The Family Bible

By Stephen Johnson

Edinburgh, Scotland - 1766 One particular bible is printed in the Kincaid and Bell print shop and makes its way to its first family in Ayr, Scotland. For over 250 years, this small Family Bible would weave its way throughout the United States of America beginning in Charleston, South Carolina, in the late 1790's, ending up in Te

• Language: English
• Publisher: Family Bible Press
• Release date: Jan 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736315231

Stephen Johnson

Stephen Johnson has taken part in several hundred radio programmes and documentaries, including Radio 3's weekly Discovering Music series. He is also presented on the Classic Arts Podcast series Archive Classics. He has contributed as guest interviewee on BBC 4 coverage of The Proms, ITV's The Southbank Show and more recently, on BBC1's The One Show. Stephen Johnson is the author of several books, including The Eight: Mahler and the World in 1910 (Faber) and How Shostakovich Changed My Mind (NHE).

Book preview

¹ was born on the ship during their journey and how they were all captured by the Indians. He still shudders at the thought of their experiences – a harrowing story that had often given him nightmares.

Scott had always heard the British considered the American Indians as barbarians and found it interesting that his own ancestors were also considered barbarians in the eyes of the British. The British courts had sent many of his family members to the West Indies, Australia, and other countries as slaves, for nothing more than defending their land. But wasn’t that proper in the times of war? To fight for one’s country and family and life?

Because of this, and all that had happened in years since then, Scott kept his disdain for the British hidden deep within himself, avoiding all conversations with anyone from England or those who considered themselves friends of the British Crown. Like John Bell.

Approaching the Kirk of Calder, Scott is met by Minister Watson, who had been the minister for the past several years. Minister Watson is a plump and pleasant man, with the appearance of someone who had never performed any physical labor in the entirety of his life, nor had he ever missed a meal. Minister Watson smiles wide and friendly, and waves as Scott slowly approaches. Scott, my boy, it is good to see you again! It’s been more than a year, has it not?

Bringing his wagon to a stop, Scott agrees with a curt nod, It has been some time. Setting the brake, he jumps down with the manifest and shakes Minister Watson’s hand with his free one. Handing Minister Watson the manifest, Scott continues, I have nine crates of books for you, sir.

Looking in the back of the wagon, Minister Watson then turns to a group of young men standing nearby, clearly waiting for their orders. Okay, boys. We have nine crates. Make sure you take only the ones with our mark on it. You know where they go. Turning back to Scott, Minister Watson says, I’ll sign the manifest in my home. I don’t have my ink and quill with me at this time. Pointing to the stables across the road, I’m sure you remember where the stable is. You’ll find two empty stalls with fresh water and hay.

Looking toward the stable, Scott said, Thank you, sir, I do appreciate it. And Scott most certainly meant it. After a long trek already, with still many more stops to go in the coming days, a place to lay his head and stable his horses was a welcomed respite.

Minister Watson then turns around and, pointing towards the back of the church, says, After tending to your horses, take the path leading to my home. I’m sure you also remember where that is. Vertie is waiting with a good hot meal.

Yes, sir, I remember the path, Scott replies, trying his best to keep the conversation brief. It might be better for everybody if they did – Scott Jemison specifically.

After the last crate was unloaded, Scott led his horses across the dirt road to the stable. There he unbridled each horse and led them into an open stall. Placing some hay in the trough, Scott checks the water and brushes each horse down carefully, making sure they’re prepared for the trip tomorrow – for it was to be another long day. Satisfied with his horses' condition, he makes a detailed inspection of the wagon, checking the wheels, and making sure everything is good to go. While this cargo could survive a delay, Scott didn’t want to risk it, or a confrontation with John Bell.

Closing the doors, Scott lumbers over to the nearby trough and washes his hands. He shakes his hands dry, turns and follows the path around the church to the home of Minister Watson and his kind wife, Vertie.

As Scott approaches the home, the door opens wide, his presence expected and accounted for as it was every trip out here to Kirk of Calder. Minister Watson’s smile is on full display as he calls out, Come on in here, young man! Vertie is waiting, and the food is hot. Here’s your manifest.

Kicking the dust off his feet, Scott steps into the house, Thank you, sir. Scott accepts the manifest and looks around as Minister Watson waddles back towards his table. It’s a small home, nothing too fancy, but the hearth was lit to warm the house, and the aroma of Vertie’s cooking filled the air, the heat of the fireplace where it sat cooking mixing to craft an inviting scent.

Sitting down at the table, Minister Watson pats the table and says, Have a seat. Our meal is ready, and I’m starving, but first, we must thank the Lord for our food.

From the kitchen, minister Watson’s wife Vertie said, Nice to see you again, Scott.

Thank you for having me, Scott replies, walking to the indicated seat at the table. He sat down heavily, his legs straining from the strenuous journey.

Let’s thank the Lord for our food. Minister Watson said, bowing his head and holding his hand out as he did. Scott managed his expression carefully throughout Minister Watson’s prayer. Even though it was short, it was another reminder of where Scotland stood – under British rule.

Upon finishing the prayer, Vertie walks over to the fireplace. There, she scoops out a portion of soup from a large cauldron and, with her apron, picks up a loaf of hot, freshly baked bread. Her thick, curly hair was pulled back from her face, and she smiled as she placed the loaf on the table.

You look well. How have you been? Minister Watson said, watching his wife while she worked.

I have been fine, thank you, sir, Scott replied, smiling his thanks as Vertie prepared their meal. He looks carefully at Minister Watson and says, I have enough work to provide for my family, and for that, I am very thankful. How have you been?

Vertie and I have been well, thank the Lord, Minister Watson replied with a wide, toothy smile. He gestures wide. We have a wonderful congregation, a warm home, and plenty to eat. What more could a man ask for?

Vertie returns and sits the bowl of soup in front of Scott along with the loaf of bread, smiling at him warmly, friendly.

Thank you, ma'am, Scott says as he looks up at Vertie, who steps back to retrieve more food for the table.

You’re welcome, Vertie replies and steps into the kitchen. Scott’s stomach rumbles, eliciting a joyful laugh from Minister Watson, who gestures for Scott to begin.

Scott obliges and tears a piece of bread off. He dips it into his soup and takes a bite, This soup is wonderful, Mrs. Watson.

With a smile, she says, I’m glad you like it, and steps out from the kitchen with another bowl of soup and a loaf of bread. She places it before her husband, kisses him on the cheek, and returns to the kitchen.

Minister Watson thanks his wife and says, Vertie makes the best soup. Our congregation provides us with most of the meat and vegetables. However, we have a small garden where we grow a few vegetables and spices. There are many people today who cannot provide for themselves, so I thank the Lord daily for the blessings he has placed upon Vertie and I. Dipping his own bread into his soup, Minister Watson continues, Shortly after your last visit, I had recalled an article that I read several years ago concerning a family of Jemisons that were killed by the French and Indians in America. Are these Jemisons related to you?

Taking another bite of bread soaked in his soup, Scott confirms with a nod and says, "It’s interesting you should mention it. I was just thinking about them on the way here. It was my aunt and uncle, and some of my cousins from Carrickmacross, north of Dublin.

It happened eleven years ago in 1755, if I remember correctly. With all the fighting in Ireland, they felt it could not be any worse in America, so they moved, hoping for a better life. His hand stills and his expression hardens the least little bit. His voice is heavy as he finishes with, Looks like they were wrong."

Minister Watson shakes his head, the somber despair clear in the tightness of his face, Always such tragic news regardless of how long ago it happened. Minister Watson looks up with some hope, and hedges, Still, I recall that there were some children who escaped the attack?

Scott nods again, The two older boys, Thomas and John, were working on the opposite end of the settlement when the attack happened. Shots were fired, and by the time they reached their home, they were all gone. They had taken my Uncle Thomas and Aunt Jane, along with my cousins Robert, Matthew, Mary, and Betsy. Scott’s hand lowered, his bread hovering over his bowl of soup – Vertie’s absence is notable, even in the back of Scott’s mind. There was also a neighbor and her young son that was taken as well. All were killed two days' journey from the settlement except for my cousin Mary and the young boy of the neighbor whose name is unknown to me.

Minister Watson replied carefully, Probably sold into slavery by the Indians? I understand they are quite the barbarians.

I’ve heard nothing of their condition, Scott replied honestly. I do know that their son, John, was appointed a Justice for Bucks County in the state of Pennsylvania some years ago. They still communicate with my father and mother in Ireland.

How are your father and mother doing? Minister Watson asked, leading the conversation in another direction. I believe their names are John and Ann?

You have a good memory, sir, Scott replied, setting aside the dark, dour story of his cousins. My father and mother are doing well, thank you.

Dipping his bread into his soup, Minister Watson asked the question that Scott had been dreading, What made you want to leave Ireland?

Farming was not very appealing to me, Scott replied, choosing his words carefully. I have an uncle who raises horses in Lanark along the River Clyde, so I wanted to see what kind of horseman I would make. As it turned out, I make a much better wagoner than I do a horseman. My uncle was kind enough to provide me with a good team of horses and a wagon to earn a living with and told me to pay him back when I could, though he never told me how much I owed him. Scott could not help his laugh as he adds, I think he was just happy to get me off the back of his horses.

You make a fine wagoner Scott, Minister Watson said, dipping his bread into the soup. He took a bite, letting Scott reply.

Thank you, sir. I do feel guilty for leaving my father and mother, Scott says, his gaze lowering to the nearly full bowl of soup. I’m hoping they will leave Ireland as things are not getting any better.

As far as your father and mother are concerned, we will pray that the Lord will protect them and bring peace to Ireland, Minister Watson said, bread nearly gone. How is your wife and son these days?

No sooner than Minister Watson had finished his sentence, Vertie interrupts as she walks out of the kitchen, Please James, Scott has not had time to enjoy his meal while answering all of your inquiries.

Minister Watson nods and says, My apologies. I do enjoy a good conversation along with a good hot meal.

As she walks away, Scott leans over and whispers, smiling as if they were participating in an intrigue, My wife and son are doing well, thank you.

They continue idly chatting with Vertie, steering clear of darker subjects, until after the meal, Minister Watson says, Can I offer you a pipe of tobacco?

No, thank you, sir, Scott said as he leans back from his empty bowl of soup. I need to retire for the evening. I have another long day tomorrow and will be leaving before daybreak.

Lighting his pipe Minister Watson said, Very well, it was nice chatting with you.

It was nice visiting with you again, sir. Thank you for everything, Scott said. He thanked Vertie and was indeed grateful for his meal and a place to sleep for the evening. However, Minister Watson was English and a friend of the Crown.

Much like his boss John Bell, if the conversation were to continue, they would most likely end up discussing politics or religion or both. Two topics that Scott did his best to avoid when talking with those he knew and worked with. Tempers would flare, and Scott knew all too well that those were subjects to be avoided among friends. There was no doubt that neither would agree and for that reason, Scott had always decided that the less he said, the better.

The next morning before daybreak, Scott quietly made his way to the stable. Looking into the night sky, he could tell that the sun would start to show within the hour. Entering the stable, he places the provisions that Vertie had prepared for him on the seat. Anxious to get going, he quickly bridled each horse and secured them to the wagon, ever mindful of his cargo in the back of his wagon. It would be at least ten hours before he reached his next stop at the Sarry Heid Tavern. Port Glasgow was another six hours away, and if all went well, he could make it to Dalry before the sun had set that night. The beautiful moonlit scenery provided just enough light to cast a shadow and help him avoid the deep ruts that cut into the road the further away from Edinburgh he got.

Arriving at the Sarry Heid Tavern, a hewn stone building in Glasgow, Scott quickly boards his horses in one of the many stalls provided for customers where the printing shop kept an open account for their employees. After a meal that pales in comparison to Vertie’s home-cooked soup and bread, he retires for the evening in a room above the tavern. His dreams turned to nightmares, as visions of his cousin Mary, beset upon in the new world, filled him from his conversation with Minister Watson. A glimmer of hope that Mary survived was all that kept him from waking up in a cold sweat.

The next morning Scott could see his breath in the bitterly cold air as he pulled out of the stable and onto the cobblestone road to resume his trek. Once across the winding River Clyde, he notices the slight glow on the horizon as the sun begins to show itself. He puts his gloves on, turns his collar up and gives the reins a shake.

There was plenty of distance to cover, and the chill in the air was a constant incentive to push onward quickly. It would be another six hours before he was to reach New Port Glasgow. He could only hope to make it to Dalry by the end of the day. He nudges the horses with another shake of the reins, knowing even the slightest distraction could lengthen his trip.

Late in the morning, Scott reached New Port Glasgow, eighteen miles north of the Sarry Heid. Noticing the Snow Jenny, anchored in the second berth, moving gently in the early morning waves, Scott pulls alongside the ship and signals one of the crewmen, mindful of the stench of fish from an early morning haul, I need to speak to Mr. Alex Bell.

The crewman nods and waves as he walks below deck, leaving Scott to wait near the dock's beginning. He looks around at the other ships anchored around the dock, bobbing gently while all abuzz with activity as the seagulls search for their morning meals.

Soon a middle-aged man appears on the ship's deck, searching until he spies Scott, and a smile breaks out across his face. Making his way down the gangplank, he takes a good look at Scott and shouts, Scott Jemison! I have not seen you in months! How have you been?

Standing next to his wagon, Scott waves and says, I’ve been doing fine, thank you, sir.

Approaching the wagon, Let me guess, my brother has sent me another shipment of books?

After shaking hands, Scott gives Alex the shipping manifest and says, I have twenty crates of books for you, sir.

Looking at the shipping manifest, Twenty crates of books? It is amazing to me how many people actually enjoy reading. I’m willing to wager that most of these books will spend their entire lives sitting on one shelf or another. Looking up at Scott, he continues, How is my brother these days?

Your brother is fine and sends his regards, Scott replies, while Alex looks back down at the manifest and walks over to the back of the wagon, with Scott trailing him.

Counting the crates in the back of the wagon, Alex continues, his brows rising, Looks like you have one more stop?

The last crate goes to the St. Quivox church at the Auchincruive Estate, Scott replied, having carefully memorized the manifest time and again.

You have been delivering books for my brother a number of years now, Alex commented, turning to look at Scott with a mischievous grin. How is it that you have not yet strangled him?

Smiling, too, Scott replies, I’m thankful to have the work and thought it would not be wise to strangle the person that controls the hand that feeds me.

Alex nods, A wise decision, my friend. You have much more patience than I do. Turning towards the ship, he calls for the assistance of the crewmen. Within a few minutes, several men were on their way down the gangplank. Pulling his ink and quill out of his pocket, Alex quickly signs the manifest and, handing it back, says, Thank you, Scott. I may see you in a few months, or I may not. The pirates have been working diligently to keep us from completing our voyages. Fortunately for us, none of them enjoy reading, so it seems that they are never interested in our books.

Placing the manifest in his shirt, Scott nods and says, Thank you, sir, and good luck with your voyage.

In less than an hour, Scott’s on his way to the small village of Dalry, another five hours, and twenty miles, away from New Port Glasgow. There he would spend the night in the stable belonging to friends John and Margaret Thomson, friends from Ireland who left at the same time Scott did. It’s not often that Scott ventures down that way. Most of his trips are to Port Glasgow Harbor and then back to Edinburgh until the next trip. In the few times that he has made deliveries to Ayr passing St. Quivox, he has never once stopped there, marking an interesting change to his routine treks. Scott considers a change of pace now and then to be a good thing, which could keep life interesting and give him even more time to think.

Knowing there are no taverns in St. Quivox, he considers the possibility that he may have to spend the night in his wagon. Perhaps there will be a stable nearby where he can stay the night? Either way, Scott was looking forward to getting home to see his wife and son. Being away for four or five days at a time has a tendency to take its toll on a person. It seems that every time he gets back home, he notices his son has become a bit taller and a bit older. Scott is looking forward to the day when they can wrestle around in the grass. Once he gets back home, he’ll spend a few days with his family, do some maintenance on his wagon and make a payment to his uncle before heading back to Edinburgh to do it all over again.

Making his way to St. Quivox, his mind once again ponders on many different things. Will my parents also move to America? Things in Ireland have been very unstable, and they were considering it not that long ago. Lord knows they need to do something. How long could I continue to provide for my family transporting goods from one place to another? What happens if one of the horses goes down or the wagon needs repairs?

Scott often considers the life he had chosen. Had he chosen it, or was it his destiny? What else could he do to provide for his family? Would he also move his family to America one day in the future? There were so many questions that only time could answer.

Before he knew it, St. Quivox was in sight, and once again, there was plenty of daylight left for Scott to find a place to rest for the night. St. Quivox was a stone building with a side-facing stairway that led up to the front door. The sunlight didn’t seem to gleam off the windows, and Scott quickly found that it was due to a thick layer of dust as laborers worked out around the building.

Stopping in front of the church, Scott looks around before turning his attention to one of the laborers, Sir, could you direct me to Mr. Oswald?

The laborer points to the door, Mr. Oswald is inside.

Thank you, Scott replied. Stepping through the door, he noticed more laborers cleaning and refinishing some of the beautiful woodwork that filled the inside of the church. He looked around, seeing how the building was being restored with a look of awe in his eye.

As he looked around, enjoying the scent of freshly sanded wood, an older gentleman approached and asked, Sir, may I help you?

I’m looking for a Mr. Oswald, Scott replied, tearing his attention away from the newly restored woodwork.

The gentleman replied, his fashionable brown hair covered in dust from wood that was being sanded and refinished, I am Richard Oswald. How may I help you?

Looking at Richard, Scott hands him the manifest, I’m Scott Jemison, and I have a crate of Bibles for you, sir, from Alexander Kincaid’s printing shop in Edinburgh.

Richard smiles as he reads the manifest. Looking towards the wagon through the still-open doorway, Richard says, This is good news. The congregation will be very pleased. As they approach the wagon, he continues, Last year I provided the church with communion cups. This year it will be these new Bibles. I want them to have everything they need to conduct a proper service. Looking up at Scott, Richard said, Will you carry the crate into the church for me, please? There I will sign the manifest.

Scott takes the crate and follows him back into the church, where he signed the manifest. Handing it back, Richard asked, Do you have accommodations for the evening?

Scott answered plainly, I do not, sir.

Richard says, nodding, Fine then. I will invite you to be my guest for the evening. There’s a stable where you can keep your horses and wagon.

Pointing in the direction of his home, Richard explained, Follow the road you're on and once you pass the cemetery, continue around the bend, and you will see a narrow road leading to the left. After crossing through the tree line, the road will turn right, running parallel to the main road. You will then see the stables to the left as you approach my home. My farmhand will help you tend to your horses, and I should be there within the hour. Welcome to Auchincruive.

I am very grateful, sir. Thank you, Scott said, shaking his hand. As he made his way down the narrow dirt road, he thought, ‘So this is the famous Auchincruive.’

The road was lined with large trees and bushes that blocked much of his view on both sides. As he rounded the bend, he turned onto the narrow road branching off to the left. Once clearing the tree line, Scott is amazed at the beautiful scenery that appeared before him. Green pastures and rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see. Turning to the right, he could see the stable lay straight ahead next to a beautiful home, large and stately and a little bit foreboding. He noticed that it was a very nice stable indeed. As he approached, a farmhand came running up, Sir, may I help you?

Scott, admiring the beautiful scenery, answered, Mr. Oswald said that I could board my horses in his stable tonight.

Very well, sir. I will show you to the stable, Taking the bridle, the farmhand leads the horses into the stable. He helps Scott unbridle each horse and walks them into a stall. There he puts hay into the trough and makes sure there’s plenty of water. He then helped his horses, brushing them down while Scott cleaned the hoofs and inspected their legs. Admiring the horses, the farmhand commented, These are fine animals you have here, sir.

They’ve worked hard these past three days and are in need of a good rest, Scott said by way of answer. One more day, and they shall rest for a while yet. Once Scott was satisfied that the horses were ready for the next day, he took a closer look at his wagon, ever wary of things out of place that might delay his journey.

Each wheel would have to be greased when he returned home before he made another trip. After his inspection, Scott walks around the stable, once again admiring the beautiful landscape that spread out around the manor. He then walks back to his wagon and leans against the bed, admiring Richard’s home. It was a beautiful home indeed. A few moments had passed when he noticed Richard pulling through the tree line sitting on a plush two-wheel buggy, pulled by an enormous shire that moved with precision and grace.

It was a majestic animal with shiny black hair, and Scott was impressed with its size and smooth gait. He couldn’t help but compliment Richard, That is a beautiful shire you have, sir.

Stepping down from the carriage, Richard replies warmly, Thank you, Scott. You have a fine team of horses as well. No sooner than he said that the farmhand came running over and took hold of the bridle, walking the horse and carriage into the stable. Richard turned, dusting off his hands absently, and said, You must be hungry. Let us get you settled in, Scott fell into step with Richard, as the man asks, Where do you call home?

I am originally from Dublin but have been living in Lanark for the past five years, Scott replied, watching the shire trot away with the farmhand one last time.

Lanark! Richard exclaimed, his voice full of enthusiasm and wonder. Coming to a stop, he looked up at Scott and said, "The same Lanark that Sir William Wallace attacked, killing the sheriff, and then burning their encampment