Britta: a Shetland romance, etc

Front matter

" I stood at the door for a minute, gazing on the scene before me." — Page 79. Frontispiece. \ BRITTA A SHETLAND ROMANCE BY GEORGE TEMPLE / AUTHOR OF "LANCELOT WARD, M.P." 'J THE PUBLISHER'S eOEPLIMETS. 3 6/- TOlitb Eigbt Sllustratfona bs TO. locfcbart JBogle LONDON Wm. ISBISTER Limited 56 LUDGATE HILL REPRINTED FROM " GOOD JfVRDS." CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. SHETLAND FORTY YEARS AGO ... 7 A CROFTER'S HOME AND DAUGHTER . . 1 5 II. III. ARRIVAL AT THE MANSE .... 39 IV. THE MERCHANT 49 V. JIM ARCUS 64 VI. IN THE MANSE KITCHEN .... 75 VII. MIDNIGHT MEDITATION .... 87 VIII. MAGNUS HALCROW 93 IX. A TALK WITH JIM ARCUS .... 102 X. A QUARREL WITH THE LAIRD . . . II3 XI. THE FUNERAL 125 XII. MRS. ARCUS OF SAXAVOE . . . . IJ2 XIII. MALCOLM'S DEPARTURE . . . 1 42 XIV. QUIET TIMES 147 XV. A SHETLAND YULE 155 XVI.

A TALK ABOUT MARRIAGE . . . .169 XVII. JANET'S VISION I78 XVIII. HAVING IT OUT WITH THE GOVERNOR . CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIX. NOTICE TO QUIT 197 XX. DRIVEN FROM HOME 206 XXI. A STORM 212 XXII. MARRIED 220 XXIII. TO UNST AND BACK . . . . . 234 XXIV. THE SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY . . . 248 XXV. THE ARREST 256 XXVI. BRITTA'S RETURN 265 XXVII. PREPARING TO DEFEND .... 274 XXVIII. SUSPENSE 285 XXIX. THE TRIAL 297 XXX. A HAPPY CLOSE B R I T T A.

Chapter I. Shetland Forty Years Ago

I FANCY that most men in the course of their existence come across a bit of romance, though many are so constituted that they do not perceive it at the time, and, even if they do, are unable to appreciate the poetry and the sunshine which such episodes may be made to cast on their dull and colourless lives. Those who have this blessed gift are infinitely to be envied. To them a thrilling adventure, a pathetic love-story, the deep upheaving of emotion caused by the discovery and the following up of a great crime are a possession and a happiness for ever. It elevates them above the common herd. It gives them an increased sense BRLTTA. of their own importance. Often its force and its energy have a reflected influence on their own characters — illumining, chastening, ennobling the whole course of their after-lives, to their own infinite good, not only in this world, but in the next, and, as I verily believe, ad majorcm gloria m Dei.

To this class I trust I may, without presump tion, say that I belong. At any rate, I am pro foundly conscious of the effect that the story which I am now about to relate has had upon me since the date of its occurrence, now nearly forty years ago. Certainly, of all men in the world, I, Thomas Jack, minister of the Gospel — a humble labourer in the Lord's vineyard, and in a bare and barren soil — seemed the least likely to come across any thing out of the common in the course of my daily work and conversation. Those who are acquainted with the life of a parish clergyman in the more secluded districts of rural Scotland, are aware how monotonously — I was almost about to say how sluggishly — runs the even tenor of his existence. Day in, day out, his time is occupied with the dull routine of his parochial duties.

He baptizes, SHETLAND FORTY YEARS AGO. 9 he marries, he buries ; he visits the sick and the dying ; he reads the Bible to the aged and the blind ; his leisure hours are spent between the seclusion of his study and the solitude of his glebe. On Sundays he conducts Divine service in the church ; at stated intervals he dispenses the Holy Sacrament of the body and blood of Christ. And this goes on week after week, year after year, decade after decade, ceasing only when, one blessed day — worn out with years, disheartened at the scanty fruits of his labours, and dismayed at the rapid advance which, owing to the so-called spread of education and intelligence, scepticism, secularism, infidelity, and contempt for Church ordinances are making around him — he hears the voice that says, " Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord !

" God forbid that any should think that, in speaking thus, I disparage the lot that Our Master, in His wise providence, has determined for His ministers. Far from my thought is any such intention. On the contrary, I believe — nor, thank God ! am I single in this belief — that lives such as ours are the perfection of happiness on earth. Our lines are fallen in pleasant places ; yea, we have a goodly heritage. Our work is of BRITTA. 10 the noblest; our calling is of the holiest. Far removed from either poverty or riches, we fear not the frowns of the great nor the averted looks of the poor. At once ambassadors of the King of kings, and servants of the servants of the Lord, what lot can claim a higher dignity than ours, or enjoy a greater immunity from the cares and vexations and trials of this pushing, striving, fight ing, disappointing, always sinning world ?

But I digress. 'Tis said to be a failing of my cloth. I admit it is a weakness of my own. Yet the unwonted task on which I am at present engaged will, I trust, be accepted by the courteous reader as an excuse for any deviation from the strict canons of literary propriety which he may come across in the course of the following narrative. In the year 1841, being then in my six-and twentieth year, I received my first charge — the pastoral care of the parish of Eastwick, in the lonely and remote Shetland Islands. These islands were not then what I am told they are — or are fast becoming — now, a maritime El Dorado, the principal seat of an important industry, and a favourite resort of English holiday tourists. They were a cluster of bare and naked SHETLAND FORTY YEARS AGO. 11 rocks, cut off for six months of the year from all communication with the rest of the world.

During summer, indeed, a paddle-wheeled steamer — the old Sovereign — plied between Granton and the little town of Lerwick, carrying passengers, ship-letters, mails, and light goods. But in winter — and it seemed to me at first as if it was always winter — all our intercourse was conducted by schooners, whose arrival and departure were as uncertain as the winds by which their sailing was regulated. There were no roads throughout the country, except one — an up-hill, down-dale, crow-flight line between Tingwall and Lerwick— and many people thought there was no necessity to have them. The sea, said they, was the islanders' natural highway. When that was closed for travelling, Providence itself suggested that it was better for folk to stay quietly at home. Then the land was deadly poor. My own stipend was only a hundred and fifty pounds a year, with the customary glebe and manse, of which more hereafter.

But I was a Crœsus, a Rothschild, compared to the poor creatures by whom I was surrounded. The maximum salary of the parochial schoolmaster never exceeded BRITTA. 12 twenty-five pounds — it was often less — and he might make from three to eight pounds extra by fees. As for wages, a male farm-servant was passing rich with six pounds a year and his keep ; and women for farm-work or dairy management were amply paid — when they could be got at all — with from thirty shillings to two pounds per annum, and perhaps perquisites amounting to twenty shillings more. Prices were, of course, proportionate. Meal was sold at from one shilling and sixpence to two shillings the stone ; beef at fourpence or fivepence a pound ; a whole sheep could be bought for six or eight shillings ; a calf for half-a-crown ; a good milch cow from two to three pounds.

Geese were eighteenpence each ; ducks eightpence to tenpence ; hens, sixpence ; eggs, three halfpence for sixteen ; and as for fish, you could get a cod for threepence or fourpence ; six large haddocks sold for a penny ; and oysters — think of that, ye frequenters of Ambrose's or the Rainbow Tavern ! — at ten pence a hundred. There were no poor-laws in those days, grind ing down the spirit of the people, tying up the bowels of their compassion, making them liars and cowards and thieves — paupers, indeed, in soul and SHETLAND FORTY YEARS AGO. 13 mind and body. Every parish supported its own poor, with no other assistance than a small donation from the sum collected at church doors to supply them with decent clothing. When a poor person had no relations to maintain him, he was assigned a " district," the families of which received him into their houses in rotation, nourishing and cherishing him as one of them selves, as is the custom, they tell me, in certain parts of Norway to this day.

It was an ancient custom and a kindly one ; but now passed away with many another thing that was old and large hearted, simple, Christian, and good. But I shall never reach my story if I go on at this rate. Still, thinking about these old days and the people whose history I am going to narrate to you brings all these surroundings before me. A crowd of unbidden thoughts rise in my mind. The words flow, faster than I can write them, to the point of my pen. The Past lives again — the Past, with its hopes and its sorrows, its aspirations and its failures. I am young once more, zealous to do my Master's work ; earnest to fulfil my appointed task ; eager and willing to help the poor people, to listen to their complaints, to comfort BRITTA. 14 their afflictions ; to bid them hope when the night is dark and the wind is roaring, and the boats of their husbands and sons and fathers are out on the raging sea ; to bid them hope on, though they know that the boats will never return ; and yet again to bid them hope, when the naked and battered bodies of the drowned men lie stark and stiffened before them. Yes ! I am young again ; and yet — what is all this but the garrulity of old age !

Chapter II

A CROFTER'S HOME AND DAUGHTER. I SHALL never forget my feelings when I first beheld the manse that, during my stay in Shet land, was destined to be my home. I had ridden from Lerwick, carrying with me in a pair of saddle-bags the little stock of neces saries I required, leaving my weightier luggage — my books and my clothes — rto be sent round by sea, in one of the sloops, which at that time was the only means of transporting goods from one part of the islands to another. Towards evening I reached a clump of miserable, straw-thatched huts — for cottages they could not be called — clustering together for warmth and neighbourhood under the lee of a scalped and naked hill. It was getting dark and very cold, and I was fearful to lose my way. I bethought me that if I could get a guide from one of the huts to pilot me to my destination it might be a sixpence in some poor creature's pocket, BRITTA. and it would be an undoubted comfort to me.

Approaching one of them, I knocked at the door with my riding-whip. A querulous voice bade me come in. But at the same moment a dog barked, and, as I heard it snarling and sniffing underneath the door, I thought it better not to dismount until the door was opened. It needed, however, a second knock to rouse the inmates. " Doun, Spring ! " said an old man's voice, as a furious, half-starved mongrel cur darted out as the door was opened. " Doun, Spring ! and du, maister," he said, addressing me, " what may dy pleasure be ? " I thought I had never in my life seen such an odd-looking old man. He was bent nearly double with age. The upper part of his body seemed too long for his short, bandy legs. As for his face, it bore traces of having been good-looking in its youth, but it was so tanned and seamed with lines and wrinkles, rendered all the more visible from the smoke and dirt with which they were filled, that it looked like one of the woodcuts in my old Dutch Bible.

His dress -was as peculiar as his appearance. On his head he wore a very large and coarse blue Tam o' Shanter cap, from under which his long At the cottage door. E A CROFTER'S HOME. 19 white locks — so fine that his very breath seemed to stir them — escaped and fell over his shoulders- A sheepskin jacket covered his body. A pair of short, loose trousers of the same material, reaching only to the knees, clad the upper part of his legs. His lower extremities were encased in rough home made stockings, and he wore a pair of cow-hide sandals, which I afterwards learned were called rivlins, on his feet. Peering over the old man's shoulder I could see into his house, and such a house it was ! The floor was of clay. The rafters were smoked black. On the middle of the floor, built up on stones, a bright peat fire was burning, and above it a large cauldron hung on a cleik attached to one of the beams of the roof.

There were two boxbeds on one side of the room, placed end to end, littered with grimy woollen rugs and coverlets. A couple of sea-chests, three low wooden chairs with square, sparred backs — one of them with a drawer below the seat — a small table, a cupboard, and a spinning wheel, comprised all the rest of the furniture. An old-fashioned iron lamp, called a collie, with double bottom and a cotton wick, suspended against the wall, supplied — with the light of the fire — all the illumination of the apartment. B BRITTA. 20 I could see that I had disturbed the family at their evening meal. A tawny, handsome, middle-aged man, a woman about the same age, evidently his wife, and four or five bare-legged children, from the juvenile of fifteen to the infant of two or three, were standing round the table, on which was placed a wooden trough, or troch, about three feet long, surrounded with a border of wood about six inches high, con taining potatoes at the one end, and sillocks — the young of the saith, or coal-fish — at the other.

Into this " troch " every one plunged his hands at will. When the repast was finished, the remnants were thrown to the " patsie " pig and the " caddie " lamb, the pets of the household, that lay calmly waiting their turn on either side of the fire place. Fresh from the cottages of the Lothians, with their clean exteriors, their sanded floors, and the row of flowering plants at each of the windows, it was with difficulty that I suppressed an exclamation of horrified surprise on observ ing the interiors of the peasantry among whom my lot was henceforward to be cast. It was well that I did so. It was not by manifestation of disgust and aversion that I could hope to A CROFTER'S HOME. 21 reach the hearts of those whom Providence had allotted to my spiritual care. Moreover, it was not long before I came to learn how strong was the antipathy of the islanders not only to my nationality, but to my cloth.

Verily the sins of the fathers are visited on the children not only to the third and fourth, but to the thirteenth and fourteenth generation of them that hate Him. The oppressions of my country men in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had not yet been forgotten in Shetland. Still, though they bore us no good-will, they never descended to overt acts of hostility. Their natural kindliness, coupled with a certain indo lence of disposition, led them to confine their animosity to a deep-rooted suspicion of us only. They were inclined to hold themselves aloof from every approach to intimacy. Yet, as Mr. Arcus, the merchant, once told me — (of whom more anon) — their inbred courtesy prevented them from being inhospitable, "even to a Scotchman ;" and of this amiable trait in their character I was now about to get an example.

Nothing could exceed the kindness of this humble family — Halcrow was their name — when they learned who I was, and what I wanted. It BRITTA. 22 was with difficulty that old Magnus himself was prevented from taking the road in person to show me the way to the Manse. In the end, his grandchild Britta, a fine agile girl of fifteen, with the most beautiful yellow hair, of a tint between gold and auburn, that I had ever seen, was selected to be my guide, in this respect following, I am told, an old Norse custom, which is in vogue in the mother-country to this day. They made me take a drink of blaand, a kind of sour whey, before we set out, which I think I should have enjoyed the more if I had not seen it emptied from an old grimy, wooden keg into a much battered and considerably greasy tin mug.

And then we started on our two-mile journey over the moor. It was with difficulty that my shaggy old sheltie — stubborn-headed, wild-eyed, and round barrelled — could keep up with the long, springy step of my pretty young guide. To watch that child striding from rock to rock, now leaping over a deep peat-cutting, now tread ing — scarcely even bending — the thick hummocks of ling and heather, that mingled with the feathery tufts of the wild cotton-grass, and the polished leaves of the cranberry, sprung up, like oases, in the midst of that solitary moor ; now stooping to quench her thirst at some amber-coloured runlet, trickling its devious way over some projecting mound of coarse and reedy grass, and anon gathering her thick shawl closer around her head and shoulders, stepping out with accelerated speed to make up for lost time, was to me not the least pleasant of that memorable night's adventures.

But it was long before I could get her drawn into conversation. She shared her countrymen's misgivings, or, at any rate, their shyness to strangers. It almost seemed as if, with the very object of avoiding communication, she always kept at a sufficient distance ahead of me to render anything like a continuous dialogue entirely out of the question. At length, when we had reached the top of a hill, she stopped and waited for me to make up with her. " This is the grind," she said — meaning by that the gate or passage between two adjoining valleys or dales — " an' yon's the house," she added — " yon black-looking house, standin' by itsel' at the head o' the Voe." It was so dark that, at first, I could make out little more than its outline. But, at that BRITTA. 24 moment, the moon, that had been hidden behind a cloud, shone out bright and clear, and the whole scene lay discovered beneath me in its grand but solitary loveliness.

The Manse, a simple, two-storeyed, slate-roofed, harled house, with a porch in front ; a low addition, evidently a kitchen, at the side ; and another, but higher one, at the back ; with a garden in front, and a small green behind ; the whole surrounded by a high, drystone wall, stood at the head, and almost on the shores of a narrow, oval bay, with high banks on either side terminating in a cluster of isolated stacks and jagged low-lying rocks, which gave it — at any rate towards the north — an appearance of greater length than it really possessed. The quiet waters of this bay were flooded with silver light, which deepened the shadows and heightened the lights on all the surrounding landscape. But while thus accentuating the luminous effect of the picture, it aggravated at the same time those painful and depressing sensations which the absolute seclusion and loneliness of the scene were already commencing to excite within my bosom.

Besides the kirk — apparently about a quarter of a mile away — there was not a house within visible distance — no ! not so much as a fisherman's cottage to be seen for miles round. No signs of life either ! not a boat on the Voe ; not the welcoming bark of a dog; no curling wreaths of smoke, not even the shrill cry of a sea gull, or the splash of a diving cormorant on the water. Could it be possible, I thought, that in accept ing this call, in listening to what I conscientiously believed to be the prompting of the Holy Spirit within me, I had doomed myself to a living death ? Were the quiet dead in yon neglected kirkyard henceforth to be my only companions ? Was my life to be spent in meditations among the tombs ? In the infinite silence and solitude of this seques tered Voe, was I to drag out an outcast and friendless existence — " The world forgetting, by the world forgot " ?

If such indeed was destined to be my lot, I could but say, " The will of the Lord be done ! " We can not choose our fates, even though we would. We are but instruments in the hand of Omnipotence. In devoting myself, as I had so recently done, to His service, I had placed myself, soul and body, at His disposal. Who was I to murmur if thus BRITTA. 26 it pleased His sovereign will ? Yet, even in the midst of such reflections I could not resist the cry, " Oh, if it had but been ordered otherwise ! " My age, my nature, my education — all my previous life — mutinied against the inactivity, the cheerlessness of the prospect. I had come from a large town. I was the youngest of a numerous family of sons and daughters. I had told myself so often that the proper study of mankind was man, that I had come, in the end, to believe it.

I was burning to do my Master's work amongst my fellow-men, to mix in crowds, to influence the masses, to go into the highways and byways, the city, the mart, and the fair, and hale men and women to Christ. Instead of that — I looked round the desolate scene — was I, like St. Anthony, to preach to the beasts of the field and the birds of the air, the fishes of the sea, and the scaly inhabitants of the deep ? Or, stay ! Could it be that I had been sent to this desert to examine my own soul, to mortify my affections, to try my reins, and to chasten my heart ? I could not refrain from giving vent to mv emotions. " Are there no houses about ? " I asked my little guide, with a scarce-concealed tremor in my voice. " Does nobody live near — nobody that a man — nobody that I could speak to?" Britta shook her head " The nearest house is Saxavoe.

That's where Maister Arcus lives. He's the mairchant. It's five mile or mair frae here. No, ye canna see't. It's ower on da ither side o' da hill." " But the town. Isn't there a town ? I was told there was a town. Where is it ? " "Yea, there's a 'toun, " But where is it ? I see no traces of it " We've passed it. We live at da toun. Yon wis da toun whar wir house wis." That shieling, that collection of miserable hovels, a town I " And the station ? Isn't there a fish-curing station about here ? " " Yea, at Saxavoe, whar da mairchant lives. He keeps it. There's a beach whar they dry da fish, an' a pier." "And the school?" " That's at Saxavoe too. " Is that where you go to school ? "Yea." " How far is it from the town ?" BRITTA. " Across the scattald it's three mile. It's mair nor ten if ye ging roun' in a boat."

"And you walk three miles there and three miles back every day?" She turned her frank eyes on me, opening them to their fullest extent. " Yea, surely. What wud ye, sir ? It's no that far on a simmer's day ! " "No. But there are the winters, and the autumns, and the springs," I remarked. " We ging when we can, an' we bide at hame when it's ower stormy. Bit faither does na' like when we're forced to bide at hame." I could not help being struck with the robust common-sense which characterized her answers, as well as by the simplicity, the fortitude, and the openness of the nature which they revealed. I felt, too, that indirectly they were a reflection upon my own feelings at the moment. They made me ashamed of myself. The courageous way in which this child accepted all the privations and hard ships of her lot, acquiesced in the inevitable, and " parried all the assaults of fortune," was a tacit reproach not only to my submission, but my manhood.

I found myself getting interested in her conversation. I encouraged her to speak, and, once the ice was broken, I experienced no difficulty in inducing her to do so. I asked her all about herself, her family, and the neighbourhood. I interrogated her about the way in which the poor people lived ; what wages they got ; what instruction they received. She answered me always with the greatest simplicity, apparently the most perfect veracity, and with marked intelli gence. As she spoke her face lighted up, and her gestures became more animated. I noticed, when her shawl accidentally fell off her head on one occasion, that she had beautiful eyes, of a light blue colour, clear as crystal, and as mobile and expressive as the sea. She told me that her father rented a croft from Mr. Jerome Arcus, "the mairchant," as she called him.

He was laird as well as merchant. This croft was about three merks — or say five acres — and they had certain rights of pasturage in the scattald, or hill pasture, for as many sheep and cattle as they could keep. They had a house, too. I had seen it! But they had to put on and keep up the roof themselves, and to erect any byres or offices they might require to carry on the work of the croft. For this farm they paid BRITTA. 30 thirty shillings of rent a year, and in addition taxes and teinds, which amounted to about twenty shillings more. But the money rent was the least part of their prestations. As " the maister " was interested in the ling-fishing — the Haas, as she styled it — every tenant of a croft was bound to furnish and fit out the fourth part of a fishing-boat, and prosecute the fishing either in person or by deputy.

But, as every boat required six persons to handle it, the four tenants who worked it had to find two boys to make up the complement. All the fish caught, except skate and dog-fish, which were the tenants' perquisites, went to the master of the boat — the merchant.- Then the tenants had to sell all their produce to the master. They were bound to furnish him with boys to cure his fish, at ten shillings wages for the half year. They were obliged to work for him free for three days in each year, and any number of days beyond that at the rate of eightpence a day. As for their crofts, they held them at the "maister's" pleasure. He could turn them out whenever he pleased, or sell them up ; for they were always in debt to him for necessaries taken up at his shop. And whenever a tenant's son left the district, emigrated, or went to the Green land whale or Davis' Straits seal fisheries, the father had to pay " liberty-money " for him to the laird, or take the consequences — eviction from the croft " Why, it's thraldom !

" I cried indignantly, when the girl had finished. She looked at me for a moment, and then she said — " We dinna ca' it sae ; bit it's vairy hard ! " And this merchant, this master of yours — Arcus, I think you called him — what sort of a man is he ? " She paused for an instant before answering, as if considering what her reply should be. " He's a dour man," she said at length, " bit a just ; an' he's kind — in his ain wy." " And if he had a son, think you, Britta, would he like him treated in this way — tied by the leg to the place, whether he likes it or not ? " " Whisht, sir, whisht ! " she said, glancing terrifiedly around. " He has a son ; bit he left him this five year back or mair. I dinna ken whether he's alive or dead. Maybe it's bekase his ain son left him that he tries to keep BRITTA. 32 ither folks' lads frae gingin' awa' frae their hames."