At this dance, on one occasion, my father, a tall, gaunt
lad; was practising his steps, when his activity, exhibiting far
more strength than grace, attracted Munro's notice. He was holding
an orange between his thumb and forefinger, when he cast his eye on
my father; the sense of the ludicrous got the advantage of hint, and
he sent the orange at my father's head with such dexterity that,
after hitting him on the nose, it bounded to the top of the room,
with the result that all the party laughed merrily. Calculating the
consequences, Culcairn took to his heels, while my father gave
chase—down the lobby stair, out at the entry, twice round the
court-yard, until at last Culcairn, scrambling quickly over the
court-wall, got off. This facetious gentleman was heir to the estate
of Foulis. He was also connected with George Ross of Cromarty; and
his son, had he lived, would have succeeded, on the death of the
present baronet of Foulis, both to the estates of Cromarty and
Foulis. Culcairn sold his paternal property to clear off
incumbrances on the estate of Cromarty, and lived at Cromarty House,
where he died in 1820.
Having finished his
classical studies my father, on the death of my grandfather, removed
from Ross to Strathnaver in Sutherlandshire; his mother went with
him. His sister Catherine was there before him, married to Charles
Gordon of Pulrossie. They took up their abode at Clerkhill, in the
immediate vicinity of the Parish Church of Farr. Charles Gordon was
a native of the parish, descended from that branch of the clan
Gordon which originally came to Sutherland along with Adam, Lord
Aboyne, second son of the Earl of Huntly. The place of Clerkhill lie
occupied as a farm; he was besides factor on the Reay estate, and an
extensive cattle-dealer. He was twice married; by his first wife he
had no family. By his second wife, my father's eldest sister, he had
three sons and two daughters. John, the eldest, succeeded to the
family estate; William, the second son, lived after his return from
the American war at Clerkhi]l, and George at the farm of Skelpig, on
the north bank of the Laver. His eldest daughter, Fairly, married
James Anderson of Rispond, in Durness. His younger daughter married
an Englishman named Todd, and thus gave offence to her friends, as
her husband was obscure and indigent. But in London Mr. Todd got
into business, and afterwards became affluent.
Charles Gordon took a
lively interest in my father's welfare, and, he is one of the most
influential men in the Reay country, he had much in his power. To
his friendship and influence, under God, my father was indebted for
every situation which he held in that country. His first appointment
was that of parochial schoolmaster of Tongue, a situation which he
held until lie received license. When he went to Tongue his mother
accompanied him. There she died, and was buried in the tomb of the
Scouries.
The Reay country, or
"Duthaich Mhic Aoidh," extending from the river Torrisdale to the
arm of the sea dividing it from Assynt to the west, was the
territory of the clan Mackay, of which Lord Reay was chief. When my
father first came to reside in that country, Hugh, sixth Lord Reay,
bad, six years before, succeeded to the title and estate on the
death of his brother George. In early youth he showed no symptoms of
that weakness on account of which it was found necessary to place
him under a tutor for the efficient management of his estate. He
made progress in his studies, and had a great taste for music. When
his intellect gave way, he was lodged in the house of a clansman, a
relative of my father, James Mackay of Skerra, where he continued
until his death, which took place in 1797. His first tutor was his
paternal uncle, Colonel Hugh Mackay. of Bighouse, second son of
George, third Lord Reay. On his death, George Mackay of Skibo, his
brother, and third son of George, Lord Reay, was appointed. It was
during the tutorage of Mr. Mackay of Skibo that my father came first
to the country as schoolmaster of Tongue. George Mackay was a man of
note in his time, but choleric and hasty in his temper—a propensity
which has markedly characterised the whole race of the Mackays. He
was also improvident and extravagant, while his wife, the
granddaughter of Kenneth, Lord Duffus, was not more careful. To be,
during the nonage of the proprietor of a large estate, what was
usually called the "Tutor," was, in those days, tantamount to being
the actual owner. Yet, with all this advantage, George Mackay of
Skibo died a bankrupt. At his death everything went to the hammer,
and so completely stripped was his family that his children were
conveyed from the castle of Skibo in cruppers on the backs of
ponies. Mackay of Skibo, during the minority of Elizabeth, Countess
and Duchess of Sutherland, was returned member of Parliament for
that county. His Parliamentary career was distinguished by a
persistent taciturnity. How he came to be proprietor of Skibo I
cannot say. I am inclined to think that it was a part of the
property belonging to the Reay family within the limits of the
Sutherland estate, and was gifted to him by his father. After the
present Lord Reay succeeded to the inheritance of his ancestors, it
is said that he could never pass the manor of Skibo, then in
possession of the Dempsters, without shedding tears. " It would have
been my principal residence," he used to say, "and would have suited
me so well, had my father had but common sense." But his lordship
was at least equally deficient in common sense, as the recent sale
of the Reay estate so clearly proves. Col. Hugh Mackay of Bighouse
was elder brother of George Mackay of Skibo, and preceded him in the
tutorship. He became proprietor of the estate of Bighouse in
consequence of an arbitrary stretch of chieftain power by his father
George, third Lord Reay. The estate of Bighouse for four generations
was the hereditary patrimony of a family of the name of Mackay,
lineally descended from William, youngest son of Mr Mackay of Farr,
chief of the clan. The last of the proprietors of this family was
George Mackay of Bighouse, who bad a son, Hugh, and two daughters,
Elizabeth and Janet. Hugh their brother died young, and his
surviving sisters became co-heiresses of the estate of Bighouse.
Elizabeth, the elder, married Colonel Hugh Mackay, and Janet
espoused William Mackay of Melness, the lineal descendant and
representative of Colonel Eneas Mackay, a younger son of Donald,
first Lord Reay. On the death of George Mackay, last laird of
Bighouse, the estate came to be divided between his two surviving
children, Mrs. Col. Hugh Mackay, and Mrs. Mackay of Melness. Lord
Reay, however, got the property settled on the elder sister, to the
exclusion of the younger. This proceeding was resented by William of
Melness, and being a man of as much resolution as he was hot and
choleric, he resolved not tamely to submit to the injustice. Having
ascertained that his chief was at home, Melness armed himself with
his claymore, secured by a strong leathern belt round his loins, to
which was added a pair of loaded pistols. Thus accoutred Melness
crossed the Ferry below Tongue, and directed his course to the
residence of his chief. Demanding entrance he was admitted to the
parlour. ' His lordship received him with smiles, begged he would be
seated, and asked him the news of the day. "My Lord," said Melness,
"I have come to demand at your hands my just rights. My wife is
co-heiress of the estate of Bighouse, and I know," he added, raising
his voice to a. wrathful pitch, "I know that you have the titles in
your possession, and that—that—you're scheming to denude me and my
wife of our share that your son Hugh may have it. I'll not allow
this; I demand the title-deeds and the will of my father-in-law."
Lord Reay attempted to parry him off with friendly assurances. At
length, Melness got furious. "My Lord," said he, "I am not now to be
trifled with," and, striding to the room door, securely bolted it.
"Take your chance," said he, "either produce the will and the
title-deeds or take this," and pulling out his loaded pistol, he
placed it full cocked within four or five inches of his lordship's
breast. Matters had become serious, and the chief waxed pale. "Melness,"
he exclaimed, "since you must have the papers you ask, will you
allow me to go for them, they are in the strong box in my
writing-room above stairs?" Melness assented, and his chief walked
out at the parlour door and tripped upstairs. His lordship, however,
had no sooner put a strong door doubly bolted, and a double pair of
stairs between him and his kinsman, than lie took other measures.
Opening the window, he called to his footman, whom he saw in front
of the house, instructing him to request Mr. Mackay of Melness, whom
he would find in the parlour, to come out and speak to him. The
message was delivered, and on Melness making his appearance in the
close, Lord Reay called from the window, "William, go home and
compose yourself, the papers you'll never handle." Closing the
window, he put an end to all further conference. Lord Reay's son got
possession of the property, and his removal from the Reay country to
reside at Bighouse took place soon thereafter. [Rob Donn, on that
occasion, composed one of the ablest effusions of his poetic muse.
It is one of the most graphic and complete hunting songs in any
language.] These occurrences happened long before my father came to
that country. William Mackay of Melness flourished in 1727, and must
have been dead either before my father was born, or when he was a
child. During my father's residence in the Reay country, George
Mackay of Skibo was, as tutor of Reay, succeeded by his brother,
General Alexr. Mackay, after whose death, George Mackay of Bighouse
filled the office, and continued to do so until Lord Reay's death.
The leading men in the Reay country were all members of the clan
Mackay, and descended from the principal family. They held farms by
leases, or on tradset, that is, until the proprietor redeemed the
land by paying up a sum advanced on mortgage.
The most
distinguished of the Mackays of that age was "Rob Donn" the poet.
This unlettered, but highly-gifted, individual was born in the year
1714, at Alt na Caillich, Strathmore, parish of Durness. From his
early years his rich and original poetic vein was strongly
exhibited. His poetry was the plant, not in its improved and
cultivated, but in its natural state, growing in its first soil, in
wild and inimitable simplicity. Even Burns himself, high as his
claims are, must yield to Rob Donn. Burns and all his great poetic
compeers could read and rightly estimate the poetry of others. Rob
Donn could neither read nor write. He stood alone. With a poet's eye
be looked into the face of nature. Nature in its fairest or in its
most abject forms, whether animate or inanimate, rational or
irrational, was at once his theme and his study. In his poetry there
is a variety of subjects embracing all the incidents of common life.
His poetry is history—a history of everyone and everything with
which he at any time came into contact in the country in which he
lived. His descriptions do not merely let us know what these things
or persons were, but identify us with them; we behold them not as
things that were, but as things that are. They are all made to pass
in review before us, in their characters, and language, and
peculiarities, and habits. His Elegies open a fountain of sadness.
They bring us to the house of mourning, they place us by the dead
man's bed, and compel us to feel a sinking of heart in sympathy with
every member of the family at the breach that has been made, His
love songs are chaste and inimitably tender. In his satires every
vulnerable point, whether a moral deformity or a bodily defect, is
seized upon, laid bare, and subjected to the lash, every stroke of
which draws blood, and not one of which misses its aim. Unlike many
poets of eminence, he is the advocate of religion. Then and for many
years after his death, the only library in which his poems were to
be found was the memory of the people. When he composed a song, he
no sooner sang it than, with all the speed of the press, it
circulated throughout the country. An edition of his poems was
published in 1829, under the revision of Dr. Mackay of Dunoon; but
it is singularly defective. The editor was anxious to .give Rob Donn
universal publicity in the Highlands by correcting his Gaelic; but
being, unfortunately, no poet himself, he, in his attempts to
improve the poet's Gaelic, has strangled his poetry. My father, when
schoolmaster of Tongue, met with the poet. He invited him to dinner,
an invitation which was accepted. The poet was pleased with his fare
and still more with his host, and, at parting, offered to make his
entertainer the subject of a poem. This offer my father declined,
aware of those high powers of satire with which his guest was
endowed, and which, like a razor dipt in oil, never cut so keenly as
when intermingled with compliment and praise. Rob Donn died in 1778,
at the early age of sixty-four. A monument of polished granite was,
by subscription, erected to his memory in 1829, in the churchyard of
Durness, his native parish. A monument far more in keeping with the
originality and simplicity of his character was placed upon his
grave by his surviving friends soon after his decease—a rude,
unpolished slab, containing no other inscription than the two
emphatic words "Rob Donn."
That which chiefly
distinguished the Reay country in my father's time was its religious
society. The ministers who constituted the Presbytery of Tongue were
eminent for piety. The minister of Parr, Mr. George Munro, a man of
great worth and Christian simplicity, was married to my father's
maternal aunt Barbara, third (laughter of John Mackay, minister of
Lairg, by whom he had a daughter Mary. She was, after her father's
death, housekeeper to her uncle, Mr. Thomas Mackay, at the Manse of
Lairg, and after his death, resided at Dornoch. Her father, Mr.
George Munro, was one of the most-honoured and useful ministers of
his day. Previous to his settlement at Farr, lie was missionary at
Achness in the upper part of the parish, and there he began his
ministerial labours at an early age. When he first came among the
people of the district they were disposed to "despise his youth." A
pious man applied to him for baptism for his child. Mr. Munro came
to the mans house to celebrate the rite. While preparations were
making for the ordinance, Mr. Munro began to play with one of the
children. He fenced with the boy with a rod which he had in his
hand, and chased him round the room. The pious father was so shocked
at this apparent levity, that he had almost resolved not to receive
baptism at his hands. The service, however, was commenced, and
before the conclusion Mr. Munro so clearly and scripturally laid
down the nature of the ordinance and the sum of parental
obligations, that the man declared he was overwhelmed with shame
that he ever allowed himself to harbour any unworthy suspicions of
his visitor's ministerial zeal. His ministry at Achness and
afterwards at Farr was signally blessed. Some of the most eminent
Christians who subsequently made Strathnaver another Bethel were the
fruits of it. Mr. George Munro was ordained minister of Farr in
1754; he died in 1775, at the age of seventy-four.—Ed.
Two other eminent
members of the Presbytery of Tongue were Mr. John Thomson, of
1)urness, and Mr William Mackenzie, of Tongue. Mr. Thomson was a
native of the parish of Avoch in the Black Isle. When settled
minister of Durness, he was deficient both in Gaelic and in sound
theology. The former defect he never overcame; not so, however, with
regard to his theology. He had not been many years minister of
Durness when it underwent a decided change. His doctrine, at first,
had been a mixture of law and gospel, grace and good works, not,
however, placed in their proper and scriptural relation. Rob Donn,
in a poem which he composed on the clergy of a former generation—the
predecessors of those who have been named—remarks that "one of them
may be found who on Sabbath day will assert that Christ is our
Saviour, but who a week after will declare that there is no profit
but in works; at one time he will fly so high and, anon, he will
creep so low that, being like neither a bird nor a mouse, be makes
of himself a filthy bat."
Mr. Thomson at first
preached in such a strain as this, and, having neither the powers of
oratory nor of mind to shape his doctrines into a regular system,
nor anything like intelligible language to convey it, his preaching
was rejected by the pious and scoffed at by the profane. Having
preached a sermon on one occasion at Eriboll, a place within the
boundaries of his parish, some of the best and most eminent
Christians among his hearers were highly dissatisfied. At a
fellowship meeting held at the same place next day, at which Mr.
Thomson presided, they resolved to give out a question bearing on
his doctrine. It was taken up and discussed. Mr. Thomson saw their
device, and, highly offended, dismissed the meeting. The attack,
however, led him to reflect and to test his own views by the
Scriptures, the result being that, after many private conferences
with his co-presbyter, Mr. William Mackenzie, he retracted his
erroneous opinions, eagerly embraced the gospel, and preached it to
his people. He became thereafter a zealous and devoted servant of
Christ, and, to the close of his life, was a most exemplary pattern
of that "simplicity and godly sincerity" by which the Spirit of
Christ is most clearly manifested. He died in 1811, and was
succeeded by his son-in-law, Mr. William Findlater, who was inducted
in 1812. Mr. John Thomson was a man of great Christian simplicity,
but very peculiar in his manner. When be preached, or when he
expressed himself keenly in any argument, he had an odd habit of
spitting in his fist. His powers of utterance, especially in the
Gaelic language, being very limited, he made much use of his hand
when he spoke to enforce what he did say. lie was the immediate
successor of Mr Murdoch .Macdonald, the patron and warmly-attached
friend of Rob Done, with whom, however, Mr. Thomson was by no means
such a favourite. The bard, though prejudiced against Mr. Thomson,
could not but respect him. But the brother of the minister could not
escape the wit of Rob Donn in one of the bitterest of his satires is
hurled at the head of poor Lewis Thomson.
In 1769 Mr. William
Mackenzie succeeded 24r. John Mackay as minister of Tongue. Previous
to his settlement in that parish he was missionary of Achness,
having succeeded Mr. Munro of Farr in that charge. He was a lively,
eloquent preacher of considerable talent and fervent piety, also of
a fine personal appearance. He was much beloved at Achness, and no
less so by the parishioners of Tongue, among whom he laboured for
upwards of sixty years. While at Achness he married Jean, daughter
of the Rev. William Porteous of Rafford, a near relative of the
eminent John Porteous of Kilmuir-Easter in Ross-shire. She was a
woman of considerable accomplishments, and a great talker. Her
husband was also rather loquacious, and, when they were both
present, whether at their own hospitable board or elsewhere,
conversation was not allowed to flag. They not only engrossed the
whole of it, but went full tilt against each other, for the purpose
of talking one another down, especially when they both resolved to
tell the same anecdote. It was the practice in those days for the
people to bring presents to the minister, consisting entirely of
eatables, such as butter, cheese, and mutton. Mr. Mackenzie was
loaded with such gifts. On one occasion, when he was at Achness, as
lie used to relate, lie had gone out in the forenoon to visit his
people. Upon his return he came in to witness an amusing spectacle.
The floor of their little parlour at Achness he found covered with
six wedders, each of which was flanked with parcels of fresh butter,
cheese, and baskets of eggs. Six honest housewives, the donors and
bearers of these presents, were placed, side by side, on a form
close by the wall. His wife stood in front of them, and laboured
hard to do the honours of her house. It was, however, rather a
puzzling task. She could speak no Gaelic, and not one solitary
syllable of English did they know. But she was determined not to
stop at this rather formidable obstacle. She produced meat and
drink, the best the house could afford, and began and ended the
repast by a round of kisses, beginning at the first and ending at
the last of them, being the only way by which she could make them to
know that they were heartily welcome to their lunch, and that she
was grateful for their presents. Coming to her relief, Mr. Mackenzie
spoke to them in language which they could better understand. [Mr.
William Mackenzie was admitted to the parish of Tongue in 1769; he
died in January 1534 at the ago of ninety-six, in the 67th year of
his ministry.—Ed).]
As a teacher, my
father had three distinguishing qualities—assiduity, fidelity, and,
I must add, severity. The last of these arose from a hasty temper
and his own early training. My father's temper was hot, but it was
connected with that generosity which makes kind-hearted, hasty men
the favourites of those who personally know them. His natural heat
of temper too was the more formidable inasmuch as it was combined
with a more than ordinary measure of personal strength. lie was six
feet one inch in height, with great breadth of chest and shoulders.
To his scholars therefore his temper when ruffled was no trifle. Let
me do him only justice, however, by saying that, it was never called
forth but by carelessness, disobedience to authority, or vice—in
short, by any of those things which thoughtless youth are so ready
to throw as obstacles in the way of their own progress or
improvement. To remove these obstacles he subjected his pupils to
strict discipline, and the heat of temper with which he did so was
expressive, not of any ill-will towards the offenders, but of
anxiety that the ends of discipline should be secured. On one
occasion his severity excited a mutiny. His pupils combined to pay
back in kind some very hard knocks which some of them had received.
In those days scholars were not invariably schoolboys. Many attended
his school who were nearly as old as himself, and some of them of
considerable strength. At the head of the conspiracy were, of
course, the strongest of them. They had agreed that on the first
occasion when any boy was flogged, a simultaneous attack should be
made upon the master. The occasion they anticipated soon offered
itself. One of the scholars was called up to account for some
misdemeanours, and was convicted. But just as the master was in the
act of inflicting punishment, the mutineers rushed out of their
seats and attacked him. The onset was so sudden, and on his part so
unexpected, that, for a moment, he offered no resistance. But his
apparent passiveness was but as the calm which is the prelude to the
storm. With his ponderous arm he dealt heavy blows on his
assailants, and, in a few minutes, cleared the schoolroom. The
lesson of subordination which he so impressively taught was not
forgotten so long as lie filled the office, and lie received from
his pupils ever afterwards an implicit obedience. One of the
ringleaders was Hugh Mackay, a native of the parish of Tongue, who,
in 1793, became minister of Moy, Inverness-shire. Mr. Mackay was
known as a decided and deeply-exercised Christian. He was the
intimate friend in Christian fellowship and ministerial labour of my
uncle, Dr. Fraser of Kirkhill. He died in 1804, amidst the
lamentations of his flock.
Though my father's
severity was resented by some, yet he was a favourite with others,
and indeed ultimately with all his pupils. After passing the usual
preliminary trials before the Presbytery of Tongue, lie was by them
licensed to preach the gospel on the 2nd of April, 1779. He now
resigned the school, and was employed for several years as assistant
to the Rev. Alexander Pope, minister of Reay, which office he held
until Mr. Pope's death in 1782. When he assisted Mr. Pope, he
resided, in the capacity of private tutor, in the family of his
relative, by the mother's side, and the principal heritor of the
parish, George Mackay of Bighouse. Mr. Pope was a native of
Sutherlandshire. His father was the last Episcopal minister of Loth,
and he was the lineal descendant of Charles Pope, Episcopal minister
of the parish of Kirkmichael. now united with Cullicudden. Another
of his ancestors, William Pope, was precentor of the Cathedral of
Dornoch, of whom Sir Robert Gordon, in his history of the family of
Sutherland, supplies some notices. Alexander Pope was the eldest son
of a numerous family of sons and daughters. He had been most
liberally educated, and being himself a man of more than ordinary
talent, he made a corresponding use of his advantages. He was an
accomplished classical scholar, an intelligent antiquary, and was
intimately conversant with science. [Mr. Pope was an accomplished
antiquary; he contributed materials to Mr. Pennant, in relation to
Strathuaver, Caithness, and Sutherland, was a writer for "Archaeologia
Scotiea," and translated a portion of the "Oreades" of Torfaeus.—Ed.]
When a young man he became acquainted with his namesake, Alexander
Pope, the poet. He went to England purposely to visit this
celebrated man. Their meeting at first was rather stiff and cold,
arising, it is believed, from his having taken the liberty of
calling in travelling attire. After he had come in contact with the
strong and well-furnished intellect of his Scottish namesake,
however, the poet relaxed, and their intercourse became cordial.
Their correspondence was kept up. A copy of his poems, published in
1717, the poet sent to his friend at Reay, which, at the auction of
Mr. Pope's books, after his death, was purchased by Mr. Thomas
Jolly, minister of Dunnet. Mr. Pope was settled at Reay in 1734. He
was a man of extraordinary strength, fervent piety, and unflagging
zeal. His parishioners, when he was first settled among them, were
not only ignorant but flagrantly vicious. Like the people of
Lochcarron, they were Episcopalians in name, but heathens in
reality. Mr. Pope soon discovered that they required a very rough
mode of treatment, and being from his strength furnished with a
sufficient capacity to administer any needful chastisement, he
failed not vigorously to exercise it. He usually carried about with
him a short thick cudgel, which, from the use he was compelled to
make of it, as well as from a sort of delegated constabulary
authority he had from Sinclair of Ulbster, the Sheriff of the
county, was known as "the bailie." One Sabbath evening, after
preaching to a small audience, he sat down on a stone seat at the
west end of the manse. About a hundred yards distant stood a small
hut used as a tavern. Mr. Pope soon observed that the inn was better
attended than the church had been, and discovered among those
visiting it a number of his parishioners, whose little measure of
sense and reflection was overpowered by the fumes of the liquor in
which they had indulged. As he was revolving in his mind what he
should do to break up this pandemonium, two stout fellows from the
crowd moved towards him. On coming up, they said that they were
requested by their companions to ask him to come over and join their
party. Mr. Pope declined the invitation, and told them that, while
he commended their hospitality, he was very much grieved at their
conduct in thus employing the day of sacred rest, instead of
engaging in the services which God had enjoined. He accordingly
exhorted them to disperse. "You are most ungrateful," said the
deputies, "to refuse our hospitality, and if you think that we are
to give up the customs of our fathers for you, or all the Whig
ministers in the country, you'll find yourself in error. But come
along with us, for if we repeat your words to our neighbours they'll
call you to such a reckoning that you will be wishing you had never
uttered them." Mr. Pope told them that he spoke the truth, that the
truth he would never retract, that he was accountable to God, and
that, in the path of duty, he never saw the man, or number of men,
that would daunt him. Hearing this the men set off at a round pace
to join their associates. In a few minutes after their arrival the
inmates of the tavern turned out, and Mr. Pope saw nearly a dozen
strong, able-bodied men advancing upon him, not so drunk that they
could not fight, nor yet sober enough to refrain from so doing.
Guessing their intentions, Mr. Pope rose from his seat, placed his
back to the wall, grasped " the bailie," and stood firm. The
foremost of the gang held in his hands a bottle and glass. When
within three feet of Mr. Pope, he deliberately filled the glass,
asked the minister to drink, and told him that it would be far
better for him to warm his heart with a glass of whisky than, by
refusing, to risk the safety of his head. Mr. Pope refused, and
again renewed his remonstrances against such practices on the Lord's
day. This was the signal for battle. The fellow now threw the bottle
towards the minister's head, when Mr. Pope prostrated him by a
stunning blow with his baton. Three or four strong savages next came
forward in turn to avenge the fall of their companion, but these,
one after the other, succumbed under the weight of "the bailie"
vigorously applied. The rest of the gang soon beat a hasty retreat,
carrying with them their wounded companions.
Mr. Pope visited his
parishioners, when first settled amongst them, in the disguise of a
drover, pedlar, or stranger on a journey, asking lodgings and
hospitality, which in those days were never refused even by the
rudest. On one occasion, after partaking of hospitality, lie by main
force compelled his host to allow family worship to be conducted.
When the poor man discovered that his guest was his minister, he was
much impressed; ever afterwards he kept family worship himself,
became a devout man, and was subsequently ordained as an elder. Mr.
Pope chose as elders, not only the most decent and orderly, but also
the strongest men in the parish, the qualification of strength being
particularly necessary for the work which they often had to do, and
which was performed on what Dr. Chalmers would have called the
"aggressive principle." A very coarse fellow, occupying a small
farm, kept a mistress, by whom he had two children. Cited to appear
before the Session, he obeyed the summons, and, in a few words, made
his statement of the case. Mr. Pope pointed out to him the
sinfulness of his conduct, and insisted that, in conformity to the
law and discipline of the Church, he should make a public profession
of his repentance, by appearing before the congregation on the
following Sabbath to be rebuked. "Before I submit to any such
thing," said the farmer, "you may pluck out my last tooth." "We
shall see," replied the minister, dismissing him. This Session
meeting was held on a Monday, and it was agreed, before the close,
that three of the strongest elders should repair to the farmer's
house next Sabbath morning, and forcibly bring him to church. When
Sabbath came this was done. The elders went to the man's house about
ten o'clock, and, after a stout conflict, he was mastered, bound
with a rope, and marched to church. One of the elders now went to
Mr. Pope for further instructions. "Bind him to one of the seats
before the pulpit," said Mr. Pope, "and sit one of you on each side
of him till the service is finished." His orders were obeyed. At the
close of the service, before pronouncing the benediction, Mr. Pope
rose to reprove the offender. "You told us," said the minister,
"that we might pull the last tooth out of your head before you would
submit to be where you are, but," pointing his finger in scorn at
him, and uttering one of the most contemptuous sounds with his
breath between his lips, which can better be imagined than
described, he added, "Poor braggart, where are you now?" The address
was in Gaelic. The fellow duly served discipline, but the epithet
applied to him on this occasion stuck to him for life, and to his
family for several generations.
During the course of
his ministry, many of Mr. Pope's parishioners advanced in the
knowledge of the truth, and also in the arts of civilised life. Ale
and whisky drinking was discontinued on the Sabbath evenings, though
too much indulged in on week days. One evening the landlady of the
tavern came to him with the complaint that six men from a distance,
who had come in the forenoon, had continued drinking ever since,
that they refused to leave, and were now fighting with each other,
and that she was afraid they would break all her furniture, and set
the house on fire. After reproving her for keeping so disorderly a
house, Mr. Pope directed her to get a ladder and place it against
the back wall of her dwelling, to fill so many tubs of water,
leaving them at the foot of the ladder, and to await his coming. All
this was done, and in about half-an-hour thereafter, when the topers
were holding high carnival within, Mr. Pope, seizing one of the
tubs, mounted the ladder, and, sitting astride the roof, removed
some thatch and turf, and emptied the contents of the tub upon the
Bacehanalians below. This was followed by a. second and a third
down-pour as quickly as Mr. Pope could be furnished with tubs of
water from below, with which he was readily supplied by the active
co-operation of the landlord and his wife. The consequence of this
ready method with the drinkers may be easily conceived. Their coats
were drenched, and, like as many bulldogs under similar treatment,
they let go their hold of each other and rushed out. Coming to
understand, however, that the landlord and his wife had a hand in
the matter, they were about to deal with them rather roughly; but
Mr. Pope had already descended from aloft, and, with "the bailie" in
his hand, stood beside them. It was enough, they all scampered off.
Mr. Pope made an
annual practice of visiting his people and catechising them. When
thus engaged he sought particularly to impress on his parishioners,
especially the heads of families, the duty of holding family
worship, giving them directions how they should proceed, and, in his
subsequent visits, questioning them whether they had or had not
followed his directions. Coming to the house of one William
Sutherland, at a place called Caraside, he questioned him on this
important duty. Sutherland answered that he was not in the habit of
keeping family worship, as lie had no prayers, "but my goot parson,"
he added, "gin ye give me a twelvemonths after this day, by the time
ye're coming roun' amang us the next year, I'll be ready for you."
To this proposal Mr. Pope agreed, and at about that time next year
lie called at Caraside. "Weel, minister," said Sutherland, "I'm
ready for ye now," and, without further prelude, he went down upon
his knees, and uttered aloud a long Gaelic prayer. Scarcely had the
last syllable ceased on his lips, when he started up again, and
said, "Now, sir, what think ye of that?" "O, my friend," Mr. Pope
replied, "it will never do; you must begin again if you would learn
to pray aright." Sutherland was amazed. "It won t do, do you say,
sir; I have spent a whole year in making up that prayer, and rather
than lose my labour, if it winna do for a prayer, I'll break it
down, and make two graces of it." And Sutherland was true to his
word; to the day of his death the blessing before meat was implored
in the words of the first part of his prayer, and thanks returned in
the words of the second.
Mr. Pope was a rigid disciplinarian, so much so as to induce many,
who had rendered themselves liable to discipline, to become
fugitives from it. On one occasion he had, at the close of the
service, to refer to an individual, who, from his conduct, had
fallen under the ban of his Session, but dreading the severity of
the tribunal before which he had to appear, had absconded. Mr. Pope
was very indignant, and said that, hide himself as he chose, he
would find him out; "yes,' he added, " and should he go to hell
itself, I'll follow him, to get him back." Mr. Mackay of Bighouse
was in the church, and, after the service, he called at the manse.
Addressing Mr. Pope, he said, "I have called upon you to-day, sir,
to bid you farewell, before you set out on your perilous journey."
"What do you mean, Bighouse?" said Mr Pope. "Oh, you told us
to-day," said Mr. Mackay, "that you were to set out in pursuit of an
evil-doer, and that you would follow him even to hell." "Don't jest,
my good friend, on a subject that eternity will make serious
enough," replied Mr. Pope; "hell is the place appointed, no doubt,
for all evil-doers in eternity, but the ways of sin and its
delusions are hell on earth, and if I follow the sinner, with the
word of God and the discipline of the church, into all his attempts
to hide his sin, I go to hell for him, and, if successful, from hell
I shall be instrumental in bringing him back."
Towards the close of
his life, Mr. Pope lost the use of his limbs, and, for some time,
was carried to the pulpit in a sort of litter. His son James, who
had gone through the usual course of study for the church, was
licensed to preach, and was, in 1779, admitted as his father's
assistant and successor. He was a young man of very superior
talents, and of decided piety, and gave every promise of being the
worthy successor of so good a father. But he died soon after his
ordination, sorely lamented by his father and all the parishioners.
It was in consequence of this that my father became his assistant,
which he continued to be until Mr Pope's death in 1782.
When the parish
became vacant my father's friends made every exertion to procure him
the succession. The living was in the gift of the Crown, and due
application was made by his friends, Mr. Mackay of Bighouse and Mr.
Gordon of Pulrossie, warmly seconded by a great majority of the
parishioners. These, however, were not the days of popular
settlements, and the application was not successful. George Mackay,
a ferryman at Bonar, had a son. David, who was a preacher, and this
young man was recommended to Mr. Mackay of Skibo, the tutor of Reay
and Member for Sutherland, who made him his protege. Mr. David
Mackay was, through his interest, presented to the parish, and
admitted minister of Reay in 1783. He was a worthy, pious man, hut,
during his incumbency of fifty-one years, he was unable to effect
much good in his parish. Soon after his settlement he became an
invalid. He suffered from a nervous disorder which, though it did
not interfere with his physical health, totally unfitted him for the
discharge of his ministerial physical with the exception of
preaching every Sabbath.
He laid down some
rules, however, whereby to regulate both his diet and his physical
exercise, and, by a strict adherence to these, he succeeded in
turning his imaginary ailments into the most efficient means of
preserving his health and prolonging his life. He died when upwards
of eighty years of age.
Mr. David Mackay,
minister of Reay, was noted alike for his piety and literary
industry. So early as four in the morning he commenced his studies
daily. He was particularly remarkable for fostering rising merit,
and in bringing forward, from humble life to stations of usefulness,
young persons of ability. He died in 1835, at the age of eighty-four
years.—Ed). |
