At the first sight of India, a land so full of romantic and mysterious interest, Macleod as a Briton, and still more as a Christian, was strangely moved. The working plan of the deputies may be stated in a dozen words: Bombay, Madras, Calcutta, with a loop of travel at each. In one city as in another Macleod had much the same round of triumphs and of toils. He conferred with missionaries of different Churches; inspected colleges and schools; and, accompanied by the highest aristocracy, both native and English, delivered sermons and addresses to enormous crowds. The Brahman worship he took pains to study, and made a point of quizzing the most cultured Hindoos. Socially he was treated as if he had been the special commissioner, not of the General Assembly, but of the Crown. Governors, military commanders, and bishops gave dinners and receptions in his honour. He was never well, but the killing fatigue at the centres was relieved by the trips to inland stations. From Bombay the deputies went to Poonah and Colgaum, whence returning they visited the caves of Karli. Sir Alexander Grant—afterwards Principal of Edinburgh University—at whose house Macleod met a select party of educated natives, has left this testimony: ‘He talks to them in a large, conciliatory, manly way, which is a perfect model of missionary style. I had the most charming talks with him, lasting always till 2 a.m., and his mixture of poetry, thought, tenderness, manly sense, and humour was to me perfectly delightful. I had no idea his soul was so great.’ At a bungalow on the road to Colgaum he had what he calls a dangerous encounter with a snake. He had wished to see a real cobra, and Dr. Watson reported that there was one outside basking in the moonshine. So off went Norman with his Lochaber crook. ‘Slowly and cautiously I approached, with uplifted staff and beating heart, the spot where the dragon lay, and saw him, a long grey monster! As the chivalrous St. George flashed upon my mind, I administered a fearful stroke to the brute; but from a sense of duty to my wife and children rushed back to the bungalow in case of any putting forth of venom, which might cause a vacancy in the Barony, and resolved to delay approaching the worm till next morning. Now, whatever the cause was, no one, strange to say, could discover the dead body when morning dawned. A few decayed branches of a tree were alone discovered near his foul den, and these had unquestionably been broken by some mighty stroke; but the cobra was never seen afterwards, dead or alive.... Why my friend laughed so heartily at my adventure I never could comprehend, and have always avoided asking him the question.’ Their route to Madras was by sea to Calicut, and across country by rail from Beypore. In their excursions from Madras they went two hundred miles, as far as to Bangalore. At Calcutta, where they arrived about the middle of January, Macleod, for the first time, received the impression of the imperial power of the British. Thinking of Government House, he says: ‘I have trod the gorgeous halls of almost every regal palace in Europe, from Moscow to Naples, and those of the republican White House at Washington, but with none of these could I associate such a succession of names as those of the men who had governed India.’ He got on terms of friendship with the Governor-General, Lord Lawrence, but a State dinner, given on account of the deputies, he had to forego. His health was giving way, as was inevitable from the high pressure at which he had been working in a burning climate. Nevertheless he went about the business of the embassy. One day, when he had been three weeks in Calcutta, he spoke at a morning meeting; held an examination in the General Assembly’s Institution, and addressed the students in the great hall; was the chief guest at a luncheon; and in the evening, at the most brilliant public dinner ever held in the city, delivered a great speech. That night ‘the bull,’ which had been ‘after him all day,’ caught and tossed him, and there was a sudden end to his work in India. From a kind of noble vanity he had, Macleod could never bear to have the appearance of shirking a task. Next morning, tolerably well with his way of it, he telegraphed home, ‘Off for the Punjaub’; but at a conference of doctors it was decided that ‘it would be attended with danger to his life should he persist in his intention of continuing his tour to Sealkote.’
Before quitting India he took a holiday excursion. He had seen the Red Indians in their encampment, he had been on the summit of the high tower at Moscow, he had sat on the Mount of Olives, he had floated in a raft upon the Danube; and now, behold him threading the lanes of holy Benares, mounted on an elephant! He saw the marble glories of Mohammedan Agra, and examined all the famous scenes of the Mutiny, especially Delhi, where his heart glowed as he remembered Nicholson. From Delhi he returned direct to Calcutta; whence, on board of an old man-of-war, in company with Lady Lawrence and her daughter, he sailed for Egypt. One little incident of the voyage is worth remembrance. He had been very attentive to the sailors, not only preaching in the forecastle on Sundays, but at other times reading to them selections from his sea stories. Now at Aden they had shipped an African boy who had been taken from a slaver, and when Macleod was about to leave the vessel, a deputation of the crew approached him, leading the little negro by the hand. ‘And now, your Reverence,’ said one, ‘I hope you won’t be offended if we name this here nigger boy Billy Buttons.’
Cairo and the Pyramids once more; then home by Malta, Sicily, Naples, and Rome.
Notwithstanding many predictions, he had come back, and in apparent vigour; but his health was undermined, India had done for Norman. Though to a certain section of the clergy he was still an object of suspicion, his magnificent services could not be denied, and, besides, in the Indian undertaking—his years and his physique considered—there was a gallantry, a derring-do, that stirred men’s spirits finely. So, on his first rising to speak in the General Assembly, after his return, he received an ovation. His speech, giving the results arrived at by the deputation, lasted for two hours, and, in an intellectual point of view, is perhaps the highest of all his works. There is a thorough grasp of the whole problem of the conversion of the Hindoos, with splendid ability in the presentation. Of the contest against the system of caste he says:
I hesitate not to express the opinion that no such battle has ever before been given to the Church of God to fight since history began, and that no victory, if gained, will be followed by greater consequences. It seems to me as if the spiritual conquest of India was a work reserved for these latter days to accomplish, because requiring all the previous dear-bought experiences of the Church, and all the preliminary education of the world, and that, when accomplished,—as by the help of the living Christ it shall,—it will be a very Armageddon: the last great battle against every form of unbelief, the last fortress of the enemy stormed, the last victory gained as necessary to secure the unimpeded progress and the final triumph of the world’s regeneration.
He shows how the evangelising methods with which we are familiar at home are inapplicable in India. ‘One of the noblest and most devoted of men, Mr. Bowen of Bombay, whom I heard thus preach, and who has done so for a quarter of a century, informed me in his own humble, truthful way,—and his case is not singular except for its patience and earnestness,—that, as far as he knew, he had never made one single convert.’ In insisting on education as the first means all authorities are now at one with him; but his other idea, that in India the various Christian sects should forget their differences, and aim at a native Church, which should be independent of Western creeds, is still a devout imagination.
Is the grand army to remain broken up into separate divisions, each to recruit to its own standard, and to invite the Hindoos to wear our respective uniforms, adopt our respective shibboleths, and learn and repeat our respective war-cries, and even make caste marks of our wounds and scars, which to us are but the sad mementoes of old battles?[7]
He foresaw a time when for idols would be substituted Jesus, the divine yet human brother; for the Puranas the Bible; for caste Christian brotherhood; and for weary rite and empty ceremony the peace of God.
The Moderatorship, which is the presidency of the General Assembly, is the highest office in the Church. The appointment lies with the members, but in practice the retiring dignitary, on the opening day, names his successor, who has in fact been chosen six months before at a secret conclave. Some such arrangement is necessary, as the Moderator has to wear an antique and elaborate scheme of apparel. Supposing the General Assembly were to reject the nominee, picture the situation! There behind the door would be the proud one, giving the last touch to his ruffles, casting a final glance at his buckled shoes, while a gentleman in mere coat and trousers was marching to the Chair! On the whole the college of Moderators has proved an excellent body of electors, and seldom has it done itself more credit than in promoting Norman Macleod. In 1869 he was, to be sure, the chief man in the Church, but the old Moderators were just the persons who would be most shocked by his view of the first day of the week. In offering to so recent a culprit the greatest honour which the Church had to bestow, they showed no little magnanimity, even were the idea of muzzling him not altogether absent. ‘I should like to be at the head of everything,’ Norman had said in his youth, and though too good a man to sacrifice any of his moral being to ambition, undoubtedly he was fond of power. The Moderatorship he at first, both by word and letter, refused, chiefly on the ground of his desire for freedom in the expression of his opinions. But of course it was all right!
During the session of the General Assembly the Moderator has an exciting round of social duties. Every morning he entertains a number of the clergy and their wives to breakfast, and at the dinners and receptions in Holyrood Palace he is the principal figure, next to the representative of the Sovereign. But the great event for the Moderator is the closing address, which he delivers about midnight to a mixed crowd. After that comes the most impressive scene of all, when they stand and sing—