Chapter XXI Disunion
A conference of the leaders of the victorious Covenanting army was held that same day, to decide the next steps to be taken. Balfour of Kinloch, and others of his fiery temperament, so strongly advocated an immediate march to Glasgow that they set aside the more prudent counsels of their moderate brethren, and accordingly next morning Sir Robert Hamilton led the army towards Glasgow. They were joined on the way by many others, encouraged by the news of the victory at Drumclog, and they entered the town early in the day. Claverhouse, however, had already warned out the garrison, who were ready to receive them, and after a sharp tussle, in which seven or eight of the Covenanters were killed, they hastily beat a retreat, and fled to the town of Hamilton, where they pitched a camp.
The report of their success at Drumclog having already been largely published abroad, considerable numbers of those who had held aloof from the struggling handful who had defied the Government against fearful odds, now came flocking to join them. The blue standard of the Covenant was boldly unfurled on the banks of the noble Clyde, and for a time waved proudly in the summer breeze.
Some of the ministers of the district, who, for the sake of their families and desolate parishes had accepted the indulgence, feeling their hearts stirred by the old enthusiasm, rose up with one accord, and quitting their homes, voluntarily joined their brethren in arms. These were accompanied by numbers of their parishioners, who had previously followed the example of their ministers with regard to the indulgence. While the less narrow-minded among the Presbyterians rejoiced unfeignedly at the augmentation of their numbers, and gladly welcomed these brethren to the camp, there was another party who bitterly protested against the admission of the renegades, as they termed them, to the ranks. Thus the days succeeding Drumclog were spent in useless wrangling, while the Government was hastily organising the forces intended to sweep the rebels off the face of the earth.
One evening, a few weeks after the battle of Drumclog, a number of the officers and other leading men among the Presbyterians, were gathered together for conference in the house of William Wylie, a well-known gentleman, and honourable townsman in Hamilton. Among those present were Sir Robert Hamilton, John Balfour, David Hackstoun, William Carmichael, Adam Hepburn, and Andrew Gray of Hartrigge; the last two mentioned being recognised as leaders among the Covenanters on account of their faithfulness and undaunted valour, proved on many occasions since the first rising in Kirkcudbrightshire.
There were also present a goodly number of that protesting party who had accepted the indulgence, and who were desirous that this struggle should be based solely upon the questions affecting religious liberty, and that, therefore, the king’s authority in matters temporal should be acknowledged.
“I hold,” said Sir Robert Hamilton, in his clear and decisive way, “that the king has forfeited all claim upon our consideration. I therefore emphatically declare that he has no right nor interest to be acknowledged in our councils and actions. He is at war with the people of Scotland, whom we represent, and therefore we cannot acknowledge his authority in any matter whatsoever.”
“Then you would that we should utterly and entirely condemn the indulgence of 1669?” asked Mr. Welch.
“Undoubtedly,” replied Sir Robert, without a moment’s hesitation.
“Then by doing so, a slur is cast upon those brethren who have lately joined us,” said Mr. Welch. “Yet they were good and true men, who acted upon the promptings of their own conscience, deeming it better to accept the king’s offer than to allow the deplorable desolation to continue in their parishes.”
“Mr. Welch, we are not met together to discuss the indulgence, and those who partook of its humiliating benefits,” said Andrew Gray rising, and speaking with gloomy energy. “This is a council of war, and the sooner we make arrangements whereby our forces can be fairly united, the better it will be for us in the day of battle, now rapidly approaching.”
“But it is incumbent upon us first to publish to the world some declaration, showing our reasons for continuing in arms,” protested Mr. Welch. “And I hold that we are bound by the spirit and letter of our Covenants, as expressed in the third article thereof, to expressly own the authority of the king.”
“It seems to me that we are wasting time in vain talking, sirs,” said David Hackstoun of Rathillet, in his mild, sweet manner. “The brethren who are so anxious that we should declare for the king must remember that we have never yet publicly disowned him, although we have publicly disowned the edicts issued at his instigation. Though we may not approve of a man’s actions, brethren, we do not necessarily altogether repudiate the man himself.”
“Mr. Hackstoun expresses himself very sweetly and kindly,” said Mr. Welch. “But in these times we must use words and perform actions so clear that they cannot possibly be misconstrued. And I make bold to hold still that it is incumbent upon us, according to the wording of our solemn league and Covenant, to acknowledge our loyalty to the king in matters temporal, although we protest against the form of Church government and public worship he would forcibly thrust upon us.”
“To my mind the temporal and spiritual interests of a people are inseparable one from the other,” said Sir Robert Hamilton, and his face betrayed his weariness of the unprofitable discussion. “And I make bold to hold and to move, that the king having set himself in grave opposition to our Lord Christ, and His Church, and having organised and carried on fearful persecution against those people of God in his Scottish dominions, and having further crowned these many grave offences against his kingly prerogative by publicly declaring war against us, we cannot declare ourselves in his favour. Gentlemen, we would be a world’s wonder were we first to own his supremacy and then to fight in battle against him.”
“With these finely turned phrases Sir Robert Hamilton may satisfy his own conscience,” said Mr. Welch, sourly, “but the arguments he advances, if held to, will, I prophesy, occasion many divisions in our ranks.”
“It seems to me, gentlemen,” said Adam Hepburn, jumping to his feet, and speaking with passionate eagerness, “it seems to me that we resemble a council of madmen rather than grave and sober folk gathered together to discuss the issues of war. With the king’s forces almost within sight of us, were it not a fitter thing that we should be either practising in the field or encouraging each other’s hands for the immediate struggle, rather than sitting yelping at each other over trifles?”
“Well said, Adam Hepburn!” exclaimed Balfour, whose dark countenance had worn an expression of open disgust and impatience during the discussion. “I was just marvelling in my own mind how much longer this drivelling was to continue. Let us end this idiotic and off-putting discussion, and go forth as one man to the field; else I warn you that woeful will be the retribution which will follow upon the heels of our folly.”
“Mr. Adam Hepburn and the Laird of Kinloch have expressed themselves with a force and clearness which must commend their words to the brethren,” said Sir Robert Hamilton. “I would therefore move that this discussion be laid aside, and that, burying all differences, which have somewhat marred the harmony of our relationships one with the other, we go forth as one man, having only before us the spirit of these brave words engraven on our standard—‘For Christ’s cause and Covenant.’”
“There is wide dissatisfaction in the ranks because of the manner in which the chief posts in the army are distributed,” said Mr. Welch, persistently. “I would therefore move that all these posts be declared vacant and new officers harmoniously chosen, in order that when the day of battle comes we may not be split up by jealousies and divisions.”
A dead silence followed upon this suggestion. It was broken at length by the tones of Sir Robert Hamilton’s voice, which betrayed some sharpness and annoyance.
“I, with those present of my mind, am quite willing to agree to Mr. Welch’s proposal upon condition that the origin and nature of our disputes and the cause of the changes be fairly and justly stated, in order that the blame of them may rest upon the heads of those who have kindled the quarrel.”
“It is not meet that all those worthy men who, as was said before, for conscience’ sake accepted the indulgence should be utterly kept in the background,” said Mr. David Hume, who had not yet spoken. “I agree with Mr. Welch.”
“By the powers, I will listen to no more drivel about the indulgence!” cried Sir Robert Hamilton, starting to his feet. “Gentlemen, I wish you good day, and an amicable settlement and arrangement of these weighty affairs. I will take no further part in such unseemly and unprofitable discussion.”
So saying he stalked out of the place, followed by many of his way of thinking, so that the indulgence party had it all to themselves. The trusty leader, feeling himself unjustly and ungenerously set aside, retired somewhat sorrowfully with his immediate friends to the camp on Hamilton Muir. They heard there that the king’s forces under the Duke of Monmouth, who had come expressly from London to command the suppression of the rebellion, were close upon the town of Bothwell.
A warning messenger was at once sent to those who had remained in council in the house of William Wylie, and, after some discussion, it was agreed to send a deputation to wait upon the Duke, in order that their grievances might be laid before him.
Early on the Sabbath morning this deputation, which had been promised safe and patient hearing, crossed the bridge over the Clyde at Bothwell and entered the royal camp. The deputation consisted of Mr. David Hume, Mr. Welch, and the Laird of Kaitloch, and when they were shown into the presence of the duke they were much struck by his noble and princely bearing, and by the mild, benevolent expression on his countenance.
He listened courteously to their supplications, which prayed not only for freedom to meet both in general assembly and to worship as they willed in the churches, but also craved indemnity for all who were now or had been in arms against the king.
The duke gave them courteous hearing, but refused them an answer until they should lay down their arms and submit to the king’s mercy.
“My Lord Duke,” said Mr. Welch, “we cannot give up our liberty so easily, nor so readily own ourselves in the wrong. If your Grace would but give a little heed to the nature of these our supplications, I am sure your Grace would be speedily convinced of their justice and moderation.”
“It is impossible for me to give you the promise of satisfaction, save upon the condition that you at once lay down your arms,” replied the duke, calmly. “I am sent hither to stamp out this foolish rebellion, and while quite willing to give you every chance to submit ere it be too late, still I cannot delay the performance of the unpleasant but binding duty imposed upon me by my liege, the king. Therefore go back to your friends, and lay my conditions before them. If an answer be not returned to me within half an hour from now I shall take up the gauntlet of defiance you have thrown down, and order my battalions to advance.”
As the duke spoke, he looked, not without compassion, upon the little army lying on the moor upon the opposite bank of the river, close to the bridge, which was the sole barrier betwixt it and the overwhelming forces of the king.
The deputation thanked the duke, and withdrew with haste to their own camp, before which they laid his conditions.
The half-hour of grace was speedily frittered away in a renewal of the bitter and unfruitful debates which had already so weakened their unity, and these were continuing when the alarm was given that the enemy was making preparations for immediate battle by planting their cannon on Bothwell bridge.