Hunted and Harried by Robert Michael Ballantyne (booksvooks TXT) 📕

hold of the ship so closely that they had not room to lie down, and almost suffocated with foul air and stench, the sufferings which they endured were far more terrible than those they experienced when lying among the tombs; but God sent most of them speedy deliverance. They were wrecked on the coast of Orkney. At night they were dashed on the rocks. The prisoners entreated to be let out of their prison, but the brutal captain ordered the hatches to be chained down. A tremendous wave cleft the deck, and a few of the more energetic managed to escape and reach the shore. The remainder--at least two hundred--were drowned in the hold. Will Wallace was among the saved, but was taken to Leith and transferred to another vessel. After several months of tossings on the deep he reached his destination and was sold into slavery.

Many months--even years--passed away, but no news reached Candlemaker Row regarding the fate of the banished people. As to Andrew Black, the only change that took place in his condition during his long captivity was his transference--unknown to his kindred--from the gloomy prison of the Bass Rock to the still gloomier cells of Dunnottar Castle.

During all this time, and for some years after, the persecutions were continued with ever-increasing severity: it seemed as if nothing short of the extirpation of the Covenanters altogether was contemplated. In short, the two parties presented at this period an aspect of human affairs which may well be styled monstrous. On the one hand a people suffering and fighting to the death to uphold law, and on the other a tyrant king and arrogant ecclesiastics and nobles, with their paid slaves and sycophants, deliberately violating the same!

Quentin Dick and Ramblin' Peter had been drawn closer together by powerful sympathy after the imprisonment of Black and the banishment of Will Wallace. They were like-minded in their aspirations, though very dissimilar in physical and mental endowment. Feeling that Edinburgh was not a safe place in which to hide after his recent escape, Quentin resolved to return to Dumfries to inquire after, and if possible to aid, his friends there.

Peter determined to cast in his lot with him. In size he was still a boy though he had reached manhood.

"We maun dae our best to help the wanderers," said the shepherd, as they started on their journey.

"Ay," assented Peter.

Arrived in Galloway they were passing over a wide moorland region one afternoon when a man suddenly appeared before them, as if he had dropped from the clouds, and held out his hand.

"What! McCubine, can that be you?" exclaimed Quentin, grasping the proffered hand. "Man, I _am_ glad to see ye. What brings ye here?"

McCubine explained that he and his friend Gordon, with four comrades, were hiding in the Moss to avoid a party of dragoons who were pursuing them. "Grierson of Lagg is with them, and Captain Bruce is in command," he said, "so we may expect no mercy if they catch us. Only the other day Bruce and his men dragged puir old Tam McHaffie out o' his bed, tho' he was ill wi' fever, an' shot him."

Having conducted Quentin and Peter to the secret place where his friends were hidden, McCubine was asked anxiously, by the former, if he knew anything about the Wilsons.

"Ay, we ken this," answered Gordon, "that although the auld folk have agreed to attend the curates for the sake o' peace, the twa lassies have refused, and been driven out o' hoose an' hame. They maun hae been wanderin' amang the hills noo for months--if they're no catched by this time."

Hearing this, Quentin sprang up.

"We maun rescue them, Peter," he said.

"Ay," returned the boy. "Jean Black will expect that for Aggie's sake; she's her bosom freend, ye ken."

Refusing to delay for even half an hour, the two friends hurried away. They had scarcely left, and the six hunted men were still standing on the road where they had bidden them God-speed, when Bruce with his dragoons suddenly appeared--surprised and captured them all. With the brutal promptitude peculiar to that well-named "killing-time," four of them were drawn up on the road and instantly shot, and buried where they fell, by Lochenkit Moor, where a monument now marks their resting place.

The two spared men, Gordon and McCubine, were then, without reason assigned, bound and carried away. Next day the party came to the Cluden Water, crossing which they followed the road which leads to Dumfries, until they reached the neighbourhood of Irongray. There is a field there with a mound in it, on which grows a clump of old oak-trees. Here the two friends were doomed without trial to die. It is said that the minister of Irongray at that time was suspected of favourable leanings toward the Covenanters, and that the proprietor of the neighbouring farm of Hallhill betrayed similar symptoms; hence the selection of the particular spot between the two places, in order to intimidate both the minister and the farmer. This may well have been the case, for history shows that a very strong and indomitable covenanting spirit prevailed among the parishioners of Irongray as well as among the people of the South and West of Scotland generally. Indeed Wodrow, the historian, says that the people of Irongray were the first to offer strenuous opposition to the settlement of the curates.

When Gordon and McCubine were standing under the fatal tree with the ropes round their necks, a sorrowing acquaintance asked the latter if he had any word to send to his wife.

"Yes," answered the martyr; "tell her that I leave her and the two babes upon the Lord, and to his promise: `A father to the fatherless and a husband to the widow is the Lord in His holy habitation.'"

Hearing this, the man employed to act the part of executioner seemed touched, and asked forgiveness.

"Poor man!" was the reply, "I forgive thee and all men."

They died, at peace with God and man. An old tombstone, surrounded by an iron rail, marks to this day the spot among the old oak-trees where the bodies of McCubine and Gordon were laid to rest.

Commenting on this to his friend Selby, the Reverend George Lawless gave it as his opinion that "two more fanatics were well out of the world."

To which the Reverend Frank replied very quietly:

"Yes, George, well out of it indeed; and, as I would rather die with the fanatics than live with the godless, I intend to join the Covenanters to-night--so my pulpit shall be vacant to-morrow."


CHAPTER ELEVEN.


COMING EVENTS CAST SHADOWS.

In February 1685 Charles the Second died--not without some suspicion of foul play. His brother, the Duke of York, an avowed Papist, ascended the throne as James the Second. This was a flagrant breach of the Constitution, and Argyll--attempting to avert the catastrophe by an invasion of Scotland at the same time that Monmouth should invade England--not only failed, but was captured and afterwards executed by the same instrument--the "Maiden"--with which his father's head had been cut off nigh a quarter of a century before. As might have been expected, the persecutions were not relaxed by the new king.

When good old Cargill was martyred, a handsome fair young man was looking on in profound sorrow and pity. He was a youth of great moral power, and with a large heart. His name was James Renwick. From that hour this youth cast in his lot with the persecuted wanderers, and, after the martyrdom of Cameron and Cargill, and the death of Welsh, he was left almost alone to manage their affairs. The "Strict Covenanters" had by this time formed themselves into societies for prayer and conference, and held quarterly district meetings in sequestered places, with a regular system of correspondence--thus secretly forming an organised body, which has continued down to modern times.

It was while this young servant of God--having picked up the mantle which Cargill dropped--was toiling and wandering among the mountains, morasses, and caves of the west, that a troop of dragoons was seen, one May morning, galloping over the same region "on duty." They swept over hill and dale with the dash and rattle of men in all the pride of youth and strength and the panoply of war. They were hasting, however, not to the battlefield but to the field of agriculture, there to imbrue their hands in the blood of the unarmed and the helpless.

At the head of the band rode the valiant Graham of Claverhouse. Most people at that time knew him as the "bloody Clavers," but as we look at the gay cavalier with his waving plume, martial bearing, beautiful countenance, and magnificent steed, we are tempted to ask, "Has there not been some mistake here?" Some have thought so. One or two literary men, who might have known better, have even said so, and attempted to defend their position!

"Methinks this is our quarry, Glendinning," said Claverhouse, drawing rein as they approached a small cottage, near to which a man was seen at work with a spade.

"Yes--that's John Brown of Priesthill," said the sergeant.

"You know the pestilent fanatic well, I suppose?"

"Ay. He gets the name o' being a man of eminent godliness," answered the sergeant in a mocking tone; "and is even credited with having started a Sabbath-school!"

John Brown, known as the "Christian carrier," truly was what Glendinning had sneeringly described him. On seeing the cavalcade approach he guessed, no doubt, that his last hour had come, for many a time had he committed the sin of succouring the outlawed Covenanters, and he had stoutly refused to attend the ministry of the worthless curate George Lawless. Indeed it was the information conveyed to Government by that reverend gentleman that had brought Claverhouse down upon the unfortunate man.

The dragoons ordered him to proceed to the front of his house, where his wife was standing with one child in her arms and another by her side. The usual ensnaring questions as to the supremacy of the King, etcetera, were put to him, and the answers being unsatisfactory, Claverhouse ordered him to say his prayers and prepare for immediate death. Brown knew that there was no appeal. All Scotland was well aware by that time that soldiers were empowered to act the part of judge, jury, witness, and executioner, and had become accustomed to it. The poor man obeyed. He knelt down and prayed in such a strain that even the troopers, it is said, were impressed--at all events, their subsequent conduct would seem to countenance this belief. Their commander, however, was not much affected, for he thrice interrupted his victim, telling him that he had "given him time to pray, but not to preach."

"Sir," returned Brown, "ye know neither the nature of preaching nor praying if ye call this preaching."

"Now," said Claverhouse, "take farewell of your wife and children."

After the poor man had kissed them, Claverhouse ordered six of his men to fire; but they hesitated and finally refused. Enraged at this their commander drew a pistol, and with his own hand blew out John Brown's brains.

"What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman?" he said, turning to the widow.

"I ever thought much good of him," she answered, "and as much