‘I order away a’ you wicked Sabbath breakers and profane swearers and a’ that put on gaudy and vain attire. I debar a’ that tell lies, and a’ you folk that keep coming oot wi’ minced oaths such as “losh”, “gosh”, “teth”, or “loventy”.’ His eyes then took on a fierce and terrible glare as they searched the crowd for those who might dare to take the communion unworthily. ‘Will ye seal this damnation? Will ye make it sure that ye shall be damned? Will ye drive the last nail in your damnation? Rather put a knife to yer throat than approach these tables for ye will eat and drink eternal vengeance. I’m warning you a’.’ He stabbed a long finger at this one and that one and the crowd shrank back. ‘You and you and you, to approach these tables unworthily is to break the commandment—Thou shalt not murder. It is a soul-murthering sin to eat and drink your own damnation. It is a relation-murthering sin; for yer wives and yer bairns bear the mark of yer unworthy communicating. Oh, dreadful! Dreadful! Ye will be the worse o’ communion and your salvation more difficult and you seven times worse a bairn o’ the devil than before.’
The people were put in a fearful quandary because although the Reverend Blackadder told them they were running terrible risks if they approached the tables, yet he also warned them that it was as guilty to withdraw.
‘Dare ye bide awa’? Dare ye take the Lord’s anger upon yersels? Dare ye affront yer Redeemer, spite His supper and frustrate the Grace o’ God?’
They knew also that they ran the risk of being fined and of standing in the pillory for a Sunday.
Ramsay always suffered much painful soul-searching before eventually deciding to take communion. He was a man deeply sensitive to spiritual emotion yet full of sensuality. He was not only moved by the fencing sermons but also disturbed by the sight of many men and women in the outer circle of the crowd lying together in the long grass. Some sleeping and snoring, others whispering and caressing. He believed them to be sinners and he prayed that one of the elders or bum-bailies would catch them and have them up on the cutty stool or worse the very next Sunday. Yet his sensuous longings flared up with his religious passion and he had to struggle with himself as he concentrated on pushing nearer to the tent.
The minister was sweating, bawling, jumping and beating his desk. Some of the crowd were sobbing, others laughing. Others were fainting in the stifling heat or wrestling to free themselves from the crush. At one moment people seemed devout and serious, the next minute they were cursing their neighbours for squeezing or treading on them. Girls were groaning and weeping while young men, unnoticed, slipped a hand from round their shoulders to down inside their gowns. Others were making assignations to go home together later at night or to meet at alehouses.
Then in the middle of the service came a clap of thunder and another and another, and the sky grew dark with clouds that leapt on fire with sizzling yellow flashes. The Reverend Blackadder clasped his hands and held them high, calling heavenwards as people drew their cloaks about them.
‘Yer great glory, Lord, thundereth doon among us. O Lord, Lord, give us, yer ain folk, strength and peace.’
Later in a local tavern Ramsay drank whisky and ate bread and cheese with the minister. All around them women were supping ale or whisky or brandy and gossiping about what other women were wearing or whom they were going home with later. Men were imbibing deeply while they discussed the sermons. Other groups of young men and women huddled together, giggling and whispering and laughing. An old woman sat in a corner with a round of cheese in her lap that she was cutting with great care and concentration.
Blackadder gave a blessing to each glass of whisky before downing it.
‘Bless this guid whisky, O Lord! A pity the weather broke doon, Ramsay. Still it’s clearing again.’
‘Aye, it should be all right for this afternoon.’
‘No word from Annabella, I suppose?’
Ramsay shrugged.
‘Cumberland’s chasing the Highland army. Only the Lord knows what’ll happen when he catches up with them. As for Annabella …’ He shook his head and the minister sighed in sympathy, then rolled his eyes upwards.
‘O Lord, Lord, let not this rod be lost on Maister Ramsay. Aye, another wee drop would go down verra nicely. God bless this dram.’
Ramsay studied his glass, moved it round and round in his hands.
‘I think she’s deed, minister.’
‘Och, merchant, dinna despair. Thon lassie’s got more o’ her fair share o’ spunk and speerit. She’ll no lie down and dee if she can help it. No, no, oor Annabella’ll live to cause a lot more trouble and worry, Ramsay. I’m convinced o’ it.’
‘Aye, maybe you’re right. Even as a wee lassie there was no telling what she’d do. I mind once at school the dominie tried to give her a thrashing and she stood her ground and warned him that if he laid a finger on her she’d see that he never got any Candlemas offering nor ever a bawbee at any time from me. Damned lies and impertinence, Blackadder, but for a wee thing hardly more than a babe …’
‘Och, Ramsay, I ken fine yer fond o’ the lass, despite a’ her wicked ways; and, may the good Lord forgive me, so am I. Verra weel, if you insist, I will have another dram. O blessed Redeemer, we thank thee for this speerit, this gracious, golden gift of whisky, Amen.’
After the ‘occasion’ people returning home along country lanes and over fields took their time on foot or on horseback. But once back in Glasgow they made straight for inside their homes without wasting any time in case they would be arrested for Sunday strolling or vagrancy. Yet even indoors no one was free from inquisitional intrusion. The seizers might enter any house and pry into any room. Patrols of elders, deacons, beadles and officers solemnly paced the deserted streets, eagerly peering in every door and window, craning their necks up every close and lane. Glasgow folk who during weekdays were bouncing with noise and merriment shrank into the obscurity of shadows and kept hushed silence. The Glasgow streets were still and empty and no lamps or lanterns were lighted.
Acts of Parliament, resolution of town councils and decision of sheriffs all supported the Church. Fines were imposed for idly gazing out of windows, carrying a pail of water to a house, for powdering a wig, for trimming a beard, for whistling, for combing hair, or for looking into a pier glass. To be in the house during a sermon was a sin and a crime, to drive a cow along the road, to bake bread, sell milk, carry parcels, to wash clothes, to shave others or be shaved, to engage in worldly conversation. Nearly everything in fact, except Bible-reading, catechising, psalm-singing and praying was under penalty. And to those like Annabella who expressed feelings that the Sabbath was tedious and burdensome the question was asked: ‘How, then, do you expect to be able to support the eternal Sabbath of Heaven?’
This state of affairs was particularly harassing and restricting to the vagrant community who had to spend the whole day from morning till night cramped together without food or water on the dark tenement stairs. If they ventured forth they risked immediate arrest and punishment.
Gav got to a point when his thirst and restlessness became so great he could not any longer bear the stench and the crush of the stair where he and Quin were sheltering.
‘I’m going to the well for a drink,’ he told Quin, and made to struggle away. Quin grabbed hold of his jacket.
‘Gavie, Gavie, Quin canna let you go. Quin doesn’t want to see you arrested.’
‘I can run fast. I’ll be all right.’
‘Quin canna let you go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Quin’s never seen anyone like Gav for getting into trouble and making folk chase him. Quin’s getting fair puffed with getting chased so much. The whole o’ Glasgow seems after Gav.’
‘Well, you wait here. I won’t be long. I’ll run like a hare and they’ll never catch me. Anyway, it’s dark now. They won’t even see me.’
‘Oh-ho, true enough, Gav, true enough. Weel, if there’s no so much chance o’ chasing and racing you can go and Quin’ll trot alongside you. Quin’s needin
g a drink as well, eh?’
Although it was very dark, they moved with studied silence and care. At the well they drank deeply and gratefully and were just about to slip back to their shelter in the stairway when two inquisitors grabbed them by the back of the neck and despite their desperate struggles dragged them off to the Tolbooth. Once there, they were peered at under the light of the janitor’s lantern and then separated. Quin was dragged upstairs and Gav hauled out, across the road down the Saltmarket and up the stairs to where Ramsay lived.
Big John opened the door and ushered them in. Ramsay was sitting reading his Bible. He looked up when they entered.
The inquisitor said: ‘Is this the lad you’ve been after, Ramsay?’
‘Aye, the verra one.’
‘We caught him and another beggar ‘vaging doon by the well.’
‘I’m obliged to you, sir. Just leave him with me. I’ve a use for him. You’ll have a dram before you go?’
‘Weel, just to help me continue with the work o’ the Lord.’
‘Aye, here ye are then.’
They both muttered, ‘God bless this whisky.’ Then after drinking it down they smacked their lips and Ramsay said:
‘Big John, show oor freend to the door then come back and keep a verra wary eye on this lad here.’
Gav was standing looking cautiously around, trying to assess his chances of escape.
‘Now, lad,’ Ramsay addressed him. ‘I want to talk to you. There’s nothing for you to fear. I want in fact to do you a favour. You seem a right clever one if all you claim is true, and it seems to me a pity to see such cleverness going to waste. You say you can read and write and count and speak Latin.’
Gav eyed him suspiciously, yet not without interest.
‘Yes, it is true. I was the cleverest at school. Next to me was my sister Regina. She was clever too.’ His voice weakened. ‘I wish I knew if she was all right.’
Ramsay sighed.
‘I know verra well how you feel. I’ve many an anxious thought aboot oor Annabella.’ He suddenly cleared his throat and glowered sternly at Gav. ‘But gossiping about lassies is not what I had you brought here for. The reason I had you brought here is business. Would you like to have a sail in one o’ my ships?’
Gav’s face immediately brightened with delight and disbelief and Ramsay hastened to add: ‘Oh, not for pleasure, lad. Not for pleasure. I need indentured servants for Virginia. You’d get new clothing, your passage free and bed, board, washing and lodging as customary over there. And you can get 50 acres of land when your indenture is finished. But you’d have to work hard.’
‘I can work. I’m strong and healthy.’
‘Aye, but to work for me you need more than that. You need brains, lad, and a knowledge o’ bookkeeping. Then y’see there’s a chance that one day you might be one o’ my managers out there. Now that’s an important position, Gav. That’s what you’re called, I believe. Gav Chisholm?’
‘That’s right, maister.’
‘Weel, Gav. What do you think yersel’?’
Gav thought for a moment, his face attempting to assume the same stern expression as Ramsay’s. Eventually he said:
‘I’m no liar, Maister Ramsay. I said I was clever and I am. But I don’t know your bookkeeping. That’s not to say that I couldn’t learn though.’
‘Good for you, Gav. I was hoping you’d say that. Now what think you of this idea? My ships are due back verra soon. Meantime you could go to the Grammar School and be taught bookkeeping. At night you could sleep in the lobby out there with Big John.’
‘How about my food?’ Gav asked.
‘You drive a hard bargain, lad. But that’s the verra thing a good manager needs to be able to do. Aye, you’ll be fine and you’ll get fed all right while you’re here.’
‘Then it is agreed, maister.’ Gav stuck out his hand. ‘There’s my hand on it.’
Ramsay’s heavy jaw gave only the slightest twitch as he accepted the filthy paw and solemnly shook it.
‘It is indeed, sir, but it is usual procedure to sign papers as well. You’ll go down to my counting-house in the Briggait tomorrow before you go to the school. And, oh, aye, I believe they’re a bit disorganised with being shut for a while because of all the upset with the rebel army. So their Candlemas offering was postponed until now.’ He prodded his fingers into his pocket and came out with a half-guinea which he flourished towards Gav. ‘Now, Gav, here’s your first test. Let’s see if you can be honest.’
Gav’s eyes stretched enormous. Never in his life had he seen so much money. He could not believe that Ramsay was trusting him with such an enormous sum. He felt bewildered and flattered and deeply moved. He felt not only admiration but a sudden rush of affection for the man.
‘I take this half-guinea tomorrow to the Grammar School up the High Street and at some sort of ceremony I give it to the dominie there.’ He tried to sound brisk and business-like.
‘That’s the verra idea.’
‘Well, that is exactly what I will do, sir. I shall not let you down.’
‘Aye, weel, away with Big John to the kitchen now and sample some o’ that food ye were so anxious aboot. Then come back here,’ he tapped the Bible, ‘for the reading.’
Gav could hardly credit his good fortune and the only thing that spoilt his great joy was the thought of Quin imprisoned in the Tolbooth. Perhaps once he had proved himself to Mr Ramsay he could help Quin in some way. Perhaps he could persuade Mr Ramsay to let Quin go to Virginia too. But while Quin was in the Tolbooth he supposed there was nothing much anybody could do. He resolved to talk things over with Quin the moment he emerged from the prison. Meantime, he could not help feeling happy. He did not really believe he was going to the Grammar School until he actually arrived there early next morning.
It was an old tenement building that had been bought from the various tenants who had once lived in its separate rooms. On the bottom floor there was a long lobby and to the left ‘The Keeper’s Lodge’. To the right was the Great Hall where everyone assembled for prayers and four venerable masters with their black gowns sat in their respective pulpits until prayers were over. Upstairs were two low-ceilinged classrooms and upstairs again there were two more rooms.
In the same way as students were classified at the University, so were the Grammar School scholars dubbed—1, Cocks; 2, Hens; 3, Earocks; 4, Chickens.
First of all Gav paid for the term the four shillings that Ramsay had given him that morning. Then, as an accepted scholar, he joined the others in the Great Hall, not for prayers but for the ceremony of the offering.
The headmaster sat in his pulpit desk, his stern air of authority gone, his face barely concealing his eager expectancy.
Then the roll was called and each boy marched up to the desk and handed over his offering, which usually varied from sixpence from poor boys up to half a guinea from the sons of wealthy parents.
If a boy gave only sixpence, however, it was received in complete silence and the child had to return crestfallen to his seat, head down in an attempt to hide his humiliation. If the gift was two shillings and sixpence the master followed by the whole class shouted out ‘Vivat!’ (Let him live!) And then they gave one ruff or stamp with their feet.
If the boy presented up five shillings the master roared out: ‘Floreat!’ (Let him flourish!)
And two ruffs were given.
The shouting and stamping kept adding to Gav’s mounting excitement. His name was the last on the roll and the master called it out, not expecting him to produce anything when he had only just arrived. But up Gav marched and proudly presented the half-guinea.
The master was delighted.
‘Gloriat! Gloriat!’ (Let him be glorious!) he shouted. And the applause and the thunder of the feet was deafening as Gav returned to his seat.
Never in his life had he felt so wildly happy. This was what life was all about. This was really living. Money was the thing. Money was the key. Money was the magic wand that changed the wh
ole quality and complexion of everything.
How right Quin had been. He had never understood what Quin meant about money until now. Yet did Quin really know himself? Had Quin ever experienced anything like this? This heady pride, this smell of success, this taste of what could be. Poor Quin could not even read or write and he had never been anything else but a thief and a beggar. Was he capable of anything else? Surely if he had been capable he would not have chosen to live as he did. Already Gav viewed his recent hardships with horror and dismay. Never again if he could help it would he live like Quin; freezing almost to death in draughty closes, wandering about all day getting soaked to the skin, or cuffed or chased; being hungry and tired and wretched and with everyone despising you and all the time being in danger of suffering the pillory or worse. He saw a vision of many pinched, suffering and hopeless faces, young and old round every shadowy corner and in every close. He had been one of them. But never again. No, not for him. Now he had the chance of a lifetime and by God he would grasp it with both hands.
Every day he flung himself into his studies and every night he learned his Catechism and studied again.
‘Aye, Gav, you’re a good lad,’ Ramsay told him eventually. ‘I’m no’ disappointed in you. And because of that you won’t be going to school today. You’ll come with me and Big John to Mistress Halyburton’s wedding. The Halyburtons’ servants will be needing all the help they can get today.’
‘I’ll lend a hand, sir.’
‘Aye, I know ye will, Gav. Weel, get yourself ready. Big John’s waiting for us down at the stables. Have you ever ridden a horse by the way?’
‘Regina and I rode horses bareback when they were in the fields.’ He flushed. ‘I know we shouldn’t have because they didn’t belong to us but we didn’t do them any harm or steal them away.’
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 24
