ALEXANDER MACKAY did not walk out of the pages of a story book to enter upon his life work in Uganda. He was a real boy, fond of fun, ramble and adventure; but also gifted with rare powers of observation and a quiet thoughtfulness beyond his years.
Surrounded from infancy by the influences of a godly home, he was early taught the way of salvation. Naturally warm-hearted and affectionate, the "wee laddie" soon became a general favorite, not only in his home circle, but with the simple country folk who lived near his Highland home, and who, even not more than forty or fifty years ago, clung to their old habits and ways of life in a manner we may not find it easy to understand. They would often walk from five to six miles to attend the preaching, and the same distance to return to their scattered homes. Neither rain, snow nor storm kept them away, and to make their homeward way seem shorter than it really was, they used to form little companies, telling each other all they could remember of what they had heard, while the children were encouraged, not only to answer, but to ask questions.
Many of the women wore no bonnets, only high-crowned white caps, the wives and daughters of farmers being known by their closely-fitting bonnets, made of cardboard covered with black silk. When one was worn out, it was replaced by another of exactly the same pattern. Each carried her Bible, neatly tied up in a large, white pocket-hand kerchief, with a sprig of some sweet-scented plant, while the other hand held the family umbrella, usually a green cotton one, for however bright the morning, a "Scotch mist" or drizzling rain might come on at any time.
Perhaps, next to his parents, there was no one the boy loved better than his kind and faithful nurse, Annie Mc-William, or, as she was more often called in the house and parish, "old Annie." Age had bent her form and silvered her hair, but she was true and godly, and loved her young charge dearly. One among the stories told of Mackay's childhood is that as on an ironing day he watched Annie deftly smoothing snowy linen and dainty lace, he suddenly exclaimed, "Annie, you like to look nice! Why don't you smooth the creases out of your neck, and iron the wrinkles out of your brow?" Annie stopped in her work for a moment, but her only answer was, "If 'tis fine on the morrow, we'll gang to Black-fells farm for a day or two.”
“Oh, that will be delightful" the boy replied, clapping his hands; "but tell me, Annie, what made you look so sad just now?”
“It's because you didna ken me when I was young.”
“I'm glad I didna, for then you would not have been old Annie, and you could not have told me half the things I want to know," was the boy's answer.
The following morning was all that could be wished, so after an early dinner the two set out for the farm, fully six miles away. Both were good walkers, and long before sunset had received a warm welcome from the farmer and his wife, who were old friends of Annie's, having known her in her young days. Their long walk had sharpened their appetites, and they were quite ready to do justice to the home-made bread and butter and new-laid eggs with plenty of fresh milk set before them (tea-drinking having in those days hardly found its way into Highland homes). After sundown, as the evenings were chilly, the party drew round the cheerful fire, built of pine logs, that blazed and crackled merrily; the wide chimney was open to the sky, while from the rafters near hams and flitches of bacon were in process of curing. The farmer and his sons went out to attend to the cattle, and the women plied their knitting needles.
Annie and her friend talked over old times, and told stories of the Covenanters, of their sufferings for their faith, and of the hardships and dangers they so often had to face. Forbidden by unjust and cruel laws to worship God according to their own consciences, enlightened as many of them had been by the teaching of the Bible, they had found comfort and help in secret gatherings, often after nightfall, and always in lonely, out-of-the-way places, often in woods or caves. But even this was not allowed them, and if, as was sometimes the case, the time and place of these secret assemblies became known to their ever watchful enemies, a party of Claverhouse's soldiers would be sent to surprise them, and any who were unable to escape were hurried away to prison; some were sentenced to death for no other crime than reading their Bibles and meeting for prayer and praise with others who thought and felt as they did; while others dragged out long and weary years of imprisonment.
To such stories the boy would listen with great attention, and when overcome by the excitement and fatigue of the day he could no longer keep his eyes open and was sent to bed, the two friends talked to each other of the look that had made that bright young face so grave and thoughtful, and said, "May the good Lord bless and keep Sandy (his household name), for surely some great work lies before the wee laddie.”
And they were right, but before he could enter upon it, many and varied lessons had to be learned, not only from school-books, but in the battlefield of life. Alexander Mackay did not attend a day school till he was fourteen; up to that age he was taught by his father, who took great pains with his education. Gaelic was at the time of which I am writing largely spoken by the simple country people among whom Mackay's boyhood was spent, but from his early childhood he spoke English with ease and correctness, and his father took care that he should be well grounded in Latin and mathematics.
Many outdoor lessons, remembered in later years, were learned as father and son made collections of flowers, ferns and mosses, or watched the ways of birds and insects. But perhaps his mother, a woman of gentle spirit and deep piety, had no small part in molding the character of her boy.
Christian missions had a large place in her thoughts and prayers, and she would often tell her son stories of perils from robbers, floods and wild beasts, that had been so bravely faced by African explorers and missionaries. Sunday evenings Mrs. Mackay usually spent with her children, her husband having gone to preach at some distance. Bible verses committed to memory during the week were repeated, and if the lesson had been well learned the reward was a missionary story.