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Scenes from an Artist's Life
Chapter 7
''There was, indeed, in far less polished days,
A time when rough rude men had naughty ways.''
PETER PINDER.
" Eh-h, mun, it's a' verra weel weddins at ye're time o'life. Gi'e me a gude solid funeral"-PUNCH
JOHN MACADAM-FUNERALS IN THE OLDEN TIME-OLD MILLER OF
FORTACRES, HIS FORT1JNE AND HIS BURIAL-THE OBSEQUIES OF DR
DUNCAN-ANTI-PATRONAGE FEELING IN THE PARISH-MY ATTACK
UPON THE MANSE AND DESCENT INTO A WELL-THE RIVAL POETS-
THE MINISTER'S MAN.
AMONG the auld historians who used to frequent the garret,
none pleased me so much as those who could tell what they had
themselves done. There was always something fresh and powerful
about an actor in some scene whose history was worth being
noted.
John Macadam, among the old men, in this quality had no
superior. John stated what had been done, without waiting either
to comment on the performance or please himself with having a
motive to the action. If, when 'twas done, 'twas well done, that
was enough for John. Mischiefs, casualties, and crimes were often
stepped into without thought; hence his mantle of charity to the
erring was large and broad.
John declared that war had a bad effect on the mind of young
men. It made both life and property seem of little value in their
eyes, and every desperado had a right to fancy himself a hero.
John took a great interest in the polities of the days in which he
lived, and was a true-hearted Reformer. All sorts of news were
gathered and retailed by him. Kilmarnock being the market town
most frequented by the villagers and country people, John knew
the different dispositions of those who used to go to town, and
was sure togather up what came home by verbal retail. Papers were then
scarce and dear. John was strongly imbued with the spirit of
opposition. The modern manner of doing anything was objected
to, and very often the good old times were quoted when things
were gone about as they ought to be.
For instance, funerals did not please him. The manner of
conducting the service was becoming a mockery. He had in his
day superintended funerals that made the occasion remembered as
a something worth speaking about.
On the 14th April, 1815, the Rev. Dr Duncan of Dundonald
died. He was much esteemed by his parishioners. Well do I mind
of the tidings running through the village in a whisper, " The
Doctor's dead " The event was daily looked for-it was no sudden
call, yet it seemed to take the breath from every one I heard
speak of it, except John Macadam. John spoke of it as something
which had been looked for and need not surprise any one.
On the morning of the funeral John came to our garret as
usual. When my old master asked him in a fine hamely way, "
Weel, John, is'tu for the minister's burial the day ?" there came
forth the emphatic " No," followed by the remark, " The burials
are not worth a d-n nowadays. They are not worth changing
your clothes for. Are you going?"
"I'se gaun, atweel. I gat mysel' fou that day he was placed, and
it cheats me if I be na drunk the day if I can get as muckle. It's
mair than twa-an'-thirty year sin' then, and I ha'e mind o't as
weel as it were yesterday. Whatna burial was't, John, that thee
and Bauldy Steel ran the race at?"
" Aye, that brings back the remembrance of the good old
times. That was old Miller's of the Fortacres. That was a burial
worth speaking about. He was a curious fellow, old Miller. He had
some trifle of money-nothing worth fighting about-and he had
a great many hungry friends, who thought him very rich. I knew
some of them myself who were looking forward like hawks for
his death. One day him and I were on the fuddle together, and I
said in a serious way, 'Miller, some of your friends are wearying
for your death, and I think that it's right you should disappoint them.
It would not cost a great deal to have your will made, and
as you have made all your own money, you can leave it to whom
you please; so I think you should just make me sole executor, and
leave it all to those who least expect it; and, be sure you put
down that the division is not to take place till once you are
decently buried, and that I, should I survive you, am to have the
whole say anent your funeral, and I'll take in hand to see that
everything be done so as you would give us applause for it were
you to witness the affair. '
" Old Miller was delighted with the idea; everything was gone
about, and the will was made out in legal form to the entire
satisfaction of him and I, and, as he wisely remarked, there was no
other person had anything to do with it. Miller's death did not
take place a day sooner than otherwise it would have done; but the
will gave a different turn to the minds of the friends who met at
his funeral. I had all things in readiness. I had the lawyer who
wrote the will ready to read it. I looked friendly to all who
attended, and saw that there was no niggardly service in either
meat or drink. I insisted that as some of them had come far, they
required rest and refreshment. Hawks who expect prey have sharp
appetites. They fed and watered well. I then made a speech so
lamblike, that I was aware of the old man having made a will,
wherein he had appointed me sole executor on his estate; and,
although contrary to custom, I thought it might be as well to read
the will before starting with the corpse, as some of them had far
to go home. It would save both time and trouble. It was
marvellous to see how many faces brightened up at the idea of
possessing fortunes, but well I knew what disappointment was in
store for them. The will was read, and what a change of
expression! The delicate mourners wore the aspect of fiends as
each threatened to break the will and have a new scramble.
" I enjoyed this storm for a time, and when I thought a word in
season could be put in, I said, ' Friends, I am sorry to see so many
of you put about, but I hope you are all satisfied that I am acting
in a proper spirit without respect of persons, and that I, being
named as sole executor, would like to please all parties, and at the
same time abide by the spirit of the will. I would like to have your voice on that point.' All
seemed satisfied that I spoke like a philosopher ' Then,' said I, in
a masterly tone, ' you who choose may go home and you who
choose may remain, for be assured I will see that my old and
respected friend gets a decent funeral. You will see that the will
expressly says such things are not to be till after he is decently
interred; then what is left is to be distributed to those he hath
named in the will. I'll take care that by the time he is buried there
will be less to fight about, so you who wish to attend the funeral
can come back this day week. '
" This speech rather took them by surprise. The disappointed
friends seconded the motion with great vehemence. I at once
gave orders to raise the country side to the knowledge that a
week's sport was before them; and for the purpose of keeping up
the spree, I ordered a cart off to Kilmarnock for some of the
good things of this life.
" This new arrangement spread like wildfire. All the worthies in
the country-side obeyed the summons, which seemed to give
great satisfaction. Feats of strength and every sort of diversion
went on for the week. The different parties found beds for
themselves, and I took care that they wanted neither for meat or
drink of the best. When the week was up, old Miller was giving
indications of being long enough out of the grave, so we proposed
for a start. When we had got the corpse fairly under weigh, I
looked round upon the gathering and said that our dead friend in
his time had ran at many a bruise, always starting on the side of
the bride. ' Now,' said I, ' what think you of a bruise at his burial?
I'll run any man to the kirkyard first for a bottle of whisky.' It
was then that Bauldy Steel stepped forth, and looking like one
newly wakened out of a sleep, said 'I'm your man.' So, without
more ceremony, we started, and whether it was the want of sleep,
the breadth of the road, or the drink we had taken, or all put
together, it was a tedious journey. Which of us was first I never
knew. One tried to help the other along. I think we forgot that
we were running in opposition When we reached the kirkyard I
sat down on a through-stane, on which the bellman used to stand
on Sundays when he read the raffles,roups, and dances, which
were to take place through the week in the parish.
"Bauldy had always an inquisitive turn about him. I saw him
stacher awa' to the grave where we were going to put the carcase
of old Miller. Bauldy fell in and fell asleep, and I fell asleep where
I sat. When the main body arrived, I was roused up. It had a
curious appearance to see so many men zigzaging among the
headstanes, bleared, blin' and sleepylike. They were going to let
the coffin in to the grave when I recollected that I had seen
Bauldy tumble in. 'Hello,' said I, ' what are you about ?' They said
that they were going to put old Miller in the hole. ' Wait a little,'
said I; 'we'll begin with the resurrection o' Bauldy first.' Some
pretending to look down said that they could not see him; so I
was compelled to step into the grave on a voyage of discovery,
and there was Bauldy in a sound sleep. I got him up, and lifting his
head out, he was laid hold of by some of the outsiders, and
between pushing and pulling we got him out, in the midst of
which process he wakened, and with a wild vacancy in his face
enquired, 'Wha-wha's burial's 'tis we're at?' Bauldy was informed
that it had nearly been his own."
John said that it gave a point to old Miller's removal; it took
away any commonplace way of speaking of the event. John said
furthermore that by the rule of thumb he destroyed the whole
life's savings of old Miller but nineteen and sevenpence-a sum
not worth fighting about. The grandeur of the burial saved
anything like a law suit.
My auld master kept his word religiously. He attended the
funeral of his respected pastor, and, in the true spirit in which he
had attended the placing, rather improved on the solemnity of
his funeral.
After a rather scrimpet service, which had only stirred up their
grief without having allayed their thirst, a number of auld
worthies who had seen the last obsequies done to their minister
met in John Orr's to endeavour to slocken if not altogether
extinguish their grief. Auld Mary grew very impatient as to the
delay in the publichouse, but as there wasna ane o' them to mend
anither, she could say nae great thing against the meeting, kennin
that it was a' oot o' respect to the memory o' their auld faithfu' pastor wha had gane hence, and
left an open field to be competed for by hirelings, in whose
coming they had no choice.
Mony a time Mary visited the foredoor wi' a rather
foreboding look. At last her familiar ejaculation met my ear. "
God-keep-us, callant, awa' and see if ye can help our auld man
hame. He has come out o' John Orr's yon'er hauding by the wa's
till he cam' to Betty Lammie's corner, then, after he had
naething to haud by, he has faun wi' a clash in the syvour, and
he's an awfu' like sicht wi' glaur. John M'Lean and a wheen
callants are-makin' a perfect deevil o' him. They are pretending
they are dightin' the dirt aff him, and they hae made his face as
flecket as a fool's at a show."
I had nae pith to help. The personal escort were bearing him
up as weel as his souple state would permit. He was brought into
the house and laid on his back in the bed. A sickliness was stealing
o'er his features, his look was sair changed; yet he had keept his
word-he was drunk, and the first really drunk man I had been
called on to take an interest in. The auld wife thought that it was
a curious respect for a dead minister to become so like a dead man
himsel'.
After the death of Dr Duncan, the parish lay waste for a time
for the want o' a herd; but we were favoured wi' a great many
changes, among whom were three of whom Burns spoke in
figurative language, " Simper James," " Irvineside," and " The
Calf." I've heard him roar and rout.
Dundonald is a large parish, nine miles lang and five miles
broad. The harbours of Irvine and Troon are situated on its
selvage. There are memories of past greatness still visible, when
Scottish royalty had a home in the auld castle; and a bonnier
village, with its picturesque surroundings, I have not yet seen.
Report arose that an auld clergyman, second in charge in the
Laigh Kirk o' Kilmarnock, was to be translated to Dundonald,
which had a destructive effect on the parishioners. As in the
Disruption times, it made a great many simple attenders think
that their een had been opened, and that they for the first time
saw the evils of patronage.
A new light having thus been shed abroad, reverence for
the coming clergyman had no part in the parish. The old
spoke out; the young listened and took up the note in cuckoo
style. Had it been possible to keep him out by burning the
manse and kirk, some felt the will to do it.
On the last night of the year there used to be a dance in
Dundonald. The young men of the parish were invited by
a committee selected for the purpose, who sat as a sort of
court to say who should or should not be fit and proper per-
sons to congregate together. The annual ball was held alter
nately in John Orr's and John Findlay's. A few boys were
admitted at an early hour of the night to look on for a little,
then go home before the year was out. On the last night of
1815 the ball was in John Orr's, which was situated just opposite
the minister's gate. When on the remnant of the old
year, about a dozen of us boys who had been favoured with a
view of the dance were dismissed to go home and be in readi
ness to welcome the new year with a becoming shout. When
we came out in the dark a race was made down by the manse,
which was empty, solitary, and like a waste place. We began
to shout and kick the door, chap at the windows in sport,
without meaning any offence.
I got a big stone, a two-handed one, and having made
a study as to its disposal as a missile-whether it should be
applied to the door or window-I went to the kitchen window
and inquired " if auld M'Leod was in? Tell him to speak ;"
and with that I pitched the stane ower my head in a back
handed style. It went through at a crossing of the astricals,
taking four lozens and a panel of the window shutters with
it, and fell with a thud on the floor inside. What a shout of
applause I got from the boys ! But the thud on the floor had
touched my heart. I felt it to be wrong, yet it was done
unthinkingly, and at this moment the well-known voice of
Rab Brown gave a shout of reproof which startled the workers
of iniquity. Rab had some kye in the byre, and he thought
at first that something was wrong with them when he heard
the noise.
I bolted at the first shout and took the road for home,
passing through a yett at the Wee Byre, and making to cross
the glebe. John Hay of Palstone had bought the pump and
pipe of the well at the roup, and had that day opened the mouth
of the well to take out the lead pipe The flagstone was not put
down, only a thorn bush thrown on the open well, through
which, in ignorance of the fact, I fell, tumbling the wulcat, and
rested stride-legs on one of the sticks which held the pipe in its
place.
Here was a business. Here a spot for meditation. Here, on the
brink of eternity, betwixt the old year and the new, I heard the
company at the ball give the new year a welcome. In looking up
out at the well-mouth the stars had a brighter appearance, and
my position was black to ruminate on. I heard some of the boys
tell Rab Brown that it wasna them, but Rowat's 'prentice. I
wondered what my mother would think if she saw me sitting in
such a solitary place. I made some bold resolutions as to
reformation, seeing my way wrong and my present position bad.
" If I get out, as I will do, I'll have no more faith in the boys who
turned king's evidence," was one of my stipulations.
I got out, went through the hedge, and up our ain yard. When I
arrived at the house Rowat was home from the ball to investigate
the nature of the charge against his 'prentice. I tried to deny it;
but the whole host of aiders and abettors were there to look me
out of countenance, honouring me with all the destruction which
had been perpetrated. They had been there, but they were in fun;
I alone was in earnest.
Next morning I felt very uncomfortable: I was to be sent
home. I went out in the forenoon to see the shooting match
which was annually got up by Lowrie Cockburn. Horse shoes were
the prizes. This brought always a great gathering of country lads
with guns to try their luck. I was ordered off the ground by John
Findlay, as one who had been guilty of sacrilege in destroying
property connected with the church. Rab Brown stood forth and
said " No: that it was a pity to send awa' the poor thing when he
had come to tak' a fareweel look at them, for it was evident that
he couldna be left lang amang them, for that he would be either
banished or hanged." This touch of Rab's sympathy went to my
heart far more cutting than Findlay's harsh expulsion did.
The storm blew past; the manse was put in order, and the minister
put in. Hughie Jamieson the Symington poet wrote satires on the occasion,
Charlie Lockhart the Dundonald poet having sung the sorrows of Symington
before. That parish had a clergyman whose ministrations were listened to
only by the few or selelct of the people. One cauld day only ten were present, including
the minister, elders and common folks. Charlie, in answer to Jamieson, who had been prophesying
that as it was only the glebe, manse, and tiends that auld Johnnie wanted, and he wadna
care how few came to hear him, says in return:-
"Although our kirk it grows but thin,
Yet you may haud your splore:
We never rand our bell like you,
And got but half a score!"
Charlie sang the minister's man's lament in poetry. The man himsel' having
spoken his feelings in prose, made the task easy. Andrew Gray was a single hearted,
unsuspicious man, who had self-esteem and love of approbation large; and while
he spoke his honest feelings he never thought that any one could embody them against
him as failings. That night the Doctor died, Andrew was taking a walk in the Craigmeadow when
something of a supernatural character brought him to a stand still; his ears rang, and
something like a voice said, "The Doctor's dead!" He looked at his watch, came home,
and the voice was true - the Doctor was no more! Then his past life flashed on him: the
happy days he had spent in his service; and wonder commenced to take up the future,
if that his service might be required, whoever might be the fortunate coming man.
In this he was disappointed. Another filled the office; and Andrew soon followed his
master to the grave.