ONE of the difficulties which the Free Church had to contend with at its beginning was the question of sites for church buildings and manses. The story of the refusal of sites by proprietors is told at length in the Annals of the Disruption. One of the most interesting records is that of the building of a floating church owing to the refusal of Sir James Riddell’s permission to grant a site of a place of worship for the Free Church people of Strontian, Argyllshire. It will be one hundred years in July since the floating church was towed to Loch Sunart and used as a place of worship. The following is the account given in the Annals of the Disruption, a book still worth reading though not so well-known as it once was. “The refusal of sites by the proprietor* of 40 miles of landed estates was a serious matter but men at that time were not easily baffled. A Floating Church was proposed which might be anchored in some sheltered bay near the beach and give accommodation to the people till better days come round. The idea was eagerly taken up, subscriptions were raised, plans carefully drawn out, the vessel was contracted for an expense of £1400, much interest was felt as her construction went on in one of the building yards of the Clyde under the skilful superintendence of Robert Brown, Esq., of Fairlie. Then came the launch and the voyage from Greenock to Loch Sunart. At first there was some difficulty as to a proper anchorage for the vessel. Mr. Graham Spiers, Convener of the Committee, had at one time served in the Royal Navy, and accompanied by a naval friend, he went down in July, 1846, to fix on the site. The best place, safest for the ship, and most convenient for the people, would have been just
*Sir James Riddell.
under the windows of Sir James Riddell’s Mansion, but, as a matter of good taste, another was chosen two miles off, and there, at a point about 150 yards from the shore, the vessel was safely moored.
How gladly the people left the storm-beaten hillside for this strange Highland church of the sea, need not be said. It was a singular spectacle on each returning Sabbath morning, as the hour of public worship drew near, to see the boats coasting from north and south, each with its contingent of hearers while numerous groups could be descried far inland, wending their way down from the hills to where the floating church lay moored. Men speak of it as a stirring scene when ropes and cables were run out from the beach, and the boats were rapidly passed backwards and forwards, conveying the worshippers on board. In winter, the hearers came from a distance of eight or nine miles, and in summer from a still wider circuit. In rough weather it was no slight undertaking to get so many people on board. Even in summer when all was calm it was a tedious operation and not unfrequently darkness was setting in before all were again on shore. The numbers who assembled depended on the reputation of the minister who was expected to preach and the people had their own way of testing the esteem in which the different clergymen were held. It was found that for every hundred hearers the vessel sunk an inch in the water, nothing, therefore, could be easier than to keep the register. They could tell to an inch the popularity of every minister who came. A depression of six inches told that a congregation of 600 had been drawn together, and on some occasions, it is said, that this number was exceeded. On the whole, this plan of church extension, so novel among the Highlanders, was found to answer well. There was only one person whom it did not altogether please. The letters of Sir James Riddell are those of a kind-hearted and friendly landlord, strongly prejudiced against the Free Church; but when he came from the Continent and saw what was going on, it was not to his mind. In an interview with Dr. Beith, Stirling, one of the officiating ministers, he expressed a wish to have the iron vessel brought in close to the shore, and made fast, so as to be made more convenient for the people. Dr. Beith, while willing to consider the proposal, suggested that, in agreeing to this, he was yielding the whole principle, and might as well give a site at once. For that, however, the time had not yet come.”
A correspondent in a recent issue of the Oban Times states that the first minister to preach in the Eaglais Iarruin (Iron Church) as it was called by the Gaelic speaking people, was Rev. Alexander MacIntyre who afterwards went to the Clarence River district, N.S.W., where he ministered to the Free Church emigrants from Ardnamurchan. The writer of this note saw some of the descendants of these emigrants when, as the Church’s deputy, he visited our people in Grafton, on the Clarence River, N.S.W. The Free Church minister of Strontian was the eminent gospel minister, the Rev. John MacQueen,* ordained there in 1853 and who was afterwards Free Church minister of Daviot, Inverness-shire (1867-1891).
*An interesting biographical sketch by the Rev. Neil Cameron, who had a warm place in his heart for him, appeared in the Free Presbyterian Magazine, vol. xxx. p. 249.
Dr. Beith, Stirling, in a brief account, tells of the fitting up of the ship with pulpit, benches and a small vestry, etc. “It was successfully towed from the Clyde round the Mull of Kintyre,” he says, “by one or two tug-steamers, and in the end safely moored in the appointed place. The exploit of her voyage over so dangerous a sea had not been without peril. The structure was so great and clumsy, withal so unmanageable that more than once she had nearly dragged the tugs upon the rocks. By the kindness of an over-ruling Providence the risks were surmounted, a safe arrival at the intended destination was accomplished and regular worship was established. As a place of worship the accommodation was very comfortable. The pulpit stood at the bow—under cover, of course—having the vestry on one side. The entrance for the congregation was towards the stern, and for the minister near the bow. A passage on one side running the whole length of the church, afforded access to the benches which were arranged straight across the ship throughout her whole length and occupied the entire breadth except what was required for the passage. About 750 hearers could be accommodated. Too large was the church for the neighbouring population, but sometimes it was quite filled, even crowded. A little experience taught the method of judging the number present by the gauge provided at the bow post. One number sank the church to a depth which was marked by the index; another number sank it to a different depth. So it became a very simple question in arithmetic to determine whether the number at any time present at worship was two, or four, five, or seven hundred. I preached thrice on the Sabbath—twice in Gaelic, once in English—to a very interesting congregation of Morvern and Argyllshire Highlanders” (Annals of the Disruption, p. 556).