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MR. SMELLIE called upon the Sergeant
next forenoon. His manner was cold and formal, as that of one who had
power, if not right, on his side, and whose pride was flattered by the
conviction that his real or supposed opponent was in the wrong. His
reception was equally cold, for although Adam had respect for his
minister, and also for Mr. Menzies, he had, as we have already said, none
whatever for Mr. Smellie.
"Mr. Mercer," said Smellie, "I have
called on you, in order first of all to correct a grave error you have
committed in regard to Mary Semple, the child boarded by the Kirk Session
with Mrs. Craigie."
I'm not aware, Mr. Smellie," replied
the Sergeant. "that you are the Kirk Session, or have any richt
whatsomever to correct my error, as ye ca't, in this matter."
Smellie smiled sarcastically, and
added, "In a friendly way at least, Mr. Mercer. You, of course, ken that
the whole expense of the bairn must be borne by yersel', for I don't
believe that the Session will pay one farthing to you—not a farthing! - as
you have ta'en her from Mrs. Craigie on your ain responsibility."
"I ken a' that; and I ken also that I
mean to keep her frae Mrs. Craigie, unless the Session and the law hinder
me, and compel me to gie her up; which is no' likely; but if they do, on
them be the curse of injuring the orphan. Understan' then that I mean to
keep her at my a* in expense, even should the Session offer to pay for
her. Anything else, Mr. Smellie?"
"Weel then, Mr. Mercer," said Smellie,
"see til't, see til't; for there will be determined opposition to you."
"I have had worse in my day,. Mr.
Smellie," drily replied the Sergeant, "and I'm no' feared. In the meantime
Mary remains here, and I'm determined she'll never return to Mrs.
Craigiethat's settled. An' if the Session kent the woman as I do, and
maybe as ye do, they wad be thankfu', as I am, that Mary is wi' me and no'
wi' her. Onything mair to complain o' in what ye Ca' a freendly way?"
"Oh, naething, naething!" said Mr.
Smellie, with pent-up annoyance, "except that the committee which the
Session appointed— that's me and Mr. Menzies—to deal with you about this
scandal—a most unpleasant business—mean to Ca' upo' you this evening at
six, if that hour will suit."
"As wee!, or as ill, as ony other hour,
Mr. Smellie," replied Adam, "for I dinna mean to be dealt wi', either by
you or by Mr. Menzies."
"No' to be dealt with, Mr. Mercer! Do
ye mean to say that ye won't even receive the committee?" he asked with
amazement.
"That's jist exactly what I mean, Mr.
Smellie!" replied Adam; "I don't mean to receive your committee, that's
plain, and you may tak' a minute o't. If ye wish to ken why, ye had better
speer at Mr. Porteous. But ye needna trouble yoursel' wi' me. What I have
said I'll stan' to like a man; what I have promised I'll perform like a
Christian; and what I canna do, I winna do! If ye need mair explanation,
this maybe will suffice:—that I'll no' kill my bird for you, nor for the
Session, nor yet for the minister, nor for the hail parish; and tht ye may
as well try to kill me wi' blank cartridge, as try yer han' in persuading
me to kill the starling. Sae, Mr. Smellie, as far as that business is
concerned, ye may gang hame, and no wat yer shoon to come my gait ony mair"
"Sae be't, sae be't!" replied Sniellie,
with a cackle of a laugh, as much as to say, "I have him!" He then bowed
and departed, walking silently like a cat along the street, but not
purring. Yet he seemed to be feeling for something with the long hairs
which projected from his whiskers like bristles.
Poor Adam! Now began such a week in his
history as he never had experienced before. Oh! it was cold, dark, and
dreary! He had to drink the cup of loneliness in the midst of his
fellowmen—the bitterest cup which can be tasted by any one who loves his
brother. But all his suffering was kept within his own heart, and found
"no relief in word, or sigh, or tear."
What a sinner he had become in the
opinion ot many of the respectable inhabitants of Drumsylie! What a double
distilled spirit of evil!—far over proof, for no proofs are ever applied
to such evil spirits. Drumsylie was all agog about him. He was as
interesting as a shipwreck to a seaport town; as a great swindle to a
stock exchange; or as a murder to a quiet neighbourhood! What had he done?
What had he been guilty of? Some said, or at least heard that some one
else had said, that he had insulted the minister and the Kirk Session;
others, that he had secretly supported himself as a poacher; others, that
he had been heard to declare, that rather than kill the bird, he would,
out of mere spite and obstinacy, give up the eldership, the Church, ay,
even Christianity itself; others, that he had stolen a child from Mrs.
Craigie, whom, though a woman, he, a soldier, had threatened to strike in
his own house. He was a terror even to evil doers
Most marvellous is this birth and
upbringing of lies! Who lays the first egg? How does it multiply so
rapidly? And how singular is the development of each of the many
eggs—through all the stages of evil thoughts, suspicious hints, wondering
if's and maybe's, perversions, exaggerations, fibs, white lies—until it is
fully hatched into out-and-out lies repeated with diligence, malice, and
hate! We can give no account of this social phenomenon except the old one,
of the devil being first the parent of the whole family, and his then
distributing and boarding out each to trustworthy friends to be hatched
and trained up in the way it should go in order to please him, its parent.
In Drumsylie, as in other towns, there
were some who so indulged the self- easing habit of confessing and
mourning over the sins and shortcomings of their neighbours, that they had
little time or inclination to confess their own. Some of these confessors
might be heard during this week in Adam's history lamenting:-" Oh! it's a
dreadfu' place this! Eh! it's eneuch to keep ane sleepless to think o't!
Whan a man like Adam Mercer, wi' a' his knowledge and profession, becomes
a scoffer, and despises ordinances, and," &c. &c.
But it would be unjust to Drumsylie and
the into out-and-out lies repeated with diligence, malice, and hate! We
can give no account of this social phenomenon except the old one, of the
devil being first the parent of the whole family, and his then
distributing and boarding out each to trustworthy friends to be hatched
and trained up in the way it should go in order to please him, its parent.
In Drumsylie, as in other towns, there
were some who so indulged the self-pleasing habit of confessing and
mourning over the sins and shortcomings of their neighbours, that they had
little time or inclination to confess their own. Some of these confessors
might be heard during this week in Adam's history lamenting:-" Oh! it's a
dreadfu' place this! Eh! it's eneuch to keep ane sleepless to think o't!
Whan a man like Adam Mercer, wi' a' his knowledge and profession, becomes
a scoffer, and despises ordinances, and," &c. &c.
But it would be unjust to Drumsylie and
the Sergeant to affirm that this state of public feeling had not very many
marked exceptions. Some, chiefly among the poor, truly loved him, and
sympathised with him, and openly confessed this. Many protested, in
private at least, against his treatment. But such is, alas! the moral
cowardice or maybe the thoughtlessness only, of even good men, that few
expressed to Adam himself their goodwill towards him, or their confidence
in his righteousness. It is indeed remarkable, in a free country of brave
men, how very many there are who, before taking any decided part in
questions which distract communities, small or great, attentively consider
on which side the hangman is, or seems likely to be. The executioner's
cord seen in the possession of this or that party has a wonderful
influence on the number of its adherents. As far as appearances went, this
sign of authority and power was supposed for the time being to be in the
possession of the Rev. Daniel Porteous, And so the cautious and prudent
consoled themselves by saying: "It is not our business," or "Least said
soonest mended," or "Why quarrel with the minister?" or "Why disp1eac my
aunt, or my uncle, who are so bigoted and narrow?" or "Mr. Porteous and
the majority of Session may be wrong, but that, is their affair, not
ours." Such were some of the characteristic sayings of the men who were
doubtful as to the side which possessed Caicraft and his cord of office.
Mr. Smellie had communicated Adam
Mercer's resolution to Mr. Menzies, and this had deterred him from
attempting to follow in the track of expostulation with Adam, which it was
evident would lead to nothing. Smellie had failed—who could succeed? Mr.
Menzies ought to have tried. Some success by one good man in dealing with
another good man, is certain.
The Session met on the next Sunday
after Adam's quarrel with his minister, or rather of his minister with
him. The court was, as usual, it by prayer." But whether the spirit of
prayer constitutes the spirit of every meeting opened by it, may, without
offence, be questioned. It is unnecessary to condense the debates—for
debates there were at this meeting. Adam, with a soldier's gentlemanly
feeling, did not attend, lest it might be supposed that he wished to
influence the court. Smellie, in spite of some opposing murmurs of
dissent, ascribed his absence to "contumacious pride," and the minister
did not contradict him.
Mr. Porteous addressed the court. He
asked whether it was possible for them to stop proceedings in the case of
Mr. Mercer without stultifying themselves? Had they not taken the very
mildest and most judicious course, and considered both what was due to
themselves and also to their erring brother? Yet they had not only failed
to obtain the slightest concession from him, but he had gone so far as
even to refuse to receive or confer with their own committee! The case was
no doubt most distressing to them all, but, as far as he could see, it
would bring well-merited ridicule on all Church discipline if they dropped
it at this stage. To appoint another deputation would be disrespectful to
the dignity of the court; and as for himself, he had done all he could
since their last meeting to bring about an amicable settlement: for, on
the previous Sabbath evening, he had had a private interview in the manse
with Mr. Mercer, whch had terminated, he grieved to say, in a most
unsatisfactory manner.
Such was the general tenor of the
minister's harangue. Mr. Gordon, backed by William Simpson, farmer, of
Greenfield, and Andrew Grainger, watchmaker, argued against the
minister—the latter declaring that the Session were putting back the hands
of the clock, and falling behind time. But all in vain! Adam, by the
casting vote of the Moderator, was "suspended" from the eldership; that
is, deprived for a time of his official position. Mr. Gordon and the two
elders who supported him, vehemently protested against what they called
the "tyrannical proceeding of the majority." Most fortunately for the
cause of justice, the Rev. Daniel was not a bishop who could rule his
parish presbyters as his "Principles," whims, or—pardon the irreverent
insinuation- indigestion, might dictate. There was a higher court, and
there was the law of the land, higher than the court, to curb the
minister's will, or as he always called it when in a passion—his
conscience. The sentence of the Session might be, as was confidently
anticipated, reversed by the Presbytery, though the district was
notoriously narrow and prejudiced, and some of the clergy fancied that
moving straws showed how the winds of heaven blew, when they were only
stirred by their own breath.
When Adam returned on that Sunday
afternoon from church, he fortunately did not know,' though he more than
suspected, what the decision of the Kirk Session had been. He knew
certainly that his case must not only have come before the court, but must
also, from its nature, have caused such a division of opinion as would
make his position as an elder one of remark, of suspicion, and, to him, of
personal pain. It was a temporary comfort, however, that he had no certain
bad news to communicate to Katie, and that he could say, as he did with
truth, "It wasna for me to be present, or to interfere. They have done
their duty nae doot, an' I have done mine as far as I could."
When his humble Sunday meal was over,
and before sunset, Adam went to visit one or two of the sick, infirm, or
bedridden, who were on his list to attend to as an elder. Not until he was
on his way to their homes did he realize the fact that, for the present at
least, he was probably no longer an elder. But as he never had formed the
habit of visiting the sick as a mere official, but had made his office
only a better means. given him in God's providence, for gratifying his
benevolent and Christian feelings, he vent, as he was wont to do, with a
peaceful spirit and loving heart. The poor and suffering whom he visited
received him with their usual kindness and gratitude. They felt that Adam
could not be a bad or false man; that in him was love—love in its
meekness, calmness, self- possession. sympathy, and forgiveness of others.
They could not, perhaps, explain the grounds of their perfect and
unreserved confidence in him, yet they could not—it was
impossible----entertain. any doubts of his Christian character which could
hinder their hearts from feeling what they in many cases expressed with
their lips, that "A real guid man is Adam Mercer! It's me that should
say't, for he has been aye kind and guid to me. I'm no saying wha's richt
or wrang; I ken this only, that I'll stan' by Adam! I wish we had mair
like him!"
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