Martha Spreull/A Black Year

by Henry Johnston

CHAPTER XIV.

A BLACK YEAR.

HE year that followed the eventful incidents in last chapter wis fu' o' singular misfortunes. So much so, that my faither aye efterwards referred to it as the "black year." The price o' leather went up ayont a' bounds. My faither, wha used to keep a journeyman and an apprentice, could barely get work enough for himsel'. Such a year o' solin', heelin', and patchin'-up auld feet-gear wis past a' experience. Wattie Welt, the 'prentice, thinkin' the feet had been ca'd frae the business, broke through the articles o' his indenture, and ran aff to sea, efter he had ser't three years o' his time. This wis a sad blow, as my faither had spared nae pains to mak' him a guid workman, and young as he wis, he could last, inseam, and ca' in tackets as if he had been years at the trade. When skins were dear ye couldna expect butchermeat to be cheap; and this, combined wi' a late harvest, a failure in the petawtas, and an epidemic amongst oor chickens, that carried awa' brood efter brood as sune as they could pick their lane, made us think that some awfu' judgment wis aboot to fa' on the land. Peter Spale, wha wis aye lookin' oot for signs and wonders in the heavens above, and the earth beneath, blamed these misfortunes on the comet that had that year sailed through oor horizon, trailin’ a muckle tail efter it, that filled us a’ wi’ fear. I min’ hoo it wis said, if the thing lost its eckwillebrim, or broke lowse frae the invisible power that controlled its movements, it micht fa’ doon on us wi’ a clash, and burn up the worl’ like a shavin’. This wis the popular fear; but Peter Spale said such a thing wis not necessary to oor total destruction. He argued that the same purpose wud be ser’t if we just got a wap wi’ its tail. The comet, hooever, at length passed, and we were left face to face wi’ dear leather and the ither troubles I have already described.

My faither aye looket deeper into things than Peter Spale, wha wis but a superfishal observer. He held that the true cause o’ oor temporal trials didna lie in the movement o’ the heavenly bodies, which were governed by immutable laws. We had to look lower for the root o’ the evil. The cause o’ a’ the mischief, he believed, lay in the kirk itsel’. Moderatism, Patronage, forced Settlements—the placin’ o’ the messengers o’ peace ower congregations at the point o’ the bayonet—wis at the bottom o’t.

But a’ these disputations and troubles were rudely dung oot o’ oor heads by the crowning misfortune o’ a’—my mither’s death. I hadna sense at the time to ken what a loss it wis, but I min’ a’ the incidents braw an’ weel to this day. Babie Brewster, my mither’s sister-in-law, wha leeved in the Cowcaddens, cam’, as sune as she heard o' the sad event, to pay the last services to the dead; and, as she said, “ to see that everything wis dune decent and wycelike.” Honest Mrs. Spale, oot o’ regaird for my mither, her close friend and nearest neighbour, offered to dae what wis needed, but my auntie wud hear o’ nae such thing. So she cam’ in and took the management o’ everything in her ain hands, makin’ the offensive remark to Mrs. Spale, that “ bluid wis thicker nor water.”

Weel, the tears that wumman shed wis most awfu’ to see. I tried to greet wi’ her for a while, thinkin’ I had the best richt, being the nearest bluid relation o’ the deceased; but the tears failed me at last, and I had to gie’t up. I min’ the first thing she did wis to cover up the lookin’-gless, stop the nock, and pu’ doon the blinds.

“An awfu’ like thing,” she said, “ to think o’ a corp i’ the hoose an’ the blinds no doon; but, puir lass, ye ken nae better, an’ yer faither has never been used to trouble. Noo, we maun get wax caun’les, Martha; but stop, whare does yer mither keep her dresses and things ? I maun see aboot the hoose, because there ’ll be odds and en’s wantet, and it’s no’ to be expected yer faither kens whare everything lies. Men are awfu’ senseless at a time like this, Martha. They can neither greet nor work, and they’re aye in yer road. Nae doot they think plenty; but if thinkin’ dings ye stupid and keeps ye frae workin’, what's the use o’t? There’s a heap to look to, lass, when death comes. Folk maun dae what lies to their han’ first an’ greet efter hin’. That, noo. But, Martha, lass, we maun hae the caun’les. It ’ll no dae to forget them. Bin you doon to the tallow chaunler’s i’ the High Street, an’ get twa o’ his best wax caun’les—min’, they maun be wax.”

When I left she wis rummagin’ through the kist o’ drawers an’ greetin’ a’ the time, as if her heart wud break.

Weel, what do you think, efter the funeral wis past and we had time to settle doon and look aboot us, we discovered that this same wumman, my auntie-in-law, Mrs. Babie Brewster, had helped hersel’ to the maist o’ my late mither’s dresses and underclothing, no’ to speak o’ a brent new pair o’ boots that had only been twice on; that, in fact, while she wis thrang sheddin’ tears for the dead, she wis as busy makin’ up her pack at the expense o’ the leevin’. The thing wud never have been dis covered but for the suspicion o’ Mrs. Spale, wha bein’ sae intimate wi’ my mither, could describe and identify the articles that had been taken away.

I never saw my faither in sic a rage as he wis in when he fand oot that this wumman wi’ her ostentashious grief had been robbin’ us right and left, under the guise o’ friendship, and that, at a time when we were surrounded wi’ sae much mental and material afflichin. It wis a bonny turn up, and but for the near relationship which her guidman stood in to her that wis awa’, I solemnly believe my faither wud have handed her ower to the tender mercies o’ justice.

Truly this wis a year o’ great hardship and trial, but at the end o’t I wis a guid wheen years aulder than at the beginnin’. What wi’ bad trade, a puir harvest, and the epidemic among oor ain chickens, I had learned that life, so to speak, wis fu’ o mysterious uncertainties. I had learned, besides, anither thing, and that wis the deceitfulness o’ tears!