George Stirling's Heritage: a story of chequered love

Front matter

.7 BY THE SAME AUTHOR The Laird and His Friends & ©ton? ot tbe younger Dap Crown Sz'0, Price 6s. Mr Gladstone writes : — ' I have read much of the book, and will not delay saying that I think its moral atmosphere is thoroughly fresh and pure.' Dr Max Nordau writes : — ' There can be no doubt whatever as to the healthi ness ofthe moral atmosphere which pervades the book. The characters are mostly sound, straightforward, and sympathetic ; they are altruistic as they ought to be, and they have earnest purposes in life. The tale is not wanting in fine emotion, and more than once the author strikes notes of noble pathos. I hope he will continue his literary efforts in the same line, and I wish him a full success.' The Academy says : — 'If by a new writer it reveals unquestionable promise. The whole volume is pleasant to read.

The interest never slackens.' The Speaker — 'Earnest and tender, and presents a faithful and attractive picture of Scottish life and character.' Morning Post — ' Has graphic character sketches, and is worth reading for its illustrations of Scottish thought, and appreciations of Scottish humour.' London Quarterly Review— 'A really good story, which wilt give rea pleasure.' Church Times — 'It gives us an insight into the disturbances caused by the new criticism — an interesting story.' Independent and Nonconformist— Exceedingly interesting and elevating, and makes a careful reader feel as deep an interest in the author as in his story.' Christian World — ' It is a story told with considerable power.' North-Eastern Gazette — 'Accurately and vividly recalls the theological temper of Scotland, when the Eroad Churchism of Macleod, Caird and Wallace began to make its influence felt in the kirk.' Literary World—' The story has decided power and promise. a Stor^ of Cbequereo %ovt BY MALCOLM STARK AUTHOR OF 'THE LAIRD AND HIS FRIENDS' Ev'n when the wished end's denied Yet while the busy means are plied.

They bring their own reward. Burns. Through Death and Birth to a Diviner Day. Shelley. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. St Paul. LONDON SKEFFINGTON & SON, PICCADILLY publishers lo Ih.flD, Uhe Queen ano to 1fi.1R.1b. Ube pvince of TOales PROEM T was a most tumultuous morning towards the end of September when country lanes were beginning to disclose autumnal tints. Such stormy weather had rarely been seen at this time of the year, and the oldest residenters in Feringham, a pleasant and picturesque watering-place on the English coast, could remember but few parallels in the record of gales. The wind howled wildly all the night through; the remorseless rain beat violently against the villas on the cliff high above the raging sea.

Chapter I He

reader is now asked to go back over the course of time, and take a look at the pretty village of Strathblair, situated on the coast of Scotland, and in view of a range of rugged mountains that attracted the admiration of travellers in that part of the country, as well as nursed the patriotism and song of the natives. In the summer time those hills disclosed a beautiful blending of variegated colour, often crowned with a purple haze ; and in winter patches of snow, lying in the deeper devices here and there, could be discerned from the stately vessels of a new era that frequently passed, and which gave a fresh dash of animation to a highly picturesque scene. The village was of the straggling sort common to the rural districts of Scotland, consisting mainly of one street, following, though irregularly, the course of a somewhat romantic shore, and sur rounded by scattered cottages, white, clean, and trim, as well as a few villas of the better class, that indicated commercial prosperity in some other quarter.

In the immediate vicinity of the village there were pretty walks under the shadow of the hills, where the harebell and fern grew in rich pro fusion, and clear, gurgling burns furnished music for the ear. The bleating of sheep and the shrill cries of moorfowl, which gave the weird pathetic touch to a Highland scene, could also be heard ; and in tranquil summer days, and before the storms of winter had set in, the sound of the coachman's horn reverberated far away amongst the rocky glens and the lonely recesses of the hills. The occupations of Strathblair were just such as might be found in most Scotch villages, and there were, as is usual, two or three of the villagers with marked characteristics, who were an unfailing source of humour during the long winter evenings when the frost was keen, the air biting cold, or when the wind sighed mournfully in the glens with ' an awfu' sough,' as was sometimes said, or when the rain beat on the cottage windows, and the hills were obscured, almost hidden in mist, stripped of every vestige of summer glory.

The most prominent of these village ' worthies ' was the shoemaker, James Goudie. On one of these dark wintry nights some half dozen artisans, including the joiner, saddler, and blacksmith, were gathered in the workshop of Jamie, as he was generally called. This workshop presented a curious spectacle. The floor was littered with old boots and shoes, lasts, pieces of leather, fishing tackle, old newspapers, some dozen well-worn books — theological and biographical. The walls, old, dingy, and cracked, were to some extent relieved and refreshed by numerous pictures from illustrated papers, setting forth battles by land and sea, portraits *■•<>■ George Stirling's Heritage of great men and famous horses; by bills announcing sermons, concerts, soirees ; and by specimens of electioneering literature.

Two cages were suspended from the roof, the one containing a canary, the other a mavis ; and a white-and-tan collie generally had a place by the fire, except during ' fiddling ' hours, when he respectfully crept away into a dark corner. He was not a lover of the fiddle any more than he was of the bagpipes, when he encountered a skirl on the hillsides. The shoemaker was a middle-sized figure with a peculiar face, inasmuch as the unusually small chin contrasted strangely with a large forehead that assumed the aspect of a square at the top. His dark brown hair, now streaked with grey, was thrown irregularly back in ministerial fashion to show how suitable his head would have been for 'a pu'pit.' The eyes of light blue generally had a soft merry twinkle, and told of his keen sense of humour. His quiet smile radiating all his features indicated endless possibilities of that kind of fun usually associated with a village ' worthy.' Fie was very round in the shoulders, a circumstance that seemed to inspire the villagers with the notion of great originality.

Dis figurement in those parts was often taken as the necessary accompaniment of a superabundance of talent. On the Sabbath day Jamie might be seen lingering outside the parish church gate, attired in black frock coat, shepherd tartan trousers, and with a hat that always carried a mourning band. No funeral took place in the village without his presence, and it was a common remark that he had attended more funerals than any other man for a hundred miles round. The joiner used to say, ' Funerals was Jamie's forte.' Goudie, who had long enjoyed the reputation of being a born genius, always declared that his talents were neglected. It was often said that if he had only been accorded a fair chance he would have occupied a parish kirk pulpit instead of being employed in mending the minister's shoes.

Those whose comprehensions were broader, however, some times quietly fancied that whatever privileges the shoemaker might have got, he had a weakness that would have barred the way to ecclesiastical fame. His wife, Betty by name, was obliged to admit that he was ' gey fond o' a dram.' He seldom drifted into excess, but his tongue was so glib at the second or third glass that you could see there was no possibility of work for a time, at any rate. On such occasions he neither left his stool nor threw away his last, but expended his energies in fruitless hammering, whilst he fluently talked of the qualities of the ministers of the place, and the schoolmasters ; or seriously discussed the prospects of the next village canvass for the Parliamentary representative of the district. Goudie was a man who had that appalling and disastrous heritage — the maximum of imagination and the minimum of will.

In hours of rapture the noblest resolutions flitted through his mind, but they mostly vanished at the approach of that circumstance that calls for resistance. Occasionally he had 'teetotal fits,' but, as the banker's clerk, the smart young man of the village, remarked, ' the attacks dinna last lang.' The shoemaker's fine resolutions were generally taken when the liquor gave his imagination wing, and during each bout he was perpetually avowing to himself that ' this must be the last.' Goudie was an attractive story-teller, and his resources in this line were apparently inexhaustible. He had the rare art of spending the proper time over an anecdote, and always paused when he had raised to the highest pitch the curiosity of his hearers. Then he would make a pretence of trying to find some tool, or would adjust the lamp before giving the finishing point of the story, in this way invariably making himself effective.

The preacher who makes a solemn pause in the middle of his peroration pro bably has a similar experience. With a large share of humour, Goudie was sufficiently well able to apply a striking talent he had for inventing improbabilities when he had around his winter's fire any of the yokel or ploughman class, on which occasions he would tell how he had learned of a hen at Glencroft laying an egg that contained a needle and a long black thread, or how he had just heard that a rabbit with seven legs had been shot in Glencrocht, or how a pheasant had been seen on the moor of Glannach with a tail three yards long, the feathers being yellow and green. No performance of Goudie's was more enjoyable than this for the skilled artisans, whose gravity was often severely taxed in watching the play of the stories on the faces of those who were listening with as much seriousness and credulity as they did to the minister's sermons.

Goudie was considered 'great on the scriptures,' especially when he ' had a dram.' He was also fond of making casual excursions into the theological domain, setting forth with much imaginary ingenuity a theory on the lost tribes, dwelling with enthusiasm on the probable conversion of the Jews — without sub scriptions — and maintaining with true Scotch dialetical ardour the doctrine of election. Each of these subjects was honoured now and then by a rap of the hammer when Goudie was impelled to emphasis. The saddler was supposed to be a match for the shoemaker on the thorny problem of predestination ; he had the whole question of free will, necessity, and the reign of law at his finger's end ; but according to the villagers he was 'wantin' in expression,' and therefore often failed. He had a slight stutter that increased in proportion with the heat ofthe argument, and invariably led to a stoppage of speech altogether.

This was frequently declared to be ' an awfu' peety.' He had the credit of much reading, close thinking, wise comprehension, and represented the party of free grace in Strathblair. ' If I could only find words,' the saddler used to say, ' I believe I could knock the feet frae Goudie in as little time as it taks Cameron, the gamekeeper, to bring down a cock on the moor.' There was a still further accomplishment attaching to the shoemaker that rendered his workshop so attractive. He was an excellent player on the violin, as has been already hinted at, and could infuse into the music of the national songs that spirit that raises to exultation the love of native land and of home,- a well marked feature in Scottish nationality. Everybody liked Goudie's ' fiddle,' except Betty, who, when she saw it taken down from its accustomed place in the corner, sighed heavily, for she knew it was the signal for the abandonment of all work for that day.

The lads and lassies came from all quarters around Strath blair to hear the shoemaker on ' the fiddle.' The banker's clerk frequently observed that Goudie, when he played, was ' nane the waur o' a dram,' and it was no uncommon thing for the loiterers to carry in whisky. Betty often protested, but when offered ' a taste,' her reluctance was a trifle too pronounced, leading the artisans, as they smoked their pipes, to exchange significant glances. Betty used to say, ' Whisky's just like releegion, it's a' very weel when it's keepit in its richt place.' On this particular evening when the story-telling and fiddle-playing had produced more merriment than usual, as well as obliterated almost all thought of the wintry wind that was howling outside, Betty stepped in with a little boy between three and four years of age.

Her husband had finished in his most spirited form a rattling strathspey, and was stringing up afresh for ' The Flowers o' the Forest,' his master piece, when the blacksmith, who, like others, found many a pleasant evening there, interposed with an exclamation, — ' Weel, Betty, doesna he grow brawly ! I never kent sic a difference in a wean.' ' He's a bonny laddie,' said Betty, with evident satisfaction and pleasure, and placing the child in the centre of the room, where he was nearly buried among old boots and shoes. ' If he was my ain, I wad maybe no say jist sae muckle, but seeing he belangs to anither it doesna come ill o' me to think that there's no mony mair like him in the hale kintry side. Tam Jack, the packman, though he cheats at times, wha kens every hoose and corner frae Glenkirk to Balwinoch, says he's ne'er seen a bairn that ane could brag sae much aboot.' ' He's a winderfu' wean,' said the shoemaker, laying aside the violin. ' Mr M'Pherson, oor minister, is awfu' taen wi' him.

He said the ither nicht, " Mark my words, that bairn will come to something." Mind what Isaiah says, "A little one shall become a thousand, and a small one a strong nation." And that's my opeenion.' ' Have ye heard onything o' his faither or mither yet ? ' asked the joiner. ' No a word,' replied Goudie. ' I suppose they were drooned,' faltered the saddler. ' Weel, ye see,' continued the shoemaker, ' we could never mak oot whether his faither was in the boat, and it was uncertain whether his mither was there, and as naething has been heard o' them since, we hae aye thocht they gaed down, puir bodies, wi' the rest' ' Has George Stirling no idea where the boy came from ? ' asked the banker's clerk, passing a glass to the shoemaker. ' Do you know whether he has made any more inquiry ? ' 'He kens naething,' replied the shoemaker ; 'he's dune everything that mortal man could dae, and canna for the life o' him get a clue.' ' Ye'll tak nae mair whisky the nicht,' said Betty, peremptorily, making an effort to seize the glass. ' There's three pairs o' boots to be mended the morn and ane o' them is for Mrs Fraser's funeral, puir body.' ' It's a' richt,' said Goudie, ' this is the last.' -*?

George Stirling's Heritage ' It's been the last sin' ever I kent ye, Jamie.' ' We'll jist hae anither tune on the fiddle, and I'll be up the morn when the cocks begin to craw, and lang before Foster comes wi' the milk. It's true I may be a wee in the faut at times, but I'm willin' to work. We're honest folk, and naething warms my heart mair than to think we've adopted that wean, puir thing. Mr Stirling says he wad raither see it wi' us than onybody else in Strathblair.' Betty having been persuaded to take ' a taste,' sub sided, and genially acquiesced in her husband's remarks on the bairn. ' It will ne'er want as lang as we can help it, Jamie,' said his wife, with an emotion en gendered by a warm heart. ' It has nae mither, and it has nae faither, but we'll be, as the Lord says, "a father of the fatherless."

It's no matter what ups and downs we hae in this world, I aye think everything's for the best. There's a hand abin us a', and it canna gae wrang. We ne'er had ony family o' oor ain, and I ken weel the Lord sent this bairn here.' 'Yes, Betty,' said the shoemaker, sympathetically touched by her observations, and following up with his usual scriptural quotation, delivering it in his most emphatic as well as most pathetic tone, — ' " Seest thou a man diligent in his business ? He shall stand before kings ; he shall not stand before mean men," ' and he took up the hammer and drove several nails into the heel of a boot. Goudie again laid hold of the fiddle, and Betty, falling in with the prevailing genial feeling, raised the boy to her knee, and asked him to listen. His bright, blue eyes were at once turned to the shoemaker, who said he would give them ' a sang instead.' The artisans immediately re-lighted their pipes, and pre pared for Goudie's favourite, ' Afton Water.' It was his custom, as a sort of recognition for the warm approval he generally received, to repeat the second verse, which was a special favourite, — ' Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds through the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.' It was also a habit of the shoemaker to pause for a little when he had finished a tune or a song ; for music threw him into a reflective mood when his mind rapidly wandered far and wide, catching, as it were, the fringe of many subjects, and impelling him to make some quaint, but generally pathetic remark.

Casting his eye to the ceiling, he said with a solemn air, ' I winder whaur that lapwing is noo?' The loungers in his workshop were inclined to titter, but they remembered that such an exclamation was probably only the prelude to further observations which they might very well like to hear. One or two of them, indeed, saw that the idea in the shoemaker's mind was the fleeting nature of all earthly things, the shortness of time, the vastness of eternity, and the in significance of every object, great or small — the melt ing away into shadow of the most powerful potentate alike with the tiniest creeping thing. The song had touched his deepest sympathies, and his imagination was picturing the winter's cold, the trees stripped of their foliage, the scarcity of food for the poor birds, the snow in the glades, the bleak, bare hills, and the vast, barren, unsympathetic sky. -*?

George Stirling's Heritage He was about to proceed with further reflections when a young man, who had been introduced for the first time that night, and who had been thrown into some confusion by the conversation he had listened to regarding the child, interposed, being unable to sup press his curiosity any longer. He took the boy in his arms, at the same time asking, ' An' if it's no yours whaur did the bairn come frae ? ' ' Aweel, ye ken,' replied the shoemaker, ' there was an awfu' storm ae nicht, and down by the Garach Point, where the sea's maistly aye rough — ye can ken that by the screech and clatter o' the gulls — there was a shipwrecked. Me and some mair were comin' hame frae the fishin', and we could see the boat that was rumblin' and tumblin' in the waves that were dinging the masts to pieces.

Every ane appeared to be drooned. It was the gloamin' ; we couldna see a soul ; it was a sair sicht. There was naething could be dune, for it wasna possible to get ony way near. Jist when we were a' dumfoonded we heard a voice, and then saw something struggling in the water. It looked like a man wi' a bundle. Charlie Fleeming, the joiner, ower in the other side of the street, he was there, and as quick as lichtning had his coat aff and jamp in- After a terrible fecht, when he was nearly drooned himsel', he got the man on to the shore. That wean there was in his arms.' ' It must hae been an awfu' sicht,' interrupted Betty, ' and every time I hear o't, it maks my flesh creep.' ' Aweel,' resumed the shoemaker, ' Mr George Stirling of Heathcrag, he was there. He helped us, and we took the man, who was like a sailor, and the wean to the Brae Inn, got him some brandy, but he was perfectly insensible by this time.

All we could understan' was that he had taen the wean oot o' a woman's arms, thinkin' she might be the better able to save hersel'. God bless the sailor. Aweel, he spoke noo and then, but wandered sae much that we could mak nae mair sense o't. And, puir chiel, it wasna lang before he was in anither world. I said I wad tak the wean, and Mr Stirling said it was very guid o' me, and that it couldna be in kinder han's. He has aye been oor freen since. " Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." ' ' And what may ye ca' the bairn ? ' asked the stranger. ' Ah,' said Betty' ' I gied him his name. It's Stuart Elphinstone.' ' A braw name,' observed the joiner. ' My wife's fond o' braw things,' said the shoemaker. ' She likes to be considered something. She's aye tryin' to mak folk believe we're better than we really are.

She'll gang a mile to get a threepenny bit on a Saturday nicht, raither than be seen gi'en coppers to a collection on the Sabbath. And she must aye hae port wine for the minister when he veesits ; she thinks its mair genteel than whuskey. But she's maybe richt. She's aye tellin' me its a guid thing to haud yer heed weel up.' ' And so it is,' said Betty, peremptorily. ' And but for me, Jamie, ye wad never be considered sae re spectable as ye are. I see to yer meat, and I see to yer claes, and I've kept ye in guid, decent connections wi' honest folk, and folk that's willing to work. But aboot the wean's name. Weel, it happened this way. I was in twa places in service in my life. It's a brag *°S George Stirling's Heritage to be able to say I was only in twa. And I never wad hae been in mair than ane, binna for the death of Mr Stuart, puir man.

When he died, I gaed to Sir Ronald Elphinstone's, and was there till Jamie cam and took me awa'. When the Lord sent us this laddie, and we didna ken his name, I jist put the names o' my twa maisters thegither, and ca'd him Stuart Elphin stone.' ' He couldna be ca'd ester better folk,' remarked the saddler. ' And Mrs Stirling, God bless her,' continued Betty, ' she likes the name. She's guid to me, sends me eggs, meal, and ham, and sometimes a fowl when the auld year's wearin' awa', and we think o' the freens we hae lost. She's a kind as weel as a braw lady. And yet she doesna seem ower happy either. I aye think there's something ahint that smile o' hers, especially on the Sabbath day in the kirk, where she sits noo maistly by hersel'.' ' Does Stirling no gang to the kirk ? ' asked the new-comer with an air of surprise. ' He's no been there for a guid while,' responded Goudie. ' He's an awfu' clever man, and they tell me he's bothered wi' the doctrines.

He kens ower muckle. The minister used to crack wi' him, but he's quite gi'en him up. I used to hae a bit chat wi' him mysel', when I've been daunderin' roun' the Garach Point, and watchin' the sea-gulls, but the last time I spoke to him on the lost tribes and the conversion o' the Jews, he jist snapped me as if I was a haveral. I ken I may no be as learned as Stirling, and am maybe a wee bit stipit and forgetfu' at times, but I can read my Bible for mysel'. " More to be desired than gold, yea, than much fine gold : sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb." ' ' Don't bother us aboot the lost tribes and the Jews ony mair the nicht,' interrupted Betty, firmly. ' Mind Mrs Fraser's funeral.' ' The job will be dune before you're up the morn, Betty,' said the shoemaker sharply. ' I am awa',' shouted Betty, as she seized the child by the arm, ' I can bide the fiddle, but I canna stan' the lost tribes and the Jews.' ' Stirling's no the same man,' remarked the blacksmith. ' He wanders mair by himsel', no wishin' for a crack wi' onybody.

I see he aye picks the quiet corners, and cares for naethin' but the book he has in his han'.' ' Aye,' said Goudie, assuming a sympathetic and solemn air. ' And ye'll see he daunders further up the hillsides, walkin' slow, as if ahint a funeral, glowering at the sheep, starin' at the burns, listening to the pee wits, and castin' his een up to the sky as if he was winderin' what a' thae things meant, and couldna understan' it. He comes oot, too, when the licht o' the moon is on the sea, and I've watched him on the shore at the eerie hour o' midnicht, when ye could hear naethin' but the sough o' the win' amang the trees, and the sighin' o' the waves — I've seen him then wi' his face to the water, as if he was dreamin' o' what was gaun on far awa' in the lands on the ither side o' the sea, and thinkin' on the folks there, and their bits o' ways, hoo they a' live, and hoo they a' dee.'

Chapter II. Here

are few things in the rural life of Scotland more striking, one might say more pathetic, than the ambition amongst the peasantry to form a relationship with the pulpit of the Kirk. Such an ambition has not unfrequently involved a heroic record of arduous toil, praiseworthy persistency in the face of discouragement, and a self-sacrifice as rare perhaps as it is beautiful. The qualities that have been exerted through this ambition may be said to have proved of excellent service in the national life, and their effects have been visible, more or less, in almost all parts of the civilized world. Though Stuart Elphinstone, the shipwrecked boy, was only an adopted son of James Goudie, the shoe maker, he and his wife had somehow set their hearts on a scheme to make the lad a minister, and his opening years afforded them ample encouragement.

He early showed tendencies that gave a goodly promise in the direction that they wished. Perched on the shoemaker's stool, he would often recite bits of speeches and sermons Goudie had selected for him out of his favourite books. In the long winter evenings, when the rain was pattering on the workshop windows, or the snow was falling thick, and chasing every lounger away from the street corners, or a storm was howling mournfully along the hills, the boy had his imagination set aflame by the countless stories he heard around the shoemaker's fire until he caught the contagion and began to tell stories himself. He soon became an adept, gaining the ear and attracting the eye of the loungers, winning influence and good favour. He had a beautifully clear melodious voice, rich, tender, and distinctively earnest in tone ; and the dramatic quality both in the flash of a bright, eagle eye, and in the animated movement of figure, added to the attractiveness of his performances.

The lads in the village liked to get Stuart into a corner to tell stories, and the girls too would modestly creep around and listen with gladness. He had a quaint, original manner that drew forth smiles ere he had completed his work. His originality was only equalled by his versatility, his range often exciting amazement. He could make the stalwart artisans laugh, and the old women ' greet,' arouse the admiration of the boys, and kindle the affection of the girls. After his tenth year, Stuart Elphinstone was accus tomed to a rather hard life, but nothing was done in a reluctant spirit, or in an unsympathetic manner, all tasks, however menial, being accepted with energy, and carried out with a bright, smiling face. Though the shoemaker was occasionally indulgent to himself — always regretting the indulgence afterwards, even to a penitential aspect — he did not like to see boys -*S George Stirling's Heritage idle, and always held they were all the better for being trained in a rigorous and rough school.