Chapter VI: Part 6

Looking upon their winsome faces, the faces of his own children, given to him by God, taken from him by man, a great wave of anguish, of unutterable yearning, swept over his soul. But he crushed it down, and turning about, stole away from the house by the way he had come. They had forgotten him, they had no need of him; henceforth he was without wife, or children, or home, a wanderer on the face of the earth. They were safe and sheltered under that roof-tree, because its heads had not identified themselves with rebellion and treason, while he was hunted, pursued, and tracked to the dens and caves of the earth, with a price set upon his head. And yet what of that? what though perils by sea and land, perils by persecution, encompassed him, when he possessed the sweet approval of his own conscience, and the ever-present consciousness of the presence and blessing of the Most High? To be accounted worthy had been his earnest cry ere these desolations had fallen upon him, and now was he one to shrink and stand back from the bearing of his cross, however heavy it might be? Nay, but a sweet peace stole into his heart, as these precious words of promise were whispered to him: "And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sister, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for My name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life."

Henceforth God and the Covenant were all he had to live and suffer for, all he could call his own indeed upon the earth. Therefore he would go forth gladly with his brethren on the morrow to join the Covenanting army assembling in the south.

Not many days after that, the women folk at Hartrigge were busy about their usual tasks, when a horse and rider came up to the front door, the latter loudly demanding admittance. Jane Gray went out at once, and great was her astonishment to behold Gilbert Burnet, the laird of Haughhead.

"Well, Jane Gray, 'tis a long time since we met," he said, grimly.

"It is, indeed, Mr. Burnet," answered Jane, quietly.

"And many ups and downs have taken place since then, eh?" he asked, more grimly still.

"You speak the truth," said Jane, coldly, not liking very well the manner in which he spoke. "Will you be pleased to alight from your horse, and step in? In my brother's name I can bid you welcome to his house, and his wife will speak to you within. She has been in poor health these few weeks, and is confined to her own chamber."

"I'll not come in to-day," said Haughhead, bluntly. "My business can be done here well enough. It will not take up much of your time."

"My time is at your disposal, Mr. Burnet. We are not hard pressed in these times," she said, with a faint smile.

"No, there is a mighty difference in Hartrigge since I saw it last. A great fool Andrew Gray was to leave his substantial holding and comfortable life for his present precarious existence," said Haughhead. "I suppose he is not about the place."

"No; nor has been for many, many months," answered Jane, briefly.

"Ah, I thought not. It was you I expected to see. Well, I suppose you have heard of the most gracious indulgence granted by the king to the outed and rebellious ministers?"

"Yes; we heard of it some days ago," answered Jane Gray, in a calm and unreadable voice.

"You know the generous terms it offers?" said Burnet, inquiringly. "If they will acknowledge the bishops, they are to be forgiven for past rebellion and inducted into the full enjoyment of their former benefices. If not, they are still to be allowed to preach in the kirks, and can come back to their manses and glebes."

"Yes; we heard that such were the king's terms, Mr. Burnet," said Jane Gray, but did not offer the information he was anxious to obtain.

"What, what are your brothers saying to it? What--in fact, hang it, woman!--will your brother David come back peaceably to Broomhill? You know very well what I want to be at!" said Haughhead, losing his temper and raising his voice.

Jane Gray looked him straight in the face with clear, calm, steadfast eyes.

"I fear not; in fact, Mr. Burnet, I know that the indulgence will make no difference whatsoever to my brother David. On no account will he now accept a living from the hands of a king who has proved himself so utterly unworthy of trust or loyal service. My brother, in common with many other thoughtful men, regards the new proclamation simply as a trap set to ensure the complete downfall of Presbyterianism in Scotland."

It was curious to watch the varying expressions on Gilbert Burnet's face as he listened to Jane Gray's fearless and unmistakable words.

"Gad, Jane Gray! you are not afraid! I should not wonder to see your proud head roll in the dust yet," he said, sarcastically. "Then your brothers will still keep themselves rebels at large, liable to be shot or hanged any day?"

"Until God sees fit to restore to the Church of Scotland a glorious liberty, crowned and sanctioned by His own blessing and approval, my brothers are content to undertake the risks involved by their firm upstanding for the Covenant," answered Jane Gray, with quiet but striking eloquence.

"Then you brothers are arrant fools, and deserve whatever fate may befall them!" fumed Haughhead. "Is David Gray in the neighbourhood? Could I see him? Although I am no bigoted zealot, I can pass my word of honour and keep it, as a gentleman should. He will come by no harm through me. I only desire to speak with him for a little space."

"It is impossible, Mr. Burnet. My brothers, and also my brother-in-law, Adam Hepburn, have left this district, and I know not where they may now be."

"I see you speak the truth. I had a message from my daughter, his wife," said Haughhead, carelessly. "I can deliver it to you. Possibly you may have some opportunity of communicating with him at no very distant date."

"I shall be very pleased to receive your message, Mr. Burnet, and to deliver it to David when opportunity offers."

"Well, it is just this, that if he will accept the king's generous indulgence and return to the manse of Broomhill, she will come back to him with her children, thus showing herself willing to overlook his long desertion."

Jane Gray drew herself up, and a slight colour rose in her cheek.

"Truly, Mr. Burnet, I think Lilian Gray cannot be a changed woman when she sent such a message to my brother," she said, proudly. "She should rather have couched her message in terms of humility, seeing she so wrongly and unkindly quitted him in the hour of his need."

"That is _your_ way of looking at it. We hold that, by his folly, David Gray forfeited all claim on his wife's consideration," retorted Haughhead, angrily. "But it is no use arguing with a Gray, so I will be off, Jane Gray, wishing you a very good day."

"Stay, Mr. Burnet; will you tell me, please, how it is with the little ones, my brother's bairns?" said Jane, laying a pleading hand on his bridle rein. "I have a great yearning to see or hear something of them."

"Oh, they are well, and as bonnie bairns as eyes could wish to see--true Burnets both of them," answered Haughhead, stretching a point just to vex the heart of the woman before him. "Tell David that, and tell him that they'll soon forget they have a father at all."

With which parting shot, which brought an unbidden tear to Jane Gray's eye, the Laird of Haughhead gave his horse the rein and rode rapidly away.

*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.

*CHAPTER XX.*

*DRUMCLOG.*

All the following day, David Hackstoun of Rathillet was anxiously expected by his brethren in arms, in the vale of Avondale. And when night closed, and there were yet no signs of him, they began to tremble lest some evil had befallen him. Early upon the second morning, however, when that good man and faithful supporter of the Covenanters, Gideon Dickson, the farmer of Windyedge, was leading out his horses as usual to water, he beheld a horseman coming, but slowly and dejectedly, up the road. He at once ran into the house, awakened his distinguished guests, who speedily dressed and got out of doors, just as the horseman rode into the yard.

"David Hackstoun! verily, glad am I to behold your face," said Balfour, advancing to meet him. "We feared, and not without cause, that your unwise delay had cost you dear."

"It was like to be my end," answered Rathillet, with a faint smile, and he was so weary that they had to assist him to alight; then he very cordially greeted Sir Robert Hamilton, with whom he had some slight and very agreeable acquaintance.

"I had a desperate ride, especially betwixt Stirling and Avondale," he said, in answer to their inquiries. "There is a price of 10,000 marks upon my head, and you can readily imagine that there are many greedy vultures on my track. But, truly, I think that as yet the direction of my flight is not known."

"Is there no price upon my head also?" queried Balfour.

"Yes, we are accounted equal prey, but the proclamation is so worded that the rewards fall to whoever shall lay hands on any one of those who were present at or took part in Sharp's assassination," returned Rathillet. "But, come, tell me how is it you are abiding in such apparent ease here? I thought it would have been unsafe to shelter under any man's roof-tree."

"So it is, but this is a very remote place, and difficult of access, and there are many ways of escape from it," returned Sir Robert Hamilton. "And our brethren in arms are not far distant."

"Ah well, very gladly will I rest awhile with you, for I am as sore spent as ever man was," said Hackstoun. "And never did I expect to reach this place alive. The last place I ventured to ask concerning you was a little moorland shieling, where a woman was dwelling alone. She told me her husband was with the army, and that she was making preparations to retire to her kinsfolk in Hamilton, being in daily terror of a visit from the dragoons, who had shot her sister not many weeks ago, when she was returning from a preaching."

At that moment the mistress of the house, a kindly and hospitable dame, appeared, and bade them come in, as breakfast was prepared on the table. She looked compassionately at the worn and weather-beaten appearance of the new comer, and hastened to get him some cool water from the spring, in which to lave his dusty face and hands. Very grateful were all these comforts to the weary fugitive, and, after heartily partaking of the good dame's fare, he lay down to snatch a few hours' much-needed rest. Later in the day Sir Robert Hamilton and he, after long and earnest discussion, set themselves to compile a declaration, which it was their intention to publish on the day of the king's restoration. On the 28th of May, the day before the celebration, eighty men were chosen from among the ranks of the Covenanters, and with Sir Robert Hamilton at their head marched westwards to Glasgow. Andrew Gray and Adam Hepburn were of the number, and the expedition was much to their liking, but the minister of Broomhill remained behind with the forces, as did Balfour and David Hackstoun, for great risk attended their appearance, seeing so high a price was on their heads. About noon, on the 29th, Sir Robert Hamilton's band rode into the burgh of Rutherglen, where a great semblance of rejoicing was going on over the anniversary of the king's restoration. Many of the people merely took part in the proceedings through fear of the consequence, if they refused, but when the Presbyterians rode so boldly into the town, they took heart, and at once revealed their true principles, by heartily approving and taking part in their proceedings. The little company gathered about the ancient cross, and after burning in the very bonfire which had been kindled in honour of the king, all the Acts he had issued against the Covenanters, Sir Robert Hamilton published to all those gathered together, the declaration which Rathillet and he had drawn up against the Government. They then proceeded to extinguish the bonfires, and sweep away all outward tokens of rejoicing with a fearless boldness, which surprised the trembling burghers of Rutherglen not a little.

They then rode away by the route they had come, but the day now being far spent, several of them proposed to remain over night in Hamilton, calculating that next day, being Saturday, they would have ample time to return to Loudon hill in time for the Conventicle on the Sabbath. They were divided, however and the more prudent among them judging that the troops would speedily follow up to avenge the insult to the king, elected not to halt until they rejoined the army. Fifteen of the bolder spirits held on to Hamilton, and sought quarters there, but at day-break they were hastily roused, and informed that Claverhouse, with his troop in pursuit of them, was close upon the town, and was in a great rage, swearing that not a man of them would escape with his life.

By the time they were accoutred and ready to march, the pursuers had entered the town, but the fugitives escaped by another road, and so obtained a little advantage.

In Hamilton Claverhouse learned of the field meeting to be held the following day at Loudon hill, whereat he chuckled with delight, for the dispersion of a conventicle was work after his own heart.

Fair, calm, and sweet broke that summer Sabbath morning over the beautiful vale of Avondale. The watchers stationed on the hill tops since daybreak could see no sign of the approaching foe, and it was with untroubled and reverently thankful hearts that the faithful people came flocking to hear the preaching of that precious Word, for which all these dangers and anxieties were cheerfully endured. It was a strange, striking, and very pathetic scene, to look upon that gathering of simple country folk, denied the privilege of hearing the pure Gospel preached in its simplicity within the walls of their own kirks, reverently assembled to worship the God of their fathers in a tabernacle of which men could not rob them, even the green slopes of their dear native hills.

The inner circle was composed of women and children, and those among the older men not so well able to defend themselves. Below that was a ring of stout country men, armed with halberds, forks, and other weapons, which they had hitherto used in more peaceable pursuits; while beyond these again was a band of sturdy, well-armed foot-soldiers, finally encompassed by a party of horse. Sir Robert Hamilton, calm, dignified, and self-possessed, sat erect upon his steed, ready at a moment's notice to take command of the little army, while near to him sat David Hackstoun, his fine face wearing an expression of deep and heavenly serenity, which told how passing sweet to his soul was this hour of communing with his God. Side by side, on a rocky ledge, sat Balfour of Kinloch, and Adam Hepburn of Rowallan, and, I fear me, their hearts were occupied by far other thoughts than the reverent worship of the God of the Covenant. Yet their outward demeanour was decorous enough. There were also several ministers present.

After the singing of a psalm David Gray led the devotions of the assembly, and as his beautiful and appropriate petitions, the deep breathing of his own pure and reverent soul, fell from his lips, tears rolled down the faces of many present, and more than one voice fervently re-echoed his amen.

The reverend Mr. Douglas, who was to preach the sermon, gave out his text, and had but newly addressed himself to his subject, when a carabine shot was fired from the hill-top, a warning salute which had been agreed upon before the service commenced.

They were speedily informed that Claverhouse, with a considerable body of dragoons, was rapidly approaching. Without the faintest sign of confusion, or any exhibition of terror, the little army prepared themselves for battle.

Sir Robert Hamilton took the command, and was assisted by Balfour and Rathillet, as also by some other gentlemen of rank, present on the field.

To their joy they beheld the enemy advancing towards the morass, which would prove a very considerable barrier in their way. Had Claverhouse been familiarly acquainted with the nature of a Scottish morass, or bog, as the country folk term it, he would without doubt have rather taken a more circuitous route to avoid it. The Covenanters stood perfectly still until the dragoons were well into the moss, then singing the favourite seventy-sixth psalm, to the familiar strains of "Martyrs," they steadfastly advanced to engage the foe in conflict. Those left behind prostrated themselves in prayer to the God of Heaven, supplicating victory for the blue banner of the Covenant, waving in the light summer breeze, its white letters, "For Christ's Cause and Covenant," made resplendent by the brilliance of the summer sun. The first volley fired by the Covenanters emptied many a saddle in Claverhouse's ranks, and without giving them time to rally, the brave little band plunged into the morass, and then began a terrible hand-to-hand conflict, which must ensure either complete victory or total defeat.

Sir Robert Hamilton kept to his horse, encouraging his men with his calm, cheerful demeanour, as well as by his steadfast words. As was to be expected, Adam Hepburn fought with desperate valour, and caused Balfour to regard him anew with a peculiar interest. After a brief, but terrible struggle, Claverhouse, seeing the field was utterly lost, hastily retreated with the exhausted remnant of his troops, narrowly escaping with his own life.

Many dead and wounded lay in the morass, but the Covenanters miraculously lost only one man, while five were wounded.

With thankful and triumphant hearts they prepared to return to the base of the hill.

Balfour of Kinloch, finding himself near Adam Hepburn, as they turned to go, touched his arm and said, in his brief fashion, "What is it in you, Adam Hepburn, which makes you fight like Lucifer himself? Where did you get that desperate courage?"

Adam Hepburn stooped to wipe his reeking sword upon the already blood-stained heather, and after a brief pause made answer, grimly:

"Thirteen years ago, Mr. Balfour, I had a wife, who was to me the very apple of my eye. She was my one ewe lamb, all I had upon the earth, and in my absence they murdered her, shot her down in cold blood upon the threshold of the home whose light she was. I came home to find her dying, and I swore over her dead body that this sword should not be suffered to return to its sheath until it had sucked the life blood of as many dragoons as there were years upon her head."

Balfour, though void of any touch of sentiment, stranger as he was to the finer feelings of human nature, felt himself deeply moved as he listened to these hoarse, low-spoken words, and saw the terrible gleam in the flashing eye of Adam Hepburn. "Ay, how old was she?" he asked, curtly.

"Eight-and-twenty years had passed over her head; for the fifth part of that time she had blessed my life," returned Adam Hepburn, drawing his hand across his brow, which was wet with the sweat of the conflict. "Yes, eight-and-twenty years! Seven miscreants did this right arm send to their account not twelve months after, on the field of Rullion Green. Other four have I encountered in single combat, surprising them when I was in hiding in the vale of Inverburn, and always escaping miraculously with my life."

"And to-day?" queried Balfour, curiously, much struck by his companion's words.

"Nine fell before me in the fight this day," said Adam, with fierce exultation. "Ay, my good and trusty blade, eight times yet hast thou to penetrate the breast of the foe, and then, perchance, thy last resting-place shall be found in the heart of thy poor master himself."

"She must have been a woman above the average, Adam Hepburn, that you should thus dedicate your life to the shrine of her revenge," said Balfour, musingly.

"She was--but there, what need is there for me to say more; was she not my _wife_?" said Adam Hepburn. Then, as if tired of the conversation, he abruptly turned away, and fell to the rear of the army.

They now returned to the base of the hill, where they were warmly welcomed by those who had so anxiously watched the fray from afar, alternately hoping and fearing, and never ceasing in their prayers.

A devout and reverent thanksgiving service was then held, and those who had attended the Conventicle afterwards returned to their homes, with their faith strengthened, and their hearts much encouraged by the favourable events of the day.

*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.

*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."