University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Chorus.

Scene—Corrie-an-Liadh. Throng of people seated on bank: Ina, Morag, Kenneth, and Mairi in front of Factor, Tremain, and others behind the Ministers.
A “Man”
(Passing the Factor).
Is Saul among the prophets?

Factor.
Why not, Dugald?
Saul found them singing in the dance,
And joined the sport, of course.

“Man.”
This is no day for sport.

Factor.
Oh, that depends: I've known some queer folk now
Whose acid looks would sour the cream on Monday,
Yet make rare fun with sermons on the Sunday.

“Man.”
You are a flippant person; but your day
Will not be long, though God may wink awhile.

Factor.
I'll take my chance. The wink may grow a nap
As you pray, Dugald. Few can stand that long.

“Man.”
Blasphemer!

[Passes on to his seat.
Factor.
Hypocrite!

Tremain.
Nay, hold your peace;
I like not these men's looks: they're stern and grim,
And knit their brows in silence, and their knuckles
Are white, see, as they clench their great brown fists.

Factor.
Nay, never fear, sir. Don't I know them well?
The law is powerful; not a man of them
Dare wag his tongue at me.

Tremain.
They're in the mood
For more than wagging tongues. And for the law,
What if they have the right on't?

Factor.
Let them break
The peace, and then they will be in the wrong.
I'll keep safe with the law. Lads, give the dogs
A nip, and set them howling, when you hear
The minister begin to clear his throat.

Tremain.
Why do you that?

Factor.
'Twill be as good a joke
As bumming of an organ in their ears,
Or tuning of a fiddle for the psalm.

Tremain.
I pray you, stop. See you not every man
Grasping his staff? There is a thousand there
For one of us.

Factor.
So be it. They would tell you
“The Lord can work by many or by few.”
You do not fear that rabble?

Tremain.
Yes, I do.
Somehow the big battalions always win,
And one may doubt if God is on our side.
Let them alone.

The people sing, to a Celtic tune,
Tremain.
'Tis a pathetic strain
In a barbaric minor, long drawn out;
So the Greek chorus might be sung, when they
Played a fate-drama in their sacred feasts.
Hush! stop that yelping. There will be cracked crowns
If this go on.—But what proud pallid face
Is that among them? Oh, my stately Beauty,
Pallas-Athene of the waterfall,
And Doris' pet aversion, whom I have
To strangle, drown, or poison—anything
But love. I think I'll throw me at her feet.
It is a face to dream on; safer there
Than here, too, and the seats are not reserved.

[Crosses to Ina, and lies down on the grass.
Factor.
White-livered fool! But let him go. What's this
The minister is after? Make a speech
Without a text! Who ever heard the like?
And what's come of the prayer? Be ready, lads.

Minister.
My friends, this is a day of solemn sadness
With us, for we shall ne'er all meet again
Here where our fathers met these hundred years,
Remembering the love of Him who came,
In power of sorrow, to redeem from sorrow,
And sin which is its fountain. It is not
That sere and withered leaves shall drop in autumn;—
That always will be: nor that tender buds,
Frost-bitten, die untimely in their spring:
Nor that the hale and well may also fall,
Reft by the stormy winds;—all that may be
To any people, and at any time:
To-morrow only knows what it shall bring.
But human law, defying the divine,
Which gave the land for man to dwell therein,
And to replenish and subdue its wildness,
Straining the rights of those who own the soil
By writs and deeds, wherein they gave it over
Who had no property in it to give,
Has torn up by the roots a band of you,
Loyal and dutiful and fearing God
As any in the land; and nevermore
Shall we together sing our psalm of praise here,
Or break the bread, or drink the cup of blessing.
Therefore is this a solemn day with us,
Touched with the sadness of their leave-taking,
And with regretful memories.

Factor.
Take care, sir,
You're on the verge of treasonable speech
Against the law.

Minister.
We do not break the law,
Even when it breaks the hearts that it should bind
Closer to home and country. Neither would I
Pour Mara water now into the cup
Heaven sweetened with the wood of His dear cross,
Who loved us. Men may wreck your happy homes,
But God is building better mansions for you.
They make a desert—He a paradise;
They drive you over sea, but He will bring you
Where there is no more sea. And we should take
The losses and the crosses of our life
As hooks to fasten us to that better world.

Factor.
Ay, that is right. They'll find a better world
In Canada; you hook them on to that.

Minister.
Be silent, sir. I will not speak of her
Whose high imperious order drives you forth,
Homeless—

Factor.
Nor will I hear a generous lady,
Who is too good a landlord for such people,
So shamefully abused. I tell you, sir,
This is mere cant, fanatic and illegal,
Stirring ill blood in those who know no better
By those who should know better.

Minister.
Pray you, sir,
Have patience; I have spoken nought amiss;
Do not disturb our worship.

Factor.
Worship! call ye't?
You preach against the law and call that worship!
Against the landlord, and that's worship too!
I will not hold my peace. You people, hear!
Go to your homes, or to your parish kirks,
Or it will be the worse for you. This place
Is not for people to denounce the law,
Or landlords in their legal rights. The Book
Will have you to obey the Powers that be,
And speak no evil of them. There is clear
Chapter and verse for that. A pretty worship!

Minister.
Take heed, sir, what you do. You have no law
For this.

Factor.
Away! I tell you, or I'll set
The dogs upon you.

A “Man.”
Och! ochone! and is
The Lord, too, banished from Glenaradale
To Canada?

Another “Man.”
Ochone! will it be Baal
Or Moloch that the factor will be having
On the high places to pollute the land?

Another “Man.”
It is a day of darkness and dismay,
A day of wrath for broken covenants,
And for dishonoured Sabbaths.

Minister.
Sir, I warn you
The people now look dangerous. Be quiet,
Or leave us: do not drive them mad.

Factor.
Away!
Ye are trespassers, and I know you well!
I will have writs out on you by to-morrow.

A “Man.”
Now, who will come with me to help the Lord
Against the factor?

A Fisherman.
That will I do, Dugald.

A Crofter.
Yes, and it iss not you will be alone.
Away with him! He tore my shieling down,
And Ailie's babe just born.

Another Crofter.
And he insulted
The minister! Yes, it iss fery well!
There iss the Tod's Hole yonder, and the Loch
Iss deep below it.

Crowd
(rushing forward).
To the Tod's Hole with him!

Minister.
Nay, hear me, O my people, I entreat you;
Do not this crime, for Christ's sake, Will ye not
Listen a moment! O my God, that men
Should do foul murder! On the Sabbath, too!
Stay, stay, I tell you. Heaven have mercy on him,
For they are deaf as adders.

Ina
(rising up).
Morag, this
Is frightful. Kenneth, can you not do aught
To help him? See, they drag the wretched man
Struggling, entreating, cursing, praying, while
They move in stern grim silence to the gap
In the black ragged rock, that looks right down
Into the Otter's Hole. [To Tremain.] Can you look on, sir,
And see your comrade murdered? You came with him
To find your sport, and lo! he finds a death,
Too horrible, instead.

Tremain.
What can I do?
They will not hear the parson plead in Gaelic,
How should they heed me with my English tongue?
Indeed, I tried to stop him, but in vain.
Think you that, if I sung an Orphic song,
Mellifluous, melodious, as e'er
Hushed Philomela, shamed of her sweet strain,
These grim and silent executioners
Of Nature's law would listen? Truly I would
Do anything, fair lady, for your grace.
And yet, to see your pity and your terror
So tragically moved and beautiful,
I'd almost let him fall from cutting ledge
To jutting crag into the hungry loch.

Ina.
Tush!

Morag.
Well, this man is madder than a foumart,
He would kill folk to see how one might look.

Tremain.
Nay, not how you would look; there is no grand
Pathetic grace in you.

Ina.
Now, who is that
Standing upon the sharp edge of the rock
At the Tod's Hole. Ah! Diarmid. All is well.

Sir Diarmid.
Go back, now, lads, and hear the minister;
Vengeance belongs to God. You would not stain
Your hands with blood from such a puddle as this.

A “Man.”
Out of our way, Sir Diarmid; we have no
Quarrel with you, but this man's cup iss full.

Sir Diarmid.
I will not budge an inch, and you must kill me
Before you break a bone of him; and that
You would be loath to do. There; you have given
The scamp a fright he will not soon forget;
That's all you meant, and he deserved it well,
Bully and coward!

Kenneth.
Yes, the Chief is right;
Let him go now. I'll make a ballad of
His teeth that chattered like a castanet.

“A Man.”
He hass been like an iron flail with teeth
To all the folk, sir; but it iss your will.

Sir Diarmid.
Yes; ere he go, then, let him have a shake
Such as your terriers give an ugly rat,
And then have done with him. You would not make
This day a day of horror and reproach
For such a cur as that. So: that is right.
[They let him go.
I do not wonder that your hearts were hot.

Minister.
Now, God be praised, who brought you here, Sir Diarmid,
Ere that was done which never could be undone,
And put the heart in you, and gave you power
Over the people's hearts to move them, like
An instrument of music, at your will.
I marvel not that they were wroth at him;
The man is of an evil nature, hard
And insolent and cruel to the poor,
And servile to the great, and knowing law
Only to strain its power, and make it hateful.

Tremain
(coming up).
There, parson, now your Deus did not come
In a cloud-chariot driven by mighty angels,
But riding on a nag, a simple laird.

Minister.
Be not profane, sir; and for you, my people,
Ye have been saved from doing greater wrong,
But wrong ye have done; and how shall we sing
The Lord's song, with the swell of that late storm
Still rolling in our hearts? Let us go back,
And humble us, confessing all the sin.

[Return to their seats.
Tremain.
Diarmid, the factor now will hate you almost
As much as he will hate this pious mob.
You saved his life, 'tis true, but only saved it
By showing him a thing to scorn and loathe;
You should have had more tact. He'll not forget it.

Sir Diarmid.
What care I for his hatred or his love?
But how came you, of all men, to be here
Of all scenes on this earth?

Tremain.
Why should I not
Enrich my soul with all experiences
Of life and passion, to be moulded duly
Into pure forms of art? I came to see
The Christian superstition where I heard
The thing was really living. Up in town
'Tis but a raree-show of surplices
And albs and copes and silver candlesticks
And droning repetitions; poor survivals
Of the old Pagan cult: or else it is
A small dissenting shop where they retail
Long yards of worn-out logic, or an ounce
Of bitter morals, with a syllabub
Of sentiment. But this is different.
I could have almost fancied I was back
With Cyril in the Alexandrian desert,
And throngs of howling unwashed monks who hunted
A Neo-Platonist: only yon factor
Is no philosopher.

Sir Diarmid.
Came you not with him?

Tremain.
Well, yes; he promised I should have some sport;
And there was Doris' tenantry to see to.

Sir Diarmid.
Are you so close confederates already?

Tremain.
We've but one thought, one aim, one life between us.
And such a life! She is a glorious galley.
Freighted with gold and gems, and silks and spices,
And all the treasures of the fabled East,
And at a word she struck to me.

Sir Diarmid.
That's well;
You poets are the men to win your way
Into a maiden's heart by flattery.
Now, you must go and see the factor home;
His bones are stiff, I fancy.

Tremain.
Nay, there is
A lady in the crowd—Pallas-Athene—
She sought mine aid, and I must go to her.

Sir Diarmid.
Leave her to me; you must see to your friend.
Doris would scarcely care to think you left
Her factor for a stranger damosel.

Tremain.
Doris must learn to put up with a heart
That loves all beauty, and has room for all.
I must go back to her.

Sir Diarmid.
Be off, I tell you,
Unless you'd rather I should hurl you down,
'Stead o'the factor, from the Tod's Hole yonder.
[Exit Tremain.
The jackanapes! Yet, if he speaks the truth,
I am near happiness. Now for Ina.

[Goes towards her.
Ina.
Diarmid!

Sir Diarmid.
Come with me, Ina; let me take you hence;
This scene has been too much for you.

Ina.
Ah! yes;
I know not if your courage, or my fears
Shook me the most. It was a daring thing
To stand up in the breach, and brave their fury.

Sir Diarmid.
Nonsense; I knew they would not harm a hair
Of my head, more than sheep would fly upon
The dog that herds them; and you do not call
The collie quite a hero.

Ina.
Do not leave me,
Diarmid. I know 'tis silly, but I feel
So weak and trembling.

Morag.
Ina, you're not going,
Just when they've got all ready for the work
Of this great day.

Sir Diarmid.
Yes, Morag, she must go.
Do you not see her shaking like a leaf?

Morag.
Black Eachan's giving out a psalm. They'll think
It strange if we should leave now.

Sir Diarmid.
Never mind;
There, Ina, lean on me; my arm is strong,
[Move off.
And my heart lighter than it has been lately,
For there were troubles that did threat our love.

Ina.
Yes, I could see that something was amiss,
Something that made you moody and reserved,
Though you were only gentler, dear, with me.

Sir Diarmid.
And yet you never asked me what was wrong.

Ina.
I knew you would have told me if I ought
To know; and though I longed to share it with you,
I held my peace till you should speak. It is not
For love to be too curious, but to trust.

Sir Diarmid.
And for that trust I thank you. More than once
It was upon my tongue to tell you all,
And leave it to your heart—for it is wise—
To say what I should do. But then I thought
It would be mean to shift my burden off
And lay it upon you. Now it grows clear,
However, and a day or two will end it.
Trust me till then, and then I'll never leave you,
Till life leaves me. But there's the boat all trim,
And a brisk breeze will take us swiftly home.

Chorus.
Oh that sail on the summer sea!
Can she ever forget its gladness?
Yet oh the haunting memory
Of those bright hours, when they came to be
The wistfullest sigh of the day of sadness!