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1822-24.
WE left Aberdeen in
the month of May, 1822, by coach for the north. We were accompanied
by my wife's sister, Frances, her mother, and other sister, Maria,
choosing to go before us by sea. We came that evening to Nairn. Our
fellow-passenger was Capt. Robert Mackay, Araichlinni's son, who
left us at Nairn on his way home, after dining with us at Forres.
Next morning we hired a coach at Nairn to Resolis, crossed the
Fort-George ferry, and arrived there in good time next day. We found
Airs. Robertson and Maria before us. The meeting was a joyful one,
but it was mingled up not a little with a gloom which hung over us,
we could not tell how.
Shortly thereafter,
my induction took place within the church at Resolis. All the
members of the Presbytery of Chanonry were present. These were,
Messrs James Smith of Avoch, Roderick Mackenzie of Kilmuir-Wester
and Suddy, Robert Smith of Cromarty, John Kennedy of Killearnan, and
Alexander Wood of Rosemarkie. My father was also present, and Dr.
John MacDonald of Urquhart or Ferintosh. Mr. Roderick Morrison,
factor for Newhall, was there also, and remained to a late hour in
the evening. The services of the day were conducted by Mr. Kennedy
of Killearnan, and throughout the whole service, from first to last,
he "approved himself to the consciences of all" as the servant of
the Lord. The service ended, the Presbytery dined, at my expense, at
the inn at Balblair, where we passed the time agreeably enough, the
men of every age associating and closely drawing up with each other.
I cannot dismiss without a short notice the venerable minister who
officiated on this day. Mr. Kennedy of Killearnan had bug been an
eminent father in the Church of Christ, and throughout his ministry
his work had been acknowledged by his Heavenly Master. His
settlement had been a most harmonious one in so far as the
parishioners were concerned, but a very violent one as regards the
Presbytery. The gloom of Moderatism rested upon the Church in that
part of the country, and Mr. Kennedy's settlement was dreaded as the
breaking in upon it of a new day. He was not an orator in any sense
of the term, nor was he a scholar, for his early education had been
neglected. But he was thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the
Puritan divines, and of some of our own old Scottish preachers. The
leading features of his ministerial and personal character were
piety and prayer, the one the necessary off-shoot of the other. His
closest preparations for the pulpit, and for the week-day discharge
of the duties of the ministry, chiefly consisted in prayer. As the
close of his life drew near, his cries for divine help became more
urgent, and more frequent and importunate, so that prayer became, at
last, the great and leading business of every (lay. After a ministry
of 43 years, he died in 1841, aged about 70 years.
Mr. Robert Arthur was
my immediate predecessor in the charge of Resolis, where he laboured
for forty-seven years, and if his life and ministry were anything
but what they should have been, it was not for the want of a bright
example clearly set before him of one who, as a Christian man and a
gospel minister, had adorned the doctrine of God his Saviour. This
was Mr. Hector MacPhail whom he succeeded.
Mr. MacPhail was
truly a man of God, for whom "to live was Christ." He was perhaps
one of the most deeply-exercised Christians of his time, equally and
minutely conversant with the depths of Satan on the one hand, and
the "unsearchable riches of Christ" on the other. His faith, to
himself scarcely perceptible, was great in the sight of the Searcher
of Hearts—winging its flight upwards, like the eagle's towards the
Sun, whose ineffable light, instead of obscuring its gaze, served
only to strengthen and enlarge its capacity of spiritual
apprehension. But this faith took its rise from a sense of utter
hopelessness of help in man to save, and it made its way to " that
which is within the veil," through the darkness of unbelief, and in
the face of Satan's deepest devices to ensnare and deceive.
His first
introduction to his future charge was by means of an "elect lady "
then residing in the parish, Lady Ardoch, otherwise Mrs. Gordon of
Ardoch, now called Poyntzfield. He was settled over the united
parishes of Kirkmichael and Cullicudden, 22nd September, 1748, and
continued to labour fervently, zealously, and successfully in word
and in doctrine for twenty-six years thereafter. His residence, for
the first seven years, was in the manse of Cullicudden, and he
preached alternately in the church there and in that of Kirkmichael
at the other end of that parish. The manse and both churches,
however, became ruinous, and were besides inconveniently situated.
The heritors and Presbytery resolved therefore to select a more
central situation, and accordingly made choice of a small farm
situated at the western extremity of the old parish of Kirkmichael,
called Re-sholuis, or the ridge of light. Here they erected a manse
and a church, each about double the size of the old ones, and the
united parishes, though individually retaining their ancient names,
have ever since been known, quoad sacra, under the name of Resolis.
During the earlier
part of his ministry Mr. MacPhail was much tried with strong
temptations to atheism. But, soon after he came to reside at Resolis,
and after a longer than ordinary period of depression of mind, be
was, through the Word and the Spirit and the Works of God, for ever
delivered from its grasp. He was of the happy number who, "in the
day of power," had their minds humbled to the simplicity of
children, and who, receiving the truth as such, gave God full and
implicit credit for truth in the whole of his testimony, without any
reservation, and who were thus happily freed from those painful
struggles which others of a more highly intellectual and abstract
turn of mind so sorely felt. These features of Mr. MacPhail's mental
and Christian character rendered his ministry eminently successful
among his own flock, and all over the North, while his private
dealings with those under serious impressions were signally blessed
for removing their doubts and establishing their minds in the faith
of the gospel.
Mr. MacPhail's life
was not a long one, for his health soon began to decline. As long as
he had any strength remaining, however, he continued faithfully to
discharge the duties of his office. He died 23rd Jan., 1774, in the
58th year of his age.
Mr. Robert Arthur,
his successor, was inducted into the charge in 1774. He assumed at
first an evangelical strain of preaching, and associated with the
most highly-esteemed ministers, such as Mr. Calder of Urquhart, and
Mr. A. Fraser of Kirkhill. His knowledge of Gaelic, however, was
very imperfect, and this rendered his preaching in that language
utterly inadequate to convey the simplest truths to his Highland
hearers. Another circumstance led to an estrangement between him and
the pious among his people, and ultimately put an end to his
usefulness among them. Air. Gordon of Ardoch dying, and the family
becoming extinct, the estate was sold to a stranger of the name of
Munro, who, in honour of his wife, changed the name of the place and
called it Poyntzlield. He was succeeded by his nephews, first
George, and then Innes Gunn Munro, the latter a Colonel in the army.
The Munros of Poyntzfield have, in all their generations, been the
votaries of gaity and pleasure rather than of the more staid and
money-making pursuits of the world. Mr. Arthur, then a young,
unmarried man, became only too intimately acquainted in his new
heritor's family. This intimacy let to his marriage with the laird's
sister, and his consequent residence almost entirely at Poyntzfield,
to the utter neglect of the week-day duties of his office. This
course of action alienated from him the more serious among his
parishioners, while he himself became a bitter and implacable enemy
of all the Evangelical ministers with whom he came in contact. His
acquired fluency in after years in the Gaelic language, and a
certain knowledge of medicine, by which he made himself useful to
many, retained the majority of his parishioners as his hearers; but
all the seriously disposed regularly attended the ministrations of
the eminent Mr. Charles Calder of Ferintosh. Mr. Arthur was thrice
married. His eldest daughter, an excellent and amiable woman, was
the wife of the late Mr. Alexander Gunn, minister of Watten in
Caithness. When the close of his life approached, and he was
confined to bed, he was glad to receive supplies for his pulpit from
all the ministers who were willing to give them. Mr. Calder had long
before "gone into heaven," but his successor, Mr. MacDonald,
sometimes preached in the open air close to the manse, Mr. Arthur
sitting at the window and listening. He was a sound theologian, and
admired Mr. MacDonald as a preacher, but, alas, he gave no sign of
any change of heart. He was the same in the immediate prospect of
death as he had been through life. He died in 1821, in his 78th year
and the 47th of his ministry.
The day after my
settlement my wife was confined to bed. The pains of labour had set
in, and, alas, with more than ordinary symptoms of a fatal
termination. That night I had a few hours of hasty sleep. I awoke
from my troubled slumber, with a deep sinking of the heart, to the
realities which my dreams had been presenting to me. During the
course of her illness I was frequently at the side of her dying bed.
Our first alarm was excited by the peculiarity of her case; it was
that of difficult and protracted labour. Mrs. Smith of Cromarty, the
wife of my much-esteemed co-presbyter, being informed of the
affecting circumstances, volunteered her services in ministering to
our comfort and encouragement under the burden of anxious fears. My
poor Harriet was delivered of a dead child. And, alas, when the
pains of labour were over those of dissolution followed. Death came
in his wonted manner—slowly, irrevocably, without giving way.
Harriet uttered a few incoherent sentences, she fell into a swoon,
and breathed out heavily for a few moments her last sighs. It was
the 7th of May, 1822, at six o'clock of the evening.
The funeral was
numerously attended. I was so completely prostrated as to be quite
unable to accompany her beloved remains to their last resting-place.
My venerable and sympathising father, however, supplied my place as
chief mourner. Toe body was deposited in Cullicudden churchyard, a
beautifully sequestered spot, lying on the southern shore of the
Cromarty firth.
Mr. MacDonald of
Ferintosh often visited me, and preached to my people. Shortly after
the death of my beloved wife, he passed on his way to preach at
Cromarty, and I accompanied him on horseback. The ride thither and
back on the same day completely exhausted me, and I lay down on my
return wishing that I might die. Such a desire came upon me so
strongly that I hailed with delight every unsuccessful effort of
nature to regain its former position under the pressure of present
weakness, as so many sure precursors of death would unite me to her
from whom I had been so recently and sorely separated. I gradually
recovered, however, but still the notion haunted my mind. Then
conscience began to ask, "Why did I wish to die?" My sorrows at once
responded to the inquiry—"dust to be with Harriet." "But, was I sure
of that? If Harriet was in heaven, as I could not but hope that she
was, was nothing else to be the consequence of death to me but to go
to heaven merely to be with her?" I was struck dumb; I was
confounded with my own folly. So then, the only enjoyment I looked
for after death was, not to be with Christ, but to be with Harriet!
as if Harriet without Christ could make heaven a place of real
happiness to me! This discovery of my own miserable sources of
comfort threw me into a dreadful state of despondency. I was
perambulating the garden of the manse at the time; I left it, and
betook myself to my bedroom, and felt all my props suddenly
crumbling down under me. I was In a state of indescribable alarm. I
had a bitter feeling of insecurity and of discontent. I threw myself
on my knees to pray, but could not. My spirit was angry, proud, and
unsubdued, and all these unhallowed feelings took direction even
against God Himself. He it was who had deprived me of the object of
my warmest affections. Not only so, but Be had withdrawn from me the
only source of consolation out of which I could draw strength to
bear me up under so great a bereavement. Oh, what a God had I, then,
to deal with—how like Himself—how unlike me! "But who is a God like
unto Him, who pardoneth iniquity, and who passeth by the
transgressions of the remnant of His inheritance." I was somewhat
humbled, and I made another attempt to pray. But now felt that I was
entirely in His power. All my sins stood out before me. I attempted
to come to a settlement with God about them, on the terms of a
covenant of works. But I soon found that I was sadly out in my
reckoning; like a schoolboy, in a long and tedious arithmetical
question, who has come to an erroneous conclusion, and who has
blundered more in searching out the cause of his error than when at
first he erred, so it was with me. God brought to my remembrance the
sin of my nature, the sins of my youth, and the sins of my daily
omission and commission. I had no chance with him; He was too holy
and too just a God for me. I attempted to justify myself; I betook
me to the oft-repeated, but just as often foolish and unsuccessful,
plan of "washing myself with snow-water to make myself never so
clean." But the result was the same as in the case of Job, "He
plunged me into the ditch, so that my own clothes abhorred me." This
conclusion threw me into despair; I flung myself on the floor, not
to pray, for I deemed that, in existing circumstances, quite
needless, but just to wait like a condemned criminal for the coming
forth of an irrevocable sentence of condemnation. I felt that I
deserved it, and I felt equally hardened to abide the result. But,
"who is a God like unto Him " in dealing with transgressions? In my
then present state, and in the sovereignty of the Spirit's
influences, that passage came to me with much power, "I am the
door." It glided into my mind without any previous attempt to get at
it. But, like a light, dim at first, it gradually and rapidly
brightened. My bonds were forthwith unloosed, my darkness was
dispelled. Like the lepers in Israel of old I had only the
alternative of life or death in any case. But God was gracious. I
laid hold of the hope set before me. I thought, believed, and felt
that I had actually entered the " Door." I found it was wide enough
for a sinner, and high enough as a door set open by God and not man,
by which to enter. If I may dare to say it, I did enter that door,
even then, and at that solemn moment, notwithstanding the pressure
of my outward bereavement and of my inward conflicts; having
entered, I did experience "all joy and peace in believing." In the
world I had only "trouble," in Christ I had "peace;" and in that
peace I was enabled to resign, without a murmur, my beloved Harriet,
soul and body, to His holy care and keeping. I resumed prayer, and
felt much liberty, comfort, and enlargement. It was in the evening
of one of the days in the week immediately after her death. I had,
about an hour or two before then, gone from the garden to the
parlour, and risen from the table in an uncontrollable agony of
sorrow, rushed out at the door, and hurried up to my room. But after
the mental conflict above described, and the most gracious
deliverance afforded me, I returned to the parlour, to the society
of my beloved friends, in that peace of mind which Christ describes
as " peace in Him," in the very midst of those "troubles" which we
must, and shall "have in the world," but as the result of His
"victory" over it. My present tranquillity, compared with my former
"fight of afflictions," and so immediately succeeding it, astonished
my friends, and they could not but ask the reason why. I could only
say that, "the Lord had given, and the Lord had taken away, blessed
be the name of the Lord." For many days, and even weeks and months
afterwards I passed my time in prayer, in faith, and in sorrow as to
the things present, but rejoicing not a little in the God of my
salvation. Alas! this sunny season was succeeded afterwards by a
long dreary day of coldness, clouds, and darkness, but it has never
been forgotten, nor have its salutary effects been dissipated or
lost.
My revered father,
having been present at the death and burial of my beloved wife, soon
afterwards returned home. He went by Tarbat manse across the firth
to Golspie, and from thence he immediately proceeded to Kildonan.
As my mind became
more composed, and the soreness of my sorrows, by the healing hand
of time, was gradually wearing off, I engaged in the Sabbath and
week-day duties of my office. I commenced a course of ministerial
visits to the families of the parishioners. The whole parish I
divided into districts, each comprehending as many families as I
could conveniently visit during the course of a day. Intimation was
also given from the pulpit, and the whole was finished in a period
of ten months from the time 1 began until it was concluded. It was
true indeed that the time was prolonged farther than it would
otherwise have been, owing to various other duties interposing iii
the meantime. The line of work which I prescribed to myself was, to
visit each family separately, from which all not belonging to it
were excluded. With the heads of the family I held a confidential
conference alone, the children or servants not being present. 'These
were then called in, and, after asking each of them a question in
the Shorter Catechism, beginning with the heads of the family,
concluding with the servants, and addressing to all a few
admonitions, the visitorial duty terminated. I took up, at the same
time, a census of the whole population, one column being devoted to
the names of individuals, divided into families and numbered as
such; another, setting forth their designation and places of
residence; and a third, containing what might strictly be called the
moral and religious statistics of the parish, or remarks
illustrative of the state, character, and knowledge of each
individual. My kirk-officer, John Holm, accompanied me in all my
peregrinations through the parish on this occasion from first to
last.
luring my incumbency
in Aberdeen, one of my most esteemed acquaintances was Mr. Nathaniel
Morren, then a student of divinity. Soon after the death of the
venerable Kenneth Bayne of Greenock, I was, as already stated,
invited to preach as a candidate for that vacant charge. I was
succeeded by another, Mr. Angus 1lfacbean, some time before then
assistant preacher at Croy within the presbytery of Nairn. In the
choice of a minister which followed, Mr. Afacbean was chosen. But
there was a minority for myself, and these were so dissatisfied with
the choice of the majority that they resolved to withdraw and to
build a church for themselves. At the head of them was Duncan
Darroch, an eminently pious man of the old school, with whom
afterwards I became acquainted intimately. I was now minister of
Resdlis, and to ask me to become their minister was, in the
circumstances of the case, out of the question. But my
recommendation had weight, and I warmly recommended my friend Mr.
Morren, who, accordingly, became their minister. Soon after his
induction to his new charge at Greenock, he married Miss Mary Shand,
with whom, and her excellent mother and sisters residing at King's
Street, Aberdeen, I was most intimately acquainted. He and his wife,
some years afterwards, visited me on their way to Strathpeffer. He
then preached for me a most able sermon. But my recollection of that
is not so distinct as of a lecture at family worship on the Sabbath
evening, by which, in its soundness of doctrine, depth of thought,
and even of soul-exercise in the truth of God, I felt my soul
refreshed as it seldom had been before. Previous to the Disruption
of the Church of Scotland in 1843, Mr. Diorren's conduct was not
what had been expected of him. He was not content with joining the
Moderate party, to whom, from professed principle, he had been
conscientiously opposed, hut, besides, he became their champion in a
series of pamphlets at once the ablest and most malignant that were
written on the whole subject. Having fought in the battle, he at
once rose in the esteem and confidence of those with whom he had
identified himself. Lord Panmure presented him to the church and
living of Brechin, vacant by the resignation of Mr. MacCosh,
[Afterwards Dr. MacCosh, the eminent President of Princeton
Theological Seminary, New Jersey.—Ed.] whose successor he became. He
died there very suddenly.
My father died at the
Manse of Kildonan, at half-past seven in the evening of the 14th day
of April, 1824. I had no sooner received the tidings of his death
than I immediately set out for Kildonan. The preparations for his
funeral occupied our time and consideration. To all those of the
most respectable classes, in a worldly point of view, funeral
letters were duly issued by a bearer sent for that purpose through
the immediate vicinity in the parishes of Loth and Clyne. The
length, depth, and breadth of the coffin, elegantly mounted,
exceeded anything of the kind I have ever seen. The procession,
after leaving the manse, proceeded in a westerly direction; and in
order to give each of his parishioners the opportunity of paying the
last tribute of respect to their beloved and venerable pastor, the
body was carried shoulder-high by six men, relieving each other at
intervals, all round the Dalmore, and by the banks of the river, to
the churchyard, and deposited in a tomb which he had erected soon
after my step-mother's death, and close beside her remains and my
mother's in their last resting-place. To their memories he had
erected a monument, with a suitable inscription; and, in remembrance
of him also, I inserted in the back of the wall of the church a
monumental slab bearing the following inscription:-
* It should be
recorded that Mr. Alexander Sage wrote an historical sketch of the
"Clan Gunn," which still exists in manuscript. As regards the merits
of this work, Mr. A. Gunn, minister of Watten, writes as
follows:—"Some years ago, when investigating the history of Clan
Gunn, I saw Mr. Sage's notes on the clan, and consider him to be the
chief authority on the genealogy and traditions of the Kildonan
branch, which included the family of the chieftains. As minister of
Kildonan he had the best means of knowing these, and his notes did
not go much beyond Kildonan.—Ed. |
