Chapter XIX Unlooked-for News
In spite of the many stringent measures taken by the Government to suppress the field preachings and break the spirit of the Covenanters, the persecuted people continued to meet for worship in the mountain solitudes or in the moorland wilds, thus strengthening each others’ hearts and hands, and renewing the bond of their precious Covenant, for which these hardships were endured.
Now no conventicle was held unless protected by an armed band ready to give the alarm and fight, if need be, the soldiers who might seek to disturb or disperse them. Consequently skirmishes were of very frequent occurrence, sometimes resulting in victory for the Presbyterians, sometimes in their utter defeat. In these encounters many lost their lives. Often were the heather and the mountain streams dyed with their blood, and yet the army never seemed to diminish in numbers, for there were ever some ready to fill the vacant places of those who had fallen.
The curates still continued to conduct Episcopal services in the kirks, but the supremacy of the bishops seemed no nearer being established in the last, because, with some exceptions, those who attended the ministrations were people of little note or reputation, with perhaps a few whom terror compelled to take their unwilling places in the kirks.
The struggles betwixt the Government and the Scottish Presbyterians had now extended over several years, and seemed yet no nearer a satisfactory termination. The Covenanters, with their intimate knowledge of their native hills and dales, had the advantage over the troopers sent to hunt and destroy them, and some of their mountain fastnesses were more impregnable than a fortified city. In open warfare they might easily have been cut to pieces, but time went on, and except the few skirmishes already referred to, the opponents had never met in battle. Such a state of affairs could not be satisfactory to the King of England, much less so to Lauderdale and the Archbishop of St. Andrews, who were his executors in Scotland.
When every troop of marauding dragoons was empowered to take captive, torture, or kill any man, woman, or child whom they even suspected of being a Covenanter, or of attending the Conventicles; when the property of unoffending individuals was confiscated and distributed among the spoilers; when the dwellings of peaceable country folk were robbed, and often burned to the ground without explanation or excuse; when those who were supposed to have afforded shelter or refreshment to the fugitives were fined and imprisoned without mercy, it might have been thought that there were no severer measures left in the Government repertoire, and that they might have abandoned the persecutions in despair of ever rooting Presbyterian principles out of Scotland. But as yet the Government had no such intention. Those in power met to discuss, and finally issued orders for the infliction of yet more stringent and cruel treatment upon the rebels. Every forgotten and long-abhorred torture was revived, and used as punishments by the unholy Courts, which made a mockery of administering justice in the land.
Well might the endurance of God’s people quail beneath the yoke of the oppressor; well might their hearts be uplifted to Heaven in that despairing cry, “O Lord, how long!”
One evening about the middle of May, in the year 1679, several men were gathered together in a lonely farmhouse among the wilds of Lanarkshire. Among them we recognise Andrew Gray of Hartrigge, and his brother, David, the minister of Broomhill, also other two familiar faces, those of Adam Hepburn of Rowallan, and Watty McBean, the carrier of Inverburn. Having had his houses burned about his ears, his faithful nag and all his valuables stolen, Watty had become, instead of a man of peace, a man of war, and had joined the army lying in the Vale of Avondale. Betty had retired to Hartrigge, which was now entirely left to the women-folk, and was at the utter mercy of the soldiery. But as yet the homestead remained untouched, though fair Rowallan was razed to the ground.
From the appearance of the company gathered in the room, as well as from their remarks, it could be gathered that they were (with the exception of Watty, who would on no account let Adam Hepburn out of his sight) leaders among the insurgents. They were discussing the next steps to be taken by the army, and Sir Robert Hamilton, brother to the Laird of Inverburn, and a staunch, though moderate Presbyterian, was counselling cautious measures, to which Andrew Gray, Adam Hepburn, and some other fiery spirits listened with but a small show of patience, when there came a loud and peremptory knocking at the door. Involuntarily all sprang to their feet, and grasped their swords. If they were discovered, and the soldiers were without, there were twenty valiant and desperate men of them, who would fight dearly for their lives.
Adam Hepburn, sword in hand, fearlessly went to the outer door, and threw it open. In the faint and uncertain beams of the young May moon he saw only a solitary horseman, whose steed was panting and covered with foam, as if it had galloped many miles that day.
“Is this Windyedge, the house of Gideon Dickson?” the horseman asked in a thick whisper.
“Is it friend or foe?” queried Adam, briefly.
“Friend,” replied the horseman, as briefly. “Is Sir Robert Hamilton within?”
“He is; but be good enough first to give me your name as a guerdon of your honour,” said Adam.
“Tush! man,” said the horseman impatiently; “well, John Balfour of Kinloch, synonymous with liberty at any price, is it not?”
Those within, hearing the whispered conference, now came crowding out to the door, and Sir Robert Hamilton, at sight of the figure on the horse, uttered an exclamation of surprise, and at once stepped across the threshold.
“John Balfour! What on earth brings you from Fife to this remote place? No paltry reason, I could swear.”
“You speak the truth,” returned Balfour grimly. “Is there any fellow who can put up my steed, who is in a sorry plight, poor wretch, as well he may, after his desperate ride. And is there any refreshment to be had within, for I am fainting with hunger and fatigue.”
Gideon Dickson, the farmer of Windyedge, came out himself, and taking the exhausted animal’s bridle-rein, led him away towards the stable. Then Balfour was conducted into the house, and refreshment immediately set before him. While he partook of his repast he spoke not, and those in the room who had hitherto only known him by hearsay as a fearless soldier, who would fight under the most desperate circumstances, now looked, not without astonishment, upon his person. In figure he was considerably under the middle height, but his frame was powerfully knit, and evidently possessed of great strength. His countenance was by no means prepossessing, being dark and forbidding, while a cast in his eye gave him a peculiarly fierce and unpleasant aspect. When he had finished his repast he looked round upon the assembled company, and then fixing his eyes on the face of Sir Robert Hamilton, briefly asked the question:—
“Are these present to be trusted?”
“Ay, truly,” answered Sir Robert. “They are the picked men of our forces; therefore you may fearlessly open your mouth in their midst, John.”
“And there are no traitors or spies within hearing?” further queried Kinloch, looking suspiciously round him.
“None; we are gathered here for consultation,” replied Sir Robert. “Our forces are lying about a mile distant, under cover of the Loudon hill.”
“That is well. But, tell me, have you had no news, of a very comfortable and pleasant nature, conveyed hither from Fife?” queried Balfour grimly.
Sir Robert shook his head and made answer that they had received no communication whatsoever from the shire of Fife.
“Nothing relating to that arch-fiend, James Sharp, of St. Andrews?”
“Nothing. Come, John, do not keep us in suspense. Can it be that the Lord has permitted judgment to fall on him at last?”
“Even so,” said Balfour. “Know, then, that certain faithful servants of the Covenant, meeting the archbishop’s carriage on Magus muir, on the third day of this present month, sent the perjured traitor to his just and righteous doom.”
Sir Robert Hamilton was struck dumb in the intensity of his surprise and horror, for in a moment the consequences of that rash and indefensible act were made clear to his well-balanced mind. One or two others, notably the minister of Broomhill, also exhibited dismay, but the majority of those present received the news with a lively satisfaction, and even with a species of fierce joy which told that in their zeal they thirsted for blood.
“Who authorised, or led them to such a rash and unwise attack?” queried Sir Robert Hamilton. “They must have been blind and blood-thirsty zealots, surely, who killed a man in cold blood, without giving him a chance to defend himself.”
An expression of fierce and bitter scorn crossed the dark face of Balfour as he made answer contemptuously.
“What of the many thousands who have been murdered in cold blood at Sharp’s instigation and with his approval? The like mercy he showed to others was meted out to him. For my part, I would that he had ten other lives, to be taken from him in the same summary fashion.”
“I am of your opinion, Mr. Balfour,” said the deep voice of Adam Hepburn of Rowallan, and Kinloch immediately turned his deep-set eyes with approval on the speaker. Something in the dogged and resolute expression on his fine face, and in the gleam of his keen blue eye, riveted Balfour’s attention and caused him to mentally resolve that they should become better acquainted with each other.
“And I, also,” chimed in Andrew Gray in his quiet but weighty manner. “There could be no fate too harsh for such a traitor. Verily he has been a Judas in the Kirk of Scotland all his days, and his hands are dyed with the blood of hundreds of innocents whom he has betrayed.”
Still Sir Robert Hamilton shook his head, and a troubled and anxious expression continued to dwell on his face.
“Come, tell me, John, who were the perpetrators of this deed of violence?” he asked. “Are any of them personally known to you?”
A grim smile stole into Kinloch’s face as he made answer—
“Faith, they were all as well known to me as my own brothers, seeing I was in their midst, as also was my brother-in-law, David Hackstoun of Rathillet.”
“David Hackstoun of Rathillet!” ejaculated Sir Robert in tones of utter amazement. “Very sure am I that so sweet and kindly a soul would not lay a hand even on the archbishop.”
“Well, like Saul, he looked on, consenting unto his death,” said Balfour. “I myself gave the traitor a sword thrust, just to wipe off old scores, but it was not these hands that finished him. Nevertheless, the crime is wholly charged upon my brother-in-law and myself, and I take it there will be a heavy ransom set upon our precious heads. After the deed was done we separated, David Hackstoun and I agreeing to join the forces here; but he would go home to see his wife first, else he had been here with me. It may be that his silly dallying may cost him his life.”
“You are right in saying there will be a heavy price set on your heads,” said Sir Robert Hamilton; “and, what is more, we will all need to gird about our swords and see to our armour, for now there will be no quarter for any professing Covenanting principles. I prophesy that the king will take steps to terribly avenge his primate’s death.”
“What of that?” queried Balfour, carelessly. “What ingenuity or revenge could suggest more terrible and bloody oppression than has been pressed on Scotland these past ten years?”
“Well, well, what’s done can’t be undone,” said Sir Robert, with a somewhat mournful smile. “Now, lads, we had better to our discussions again. We were but planning a great field meeting for Sabbath week, at which a Communion Service might be held, and we were somewhat divided as to a suitable place of meeting.”
“Are there many soldiers in the district?” asked Balfour.
“Ah, that we cannot tell. They rise mysteriously, as it were out of the bowels of the earth, when least expected,” replied Sir Robert. “But I heard on good authority that that miscreant—for I can call him nothing else—John Graham of Claverhouse is in the west.”
“Right well would I like to measure swords with him,” said Balfour, with feverish eagerness. “Such a man is not fit to live.”
“It’s no’ very easy gettin’ at him,” piped the shrill voice of Watty McBean. “I’m tell he rides a muckle black horse the deevil sent him, an’ that nae man can owertak’ him.”
Balfour immediately turned his piercing eyes on Watty’s face with a glance which covered him with confusion, for he had been surprised into speech without thinking.
“Be quiet, Watty,” said Adam Hepburn promptly, which rebuke caused Watty to slink behind the door, chiefly to escape the gaze of Balfour, whom he had regarded with terror ever since his entrance.
“Those who are best acquainted with the district should be the fittest to choose a place of meeting,” said Balfour. “What numbers have you at Loudon Hill?”
“About three hundred, and at a short notice we could speedily double or treble the number. There having been no fighting of late, very many have returned to their homes. Indeed, those with us are chiefly men whose goods have been confiscated and their dwellings pillaged and burned.”
“I see no better spot than where our army now lies,” said Adam Hepburn. “It is a sheltered and suitable place, and from the top of the hill our watchers could readily descry the enemy approaching from one side, while upon the other that wide and dreary morass is a bulwark in our defence.”
“I agree with you,” said Sir Robert. “Then we can fix upon the place and day, and send word through the surrounding district.”
“Have you forgotten that the anniversary of the king’s restoration is to be celebrated throughout Scotland on the 29th of this present month?” asked Balfour.
“No: we have had that under discussion likewise, John,” replied Sir Robert, “and we intend to celebrate it in our own fashion. But of that more anon. And now we must separate for the night. My quarters in the meantime are here, John. You had better remain with me in case Rathillet should come hither seeking you. He should be here by the latest to-morrow.”
Balfour acquiesced, and, being much fatigued, gladly retired to rest, while the others separated to the various places where they were to obtain shelter for the night.