Part 3 (1/2)

”Truly, as you say,” answered the speaker, ”it is hard for a man to bear injustice; yet judge yourself if it is more fitting that one who has dedicated his life to the service of Christ should bear injuries patiently, or that he should avenge them at the point of the sword.” He went on to speak of the duties of a Christian and of a priest; of the insults and humiliations offered to Jesus Christ, their Master and their model. The words were of one who had himself striven and conquered--of one who had a right to speak. The silence deepened, for the Spirit of G.o.d was with him.

Alone in their midst stood Columba, but his head was bowed upon his breast, and the grey eyes that had dashed so stormily at the Court of Tara were dim with tears. The cry that burst from his heart when the old man ceased to speak was the cry of another great penitent--one who in spite of human frailty had deserved to be called a ”man after G.o.d's own heart.”

”Against Thee only have I sinned and done this evil in Thy sight: For I acknowledge my fault, and my sin is ever before me.”

The fault had been great, but the sincerity of the repentance was evident to all.

”Go in peace,” was the verdict of the Council, ”and for every man that fell on the field of Cuil-dreimhne win a soul to the faith of Christ.”

Sentence had been given, but Columba was not content. He had grieved that Lord Who from his childhood had been the sole love of his heart, and no penance was great enough to satisfy him. Moreover the fate of the men who had fallen at Cuil-dreimhne was an intolerable burden on his soul. Through his fault they had been hurried--perhaps altogether unprepared--before the judgment-seat of G.o.d. The thought that they might be lost for all eternity was a perpetual torture to him, and he went from one to another of the Saints of Erin seeking advice and help.

In due time he went to St. Abban, like himself a monk, and the founder of many religious houses. Men called him the ”Peacemaker,” such was his power over turbulent and violent men. Not long before, he had gone alone and unarmed to meet one of the fiercest barbarians of the land, the heathen chief of a reigning clan, and the terror of the surrounding country. Such was the influence of Abban that the marauder laid down his arms, and became in course of time not only a Christian, but also a monk of exceptionally holy life.

Columba found St. Abban in the Church of one of his religious foundations, known amongst the people as the ”Cell of Tears” on account of the contrition of the penitents who frequented it. He besought the holy abbot to pray for the souls of those who through his fault had met their death, and the thought of whose fate had destroyed his peace. He entreated Abban also to pray to G.o.d that He would reveal to him through the angel who spoke to him continually of the things of heaven, whether they were saved or lost.

The humility of the holy abbot would not allow him for a long time to accede to this last request; but in the end, so moved was he by the anguish of Columba, that he fell on his knees and implored of G.o.d to give this comfort to a soul in pain. The knowledge that he asked was given him; he returned with great joy to his visitor to tell him that, through the infinite mercy of G.o.d, the souls of all who had fallen on that fatal day had been saved. The chief solicitude of Columba was now at rest, but the future was not yet clear before him. How was he to mould his life that the days to come might be an atonement for the fault that was past? He had learnt his own weakness, he must lean more than ever on the Strength that cannot fail, and the desire for a more perfect expiation was strong in his heart. He determined to seek out St. Molaise, his ”soul's friend,” in the lonely isle of Inishmurry and to ask his counsel.

St. Molaise knew well the character of his penitent. The penance that would satisfy that great heart must be full and complete. To Columba the love of country came next to the love of G.o.d; the decision was taken ere the penitent had ceased to speak.

It had been decreed, said he, by the Synod that Columba was to win to the faith of Christ as many men as had perished at the battle of Cuil-dreimhne. Let him do so; but that the atonement might be more perfect let him go forth from his own people and his own land, and never look upon the hills of Erin again.

Columba bowed his head before the sentence. ”It shall be done,” he answered, and none but G.o.d was to know what the doing cost him. It only remained to break the news to his friends and kinsfolk. A wail of sorrow rang through Tir-Connell at the tidings.

It is not surprising that the land of Alba over the sea suggested itself at once to Columba as the place of his exile. The little kingdom of Dalriada on the Argylls.h.i.+re coast was ruled by one of his own kinsmen, and reports of the condition of the surrounding country had possibly reached his ears. The Christianity introduced by St. Ninian two hundred years before had almost disappeared. The ruling chiefs were completely under the influence of the Druids, and heathenism and idolatry were supreme throughout the land. There his apostolic spirit would be able to find ample scope. We are told by some of the old writers that the thought of a missionary journey to Caledonia had been for years one of his dearest projects. If that were so, the time had now come to put it into execution.

Columba chose the companions who were to share in his great undertaking from amongst the monks of Derry. Two cousins of his own, Baithen, who was to succeed him in after years as abbot of Iona, and his brother Cobthach, were amongst the number. But the disciple who loved him the most was Mochonna, son of the King of Ulster, whom Columba considered too young for an enterprise that involved so many dangers, and to whose entreaties he refused to yield. It was not fitting, said he, that the young monk should leave the country of his birth and the parents to whom he was so dear; but Mochonna would not be gainsaid.

”Thou,” he cried, ”art the father of my soul, and Holy Church is my mother, and my country is the spot where I can work most fruitfully for Christ.”

Then, that it might be impossible for his beloved master to leave him behind, he made a vow before all who were present to quit his native land and to follow Columba to the death. It was in this wise that the determined and devoted Mochonna overcame all opposition and obtained his heart's desire. He was to become one of the most active and zealous of the little band of missionaries, in Alba, where he was venerated for many centuries under the name of St. Machor, as the patron and founder of the See of Aberdeen.

Thus, with only twelve companions, in the wicker-work ”curraghs”

covered with oxhide that were the only boats of the Celtic races at the time, the future apostle of Scotland set sail from his native land. A great crowd, gathered from all the surrounding country, stood on the sh.o.r.e, and as the light skiffs sped out into the sea, and the green hill of Derry faded slowly from the eyes of the mariners, the sound of a bitter wailing was borne to them on the breeze. The best beloved of the Saints of Erin had left her, and she mourned for him as one lost to her for ever.

CHAPTER VI

THE ISLE IN THE WESTERN SEAS

IT must have taken the little band of missionaries, even if the wind were in their favour, fully a day to make the coast of ”Calyddon” or ”the Land of Forests,” as Scotland was then called by the Britons south of the Clyde.

They landed first, we are told, on the island of Oronsay, but on climbing a hill to look out over the waste of waters, Columba caught sight of the far faint coast of Ireland lying like a blue cloud on the horizon. It was more than he could bear, and the mariners put out to sea again, sailing northwards till they reached the little island of Hy or Iona, off the coast of Mull. (Hy or Hii means ”the island”; Iona ”the blessed island.”) The bay where they landed still bears the name of Port'a Curraigh or ”the Bay of the Wicker Boat.” No trace of the hills of Erin was to be seen from the low-lying rocks of Iona, nothing but the blue mountains and the dark crags of the Hebrides and the white-capped waves of the sea. Here, therefore, the amba.s.sadors of Christ resolved to build their little monastery and to make their home.

It was a happy choice. No better quarters could have been found for a missionary station. Iona, separated only by a narrow channel from the island of Mull, lay exactly opposite to the friendly kingdom of Dalriada, and the missionaries had only to sail up the chain of lochs, now united by artificial means and called the Caledonian Ca.n.a.l, to find themselves in the heathen country of the Picts. The weird and austere beauty of the Hebrides with their wild rocks and foaming seas did not at first appeal to the Gaels of Ireland, fresh from the green hills and smiling landscapes of their native land. The bare crags and the dark mountains, the grey skies and the hollow waves that beat perpetually on those bleak sh.o.r.es,

and bring The eternal note of sadness in,

the wailing of the wind through the caves and the narrow channels fretted into weird shapes by the ocean tide, made a music which was alien to their ears, and strangely melancholy to their warm Irish hearts. Again and again the pa.s.sionate note of longing for the dear mother-country breaks out in the writings of Columba.

'Twere sweet to sail the white waves that break on the sh.o.r.es of Erin, 'Twere sweet to land 'mid the white foam that laps on the sh.o.r.es of Erin, My boat would fly were its prow once tumed to the dear land of Erin, And the sad heart cease to bleed.

There's a grey eye that ever turns with longing look to Erin, No more in life again to see the men and maids of Erin.