The Standard Bearer

“Man, Quintin,” he cried, “ye should have fetched Telfair and the Presbytery with you. Ye are not fit for the job by yourself. Mind you, this is no hotchin’ wee de’il, sitting cross-legged on the hearth in the gloaming like Andrew Mackie’s in Ringcroft. It takes the black Father of Spirits himself, ripe from hell, to grip the Bull of Earlstoun, and set him to roaring like this in the blank middle of the day.”

“But,” said I, “there is One stronger than any devil or devilkin – your father’s and your mother’s God! You are but a great bairn, Sandy. Do ye mind where ye first learned the Lord’s Prayer and the Twenty-third Psalm?”

At my words the great mountain of a man threw his head back and dropped his sword.

“Aye, I mind,” he said, sullenly.

“Where was it?” said I.

“It was at my mother’s knee in the turret chamber that looks to the woods, if ye want to ken.”

“What did your mother when ye had ended the lesson?”

“What is that to you, Quintin MacClellan?” he thundered, fiercely. “I tell you, torment me not!”

He snarled this out at me suddenly like the roar of a beast in a cage, thrusting forth his head at me and showing his teeth in the midst of his red beard.

“What did your mother when ye had learned your psalm?”

“She put her hands upon my head.”

“And then what did she?”

“She prayed.”

“Do ye mind the words of that prayer?”

“I mind them.”

“Then say them.”

“I will not!” he shouted loud and fierce, clattering his gun on the floor and leaping to his feet. His sword was in his hand, and he pointed it threateningly at me.

“You will not say your mother’s prayer,” I answered; “then I will say it for you.”

“No, you shall not, Quintin MacClellan,” he growled. “If it comes to that, I will say it myself. What ken you about my mother’s prayer?”

“I have a mother of mine own, and not once nor twice she hath said a prayer for me.”

The point of the sword dropped. He stood silent.

“Her hands were on your head,” I suggested, “you had finished your prayers. It was in the turret chamber that looks to the north.”

“I ken – I ken!” he cried, turning his head this way and that like a beast tied and tormented.

But in his eyes there grew a far-away look. The convulsive fingers loosened on the sword-hilt. The blade fell unheeded to the ground and lay beside the empty musket.

“O Lord!” he gasped, hardly above his breath, “from all the dangers of this night keep my laddie. From powers of evil guard him with thy good angels. The Lord Christ be his yoke-bearer. Deliver him from sin and from himself. When I am under green kirkyard sward, be Thou to him both father and mother. O God, Father in Heaven, bless the lad!”

It was his mother’s prayer.

And as the words came softer Alexander Gordon fell on his knees, and moaned aloud in the dim smoky garret.

Then, judging that my work was done, I, too, kneeled on my knees, and for the space of an hour or thereby the wind of the summer blew through the chamber, the shadows crawled up the walls, and Alexander Gordon moved not nor spoke.

Then I arose, took him by the hand, and bade him follow me. We went down both of us together. And in the room below we found Mary, who had sat listening with her head on her hand.

“Here is your father,” I said; “take him to his chamber, and when he is ready bring him again into the great room.”

So very obediently he went with her as a little child might.

Presently she brought him in again, clean washed and with the black look gone from his brow.

I bade her set him by the window. She looked at me to see if she should leave us alone. But I desired her to stay.

Then very gently I set the right way before him.

“Alexander,” said I, “ye have done that which has worked great scandal. Ye shall confess that publicly. Ye are innocent of the greater iniquity laid to your charge. Ye shall clear yourself of that by a solemn oath taken both in the presence of God and before men.”

“That I cannot,” said he, speaking for the first time; “the Presbytery have refused me the privilege.”

“There is a door open for you,” I said, “in a place where the Presbytery and your enemies have no power. It may not be long mine to offer you. But for one day it shall be yours, and after the service on Sabbath in the Kirk of Balmaghie ye shall stand up and clear yourself by oath of the greater sin – after having made confession of the more venial fault.”

“I will do it!” he said, and put his hand in mine.

So I left him sitting there with his daughter, with the knowledge that my soul had power over his. And in the eventide, greatly comforted, I took my way homewards, knowing that he would not fail me.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE STONE OF STUMBLING

But whilst I had been going about my work the enemies had not been idle. They had deposed me from the ministry. They could not depose me from the hearts of a willing and loyal people. They had invoked the secular arm, and that had been turned back.

Now, by hasty process, they had also appointed one, McKie, to succeed me – a young man that had been a helper to one of them, harmless enough, indeed, in himself, a good and quiet lad. Him, for the sake of the stipend, they had persuaded to be their cat’s-paw.

But the folk of Balmaghie were clear against giving him any foothold, so that he made little more of it than he had done at first.

But it chanced that on the day on which I had gone to Earlstoun to speak with Alexander Gordon, the more active of the Presbytery had gathered together many of the wild and riotous out of their parishes, and had sent them to take possession of the manse and glebe of Balmaghie.

Hob, my brother, was over by at the house of Drumglass, helping them with the last of their meadow hay, being a lad ever kind and helpful to all, saying little but doing much.

So that the house, being left defenceless in fancied security, the young lad McKie and his party had been in and about the manse for a full hour before any brought word of their approach.

McKie, acting doubtless under the advice of those that were more cunning than he, had intruded into the kitchen, extinguished the fire on the hearth and relighted it in his own name.

Also the folk who were with him, men from other parishes, wholly ignorant of the matter, had brought a pair of ploughs with them. To these they now harnessed horses and would have set to the ploughing up of the glebe, which was of ancient pasture, the grass clean and old, a paradise of verdure, smooth as a well-mown lawn.

But by this time the noise and report of the invasion had spread abroad, and from farm-towns far and near swarmed down the angry folk of Balmaghie, like bees from a byke upon a company of harrying boys.