The life of James McCosh: A record chiefly autobiographical.
Year: 1896
Type: book
Abstract: I ANCESTRYTN the parish churchyard of Straiten, a village of Ayrshire in southwestern Scotland, which is situ- ated on the banks of the Girvan Eiver, and not far from Loch Doon, stands the tombstone of Jasper McCosh, who died in 1727.The earliest recorded ancestor of James McCosh, he lies among the forefathers of his race, a stock renowned for their devotion to principle amid the persecutions attendant on the misguided efforts of Charles II. to impose episcopacy upon the Scotch Presbyterians.The name is Celtic, and the McCoshes, sons of foot, are scattered throughout the neighboring counties, being numerous also in Irish Ulster, whence, in all proba- bility, they emigrated into Scotland.But they had become in time so intermingled with Anglo-Saxon blood that they were an integral portion of the true Lowland Scotch.The "wild Scots of Galloway," as they were called hi the earliest days, were merged in the Teutonic migrations which peopled England and southern Scotland, being so anglicized that many of the McCosh clan, for example, translated their Celtic name into the English equivalent, and under the name of Foot or Foote settled in various portions of Great Britian.The descendants of Jasper McCosh laid no claim to aris- tocratic descent, but they were for all that a proud JAMES MCCOSH for them.This kindness was always shown in a delicate way.We were four miles from the parish church, our house being on the Doon, and the church being on the Girvan, and we often spent the interval between the forenoon and afternoon services in the home of a genteel family, whose father had lived by smuggling claret and brandy, which he carried up from the sea-coast by a band of armed men and horses into the interior.The strong hand of the law was brought to bear upon him, many sharp fights took place between him and the sol- diers, and he was reduced to poverty.We carried with us into the man's house a considerable stock of provisions, of which we partook ourselves, and left the larger por- tion to the family.We children were ordered to say nothing about it to any one." The story of the way in which my mother's uncle treated a sturdy beggar became well known in the neigh- borhood.My grand-uncle, on giving him blankets for the night, asked him what security he would give that they should not be stolen, and was assured that he gave God Almighty as security.Next morning the man and blankets were off, with no hope of their casting up again.The thief wandered all day among the mists of the moun- tains, and in the evening he asked quarters at the same house without knowing it to be the same.My uncle saluted him, told him he had given good security, and invited him to stay one night more, and the beggar was so impressed with the scene that there was no more thieving." My mother, Jean Carson, was the daughter of James Carson, a large farmer in a wild, moorland district of Scotland at the top of Loch Doon.When my father took her to his home as his wife, she is described as a modest and retiring young woman, but as the cares of a family were thrown upon her, her native energy developed, and she ruled well her household.She was early left a widow with a large family, consisting of six daughters and myself, whom she reared with care and tenderness, and showed great skill and ability in the management of the farms she was left.On her mother's side, she was connected with a well-known Covenanting family, namedMcClymont.Her father's family were Scotch Covenant- ers, who had fought at the battles of Drumclog and Both- well Brig, and maintained for twenty-eight years the lib- erties of Scotland, and had often to hide in the dens and caves of the earth on the banks of the Stinchar, near the house of the persecutor, Sir Archibald Kennedy, of Culzean Castle.One day Mr. McClymont returned home, and looking out of his window he saw a company of soldiers riding furiously towards his house, and had only time, before they reached it, to hide among some raspberry bushes.They demanded of his wife where her husband was, and she said that they might seek for him.Then they insisted that they must have food for their horses, and she pointed them to a hay-stack.They placed a guard over the dwelling, and began to cut down the hay.One of the troopers, seeing the tempting raspberries, started to pull them.She saw that her husband was in danger, but she was equal to the emergency.She pulled berries till she found one with a large worm in it, and showed it to the English trooper, who was so disgusted by the sight that he returned to the hay-stack, and her husband was saved.I am sure that I owe much of my character by heredity to this woman.
Source: Charles Scribner's Sons eBooks
DOI: 10.1037/12377-000
Author: James McCosh
Language: English
Subfield: Literature and Literary Theory
Field: Arts and Humanities
Domain: Social Sciences
Open Access status: green
OpenAlex ID: W1743436673