Moffat Revisits Carronshore
During the winter of 1S72-3, after wandering about homeless for two years and a half, although enjoying the hospitality of so many friends, he made up his mind to settle once more into a home of his own, and accordingly in January, 1873, took up his abode in Knowle Road, Brixton, where he lived for nearly seven years. The great privilege he enjoyed here was the ministry of the Rev. Baldwin Brown. When not himself engaged in preaching, he was almost invariably in his seat morning and evening, for he never liked to lose an opportunity of hearing Mr. Brown, between whom and himself sprang up a warm affection. He soon became interested in the mission-work in Lambeth in connection with Mr. Brown’s church. He first went down to the penny dinners, and then was fretuently present at the tea meetings and other entertainments for the poor, whether held at the Mission Hall in Lambeth, or in the lecture-room of Brixton Independent Church.
[To a very large extent the motive which had given strength to the stream of liberal contribution to the Institute to be founded in Bechwanaland had been a desire to give expression to the love and respect which had gathered round him who alone survived of the early founders of the mission, but it was felt by many that an even more direct proof of these feelings might be found. In the year 1873 he was presented by a large number of friends with a sum of upwards of five thousand pounds. This noble and unlooked-for act of liberality not only provided for his wants during the remaining eleven years of his life, but enabled him to serve the Directors and the cause of missions without being chargeable upon the regular income of the Society. It moreover enabled him to meet the wants of a widowed daughter and her
fatherless family, for whom no other support was forthcoming.
PRESENTATION OF £^,ooo. 261
The same year the Rev. Sabine Knight called upon him as a casual visitor, like many more. But Mr. Knight had a message of unusual interest to convey. Reference has been made to a brother of Mary Moffat who had gone to the United States, and had been lost sight of for many years. His sister, with the tenacity of affection which marked her character, would not give hhn up. From year to year she looked for news of him, but no news came. On one occasion, seeing a name similar to his in a Van Dieman’s Land newspaper, she had written thither, drawing a bow at a venture. This letter was returned, the person inta whose hands it came being not the brother whom she sought. For some years familiar with the prospect of her departure from this world, and in view of it, she had again written a long letter treating of the great subjects ever so near to her heart, the realities of eternity, and sealing it up, had placed it in her husband’s hands to be in readiness when wanted.
Mr. Knight had just returned to England after a residence of some years in the State of Tennessee, and from him Moffat had the happiness of hearing that his long-lost brother-in-law was still living, and was thus enabled to fulfil his Mary’s cherished wish. The brother, who thus received a message as it were from the grave, has himself since passed away.]
In May our father went down to Scotland to address meetings, glad at the same time to escape the bustle and excitement of the anniversaries in London. Miss Baxter was his hostess at Ellangowan, near Dundee; and he broke the journey by resting a day and night with his old friends Mr. and Mrs. Habershon, at Rotherham, and a night in Edinburgh at Mr. CuUen’s. He attended many meetings in the towns along the east coast of Scotland, and had, moreover, the happiness of seeing Murray of Lintrose, near Cupar Angus, one of the African travellers who had been in the habit of calling at Kuruman, and had left such pleasant memories behind them there. His friends in Manchester claimed him for their meetings, after which he again made his way back to Scotland, apparently unfatigued, and was the guest of a fellow-passenger from the Cape, Mr. Yellowlees, of Stirling. Here he again attended meetings, and visited Carronshore for the first time after sixty years.
[Mr. Yellowlees has furnished the following account or this visit, which will have an interest of its own:
“Stirling, Jan. 12, 1885. “Mv DEAR Miss Moffat, — When my wife and I had the privilege of being fellow-passengers with you on the voyage from South Africa in the summer of 1870, your late father told me that several of his youthful years were spent at Carronshore, an out-lying village on the banks of the River Carron,near its junction with the Forth, and about nine miles distant from Stirling. We agreed then that on his first visit to me here we should spend an afternoon at this village, that he might revive old memories and possibly renew acquaintanceships formed in ’ the days of auld lang syne.’ This intention was carried out in the autumn of 1872, and the following short sketch of this incident in the life of your honoured father may not be out of place in the Memoir now being edited by your brother; at all events I send it to you that he may make what use of it he thinks proper. — With much respect, I remain, yours sincerely,
“Robert Yellowlees.
‘• Dr. Moffat left Carronshore in 1809, when he was fourteen years of age, and as his father had removed to Inverkeithing he had never had occasion to return; so that sixty-three years had elapsed since his leaving, till his return to pay a visit to this home of his boyhood.
“On our driving up to the village green it was some little time before Dr. Moffat could realize that this was just the place he had left so long ago, principally on account of roadways and truck-lines to coalpits that were all new to him. But soon his eye lighted and rested on a certain red-tiled cottage near the old storehouses of the Carron Company, which he fondly recognized as having been his father’s dwelling, and ere long the rest of the village and its surroundings became familiar to him. He expressed a wish to find out whether any of his old companions still survived after so long an interval; so I accosted a group of collier lads who were busy at a game of pitchand-toss, and, after telling them who their venerable visitor was. Dr. Moffat made inquiry about a family of McKillops. No, there was no such name now in Carronshore. ‘The Patons? ‘No; one of the lads was sure he had heard his father speak about people of that name, but they were all gone long ago. ‘William Monteith?’ ‘Ah, did he drive the carrier’s cart from Falkirk to Edinburgh?’ asked the spokesman of the group. ‘Yes, that was just the man. Well, he is deid lang syne, but the woman you see standing at yon door is a dochter of his.’
“This link of connection with an old acquaintance so excited Dr. Moffat’s eagerness to make further inquiries, that we drove to the only available stabling-place to get the horse put up. Before leaving the stable door, we were struck by the appearing of a little, quaint, old-fashioned woman, wearing a Scotchwoman’s undress of short skirt, short gown, and mutch. She ran up to Dr. Moffat, seized him by both hands, and then, quite speechless with excitement, racing, and chronic asthma, stood gazing up to his face, while the Doctor looked down on her with a benign but puzzled smile.
“At last she found some utterance, and gasped out, ‘Are — you — really — the — great Moffat?’ ‘Well, I believe I must be the person you refer to. whether great or not; but why do you ask?” Why I
Because I was at the schule wi’ ye — my name is Mary Kay, and you’ll surely come to mind me; I sat in the class next ye, and ye often helped me wi’ my lessons. I have aye keepit my e’e on you since you left Carronshore, and I’ll let you see a lot of your ain hkenesses. I was aye sure you would come back to see this place some day; and though I didna expect ye the noo, I’m fair daft wi’ joy at seeing ye *
‘* Under the guidance of this enthusiastic conductor, the first visit was paid to his father’s old cottage. The tenant, Mrs. Arthur, courteously invited us to enter, and here there was no indistinctness of memory as the Doctor rearranged the furniture by telling us how ’ our eight-day clock stood here, and the girnel (oatmeal chest) stood there, and the aumrie (cupboard) stood over in that corner; ’ and as he recalled, not without fitting emotion, the scenes of domestic piety, of gladness and of sadness, that he had witnessed there, and by which his life and character had been impressed and moulded.
“Our next visit was to the shore of the Catron — here a deep and torpid river of, I should think, about forty feet in breadth. His fond
really narrow stream is what I have so long thought of as a broad river; and that I could think myself to be a man when I was able sixty-three years ago to swim from the one bank to the other! But, after all, I need not wonder at the difference between my conception of the size of the Carron and the reality, for it seems to me that even the Firth of Forth has shrunk in wofully since I first knew it 1’
“At Mary Kay’s invitation we then went to rest in her cottage, and there she fulfilled her promises about the likenesses. She produced an ancient volume (Baxter’s ‘Saint’s Rest,’ if I remember rightly) which answered the purpose of a modern album, for its leaves were interspersed with numerous woodcut likenesses of Dr. Moffat, clipped out of illustrated almanacs, London Missionary and other magazines, &c. These were her favourite art treasures, and she declared they were all faithful likenesses: ’ they were even like him yet, except that he had grown a terribly lang beard, and she never could thole these lang beards. Although,’ she added, apologetically, ’ to be sure, John Knox had a lang beard, just like yersel’.’
“Dr. Moffat was anxious to know whether any more of his schoolmates were still alive and resident in the locality. Mary Kay could tell us there was only one, and she was then on a visit to grandchildren at Greenock; but there was a master tailor in the village — whose name I may suppose to be Andrew Johnstone — who might perhaps remember him; it was worth calling to see. We called, and found the old tailor cross-legged on his board, and busy at work. Our zealous guide introduced us by saying, ‘Andrew, man, here’s Moffat come to see you, the great missionary from Africa.” Aye, aye, maybe he is,’ replied the cautious Andrew; ’ but there are plenty of folks ganging about the country noo-a-days pass in’ themsel’s aff as great men, and they are just a wheen impostors.’ This was rather a staggering response; but it was met with, ‘O man! Andrew, are you no believin’ me, and I’ve kenned him mysel’ a’ my days.’ On this Andrew stopped his needle for the first time, looked round on Dr. Moffat, and in an oracular tone said, ‘Are you aware, sir! that if you were really the person you represent yourself to be, you would be the father-in-law of Livingstone, the African explorer?” And so I am.’ This quiet reply from the Doctor was rousing; the crossed legs became straight and perpendicular. Andrew raised his spectacles to get a fuller view of the visitor, and exclaimed, ‘Is it possible that the father-in-law of Livingstone stands before me, and under my humble roof.’” His doubts were dispelled, and he tried by effusive expressions of respect to make amends for the somewhat rude incredulity that marked his reception of us.
“Meanwhile a crowd of collier lads and other villagers had gathered round the tailor’s house, and Dr. Moffat, ever ready to advance the cause for which he lived and laboured so nobly, gave them an open-air address on South African Missions; and, before parting, came under a promise to meet them again ere long, and give them a fuller account of mission work.
“I shall conclude the sketch of this visit by remarking that this promise was faithfully redeemed. Dr. Moffat afterwards addressed crowded and enthusiastic meetings in Carronshore; he came specially from England to take part in the opening services of Carron Church, where my brother was and still is minister. Moreover, he gladdened Miss Kay’s heart by presenting her with copies of his published works, and enriched her album with a photograph; which (if alive) she still no doubt cherishes as the gift of her old schoolmate — ’ the great Moffat.’”]
While at Stirling our father was invited by John Wilson, of South Bantaskine, Falkirk, to be his guest. It was the first of many pleasant visits, and the beginning of a friendship which lasted in this world till the year when both were called home. From his bedroom window at Bantaskine — the spot where the battle of Falkirk was fought, a mile and a half south of the town — he looked out upon the same furnaces at Carron Iron Works upon which he had looked as a boy. He could point out every change that had taken place in Falkirk in the way of building, and it was hard to say whether he or Mr. Wilson most enjoyed their visiting together the old scenes of his boyhood — Carronshore, the school at Falkirk to which he used to walk every day for a year three miles each way, the church at which he used to attend with his mother, and Park Hill, Polmont, where he served his apprenticeship. Each visit to Bantaskine — which was about every two years after this — he entered afresh into all the old memories, and never failed to visit and to have a chat with two old school-fellows, Mrs. Gilchrist and Mrs. Higgins.
However wearied and worn-out with meetings, when he arrived at South Bantaskine there was something in the very air and surroundings, as well as in that genial home, which made him begin to rally at once, and sent him away with strength renewed.
After his first visit to Bantaskine he proceeded on an extended tour through Scotland, and then part of England, renewing old recollections and visiting friends, but always and everywhere addressing audiences on missionary work, a duty of which he never wearied, as he had never wearied of the work itself. Whilst on this tour, the news reached him of the death in East Africa of his grandson and namesake, Robert Moffat, who died whilst serving with the search expedition which had been sent out under Captain Cameron to follow Livingstone.