That father benign and mother of imposing presence have been long laid to sleep; but in London, and Edinburgh, and Dundee, in the world at large, live yet these sons and daughters of “Bonnie Scotland” who have made the Americans’ memories of their lovely home in their home land a storehouse of delight.
Besides the private grounds of the home, with their trees and shrubbery, there were walks that afforded plenty of room for rambles. Still farther afield, yet not far away from either the house or the railway station, were ruins of Dargie Church. These touched the imagination and called history to resurrection. It appeared strange to come across the footprints of our old friend St. Winifred, or Boniface, whom we met with in our studies of the Pilgrim Fathers, and in the Netherlands, whose varied and strenuous life, as ecclesiastical politician as well as saint and soldier of the Papacy, quite as much as preacher of the gospel, was one of such amazing activity. At Scrooby in England, at Dokkum in Friesland, in France and in Germany, where I visited the places made historic by his activities, he left enduring marks of his influence and power.
At Invergowrie I meditated among the ruins of the old kirk, in which, or near by, it is said, St. Boniface, the apostle to Germany and a legate from the Church of Rome, in the eighth century preached and planned to neutralize the work of the Irish monks in favor of British uniformity, and by means of conformity with Rome. Here also are still to be seen some singular examples of ancient sculptured stone monuments.
In 1107, Alexander I, son of Margaret of England, had a residence at Invergowrie, which, however, he did not long possess, for assassination was so much of a pastime with many and a settled custom with a few in those days, that, after having escaped the dirk only by a narrow margin, he left Invergowrie, built a church at Scone, and then turned over the property he left behind him for its support.
I recall that it was at the last of our visits and entertainment at Invergowrie, which was in 1900, after the ladies had left the dinner table and the gentlemen adjourned to the billiard-room for a smoke, the conversation turned on the next European war, and the possible relations of Great Britain and the United States in the alignment of friends, foes, allies, and neutrals. One prominent Dundeean confessed himself not so much exasperated, as hurt, by President Cleveland’s sharp method of reasserting the Monroe Doctrine, in regard to the boundary of Venezuela. From our town of Ithaca, the two scholars, the ex-president of Cornell University and Professor George Burr, had been summoned to consult archives, rectify boundaries, and help keep the peace. After the American in Scotland had emptied his cruse of oil upon the waters, by explaining some of the ins and outs of American politics, the conversation drifted to regions across the North Sea—the growth of the Kaiser’s navy, the salient features of German politics, and the reports, then very direct from the Fatherland, that the “Kultur” of the twentieth century required that “England [Great Britain] needed to be taught a lesson.” The hope was warmly expressed that, in the coming clash,—then looked for to come before many years,—the sympathy, and even aid, if necessary, of “the States” would be forthcoming. With American friendliness and the possession of the coaling-stations of the world, it was believed that the United Kingdom could withstand the coming shock and recover triumphantly.
More than once, at these social conferences with Scotsmen, as well as in the press, I noted the indignation, even anger, expressed, that in all national affairs it was “England” and “the English” that took and received the credit for what belonged to the four nations making up the United Kingdom. The claim was for a more liberal use of “Britain” and “British” in place of “England” and “English.” Both Scotch and Irish, to say nothing of the Welsh, resent the assumption that “England” is the British Empire. In a word, the great need of the language used in the British archipelago is a common name for the federated four countries and for all the subjects of the Crown. Here is an instance of the priceless value of right words. The absence of an acceptable comprehensive term is a real impediment to patriotism and an obstacle to perfect union. The fault is in language, not in the human spirit. The situation reinforces the argument that “words are things.”
We Americans can throw no stones. Canadians, Mexicans, the southern republics below Panama, all challenge our right to the monopoly of “America” and “Americans.” Language lags behind events.
When at last, in 1914, the great war did come, and the storm broke, no part of the Empire responded more quickly, generously, fully than Scotland, nor did any courage or sacrifice exceed that of the Scots; yet, not only was the credit usually given to “England,” but even the prayer of hate, made in Germany, chose “England” as its butt. Yet while Scottish valor and sacrifice and Irish courage and free-will offerings of life on the field and waves are unstinted, who can blame the poet, nay, who does not say “amen,” to his lines, in the Glasgow “Herald,” written in the closing days of 1915?
“The ‘English’ navy in its might
Is out upon the main;