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Hating to be a
burden on the family I was eager to work. Too weak for farm duties,
I helped about the house and came, in course of time, to earn a good
word from grannie. Tho of the same age, there was a great difference
between Allan and myself. He could lift weights I could not move,
did not get tired as I did, and as the stronger took care of me. We
were all happy and getting-on well when trouble came from an
unlooked for quarter. The master got notice from the factor that, on
his lease running out the following year, the rent would be raised.
He did not look for this. During his lease he had made many
improvements at his own cost and thought they would more than count
against any rise in the value of farm lands. He remonstrated with
the factor, who said he could do nothing, his lordship wanted more
revenue from his estate and there was a man ready to take the farm
at the advanced rent. He was sorry but the master had to pay the
rent asked, or leave the place. If I go, what will be allowed me for
the improvements I have made? Not a shilling; he had gone on making
them without the landlord’s consent. You saw me making them and
encouraged me, said the master, and I made them in the belief I
would be given another tack to get some of the profit out of them.
The factor replied, Tut, tut, that’s not the law of Scotland. The
master felt very sore at the injustice done him. On his lordship’s
arrival from London, accompanied by a party of his English friends,
for the shooting, the master resolved to see him. On the morning he
left to interview him we wished him good luck, confident the
landlord would not uphold the factor, and we wearied for his return.
The look on his face as he came into the kitchen showed he had
failed. He told us all that passed.
On getting to the
grand house and telling the flunkey he had come to see his master,
the flunkey regarded him with disdain, and replied his lordship was
engaged and would not see him. Persisting in refusing to leave the
door and telling that he was a tenant, the flunkey left and returned
with a young gentleman, who asked what was his business, saying he
was his lordship’s secretary. On being told, the young man shook his
head, saying his lordship left all such matters to his factor, and
it would do no good to see him. Just then a finely dressed lady
swept into the hall. Pausing, she cried, ‘Tompkins, what does that
common-looking man want here? Tell him to go to the servants’
entry.’ ‘He wants to see his lordship,’ was the reply. ‘The idea!’
exclaimed the lady as she crossed the floor and disappeared by the
opposite door. The master could hear the sounds of laughter and
jingle of glasses. ‘My good man,’ said the secretary, ‘you had
better go: his lordship will not see you today.’ ‘When will he be at
liberty to see me?’ asked the master, ‘I will come when it suits his
pleasure. I must have his word of mouth that what the factor says is
his decision.’ The secretary looked perplexed, and after putting a
few questions, among them that he had paid his rent and wanted no
favor beyond renewal of his lease on the old terms, he told my
master to wait a minute and left. It might be half an hour or more
when a flunkey beckoned the master to follow him. Throwing open a
door he entered what he took to be the library, for it had shelves
of books. His lordship was alone, seated by the fireplace with a
newspaper on his lap. ‘Now, say what you have to say in fewest
words,’ said the nobleman. Standing before him the master told how
he had taken the farm 19 years ago, had observed every condition of
the lease, and had gone beyond them in keeping the farm in good
heart, for he had improved it in many ways, especially during the
past few years when he had ditched and limed and levelled a boggy
piece of land, and changed it from growing rushes into the best
pasture-field on the farm. ‘Gin the farm is worth more, it is me who
has made it and I crave your lordship to either give me another tack
at the same rent or pay me what my betterments are worth.’ His
lordship turned and touched a bell.
On the flunkey appearing, he said to him, ‘Show this fellow to the
door' and took up his newspaper. As the master finished, he said to
us, ‘Dear as every acre of the farm is to me, I will leave it and go
where the man who works the land may own it and where there are no
lords and dukes, nor baronets. I am a man and never again will I ask
as a favor what is my due of any fellow-mortal with a title.’ We
went to bed that night sorrowful and fearing what was before us.
When he took anything in hand the master went through with it.
Before the week was out he had given up the farm, arranged for an
auction sale, and for going to Canada. My heart was filled with
misgivings as to what would become of me. I knew crops had been
short for two years, and, though he was even with the world, the
master had not a pound to spare, and depended on the auction-sale
for the money to pay for outfit and passage to Canada. I had no
right to expect he would pay for me, and all the more that he would
have no use for a lad such as I was in his new home. It was not so
much of what might happen to myself after they were gone that I
thought about, as of parting with the family, for I loved every one
of them. I knew they were considering what to do with me, and one
day, on the master getting me alone, he seemed relieved on telling
me the new tenant of the farm was going to keep me on for my meat. I
thanked him, for it was better than I looked for. These were busy
days getting ready. Alice noticed that, in all the making of
clothes, there were none for me, and I overheard her ask her mother,
who answered in a whisper, that they had not money enough to take me
along with them. Alice was more considerate than ever with me. To
their going grannie proved an obstacle. She would not leave
Scotland, she declared, she would be buried in it, she would go to
no strange country let alone a cold one like Canada, nor cross the
sea. Her favorite of the family was Robbie, on whom she doted. ‘You
will not leave him?’ asked the mistress. ‘Ou, he’ll gang with me to
Mirren’s,’ the name o£ her daughter in Glasgow. ‘Oh, no; Robbie goes
with us to Canada.’ It was a struggle with the dear old soul, and in
the end she decided she would brave the Atlantic rather than part
with the boy.
The last day came. The chests, and plenishing for the home they
looked forward to in Canada, had gone the day before and been stowed
in the ship at Troon, and the carts stood at the door to receive-the
family and their hand-bags. The children and all were seated and the
master turned to me before taking his place. He shook my hand, and
tried to say something, but could not, for his voice failed.
Pressing half a crown in my little fist he moved to get beside the
driver, when Robbie cheeped out astonished, ‘Is Gordie no to go wi’
us?’ 'Whist, my boy; we will send for him by-and-by.’ At this Robbie
set up a howl, and his brothers and sisters joined in his weeping.
The master was sorely moved and whispered with his wife. ‘His
passage-money will make me break my last big note,’ I heard him say
to her. ‘Trust in the Lord,’ she answered, ‘I canna thole the
thought of leaving the mitherless bairn to that hard man, John
Stoddart; he’ll work the poor weak fellow to death.’ Without another
word, the master hoisted me on top of the baggage, the carts moved
on, and Robbie looked up into my face with a smile. We were driven
alongside the ship as she lay at the quay. She was a roomy brig, and
was busy taking on cargo. Our part of the hold was shown to us, and
the mistress at once began to unpack the bedding, and to make the
best of everything. ‘Is it not an awful black hole to put Christians
into?’ asked a woman who was taking her first survey. ‘Well, no, I
do not think so; it is far better than I expected.’ She had a
gracious way, the mistress, of looking at everything in the best
light.
In the afternoon a man came on board to see the captain about taking
passage, and they agreed. He had no baggage, and as the ship only
supplied part of the provisions he had to go and buy what he needed
for the voyage. He asked the master to let me go with him to help to
carry back his bedding and parcels. We went from shop to shop until
he had got everything on his list; last of all he visited a draper
and bought cloth. On getting back to the ship he was tapped on the
shoulder by a seedy looking fellow who was waiting for him, and who
said, ‘You are my prisoner.’ The man started and his face grew
white. I thought it strange he did not ask what he was a prisoner
for. ‘Will you go quietly or will I put these on?’ asked the man,
showing a pair of handcuffs in his coat pocket. ‘I will give you no
trouble,’’ was the answer, ‘only allow the boy to stow these parcels
and bags in my berth.’
‘I think the boy had better come with you; I will wait till he is
ready.’ I wondered what he could want with me. He led us up the
street to a large building where he placed us in charge of a man
even more greasy and with a worse look than himself. It was quite a
while before he returned and led us into a large room. There was a
long table, at its head sat two well-dressed gentlemen, and at each
side men with papers before them. ‘May it please your lordship and
Bailie McSweem, the prisoner being present we will now proceed.’ He
went on to explain that the prisoner was a member of one of those
political associations that were plotting to subvert the government
of the country, even thinking they could organize a revolution and
drive his majesty from the throne. He need not dwell on the danger
State and Church were in from the plottings of those desperate men,
and the need of all upholders of the Crown and Constitution
suppressing them with a firm hand.
The gentleman who was addressed as his lordship nodded in approval
and said, ‘There is no need, Mr Sheriff, of referring to those
unhappy matters as we are fully cognizant of them. What about the
prisoner?’
‘He is a member of the Greenock union, proceedings were about to be
taken for his arrest on a charge of sedition, when somehow he got
wind of what was about to take place and, knowing he was guilty,
attempted to flee the country. I can produce, if ycu say so,
witnesses to prove that he skulked into Troon by back streets and
secured passage to Canada on the Heatherbell, which sails in a few
hours. I have one witness now present.
His lordship remarked the Sheriff deserved credit for his vigilance
and the promptitude with which he acted. ‘I suppose,’ he added ‘we
have nothing more to do than order his being sent to Greenock for
examination and trial?’
‘That is all we need do' answered the Sheriff. Just then a loud
voice was heard in the hall demanding admission, a sound as if the
door-keeper was pulled aside, and a sharp featured man came in.
‘What business have you to enter here?’ demanded the Sheriff.
‘I will soon show you. What are you doing with that man?’ pointing
to the prisoner,
‘Leave at once, or I will order you to be ejected.’ The man, who was
quite composed, said to the prisoner, ‘Mr Kerr do you authorize me
to act as your attorney?’
‘Yes' he answered. ‘Very well, then, I am here by right. Now, Mr
Sheriff, hand me over the papers in the case.’
The Sheriff, who was red in the face, ‘I shall not, you have no
right here; you’re not a lawyer.’
Addressing the magistrates the man said he was a merchant, a burgess
of the city of Glasgow, had been chosen by the accused as his
attorney and was acting within his rights in demanding to see the
papers. The magistrates consulted in a whisper and his lordship
remarked there could be no objection. The Sheriff, however,
continued to clutch them. ‘You ask him,’ was the order of the
stranger to Kerr, ‘he dare not refuse you.’ Reluctantly the, Sheriff
handed them to the stranger, who quickly glanced over them. ‘Is this
all? he demanded. ‘Yes, that is all,’ snapped the Sheriff.
‘Where is the warrant for Kerr’s arrest?’
‘None of your business where, it is.’
Speaking to the bench, the stranger said there was neither
information nor warrant among the papers he held in his hand. The
only authority they had for holding Kerr was a letter from a clerk
at Greenock, stating one Robert Kerr, accused of sedition, had fled
before the papers could be made out for his arrest, and that, if he
was found trying to take ship at Troon, to hold him. ‘I warn you,’
said the stranger, shaking his list, ‘that you have made yourselves
liable to heavy penalties in arresting Robert Kerr on the strength
of a mere letter. There is no deposition whatever, no warrant, and
yet a peaceable man, going about in his lawful business, has been
seized by your thief-takers and male prisoner. If you do not release
him at once I go forthwith to Edinburgh and you will know what will
happen you by Monday.’ He went on with much more I do not recall,
but it was all threats and warnings of what would befall all
concerned if Kerr was not released. The Sheriff at last got in a
word.
'The charge is sedition and ordinary processes of procedure do not
apply.'
‘You might have said that 30 years ago when you infernal Tories sent
Thomas Muir of Huntershill to his death, and William Skirving and
others to banishment for seeking reform in representation and
upholding the right of petition, but you are not able now to make
the law to suit your ends. You are holding this man without shadow
of law or justice, and I demand his being set at liberty.'
‘Quite an authority in law!’ sneered the Sheriff. ‘Yes, I have been
three times before the court of session and won each time. I knew
your father, who was a decent shoemaker in Cupar, and when he sent
you to learn to be a lawyer he little thought he was making a tool
for those he despised. Pick a man from the plow, clap on his back a
black coat, send him to college, and in five years he is a
Conservative, and puckers his mouth at anything so vulgar as a
Reformer, booing and clawing to the gentry and nobility. God, set a
beggar on horseback and he will ride over his own father, and your
father was no lick-the-ladle like you, but a Liberal who stood up
for his rights.’ The bitterness and force with which the stranger
spoke cowed his hearers. ‘These insults are too much/ stammered the
Bailie. The stranger at once turned upon him. ‘O, this is you,
McSweem, to whom I have sold many a box of soap and tea when you
wore an apron and kept a grocer s shop. Set you up and push you
forward, indeed. You have got a bit of an estate with your wife's
money and call yourself a laird! The grand folk having taken you
under their wing, you forget that you once sat, cheek-by-jowl, with
Joseph Gerrald, and now you sit in judgment on a better man than a
dozen like you.'
‘Mr Sheriff', shouted his lordship, ‘Remove this man to the cells.’
‘I dare you to put a finger on me,’ and he grasped a chair ready to
knock down the officer who advanced to obey the order. ‘I am within
my lawful rights. God, wee Henderson would ask nothing better than
to prosecute you before the lords of session were you to keep me in
jail even for an hour. Release this innocent man Kerr, and let us
go.’
‘You are a vulgar bully,’ exclaimed his lordship haughtily.
The stranger dropped his bitter tone, and asked smoothly, ‘May I ask
your lordship a question? Will you condescend to say how many of
your lordship’s relatives are in government offices, and is it true
your wife’s mother draws a pension, all of them living out of taxes
paid by the commonalty whom you despise?’
His lordship affected not to hear him, and beckoned the Sheriff to
draw near who conferred with the magistrates in whispers. I
overheard Bailie McSweem say, ‘I know him, he’s a perfect devil to
fight; better to have nothing to do with him,’ and the Sheriff’s
remark, ‘He has got a legal catch to work on.’ When the Sheriff went
back to his seat, his lordship said curtiy, ‘The accused is
discharged’, and he and McSweem hurriedly left. The stranger gripped
Kerr by the shoulder and pushed him before him until he reached the
street. ‘Now, I must leave you, for I must see what my customers are
out of.’ ‘Tell me your name?’ asked Kerr, ‘that I may know who has
done me such service.’
‘Never mind; you are under no obligation to me. A wee bird told me
you were in trouble and I am glad to have been in time to serve
you.’
‘You do not know all the service you have done. You have saved more
than myself from jail, and an innocent wife and children from
poverty. Do let me know your name that I may remember it as long as
I live.’
‘Daniel M’Farlane, and my advice is to quit Scotland right off, for
these devils are mad angry at your giving them the slip. They will
get the papers they need from Greenock and have you in jail if you
are here tomorrow.’ A grip of the hand, and the stranger was gone.
The whole scene was such a surprise, so novel to me, that every part
of it fastened on my memory.
On reaching the brig we found the sailors stowing away casks of
water. Kerr and myself had been given the same berth, and Allan and
Robbie had the next one. Saying he was dead tired, for he had been
on his feet since leaving Greenock, Kerr turned in though the sun
had not set. An hour or so after, a number of men came to the wharf
to see him. I found him asleep. They asked if I was the lad the
officer took along with him to be a witness. Gathering in a quiet
corner they had me repeat all that took place. They said they were
Liberals and glad to hear the black nebs had won.
The noise overhead of washing the deck awoke me, and I knew by the
motion of the ship we were sailing. On getting up I saw Troon
several miles behind and Ailsa Craig drawing near. Allan and myself,
with Robbie between us, were snuggled on the lee side of the
longboat when Kerr appeared. He was interested on hearing of the men
who came to visit him and said it was hard to be hounded out of
Scotland, which he did not wish to leave, for saying constitutional
reforms were called for. ‘I am no worse used,’ he added, ‘than the
man whom that county we are looking at starved when he was among
them and built monuments to him when he was dead.’ The town of Ayr
was in sight and he named several of the points Burns had named in
his songs. ‘Think, my laddies, of a man like Burns being told by the
officials over him to keep his Liberal views to himself, that it was
not for him to think but to be silent and obedient. And he had to
swallow their order to prevent his losing the petty office which
stood between his children and starvation.'
The breeze that taken the brig so far down the firth soon died away,
and we rocked gently south of Ailsa Craig. In the hold folk were
busy getting things in some sort of order, while on deck the sailors
were putting everything in shipshape. This breathing spell was
fortunate, for at dark the wind came in squalls, and on rounding the
Mull of Cantyre the ocean swells sent most of the passengers to
their berths seasick. I escaped and was able to help the family and
Mr Kerr, who almost collapsed, and was not himself for a week. His
first sign of recovery was his craving for a red herring. The
mistress was early up and bustling round to find she had to face an
entire change in the methods of housekeeping to which she had been
used. There was a little house between the two masts named the
galley, and here the cooking was done. The cook was an old man,
gruff and crusty, who had spent most of his life in a Dundee whaler.
In the Arctic region his good nature had got frozen and was not yet
thawed out He would allow nobody near and got angry when suggestions
were tendered. He made good porridge and tasty soup, anything else
he spoiled. As these alone were cooked in bulk and measured out, the
passengers took to the galley the food they wished to be cooked.
That each family get back what they gave in, the food was placed in
bags of netted twine and then slipped into the coppers of boiling
water. The mistress was a famous hand at roley-poley, and for the
first Sunday after sea-sickness had gone, she prepared a big one as
a treat. It looked right and smelled good, but the first spoonful
showed it had a wonderful flavor. In the boiler the net beside it
held a nuckle of smoked ham. The laughter and jokes made us forget
the taste of the ham and not a scrap of the roley-poley was left.
Our greatest lack was milk for the children, and we all resented
being scrimped in drinking-water, though before the voyage ended we
became reconciled to that, for the water grew bad. |
