Chapter XXII Bothwell Bridge
The long, yellow rays of the June sunshine fell upon a strange, unwonted scene that Sabbath morning, on the banks of the flowing Clyde. Upon the Bothwell side the king’s forces, to the number of 15,000, were marshalled in proud and glittering array. Well might the leaders of the Covenanters look upon them with sinking heart and foreboding eye, for their own little army, poorly armed, badly trained, and split up by many internal divisions, would, in all probability, be swept away as chaff before the wind. Their position was their chief, nay, almost their only strength. It was assailable only by the narrow bridge, which surely could be held by the bravest among them long enough to give the enemy a serious check. The Covenanters were hastily called to form to resist the attack, but there seemed a strange coldness, an indifference and lukewarmness in the ranks which contrasted sharply with the enthusiastic valour on the day of Drumclog. A number of those who were least untainted by the spirit of jealous dissension voluntarily placed themselves under the leadership of brave Kathillet, and advanced to defend the bridge. It was a terrible and heart-breaking sight to see that dauntless little band, true to the last, marching on to meet the foe, while the great body of their brethren, with sullen faces and indifferent mien, hung back and stood about listlessly, as if quite prepared to see them cut to pieces.
“Is it not enough, Adam Hepburn, to cause a judgment to fall from Heaven, to see yon white-livered and obstinate crew?” exclaimed Andrew Gray, as they were advancing to meet the enemy. “We can expect nothing but defeat to-day. How can God’s blessing go with us?”
Adam Hepburn answered not, but the more firmly grasped his trusty blade, and gave a look to his pistols. It was sufficient for him that opportunity was again given to measure swords with the foe, and that to-day he might fulfil his vow to the very letter.
But to Andrew Gray this bitter disunion among the followers of the Covenant was almost like a death-blow, for never once since he first cast in his lot with its fortunes had he swerved from his allegiance to the blue banner, or allowed personal feeling for one moment to interfere with his adherence to the common cause. Bigoted, narrow, prejudiced Presbyterian he might be, but he was at least single-hearted in his love for the Church of his fathers, and true as steel in his upholding of her principles and doctrine.
“I know not why, Adam, but the prevision is strong within me that my hour is come, and that I shall fall this day,” he said, in a grave but calm voice. “If it be so you will convey my last messages to Susan and the bairns.”
“Surely; but why are you filled with such gloomy forebodings to-day?” asked Adam. “You and I have fought together before now, and save for that scratch you got at Rullion Green, have escaped unhurt.”
“Yes, because the time was not yet come,” responded Hartrigge. “You will say to Susan, that in the hour of battle I was not unmindful of her, and that through these many weary months of separation she and the bairns have been ever in my thoughts and prayers. She knows my wishes about the upbringing of the bairns. Tell you them that their father died bravely fighting for Christ’s cause and Covenant, and that he thought the sacrifice of his life as nothing compared with that sweet cause for which he gave it.”
“Here they come!” exclaimed Adam Hepburn, setting his teeth; then the order was given to fire upon the advancing foe, already making a bold effort to cross the bridge. The volley was fired, but there was no time to repeat it, for the enemy came pouring across the narrow defile, and now it was only hand to hand combat, which could keep them back. Brave David Hackstoun, supported by Balfour and Adam Hepburn, were in the very fore front, and many a soldier fell before the dauntless three. Nor was Andrew Gray idle. At the very outset of the fray he received a wound thrust In the left thigh, but continued to fight, although nearly fainting with the pain and loss of blood. It was a fearful sight; the wildest confusion seemed to prevail on the bridge, which speedily began to be rendered almost impassable by the bodies of the fallen. The snorting and pawing of horses, the clashing of swords, the boom of cannon, and the sharp report of musketry, the hoarse wild cries of those maddened with the excitement, mingling with the moans and shrieks of the wounded and dying, filled the air with a din of sound quite indescribable. The clear summer air was obscured by the smoke of the cannon, and at times those sullenly watching the fray from the moor could scarcely discern how went the battle, but they could see that the Clyde ran red with blood.
Seeing his brother-in-law engaged with a dragoon, and that he was like to fall, Adam Hepburn stepped aside, and thrust the trooper through the heart, just as Hartrigge fell.
“Mortal?” he inquired briefly, bending down over him, thus doubly risking his own life by a moment’s swerving from his post.
“Yes, to-night I shall sup with my Lord Jesus, and see my son. Tell his mother,” Andrew Gray gasped; then Adam had to see to himself, for he was nearly surrounded. Step by step that brave band was driven from their post, one by one they fell, until but a remnant remained. These at last were finally driven from the last foot of the bridge, and Monmouth ordered his entire battalion to mount the cannon and pass over. The remnant turned to flee, but only those who were on horseback had a chance to escape. Rathillet and Balfour, seeing all was lost, gave spur to their steeds and rode rapidly off the field. Adam Hepburn, with faithful Watty McBean, who was wounded in the shoulder, fled on foot, but being pursued by a party of the Duke’s army, were taken prisoners, with hundreds of their brethren fleeing across Hamilton Muir. The soldiery disarmed every man among their prisoners, divested them of half their clothing, and ordered them to lie flat down on the ground, warning them that any movement would be followed by instant death.
“I say, Adam Hepburn, whaur will the minister o’ Broomhill be, think ye?” queried Watty, who was lying beside Adam, and groaning grievously with the pain of his wound.
“I have not set eyes on him since before we went into action,” said Adam. “Oh, for a horse, Watty, to get clean off this fatal field!”
“Ye may say it. I dinna believe this is mysel’,” replied Watty. “I was aye a peaceable man, an’ to think I should come to this beats a’. I maun just ease mysel’ up a wee an’ look roond for the minister.”
“Watty, if you do, it will be your death,” Adam warned him; but Watty was not to be repressed, and accordingly raised his head. No sooner had he done so, than a bullet came whizzing past his ears, and then another, which did not miss its mark. A deep groan escaped Watty’s lips, and he rolled over on his side. In a few minutes all was over, and poor Watty had gone where he would inherit that peace which had been so dear to his soul on earth. Adam Hepburn groaned also, in the bitterness of his soul. Of all his kindred and friends was he alone left upon the face of the earth, a desolate outcast, for whom the prison tortures were in reserve? With his own hand he had cut down seven troopers on Bothwell Bridge; only one more well-aimed stroke, and he had been released from his vow!
Oh, if he had but shot or stabbed the trooper who had disarmed him, instead of tamely submitting, although his own life would have been instantly forfeited, it would have but been an end of all his troubles! But Adam Hepburn had still a desire to live. Although he had no craven fear of death the thought of it was not so pleasant as it was to many of the suffering remnant, whose daily prayer had been that they might be taken from these weary troubles into the rest prepared for those who endure for the Master’s sake.
The captain commanding the battalion which made all these captive was about to give orders for a general slaughter, when an aide-de-camp from the Duke brought the command that as many prisoners as possible should be spared alive. But there was a body of cavalry pursuing the fugitives who had escaped on foot, and all they overtook were instantly cut down.
The thirst for blood and vengeance being awakened in the breasts of many of the royal officers and men, the most horrible suggestions were made, such as that all the country, including the towns in the west, should be burned, and a general slaughter made of the people; but the Duke of Monmouth very firmly and indignantly set all these infamous proposals aside, and gave peremptory orders for the exercise of due mercy towards the defeated rebels. He thus showed himself a generous and noble-hearted man, and gave evidence in his actions that it had been against his own desire that he had been compelled to suppress the Covenanters in such a summary fashion. But he could not altogether influence those under him, neither could he see everything with his own eye, and the poor prisoners, at the hands of his subordinate officers, met with but little mercy.
It was decided that the prisoners be conveyed to Edinburgh. They were accordingly tied two and two together, and driven before the soldiery, who treated them with the greatest barbarity.
Adam Hepburn had for his companion the godly Mr. John Kid, one of the most devoted sufferers for the cause.
“This is a grievous day for the name and cause of our sweet Lord, friend,” said Mr. Kid, when, after the march was begun, he could get a word spoken.
“It has been a bloody day, indeed!” answered Adam Hepburn. “It had been otherwise had there been fewer vile wranglings in our midst. Saw you not how many stood aloof, and left a handful to defend the bridge?”
“Aye, truly my heart was riven by these sad dissensions among the brethren,” said Mr. Kid. “You were not, then, of that protesting party which stood back because certain brethren who had accepted the indulgence were in the ranks?”
“No, truly,” replied Adam Hepburn, with a slightly bitter smile. “It was all one to me, who or what fought beside me, so long as I got in grips with the enemy.”
“Is it so sweet to you to shed blood, my brother?” inquired Mr. Kid, in a mild tone of surprise. But just then a dragoon rode past, and observing that they talked, gave Mr. Kid a blow across the cheek with the flag of his sword, which caused the blood to flow from his nostrils in a copious stream. Being in bonds, he could not endeavour to staunch it, and was therefore in a pitiable plight, seeing which the soldier, with a loud and brutal laugh, bade him hold his blasphemous tongue, unless he desired another blow to keep it company.
“Oh, that I had my good blade!” exclaimed Adam Hepburn under his breath, and at the same time flashing a glance of intense hatred after the trooper.
“Let him be, poor man. He is like those Jews of old that buffeted our dear Lord, who compassionately prayed, ‘Father, forgive them; they know not what they do,’” said Mr. Kid, in a quiet voice. “Shall this poor worm, professing to be His servant, not strive to follow that sweet example?”
Adam Hepburn was silent, for what was there in his stormy and rebellious soul in unison with his companion’s sweet forgiveness and merciful compassion?
“Know this, friend, that not many days from now I shall be beyond the reach or power of those who can hurt or kill the body,” whispered Mr. Kid, after a brief interval. “In a dream my Lord bade me be of good cheer, for these sufferings should not long continue, but should presently have an ending in His Paradise. Oh, to be there even now! But I would not that my Lord should call me until I have fulfilled my testimony, and borne whatsoever may be required of me for His cause and kingdom here.”
Adam Hepburn spoke no word, and his companion, thinking him too much occupied with his own thoughts to be disturbed, presently desisted from his remarks, but comforted himself on the weary way by repeating in a low voice many sweet and precious passages of Scripture calculated to encourage the heart in these present trying circumstances.
Although night fell, the prisoners were not allowed to halt in their march, but were mercilessly kept on foot and driven before the cavalry towards Edinburgh.
In the grey dawning of the sweet summer morning they came within sight of the grey towers and turrets of the city.