Things were precisely in this state, when the goodman of Chapelhope,
taking his plaid and staff, went out to the heights one misty day in
autumn to drive off a neighbour's flock from his pasture; but, as Walter
was wont to relate the story himself, when any stranger came there on a
winter evening, as long as he lived, it may haply be acceptable to the
curious, and the lovers of rustic simplicity, to read it in his own
words, although he drew it out to an inordinate length, and perhaps kept
his own personal feelings and prowess too much in view for the
fastidious or critical reader to approve.
"It was on a mirk misty day in September," said Walter, "I mind it
weel, that I took my plaid about me, and a bit gay steeve aik stick in
my hand, and away I sets to turn aff the Winterhopeburn sheep. The wind
had been east-about a' that harst, I hae some sma' reason ne'er to
forget it, and they had amaist gane wi' a' the gairs i' our North Grain.
I weel expected I wad find them a' in the scaithe that dark day, and I
was just amind to tak them hame in a drove to Aidie Andison's door, and
say, 'Here's yer sheep for ye, lad; ye maun outher keep them better, or
else, gude faith, I'll keep them for ye.'--I had been crost and put
about wi' them a' that year, and I was just gaun to bring the screw to
the neb o' the mire-snipe.--Weel, off I sets--I had a special dog
at my feet, and a bit gay fine stick in my hand, and I was rather
cross-natured that day--'Auld Wat's no gaun to be o'er-trampit wi' nane
o' them, for a' that's come and gane yet,' quo' I to mysel as I gaed up
the burn.--Weel, I slings aye on wi' a gay lang step; but, by the time
that I had won the Forkings, I gat collied amang the mist, sae derk,
that fient a spark I could see--Stogs aye on through cleuch and gill,
and a' the gairs that they used to spounge, but, to my great mervel, I
can nouther see a hair of a ewe's tail, nor can I hear the bleat of a
lamb, or the bell of a wether--No ane, outher of my ain or ither
folks!--'Ay,' says I to mysel, 'what can be the meaning o' this? od,
there has been somebody here afore me the day!' I was just standin
looking about me amang the lang hags that lead out frae the head o' the
North Grain, and considering what could be wort of a' the sheep, when I
noticed my dog, Reaver, gaun coursing away forrit as he had been setting
a fox. What's this, thinks I--On he gangs very angry like, cocking his
tail, and setting up his birses, till he wan to the very brink of a deep
hag; but when he gat there, my certy, he wasna lang in turning! Back he
comes, by me, an' away as the deil had been chasing him; as terrified a
beast I saw never--Od, sir, I fand the very hairs o' my head begin to
creep, and a prinkling through a' my veins and skin like needles and
preens.--'God guide us!' thinks I, 'what can this _be_?' The day was
derk, derk; for I was in the very stamoch o' the cludd, as it were;
still it was the day time, an' the e'e o' Heaven was open. I was as near
turned an' run after my tike as ever I'll miss, but I just fand a stound
o' manheid gang through my heart, an' forrit I sets wi' a' the vents o'
my head open. 'If it's flesh an' blude,' thinks I, 'or it get the
owrance o' auld Wat Laidlaw, od it sal get strength o' arm for aince.'
It was a deep hag, as deep as the wa's o' this house, and a strip o'
green sward alang the bottom o't; and when I came to the brow, what does
I see but twa lang liesh chaps lying sleeping at ither's sides, baith
happit wi' the same maud. 'Hallo!' cries I, wi' a stern voice, 'wha hae
we here?' If ye had but seen how they lookit when they stertit up; od,
ye wad hae thought they were twa scoundrels wakened frae the dead! I
never saw twa mair hemp-looking dogs in my life.
'What are ye feared for, lads? Whaten twa blades are ye? Or what are ye
seeking in sic a place as this?'
'This is a derk day, gudeman.'
'This is a derk day, gudeman! That's sic an answer as I heard never. I
wish ye wad tell me something I dinna ken--and that's wha ye are, and
what ye're seeking here?'
'We're seeking nought o' yours, friend.'
'I dinna believe a word o't--ye're nae folk o' this country--I doubt ye
ken o'er weel what stealing o' sheep is--But if ye winna tell me plainly
and honestly your business here, the deil be my inmate gin I winna knock
your twa heads thegither.'
'There is a gude auld say, honest man, _It is best to let sleeping dogs
lie, they may rise and bite you_.'
'Bite _me_, lad!--Rise an' bite _me_!--I wad like to see a dog on a' the
heights o' Chapelhope that wad snarl at me, let be to bite!'
"I had a gay steeve dour aik stick in my hand, an' wi' that I begoud to
heave't up, no to strike them, but just to gi'e them a glisk o' the
coming-on that was in't. By this time they were baith on their feet; and
the ane that was neist me he gi'es the tabie of his jockey-coat a fling
back, and out he pu's a braid sword frae aneath it--an' wi' the same
blink the ither whups a sma' spear out o' the heart o' his aik stick,
'Here's for ye then, auld camstary,' says they; 'an unlucky fish gets an
unlucky bait.' Od sir, I was rather stoundit; I began to look o'er my
shouther, but there was naething there but the swathes o' mist. What wad
I hae gien for twa minutes of auld John o' the Muchrah! However, there
was nae time to lose--it was come fairly to the neb o' the mire-snipe
wi' me. I never was gude when taken by surprise a' my life--gie me a wee
time, an' I turn quite foundemental then--sae, to tell the truth, in my
hurry I took the flier's part, flang the plaid frae me, and ran off up
the hag as fast as my feet could carry me, an' a' the gate the
ragamuffian wi' the sword was amaist close at my heels. The bottom o'
the hag was very narrow, twa could hardly rin abreast. My very bluid
began to rise at being chased by twa skebels, and I thought I heard a
voice within me, crying, 'Dinna flee, Wat Laidlaw! dinna flee, auld Wat!
ye hae a gude cause by the end!' I wheeled just round in a moment, sir,
and drew a desperate straik at the foremost, an' sae little kend the
haniel about fencing, that instead o' sweeing aff my downcome wi' his
sword, he held up his sword-arm to save his head--I gart his arm just
snap like a pipe-stapple, and down fell his bit whittle to the ground,
and he on aboon it. The tither, wi' his sma' spear, durstna come on,
but ran for it; I followed, and was mettler o' foot than he, but I
durstna grip him, for fear he had run his bit spit through my sma-fairns
i' the struggle, for it was as sharp as a lance, but I keepit a little
back till I gat the end o' my stick just i' the how o' his neck, and
then I gae him a push that soon gart him plew the flow with his nose. On
aboon him I gets, and the first thing I did was to fling away his bit
twig of a sword--I gart it shine through the air like a fiery
dragon--then I took him by the cuff o' the neck, and lugged him back to
his neighbour, wha was lying graning in the hag. 'Now, billies,' says I,
'ye shall answer face to face, it wad hae been as good soon as syne;
tell me directly wha ye are, and what's your business here, or, d'ye
hear me, I'll tye ye thegither like twa tikes, and tak ye to them that
will gar ye speak.'
'Ah! lack-a-day, lack-a-day!' said the wounded man, 'ye're a rash,
foolish, passionate man, whaever ye be.'
'Ye're maybe no very far wrang there,' quo' I; 'but for aince, I trow, I
had gude reason. Ye thought to kill _me_ wi' your bits o' shabbles o'
swords!'
'In the first place then,' said he, 'ken that we wadna hae shed ae drap
o' your blood, nor wranged a hair o' your head--all that we wanted was
to get quit of ye, to keep ye out o' danger an' scaith. Ye hae made a
bonny day's wark on't truly, we had naething in view but your ain
safety--but sin' ye will ken ye maun ken; we belang to a poor proscribed
remnant, that hae fled from the face of a bloody persecution. We have
left all, and lost all, for the cause of our religion, and are driven
into this dismal wilderness, the only miserable retreat left us in our
native land.'
'Od, sir! he hadna weel begun to speak till the light o' the truth began
to dawn within me like the brek o' the day-sky, an' I grew as red too,
for the devil needna hae envied me my feelings at that time. I couldna
help saying to mysel, 'Whow, whow, Wat Laidlaw! but ye hae made a bonny
job o't this morning!--Here's twa puir creatures, worn out wi' famine
and watching, come to seek a last refuge amang your hags and mosses, and
ye maun fa' to and be pelting and threshing on them like an incarnate
devil as ye are.--Oh, wae's me! wae's me!'--Lord, sir, I thought my
heart wad burst--There was a kind o' yuke came into my een that I could
hardly bruke; but at length the muckle tears wan out wi' a sair faught,
and down they came down ower my beard, dribble for dribble. The men saw
the pliskie that I was in, and there was a kind o' ruefu' benevolence i'
their looks, I never saw ony thing like it.'
'Dinna be wae for us, honest man,' said they; 'we hae learned to
suffer--we hae kend nought else for this mony a lang and bloody year,
an' we look for nought else for the wee while we hae to sojourn in this
weary world--we hae learned to suffer patiently, and to welcome our
sufferings as mercies.'
'Ye've won a gude length, man,' quo' I; 'but they're mercies that I'm
never very fond o'--I wish ye had suffered under ony hand but mine, sin'
it be your lot.'
'Dinna be sorry for us, honest man; there never was an act o' mair
justice than this that ye hae inflicted. Last night there were fifteen
o' us met at evening worship--we hadna tasted meat for days and nights;
to preserve our miserable lives, we stole a sheep, dressed, and ate it;
and wi' this very arm that you hae disabled, did I grip and kill that
sheep. It was a great sin, nae doubt, but the necessity was also
great--I am sae far punished, and I hope the Lord will forgie the rest.'
'If he dinna,' quo' I, 'he's no what I think him.' Then he began a lang
serious harangue about the riches o' free grace, and about the
wickedness o' our nature; and said, that we could do naething o'
oursells _but_ sin. I said it was a hard construction, but I couldna
argy the point ava wi' him--I never was a dab at these lang-winded
stories. Then they cam on about prelacy and heresies, and something they
ca'd the act of abjuration. I couldna follow him out at nae rate; but I
says, I pit nae doubt, callants, but ye're right, for ye hae proven to
a' the warld that ye think sae; and when a man feels conscious that he's
right, I never believe he can be far wrang in sic matters. But that's no
the point in question; let us consider what can be done for ye e'en
now--Poor souls! God kens, my heart's sair for ye; but this land's mine,
an' a' the sheep around ye, an' ye're welcome to half-a-dozen o' the
best o' them in sic a case.'
'Ah! lack-a-day, lack-a-day! If ye be the gudeman o' the Chapelhope,
ye'll rue the day that ever ye saw us. If it's kend that ye countenanced
us in word or deed, ye're a ruined man; for the blood-hounds are near at
hand, and they'll herry ye out and in, but and ben--Lack-a-day!
lack-a-day! in a wee while we may gang and come by the Chapelhope, and
nouther see a lum reek nor hear a cock craw; for Clavers is on the one
hand and Lag on the other, and they're coming nearer and nearer us every
day, and hemming us in sairer and sairer--renounce us and deny us, as ye
wish to thrive.'
'Na, na, lads, let them come--let them come their ways! Gin they should
take a' the ewes and kye on the Chapelhope, I can stock it o'er again. I
dinna gie a bawbee about your leagues, and covenants, and associations,
for I think aye there's a good deal o' faction and dourness in them; but
or I'll desert a fellow-creature that's oppressed, if he's an honest
man, and lippens to me, od, I'll gie them the last drap o' my heart's
bluid.'
"When they heard that, they took me out to the tap of a knowe, and
began to whistle like plovers--nae herd alive could hae kend but they
were plovers--and or ever I wist, ilka hag, and den, and tod-hole round
about, seemed to be fu' o' plovers, for they fell a' to the whistling
an' answering ane another at the same time. I had often been wondering
how they staid sae lang on the heights that year, for I heard them aye
whewing e'en an' morn; but little trowed I they were a' twa-handed
plovers that I heard. In half an hour they had sic a squad gathered
thegither as e'e never glimed on. There ye might hae seen auld
gray-bearded ministers, lairds, weavers, and poor hinds, a' sharing the
same hard fate. They were pale, ragged, and hungry, and several o' them
lame and wounded; and they had athegither sic a haggard severity i'
their demeaner. Lord forgie me, gin I wasna feared to look at them!
There was ane o' them a doctor blade, wha soon set the poor chield's
arm; and he said, that after a' it wasna broken, but only dislockit and
sair brizzed. That doctor was the gabbiest body ever I met wi'; he spake
for them a', and I whiles feared that he sclented a wee. He tried a'
that he could to make me a Cameronian, but I wadna grip; and when I was
coming away to leave him, 'Laidlaw,' quo' he, 'we ken ye to be an
honest, honourable man; here you see a remnant of poor, forlorn,
misrepresented creatures, who have thrown themselves on your mercy; if
ye betray us, it will be the worse for ye both here and hereafter; if
you save and protect us, the prayers of the just win their way to
Heaven, though fiends should be standing by to oppose them--Ay, there's
naething can stop _their_ journey, Laidlaw!--The winds canna blaw them
aside, the clouds canna drown them, and the lights o' Heaven canna burn
them; and your name will stand at that bar where there's nae cruel and
partial judge--What you gie to us, ye gie to your Maker, and he will
repay you seven fold.' Od, the body was like to gar me play the bairn
and greet even out. Weel, I canna mind the half that he said, but he
endit wi' this:--'We have seen our friends all bound, banished, and
destroyed; they have died on the field, on the scaffold, and at the
stake; but the reek o' their blood shall drive the cruel Stuarts frae
the land they have disgraced, and out of it a church of truth and
liberty shall spring. There is still a handfu' remaining in Israel that
have not yet bowed the knee to Baal, nor yet kissed him--That remnant
has fled here to escape the cruelty of man; but a worse fate threatens
us now--we are all of us perishing with famine--For these three days we
have tasted nothing but the green moss, save a few wretched trouts,
eels, and adders.' 'Ethers, man!' quo' I,--'For the love o' God take
care how ye eat the ethers--ye may as weel cut your throats at aince as
eat them. Na, na, lad, that's meat that will never do.' I said nae mair,
but gae just a wave to my dog. 'Reaver,' quo' I, 'yon's away.'--In three
minutes he had ten score o' ewes and wedders at my hand. I grippit twa
o' the best I could wale, and cut aff their heads wi' my ain knife.
'Now, doctor,' quo' I, 'take these and roast them, and part them amang
ye the best way ye can--ye'll find them better than the ethers--Lord,
man, it will never do to eat ethers.'"
After a hearty laugh, in which his guests generally joined, Walter
concluded thus: "That meeting cost me twa or three hunder round
bannocks, and mae gude ewes and wedders than I'll say; but I never
missed them, and I never rued what I did. Folk may say as they like, but
I think aye the prayers out amang the hags and rash-bushes that year did
me nae ill--It is as good to hae a man's blessing as his curse, let him
be what he may."
Walter never went farther with his story straight onward than this; for
it began to involve family concerns, which he did not much like to
recount. He had a number of abstract stories about the Covenanters and
their persecutors; but as I must now proceed with the narrative as I
gathered it from others, these will be interwoven in their due course.