“The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu’ weel
And muckle luck attend the boat,
The merlin, and the creel.”
Old Scotch Snug
Tak’ guid counsel when ye get it, man,” said the Laird of Lauriston to his brother David, who was pacing up and down the hall of Lauriston Castle in a state of considerable excitement.
“Thole it, Davie, thole it — ’ He that tholes overcomes.’ Forbye, ye suld ken it’s ill fechting wi’ kirkmen.”
“Ay,” returned David Stratton between his teeth, “ill fechting wi’ thtm, but waur tholing them. A pack o’ greedy loons they be, ilka ane o’ them, bishop, priest, monk, and friar; taking the bread frae the mouths o’ widows and fatherless bairns to keep their ainsels in pride and luxury, and a’ manner o’ sin. What wi’ the best cow, and the uppermost cloth, and the teind o’ meal and maut, and a’ the lave, were we no shaved close enoo’, but they maun come speiring after the vera fish o’ the sea, that we get by the guid help o’ God and the hard toil o’ our ain hands? Say what ye may, brither, neither Prior Patrick Hepburn nor Moister Robert Lawson sall hae the tenth fish o’ me.” And he confirmed his declaration by an oath.
David Stratton was a man whom either priest or layman, in those stormy days, might have preferred having as a friend than as a foe. Every movement of his powerful well-knit frame, every glance of his keen blue eye, bespoke energy and decision of character. A strong will and a brave heart, a good share of common sense, and an iron constitution, had hitherto enabled him, in whatever he undertook, to bear down opposition, and to carry out his purposes with a high hand. Still he had a rough but real sense of justice that might have disposed him to yield good humouredly to a fair demand. It only quickened his opposition to one that he considered obviously unjust and oppressive.
His case was this. He had shrewdly invested part of his moderate resources (a younger brother’s portion) in the purchase of a fishing-boat, which brought him in a considerable profit. Hearing of this, the Prior of St. Andrews demanded the tithe of his gains, employing as his agent in the business, Robert Lawson, vicar of Ecclescreig.
The Laird of Lauriston, who did not equal his brother in courage and determination, urged compliance with the demand; but David, although well content to leave his soul, with all its weighty interests, to the management of the kirkmen, had no disposition to permit their meddlesome interference with his temporal possessions.
Lauriston therefore remonstrated in vain, and he did so in the hesitating tone of one who foresees his remonstrance will be in vain. “Gie him the teind, Davie, that ye may keep the nine siccar.”
“Haud yer clovers! I’ll keep the nine siccar, and nae thanks to you or him.”
“Douce, man, douce. Do ye no ken the holy prior may curse ye wi’ the muckle curse, and aiblins yer net ‘ill break, or your boat ‘ill gae down in the sea, or Hugh Peters, yer best fisherman, that ye set sic’ store by, ‘ill fall frae the mast?”
For a moment David stared at his, brother in surprise, then he burst into a loud fit of laughter.
“The holy prior! Heerd a man ever the like? Ye’ve been just taking a willy-waucht o’ yer guid French wine, or ye wadna talk sic’ fooleries. What wad gar me be fear’t for a kirkman’s curse, that aebody wha likes may buy for a plack ony day? Forbye, the blessed saints hae got mair to do than to tak’ tent o’ Patrick Hepburn, when it’s his pleasure to curse better men than himsel.”
“Weel, a wilfu’ man maun gang his gait. Gin it were but for my sake, though, ye might speak him fair. For-bye that, ye’re a daft lad to be making faes for yersel when it’s friends ye suld be speiring after. An’ ye want to win favour wi’ the Lindsays it’s ill fechting wi’ the Hepburns, for they’re fast friends the noo.”
David threw himself into the nearest seat, and remained silent for some minutes, during which a change passed gradually over his face, softening its hard and keen expression. At last he said, “Alison Lindsay’s a brave lass, and likes a man wi’ a will o’ his ain.”
“There be ways enoo’ to show thy will, but meddling wi’ the priests.”
“I canna thole to hae the gear minished when I’m gathering it for her,” said David slowly, and in an altered tone.
“Hoot awa, man! There’ll be gear enoo’. I’ve nae but ane son” —
David stretched out his sinewy arm with a forbidding gesture. “Na, na, David Stratton ‘ill never sorn upon ony, be it his ain brither ten times owre. Forbye,”he added with a laugh,” Maister Geordie ‘ill need a’ the gear ye can win for him, for I wad ye a plack it’s na muckle he’ll win for himsel, wi’ his Latin and his logic, and a’ his ither fooleries, that hae never filled aebody’s mouth, sae far’s I ken, wi’ onything better than idle clavers.”
Lauriston looked annoyed, but controlled himself “Atweel, David,” he said, “we’re no like to agree upon that. But never heed the gear. Alison’s father ‘ll gie her a braw tocher, never fear. She’s my wife’s ain cousin and forbye that, she’s a guid lass and a bonnie, sae I wish thee guid luck wi’ her.”
A very perceptible flush mounted to David’s bronze cheek. Not choosing apparently to talk more of the matter, he turned his attention to the “good Frenci wine” on the table, of which he drank a cup. Then he said with a smile, “Weel, Andrew, I’ll no stan’ against guid counsel The prior may tak’ his teind, I’se nc hinder him.”
Lauriston looked keenly at his brother. He spoke fairly enough, but there was a light in his eye, and a smile lurking about the corners of his mouth, not pleasing in the sight of the prudent and peaceable laird. But at that moment the young Master of Lauriston entered the room, his usually open countenance wearing an expression of considerable impatience and vexation. His father and uncle had in fact delegated to him the very uncongenial task of entertaining the vicar of Ecclescreig, whilst they deliberated upon the demand of which he was the bearer; and the youth was both wearied and disgusted with his companion. Nor was he perhaps too willing to sacrifice his own convenience to that of his uncle David, whom he could not help regarding with the kind of contempt a scholar usually entertains for the willfully ignorant. And David repaid his contempt with interest, though upon different, grounds. “He despised all reading, chiefly of those things that are godly;” he regarded every scholar as a useless, effeminate character, but most of all a scholar who, like George Stratton, had “drunk of St. Leonard’s Well,” and was even suspected of carrying about his person, for private perusal, a copy of Tyndale’s New Testament. At the same time, with considerable inconsistency, he also despised the clergy for their shameful ignorance and their abandoned lives.
“Uncle,” said George, “you priest wad needs be gone. I pray you stay him not, but give him an answer straightway, yea or nay.”
“An answer, lad? That I will, and a better, I wad ye, than ye’d find in your books frae this to Yule.” And he rose to go.
“Tak’ tent,” said Lauriston, in a warning voice. “I jalouse yell be playing some of your tricks upon the priest.”
“I?” said Stratton, with a droll look of assumed simplicity; “what for suld I play tricks upon Maister Robert? I’d as soon play them upon my lord the prior himsel (which was probably quite true). Ye ken my boat lies in the creek, twa mile and a bittock frae this. I’ll just ride sae far wi’ the vicar, and he sall hear me tell my men to reserve my lord’s teinds at their peril. Gin that’ll no content him, ‘twill be an ill case.”
With this assurance Lauriston was obliged to be satisfied; and a few minutes later saw the energetic David Stratton and Master Robert Lawson on their way together to the little harbor.
The sound of their master’s well-known whistle summoned the fishermen, who were engaged in preparing their evening meal on board the little vessel. They were a rough, wild-looking group; but they seemed warmly attached to “Maister Davie,” who had often shared their toils and dangers.
He addressed himself particularly to the two who stood foremost amongst them. “Hark ye, my lads. The Prior o’ St. Andrews hath sent this holy man unto me, speiring after the teind pairt o’ our fish. And we maun be guid Christians, and gie the Kirk her dues, ye ken. Sae I command ye, gin ye be my true men, of a’ the fish ye tak’ frae this day for’and — throw the teind pair back into the sea!” The men listened to the first part of this address with ill-concealed annoyance and dislike. But when, in conclusion, their master gave his singular command, the expression of their countenances changed, first into surprise and wonder, then into undisguised satisfaction. “Ay, ay, maister!” shouted the two foremost heartily; and their shout was echoed by all the group, from gray-haired Hugh Peters to the brace of bare-legged, shock-headed boys, who stood at a respectful distance staring at the master and his unwonted companion the priest. To whom, as soon as the noise had subsided, Master David turned. “Gang yer ways, sir, and tell my lord the prior that he may come ctnd tak’ his teind frae the place whaur I get my stock.”
To judge by their continued cheers and laughter, the joke was better relished by the fishermen than it was by the priest “That’s a dour message, Maister David,” said he, “and ill to carry to a proud and scornful man like my lord the prior.”
“Nay ither sail ye get frae me,” answered David briefly; and with a slight and rather contemptuous salute, he turned his horse’s head and rode quickly back to Lauriston.
Far indeed was he then from foreseeing all the sorrow his rude and thoughtless jest was destined to occasion. Yet out of that sorrow were to spring forth richer and purer blessings than as yet he could even conceive. But for the covetous demand of the Prior of St. Andrews, and the reckless defiance it provoked, David Stratton would probably have lived and died without God in the world. His fishing, his farm, his field sports, his family, would have engrossed his thoughts, and (as far as these things can do it) have filled his heart. But He who is “wonderful in counsel and excellent in working” was leading the blind by a way that he knew not, which was yet for him “the right way, that he might go unto a city of habitation.”