Chapter 7

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 mywife?" 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 XXIIBOTHWELL 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 theycouldsee that the Clyde ran red with blood.[image]"The wildest confusion seemed to prevail on the bridge"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.CHAPTER XXIII.IN CAPTIVITY.The prisons in Edinburgh were so full that they could hold no more. What, then, was to be done with the twelve hundred victims brought from the slaughter at Bothwell Bridge?The Government ordered that they should be shut into the churchyard of the Greyfriars, and there kept unceasing watch over day and night. So the old burying-ground, made memorable and sacred by another great gathering which had assembled within its boundaries forty years before, was now converted into an open gaol, the horrors of which pen could never describe.In the Grass-market there abode still Edward Kilgour, the merchant, brother-in-law to the late minister of Inverburn. Although a zealous and worthy Presbyterian, he had never joined with his brethren in arms, but had followed the dictates of his conscience and religion more quietly at home, attending to his business and the affairs of his household, and had thus escaped molestation. He was a man now stricken in years, but was still able to perform the duties of his calling, and attend personally in his place of business. His daughter Ailie, now a middle-aged woman, had remained unmarried for her father's sake, and kept his house.When they heard of the arrival of the prisoners from Bothwell, they were both much exercised in their minds as to whether any of their Inverburn kinsfolk should be among them."I'll go up, Ailie," said the old man, "I'll go up to the kirkyard, and, if permitted to approach the gates, see whether I can discern any of the faces of our dear ones among that pitiful throng. Very sure am I that, unless your cousins Andrew and David and Adam Hepburn were slain on the field, they will be there, for they would never turn their backs upon the foe.""Do not needlessly expose yourself, father," said his daughter, anxiously. "Though you find any of my cousins there, what profit will it be but only to vex us, seeing we cannot help them?""You may be right, but I cannot sit still at home till I learn whether any of them be there," said the old man, quietly, and, getting his plaid about his shoulders, went out upon his quest.Ailie Kilgour busied herself about the house, but as the time passed she began to grow extremely anxious for her father's return. He had been more than two hours gone, when, to her great relief, she at length heard his foot on the stair. When he entered the house she at once saw that he was greatly troubled, for seldom had she seen him look so grave and yet so agitated."Well, father?" she said, inquiringly."Let me sit down, my daughter, for I am exhausted with sorrow over what I have seen this day. That the Almighty does not at once interpose in the might of His omnipotent arm is, to my mind, evidence that the Church has required all these fearful sufferings to purify her from her iniquity, and that not yet is she refined enough in the fire to be a meet vessel for her Master's glory.""Tell me what you saw, father," said Ailie, anxiously."Saw, lassie! Ask me rather what I did not see! Hundreds of my fellow-countrymen penned up among the tombs like beasts, without any of the comforts which the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air are allowed to seek for themselves. And, more, they are at the ribald mercy of their vile and brutal sentinels, who never cease to taunt them, asking them what has become of their God, that He does not interpose in their behalf," said the old man, with heaving chest and flashing eye, which told how his whole being was stirred."Did they allow you to go near the gates?""No; I had to stand a good distance away. No man is allowed to approach the gates, though I saw some pious and kind-hearted women enduring patiently the jibes and insults of the soldiers, thankful that they were allowed to pass some little comforts to the prisoners through the iron bars. It seems that they receive no food save what is grudgingly allowed to be given in this way.""How terrible!" said Ailie, and her ruddy cheek blanched as the picture of the wretched state of the captives was thus vividly presented to her mind. "But tell me, did you see any one you know there?""Yes, I saw the face of your cousin, David Gray, the minister of Broomhill, and he also recognised me. I saw, too, a figure I could swear belongs to Adam Hepburn, though the face was so changed that I would not have known it," returned the old man, sorrowfully.Ailie Kilgour reflected a moment in silence, and then spoke in quiet but decided tones."Since they allow women to carry necessaries to the prisoners, I will go at once and take some food to my cousins. I am not afraid of the insults of the soldiers, for I can bear much, and make no sign.""My daughter, I knew your kind heart would be moved to do this thing," said the old man, gladly. "Make haste, then, Ailie, for if ever hunger and want set their mark on human faces I saw it to-day on the wretched countenances of your cousins."Accordingly, Ailie got some food prepared, and immediately set out for the Greyfriars. As was to be expected, there were many people about, for the unwonted spectacle to be seen in the churchyard drew many to the place, some out of idle curiosity, others out of sorrow and anxiety, lest perchance any relative or friend might be among that miserable throng. The chief entrance to the churchyard was guarded by half-a-dozen soldiers, who alternately amused themselves with the prisoners within and those compassionate people who sought to minister to them from without. The captives, gaunt, hungry-eyed, and eager-looking, were flocking near the entrance, watching with painful intensity the meagre dole of provisions allowed to be passed within the bars.Ailie Kilgour stood a little back, scanning the faces in the hope that her eyes would presently fall upon that of her cousin, David Gray. Adam Hepburn she did not think she could recognise again, having only seen him on the occasion of his marriage with her cousin Agnes, thirty years before. Seeing an old, worn-looking man, with a thin, haggard face, and flowing white hair, very earnestly regarding her, she looked more particularly at him, and then gave a violent start, for a look of undisguised recognition of her was on his face. Could that old, old man, with the bent head and tottering frame, be her cousin David, whom she had last seen in all the pride and glory of his manhood, not ten years before? The recognition was so marked, and there was something so strangely familiar in the glance of the eye, that she felt she could not be mistaken. She therefore made a sign to him, and advanced towards the gate. Her basket was then rudely snatched from her by a soldier, and emptied of its contents. The tastiest morsels he reserved for his own eating; then, pointing to what lay on the ground, he bade her, with an oath and a coarse laugh, feed the dogs with the crumbs which fell from the master's table.A sharp retort was on Ailie's lips, for her temper was easily roused, but she resolutely forced it back, and, meekly stooping, picked up the despised articles he had cast down, and passed them through the bars. A sentinel stood close by her side to see that no word was exchanged betwixt her and the prisoners, but he could not prevent them exchanging glances with each other. The plain loaves which the pampered soldier had so contemptuously cast aside were greedily devoured by the starving prisoners. David Gray distributed a portion among those about him and retired with the remainder to a tombstone, whereon sat Adam Hepburn, a picture of utter dejection and despair. As she walked home, Ailie Kilgour's mind was filled with certain plans and thoughts, which as yet she would not even communicate to her father. She was a shrewd, clever woman, and a prudent one as well, who never got herself into any trouble whatsoever through her tongue; therefore she kept all her thoughts that day to herself.In the course of the week she went down to Leith, ostensibly to visit a kinswoman who dwelt in that town. But instead of directing her steps to the suburbs, where the maiden lady dwelt, she took her way directly towards that busier portion of the town which clustered about the harbour. Arrived there, she sought out the house of an old school companion, who had married the captain of a trading vessel, and who lived on shore during her husband's voyaging betwixt Denmark and Leith. This woman, Mrs. Barclay by name, was strongly attached to Ailie Kilgour, because she had shown her much real kindness in a time of distress, having herself come from Edinburgh to nurse her through a serious illness. Mrs. Barclay was unfeignedly glad to see her, and bade her a warm welcome. After the usual greetings, the talk turned, as was natural, upon the grievous condition of affairs, and the woeful sufferings of the Presbyterians, and especially of those lately taken on the field of Bothwell. In the course of their talk, Ailie informed Mrs. Barclay that her two cousins were among those imprisoned in the Greyfriars, and then asked when Captain Barclay was expected in port."On Sabbath morning, if the wind favour him," responded Mrs. Barclay. "And he will be at home for a few days before leaving to fill a cargo at Queensferry for Copenhagen.""You can guess my interest in enquiring about your husband, Effie," said Ailie Kilgour, with a slight smile. "You have often said you wished you could repay what I did for you. It is in your power now, not only to repay me, but to place me for ever in your debt, if you will persuade your husband to assist my cousins to escape from the country, that is, if they can by any means get out of their present wretched prison.""It is a great risk to attempt such a thing, and is accounted a grave offence," said Mrs. Barclay. "Nevertheless, I will very gladly do my utmost. I do not think William will be very difficult to persuade, for he is a real Covenanter at heart.""Then if I come down again, say upon the Sabbath night, I will see Captain Barclay himself, and get his advice," said Ailie. Then warmly thanking her friend, she went away home. That same day she again prepared a basket of food for the prisoners, and about the sunset proceeded with it to the Greyfriars. Being now known to the sentinels, they did not seek much to molest her, and she was allowed to pass the food through the bars, though one kept guard as formerly, lest any words should pass betwixt them. As Ailie took one small loaf out of the basket, she lifted her eyes to her cousin's face, with a look of such deep and peculiar meaning, that he at once understood he was to keep it to himself, there being something of special importance about it. Having, as was his wont, distributed a portion among a few of his less favoured fellow-sufferers, David Gray rejoined his brother-in-law, who occupied his usual position of listless despairing dejection on one of the tombs. So utterly impossible was it to arouse for a moment his extreme apathy, that David Gray sometimes feared lest Adam's mind had become unhinged by too long dwelling upon one morbid idea. Looking round, to see that none was particularly watching him, David Gray broke in two halves the loaf to which Ailie had directed his attention, and found in the inside a small slip of paper, whereon were some written words, which he immediately perused with feverish eagerness. They ran thus:--"There are steps being taken for your flight from the country, in the vessel of a friend now lying at Leith. If you can make good your escape, and come here, we will assist you.""See, here, Adam Hepburn, say, did ever such a thought occur to you?" queried David Gray, furtively slipping the paper into his brother-in-law's hand."Yes, the thought of my escape has never once left my mind since we came here," said Adam. "I have gotten the plan matured now, and if you will join me, I think it could be done.""I am willing and ready," said the minister, eagerly. "What is your plan?""I have two, either to boldly scale the wall yonder under cover of the night, and trust to our speed to make good our escape," said Adam, "or else by stratagem creep down to the little gate at the north side, where they consider two guards sufficient. Surely, David, you and I yet could silence a man apiece.""Desperation lends a new courage to a man when he is in straits," said the minister, thoughtfully. "I would be for trying the north gate in the darkness, but we will wait till Ailie comes again."On the Sabbath evening, Ailie Kilgour again journeyed to Leith, and found Captain Barclay at home. She also found him sympathetic, and willing to assist, although quite conscious of the risk he incurred in aiding and abetting the escape of Government prisoners. There was one thing in his favour, however, that he was first to convey a cargo from Leith to Hamburg, the Queensferry commission being set aside, so that his passage would be direct from one port to the other.The harbour and other officials in the employment of the Government were strictly enjoined to rigorously inspect every outward bound vessel, in quest of fugitives, but Captain Barclay did not despair of being able to steal a march upon them in some way or other. He was a bold man, and loved a spice of adventure by sea or land, so Ailie Kilgour knew the matter was safe in his hands.She was to carry another message to the prisoners next day warning them to try and make good their escape the following night, as Captain Barclay expected to be ready to sail at daybreak on Tuesday morning, and unless they were at hand, could not possibly delay voyaging on their account. Late on the Sabbath evening, Ailie Kilgour and her father were sitting by the kitchen fire, discussing the probability of the prisoners' escape, when they heard a great scuffling on the stair, and a low knocking at the door.Both started to their feet in alarm, and Ailie, recovering herself first, at once went and undid the bolts. What was her unutterable amazement to behold upon the threshold David Gray and Adam Hepburn!"Are you pursued?" she asked, in a breathless whisper, and at the same time holding the door wide open."Not here; they have lost the scent, and are following us out the Lanark road," they responded. "Except God had veritably helped us this night, by sending down a thick mist when we leaped the wall, we had been both dead men," added David Gray, reverently; then suddenly, in the painful intensity of his feelings, he bent his head on his hands and burst into tears. Looking upon his emaciated frame, guessing the weakness which encompassed him, they marvelled not at his lack of self-control.The old man now came forward, and being assured that they were indeed there in the body, and not pursued, he bade them, with tears of joy, welcome to his house.The night was spent in earnest discussion, as to the next step to be taken on the morrow. Adam Hepburn expressed his readiness to go aboard, since it mattered not what became of him, but David Gray shook his head."The Almighty, who covered us this night with the wings of His mist, must have some other work for me here," he said. "My soul does not bid me leave Scotland, and my heart cleaves to mine own kindred, upon whose faces I have not looked for many weary days. Therefore I will travel westward as opportunity offers, knowing that except of my Lord's will the enemy shall not again lay hands on me."On the morrow Ailie Kilgour produced a seaman's dress, which Captain Barclay had given her for a disguise to one of the prisoners, and when Adam Hepburn had shorn off his beard, and attired himself in this garb, his nearest kindred could not have recognised him. It was then agreed, that instead of stealing to the port in the darkness, he should walk boldly down in the broad light of day, and present himself at the abode of Captain Barclay, who might then take him on board publicly as one of his crew.So Adam Hepburn bade farewell to his friends in the Grass-market, walked without molestation over to Leith, and was duly taken on board theBittern. The vessel was rigorously inspected before she sailed, but no suspicion being attached to the crew, she was allowed to quit the harbour, and in the dawning of Tuesday morning was out in the open sea.

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 mywife?" 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."

"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 theycouldsee that the Clyde ran red with blood.

[image]"The wildest confusion seemed to prevail on the bridge"

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"The wildest confusion seemed to prevail on the bridge"

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.

CHAPTER XXIII.

IN CAPTIVITY.

The prisons in Edinburgh were so full that they could hold no more. What, then, was to be done with the twelve hundred victims brought from the slaughter at Bothwell Bridge?

The Government ordered that they should be shut into the churchyard of the Greyfriars, and there kept unceasing watch over day and night. So the old burying-ground, made memorable and sacred by another great gathering which had assembled within its boundaries forty years before, was now converted into an open gaol, the horrors of which pen could never describe.

In the Grass-market there abode still Edward Kilgour, the merchant, brother-in-law to the late minister of Inverburn. Although a zealous and worthy Presbyterian, he had never joined with his brethren in arms, but had followed the dictates of his conscience and religion more quietly at home, attending to his business and the affairs of his household, and had thus escaped molestation. He was a man now stricken in years, but was still able to perform the duties of his calling, and attend personally in his place of business. His daughter Ailie, now a middle-aged woman, had remained unmarried for her father's sake, and kept his house.

When they heard of the arrival of the prisoners from Bothwell, they were both much exercised in their minds as to whether any of their Inverburn kinsfolk should be among them.

"I'll go up, Ailie," said the old man, "I'll go up to the kirkyard, and, if permitted to approach the gates, see whether I can discern any of the faces of our dear ones among that pitiful throng. Very sure am I that, unless your cousins Andrew and David and Adam Hepburn were slain on the field, they will be there, for they would never turn their backs upon the foe."

"Do not needlessly expose yourself, father," said his daughter, anxiously. "Though you find any of my cousins there, what profit will it be but only to vex us, seeing we cannot help them?"

"You may be right, but I cannot sit still at home till I learn whether any of them be there," said the old man, quietly, and, getting his plaid about his shoulders, went out upon his quest.

Ailie Kilgour busied herself about the house, but as the time passed she began to grow extremely anxious for her father's return. He had been more than two hours gone, when, to her great relief, she at length heard his foot on the stair. When he entered the house she at once saw that he was greatly troubled, for seldom had she seen him look so grave and yet so agitated.

"Well, father?" she said, inquiringly.

"Let me sit down, my daughter, for I am exhausted with sorrow over what I have seen this day. That the Almighty does not at once interpose in the might of His omnipotent arm is, to my mind, evidence that the Church has required all these fearful sufferings to purify her from her iniquity, and that not yet is she refined enough in the fire to be a meet vessel for her Master's glory."

"Tell me what you saw, father," said Ailie, anxiously.

"Saw, lassie! Ask me rather what I did not see! Hundreds of my fellow-countrymen penned up among the tombs like beasts, without any of the comforts which the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air are allowed to seek for themselves. And, more, they are at the ribald mercy of their vile and brutal sentinels, who never cease to taunt them, asking them what has become of their God, that He does not interpose in their behalf," said the old man, with heaving chest and flashing eye, which told how his whole being was stirred.

"Did they allow you to go near the gates?"

"No; I had to stand a good distance away. No man is allowed to approach the gates, though I saw some pious and kind-hearted women enduring patiently the jibes and insults of the soldiers, thankful that they were allowed to pass some little comforts to the prisoners through the iron bars. It seems that they receive no food save what is grudgingly allowed to be given in this way."

"How terrible!" said Ailie, and her ruddy cheek blanched as the picture of the wretched state of the captives was thus vividly presented to her mind. "But tell me, did you see any one you know there?"

"Yes, I saw the face of your cousin, David Gray, the minister of Broomhill, and he also recognised me. I saw, too, a figure I could swear belongs to Adam Hepburn, though the face was so changed that I would not have known it," returned the old man, sorrowfully.

Ailie Kilgour reflected a moment in silence, and then spoke in quiet but decided tones.

"Since they allow women to carry necessaries to the prisoners, I will go at once and take some food to my cousins. I am not afraid of the insults of the soldiers, for I can bear much, and make no sign."

"My daughter, I knew your kind heart would be moved to do this thing," said the old man, gladly. "Make haste, then, Ailie, for if ever hunger and want set their mark on human faces I saw it to-day on the wretched countenances of your cousins."

Accordingly, Ailie got some food prepared, and immediately set out for the Greyfriars. As was to be expected, there were many people about, for the unwonted spectacle to be seen in the churchyard drew many to the place, some out of idle curiosity, others out of sorrow and anxiety, lest perchance any relative or friend might be among that miserable throng. The chief entrance to the churchyard was guarded by half-a-dozen soldiers, who alternately amused themselves with the prisoners within and those compassionate people who sought to minister to them from without. The captives, gaunt, hungry-eyed, and eager-looking, were flocking near the entrance, watching with painful intensity the meagre dole of provisions allowed to be passed within the bars.

Ailie Kilgour stood a little back, scanning the faces in the hope that her eyes would presently fall upon that of her cousin, David Gray. Adam Hepburn she did not think she could recognise again, having only seen him on the occasion of his marriage with her cousin Agnes, thirty years before. Seeing an old, worn-looking man, with a thin, haggard face, and flowing white hair, very earnestly regarding her, she looked more particularly at him, and then gave a violent start, for a look of undisguised recognition of her was on his face. Could that old, old man, with the bent head and tottering frame, be her cousin David, whom she had last seen in all the pride and glory of his manhood, not ten years before? The recognition was so marked, and there was something so strangely familiar in the glance of the eye, that she felt she could not be mistaken. She therefore made a sign to him, and advanced towards the gate. Her basket was then rudely snatched from her by a soldier, and emptied of its contents. The tastiest morsels he reserved for his own eating; then, pointing to what lay on the ground, he bade her, with an oath and a coarse laugh, feed the dogs with the crumbs which fell from the master's table.

A sharp retort was on Ailie's lips, for her temper was easily roused, but she resolutely forced it back, and, meekly stooping, picked up the despised articles he had cast down, and passed them through the bars. A sentinel stood close by her side to see that no word was exchanged betwixt her and the prisoners, but he could not prevent them exchanging glances with each other. The plain loaves which the pampered soldier had so contemptuously cast aside were greedily devoured by the starving prisoners. David Gray distributed a portion among those about him and retired with the remainder to a tombstone, whereon sat Adam Hepburn, a picture of utter dejection and despair. As she walked home, Ailie Kilgour's mind was filled with certain plans and thoughts, which as yet she would not even communicate to her father. She was a shrewd, clever woman, and a prudent one as well, who never got herself into any trouble whatsoever through her tongue; therefore she kept all her thoughts that day to herself.

In the course of the week she went down to Leith, ostensibly to visit a kinswoman who dwelt in that town. But instead of directing her steps to the suburbs, where the maiden lady dwelt, she took her way directly towards that busier portion of the town which clustered about the harbour. Arrived there, she sought out the house of an old school companion, who had married the captain of a trading vessel, and who lived on shore during her husband's voyaging betwixt Denmark and Leith. This woman, Mrs. Barclay by name, was strongly attached to Ailie Kilgour, because she had shown her much real kindness in a time of distress, having herself come from Edinburgh to nurse her through a serious illness. Mrs. Barclay was unfeignedly glad to see her, and bade her a warm welcome. After the usual greetings, the talk turned, as was natural, upon the grievous condition of affairs, and the woeful sufferings of the Presbyterians, and especially of those lately taken on the field of Bothwell. In the course of their talk, Ailie informed Mrs. Barclay that her two cousins were among those imprisoned in the Greyfriars, and then asked when Captain Barclay was expected in port.

"On Sabbath morning, if the wind favour him," responded Mrs. Barclay. "And he will be at home for a few days before leaving to fill a cargo at Queensferry for Copenhagen."

"You can guess my interest in enquiring about your husband, Effie," said Ailie Kilgour, with a slight smile. "You have often said you wished you could repay what I did for you. It is in your power now, not only to repay me, but to place me for ever in your debt, if you will persuade your husband to assist my cousins to escape from the country, that is, if they can by any means get out of their present wretched prison."

"It is a great risk to attempt such a thing, and is accounted a grave offence," said Mrs. Barclay. "Nevertheless, I will very gladly do my utmost. I do not think William will be very difficult to persuade, for he is a real Covenanter at heart."

"Then if I come down again, say upon the Sabbath night, I will see Captain Barclay himself, and get his advice," said Ailie. Then warmly thanking her friend, she went away home. That same day she again prepared a basket of food for the prisoners, and about the sunset proceeded with it to the Greyfriars. Being now known to the sentinels, they did not seek much to molest her, and she was allowed to pass the food through the bars, though one kept guard as formerly, lest any words should pass betwixt them. As Ailie took one small loaf out of the basket, she lifted her eyes to her cousin's face, with a look of such deep and peculiar meaning, that he at once understood he was to keep it to himself, there being something of special importance about it. Having, as was his wont, distributed a portion among a few of his less favoured fellow-sufferers, David Gray rejoined his brother-in-law, who occupied his usual position of listless despairing dejection on one of the tombs. So utterly impossible was it to arouse for a moment his extreme apathy, that David Gray sometimes feared lest Adam's mind had become unhinged by too long dwelling upon one morbid idea. Looking round, to see that none was particularly watching him, David Gray broke in two halves the loaf to which Ailie had directed his attention, and found in the inside a small slip of paper, whereon were some written words, which he immediately perused with feverish eagerness. They ran thus:--

"There are steps being taken for your flight from the country, in the vessel of a friend now lying at Leith. If you can make good your escape, and come here, we will assist you."

"See, here, Adam Hepburn, say, did ever such a thought occur to you?" queried David Gray, furtively slipping the paper into his brother-in-law's hand.

"Yes, the thought of my escape has never once left my mind since we came here," said Adam. "I have gotten the plan matured now, and if you will join me, I think it could be done."

"I am willing and ready," said the minister, eagerly. "What is your plan?"

"I have two, either to boldly scale the wall yonder under cover of the night, and trust to our speed to make good our escape," said Adam, "or else by stratagem creep down to the little gate at the north side, where they consider two guards sufficient. Surely, David, you and I yet could silence a man apiece."

"Desperation lends a new courage to a man when he is in straits," said the minister, thoughtfully. "I would be for trying the north gate in the darkness, but we will wait till Ailie comes again."

On the Sabbath evening, Ailie Kilgour again journeyed to Leith, and found Captain Barclay at home. She also found him sympathetic, and willing to assist, although quite conscious of the risk he incurred in aiding and abetting the escape of Government prisoners. There was one thing in his favour, however, that he was first to convey a cargo from Leith to Hamburg, the Queensferry commission being set aside, so that his passage would be direct from one port to the other.

The harbour and other officials in the employment of the Government were strictly enjoined to rigorously inspect every outward bound vessel, in quest of fugitives, but Captain Barclay did not despair of being able to steal a march upon them in some way or other. He was a bold man, and loved a spice of adventure by sea or land, so Ailie Kilgour knew the matter was safe in his hands.

She was to carry another message to the prisoners next day warning them to try and make good their escape the following night, as Captain Barclay expected to be ready to sail at daybreak on Tuesday morning, and unless they were at hand, could not possibly delay voyaging on their account. Late on the Sabbath evening, Ailie Kilgour and her father were sitting by the kitchen fire, discussing the probability of the prisoners' escape, when they heard a great scuffling on the stair, and a low knocking at the door.

Both started to their feet in alarm, and Ailie, recovering herself first, at once went and undid the bolts. What was her unutterable amazement to behold upon the threshold David Gray and Adam Hepburn!

"Are you pursued?" she asked, in a breathless whisper, and at the same time holding the door wide open.

"Not here; they have lost the scent, and are following us out the Lanark road," they responded. "Except God had veritably helped us this night, by sending down a thick mist when we leaped the wall, we had been both dead men," added David Gray, reverently; then suddenly, in the painful intensity of his feelings, he bent his head on his hands and burst into tears. Looking upon his emaciated frame, guessing the weakness which encompassed him, they marvelled not at his lack of self-control.

The old man now came forward, and being assured that they were indeed there in the body, and not pursued, he bade them, with tears of joy, welcome to his house.

The night was spent in earnest discussion, as to the next step to be taken on the morrow. Adam Hepburn expressed his readiness to go aboard, since it mattered not what became of him, but David Gray shook his head.

"The Almighty, who covered us this night with the wings of His mist, must have some other work for me here," he said. "My soul does not bid me leave Scotland, and my heart cleaves to mine own kindred, upon whose faces I have not looked for many weary days. Therefore I will travel westward as opportunity offers, knowing that except of my Lord's will the enemy shall not again lay hands on me."

On the morrow Ailie Kilgour produced a seaman's dress, which Captain Barclay had given her for a disguise to one of the prisoners, and when Adam Hepburn had shorn off his beard, and attired himself in this garb, his nearest kindred could not have recognised him. It was then agreed, that instead of stealing to the port in the darkness, he should walk boldly down in the broad light of day, and present himself at the abode of Captain Barclay, who might then take him on board publicly as one of his crew.

So Adam Hepburn bade farewell to his friends in the Grass-market, walked without molestation over to Leith, and was duly taken on board theBittern. The vessel was rigorously inspected before she sailed, but no suspicion being attached to the crew, she was allowed to quit the harbour, and in the dawning of Tuesday morning was out in the open sea.

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