“Weel, he fand oot that there was a wheen auld fowk that werena able to traivel to St. James’ Church, an’ so he gaed to the Bishop, an’ got a lay reader’s license, an’ noo we hae a service in the schuil ilka Sunday aifternoon. The Major reads the prayers, an’ gies a bit simple sermon, an’ his leddy plays the harmonium.
“But that’s no a’ he’s done. He’s paid the hale cost o’ makin’ oor fine wee harbor, an’ noo oor boats are safe when they’re no oot at sea.
“Aye, he’s a graund man, the Major—never thinkin’ aboot himsel’, but a’ the time plannin’ for ither fowks’ weelfare.”
I was sorry when the arrival of my train cut short this interesting chat; but it was not long before I had an opportunity of coming into closer contact with the Major. We met again, one afternoon, at Glendouglas House, when we were formally introduced to one another. In the course of conversation the subject of golf as a healthful recreation came up.
“We have a capital golf course at Carronmouth, Mr. Gray; some day soon you must come and spend the afternoon with me, and I will take you over it.”
His innate modesty kept him from telling me that it also was a gift from him to his people, and that the idea was a partial carrying out of a scheme which he had formulated as a counterfoil to more questionable modes of enjoyment. Needless to say, I took advantage of this kind invitation. What a glorious afternoon that was! Our game did not amount to much, but there was ample compensation in our pleasant intercourse. Simply and unassumingly he told me of the primitive manners and customs of his fisherfolks, and of their loyal devotion to the faith of their fathers. Ignorant of many of the ways of the great world beyond them, they were, nevertheless, endowed with an amount of traditional lore that many with greater pretensions could not claim. One could easily see that he was a feudal superior of a grand type; that these homely folks were bound to him by ties of the most enduring character; that their interests were his, and his responsibility, in regard to them, a very sacred thing in his eyes.
I happened to mention that I intended having lantern services for my people during Holy Week. This at once aroused his interest. Would I come to the Carronmouth School on Good Friday evening and give his people such a service? I was only too glad to have the privilege of assisting him in his splendid work; and so, on the evening named, I was there. The school was crowded with fisherfolks, and right on the front bench sat the laird between two of the fathers of the place. With hymn, and prayer, and picture, and meditation, the evening sped; the silence was almost breathless—they had never experienced such a service before; and when I threw a beautiful reproduction of Gabriel Max’s “Ecce Homo” on the canvas the effect was marvellous. I turned to give the benediction, but it was with difficulty I could utter a word. Laird and fisherman, old and young, gazed awestruck on the “Man of Sorrows,” and tears were streaming down many a rugged face.
The gentle laird rose and said: “It is all too sad and yet too sweet for me to say anything. God bless you, sir, for coming here to-night; it is a night we’ll remember for along time.”
The following evening saw a very different sight. All day a terrible storm had been raging, and all the boats were out at sea. The women were in awful anxiety, each fearing the worst for her “man” or her boys. Down to the village in the afternoon came the Major—in sou’wester and oilskin coat. He had a cheery word of comfort and hope for all; and he did not return home till every boat came in. He was ready to shake hands with every man as he came ashore, and to remind him that he must give thanks to God for His mercy.
Years have passed away since that time; the Major’s “sweet leddy” has gone to the rest of Paradise; he himself, in obedience to the call of the Master, has exchanged his rank in the army of Great Britain for the rank of a priest in the Church of God, and is devoting his life to mission work in a large and busy centre of the fishing industry—but in dear little Carronmouth, where he began his work for Christ, old men love to speak of “The Major.”