As soon as her father's letter was put into her hands, Katharine sent
off one of her brothers to Muchrah, to warn old John and his son to come
instantly to Chapelhope. They both arrived while she and Nanny were
consulting in the Old Room. She told them of her father's letter, of the
jeopardy he was in, and of her intended application to Drummelzier
without loss of time. "One of you," said she, "must accompany me; and I
sent for you both, to learn which could, with least inconvenience, be
wanted from your flocks."
"As for me," said John, "it's out o' the question to _think_ about me
winning away. The ewes wad gang wi' the bit hog-fence o' the Quave Brae,
stoup and roup. What wi' ghaists, brownies, dead men, an' ae mischief
an' other, it is maistly gane already; an' what's to come o' the poor
bits o' plottin baggits a' winter, is mair nor I can tell. They may pike
the woo aff ane another for aught that I see."
Katharine was grieved to hear this remonstrance, for she was desirous of
having old John as a guide and protector, who well knew the way, and was
besides singular for strength and courage, if kept among beings of this
world. She represented to him that the hog-fence of the Quave-Brae,
could not possibly be of equal importance with his master's life, nor
yet with the loss of his whole stock, both of sheep and cattle, which
might be confiscated, if prompt measures were not adopted. Nothing,
however, could persuade John, that ought could be of equal importance to
him with that which he had the charge of, and on which his heart and
attention were so much set both by day and night. He said he had lost
his lugs, and been brunt wi' the king's birn, for the hog-fence of the
Quave-Brae; and when he coudna get away to the prison at Edinburgh for
fear o't, but suffered sae muckle in place o' that, how could he win
away a' the gate to Dunse Castle?
Jasper liked not the journey more than he; for being convinced of
Katharine's power over spirits, he was very jealous of her taking undue
advantages of him, but he was obliged to submit. He refused a horse,
saying "it would only taigle him, but if she suffered him to gang on his
feet, if he was hindmost at Dunse, he should gie her leave to cut the
lugs out o' his head too, and then he wad hae the thief's mark on him
like his father."
Away they went; she riding on a stout shaggy poney, and Jasper running
before her barefoot, but with his _hose and shoon_ bound over his
shoulder. He took the straight line for Dunse, over hill and dale, as a
shepherd always does, who hates the _wimples_, as he calls them, of a
turnpike. He took such a line as an eagle would take, or a flock of
wild geese journeying from the one side of the country to the other,
never once reflecting on the inconvenience of riding on such a road. Of
course, it was impossible his young mistress could keep up with
him--indeed she had often enough to do in keeping sight of him. They met
with some curious adventures by the way, particularly one near
Thirlestane castle on Leader, with some stragglers of a troop of
soldiers. But these things we must hurry over as extraneous matter,
having nothing more to do with them than as connected with the thread of
our tale. They slept that night at a farm-house in Lammermoor, which
belonged to Drummelzier, and next day by noon arrived at Dunse Castle.
Drummelzier, being one of the Committee of Public Safety, was absent
from home, to which he did not return for several days, to the great
perplexity of Katharine, who was in the utmost distress about her
father, as well as her affairs at home. She was obliged, however, to
wait with patience, as no one knew in what part of the country he was.
The housekeeper, who was an Englishwoman, was kind to her, and bade her
not be afraid, for that their master had much more power with the
government than Claverhouse, the one being a moving spring, and the
other only a tool.
Drummelzier was a bold and determined royalist--was, indeed, in high
trust with the Privy-council, and had it in his power to have harassed
the country as much, and more, than the greater part of those who did
so; but, fortunately for that south-east division of Scotland, he was a
gentleman of high honour, benevolence, and suavity of manners, and
detested any act of injustice or oppression. He by these means
contributed materially to the keeping of a large division of Scotland
(though as whiggishly inclined as any part of it, Ayrshire perhaps
excepted,) in perfect peace. The very first dash that Clavers made among
the Covenanters, while he was as yet only a captain of a company, was
into this division of the country over which Drummelzier was appointed
to keep an eye, and it was in consequence of his intrepid and decided
behaviour there, that the Duke of York interested himself in his behalf,
and procured him the command of a troop of horse. At a place called
Bewly, on the confines of Roxburghshire, he surprised a large
conventicle about eleven o'clock on a Sabbath morning. Having but a
small band, as soon as he appeared a crowd of the hearers gathered round
the preacher to defend him, or to further his escape. Clavers burst in
upon them like a torrent; killed and wounded upwards of an hundred; took
the preacher prisoner, and all such of the hearers as were the most
respectable in appearance. He would have detained many more had his
force been sufficient for his designs, for that very day, about five
o'clock in the afternoon, he surprised another numerous conventicle, at
a place called Helmburn-Linn, in Selkirkshire, where he acted over the
same scene that he had done in the morning. The people, it is true, did
not get time to rally round their pastor as at the former place, for the
first intelligence they had of his approach was from a volley of
musketry among them from the top of the linn, which took too sure
effect.
The congregation scattered in a moment; and as there were strong
fastnesses near at hand, none were taken prisoners, save some old men,
and a number of ladies; unfortunately all these were ladies of
distinction: the preacher likewise was taken, who suffered afterwards.
The soldiers related of this man, that when they came upon the crowd,
and fired among them, he was in the middle of his afternoon prayer, and
all the people standing uncovered around him; and that for all the
shots, and the people flying and falling dead about him, he never so
much as paused, nor took down his hands, nor even opened his eyes, but
concluded a sentence in the same fervent tone, after they had dragged
him from the tent.
At one or other of these unfortunate conventicles, a part of all the
chief families of the Pringles, such as Torwoodlee, Whitebank,
Fairnilie, and others, were taken prisoners; as well as some of the
Scotts of Harden, and the Douglasses of Cavers and Boonjeddart; rich
prizes for Clavers, who bore them all in triumph prisoners to Edinburgh.
Drummelzier put his whole interest to the stretch to get these leading
and respectable families freed from such a disagreeable dilemma, and
succeeded in getting the greater part of them set at liberty, on giving
securities. From that time forth, there existed a secret jealousy
between him and Clavers; but as their jurisdiction lay on different
sides of the country, they had no further interference with one another.
When Katharine informed him, that his farmer, whom he so much esteemed,
was taken away a prisoner, and by whom, he bit his lip, shook his head,
and seemed highly incensed. He then questioned her about all the
charges against him, and the evidence; requesting her, at the same time,
to tell him the truth, in all its bearings, to the most minute scruple;
and when he had heard all, he said, that his lordship had other motives
for this capture besides these. He lost no time in setting about the
most coercive measures he could think of, to procure his liberty. He
sent an express to the Privy-council, and wrote to sundry other
gentlemen, whom Katharine knew nothing of; but the destination of Walter
being utterly unknown to either of them, the laird was at a loss how to
proceed.
He gave her, moreover, a bond of security, signed with his name, and
without a direction, to a great amount, for her father's appearance at
any court, to answer such charges as were brought against him; and with
this she was to haste to the place where her father was a prisoner, and
present it to the sheriff of the county, or chief magistrate of the
burgh of such place, unless it was at Edinburgh, and in that case she
was to take no farther care or concern about him.
She hasted home with her wild guide, where she arrived the fourth or
fifth day after her departure; and found, to her astonishment, the
Chapelhope deserted by man, woman, and boy! Not a living creature
remained about the steading, but her father's dog and some poultry! The
doors were locked, and the key away; and, hungry and fatigued as she
was, she could find no means of admittance. At length, on looking about,
she perceived that the cows were not about the house, nor any where in
the corn, and concluding that some one must be herding them, she went up
the side of the lake to their wonted walk, and found her two brothers
attending the cattle.
They told her that the _town_ (so they always denominate a farm-steading
in that district,) had been so grievously haunted in her absence, both
by Brownie and a ghost, that they were all obliged to leave it; that
their mother was gone all the way to Gilmanscleuch to her brother, to
remain there until she saw what became of her husband; Mass John was
taken away by the fairies; and old Nanny was at Riskinhope, where they
were also residing and sleeping at night; that the keys of the house
were to be had there, but nothing would induce Nanny to come back again
to Chapelhope, or at least to remain another night under its roof.
One mischief came thus upon poor Katharine after another; and she was
utterly unable to account for this piece of intelligence, having been
satisfied when she went away, that she had put every thing in train to
secure peace and order about the house, until her return. She rode to
Riskinhope for the key, but not one would accompany her home, poor Nanny
being lying moaning upon a bed. Jasper sat on the side of the hill, at a
convenient distance from the house, until her return; but then took her
horse from her, and put it away to the rest, refusing to enter the
door. Thus was she left in her father's house all alone. Nanny came
over, and assisted her in milking the kine evening and morning; and she
remained the rest of the day, and every night, by herself, neither did
she press any one much to bear her company. She had no one to send in
search of her father, and deliver Drummelzier's bond, at least none that
any one knew of, yet it was sent, and that speedily, although to little
purpose; for though Walter was sent to Dumfries Jail, he remained there
but two nights; a party of prisoners, of ten men and two women, being
ordered for Edinburgh, under a guard of soldiers, he was mixed
indiscriminately with the rest, and sent there along with them.
He always said, that though he was disposed to think well of Clavers
before he saw him, yet he never was so blithe in his life as when he got
from under his jurisdiction; for there was an appearance of ferocity and
wantonness of cruelty in all his proceedings, during the time that he
rode in his train a prisoner, that made the heart of any man, not
brutified by inurement to such scenes, revolt at the principles that
induced, as well as the government that warranted them. He saw him and
his troopers gather the whole vale of Annandale, as a shepherd gathers
his sheep in droves, pricking the inhabitants with their swords to urge
their speed. When he got thus all the people of a parish, or division of
a parish, driven together, he surrounded them with his soldiers, made
them kneel by dozens, and take the oath of abjuration, as well as one
acknowledging James Duke of York their rightful lord and sovereign; and
lastly, made them renounce their right and part in Heaven, if ever they
repented them of that oath. The first man of such a group, who refused
or objected to compliance with this dreadful measure, he took him
forthwith behind the ranks and shot him, which summary way of proceeding
generally induced all the people to comply. Moreover, the way in which
he threatened and maltreated children, and mocked and insulted women,
not to mention more brutal usage of them, proved him at once to be
destitute of the behaviour and feelings becoming a man, far less those
of a gentleman. He seemed to regard all the commonalty in the south and
west of Scotland as things to be mocked and insulted at pleasure, as
beings created only for the sport of him and his soldiers, while their
mental and bodily agonies were his delight. The narrator of this tale
confesses that he has taken this account of his raid through the vales
of Esk and Annan solely from tradition, as well as the attack made on
the two conventicles, where the Pringles, &c. were taken prisoners; but
these traditions are descended from such a source, and by such a line,
as amounts with him to veracity.
Far different were Walter's feelings on parting with the commander of
his guard, Serjeant Daniel Roy Macpherson, a noble block from the
genuine quarry of nature--rude as it was taken thence, without the mark
of hammer or chisel. When he heard that his prisoner was to be taken
from under his charge, he made up to him when out of the eye of his
commander, and treated him with a parting speech; which, on account of
its singularity, is here preserved, though, doubtless, woefully garbled
by being handed from one southland generation to another.
"Now he'll pe tahaking you away from mhe pefore as it were yesterdhay;
and he'll pe putting you into some vhile dark hole with all te low tamn
pwigs that come from te hills of Gallochee and Drummochloonrich, which
is a shame and a disgrhace to shut up a shentleman who is chief of a
clan among such poor crhazy maniachs, who will pe filling your ears full
of their rejoicings in spirit; and of Haiven! and Haiven! just as if
they were all going to Haiven! Cot t--n, do they suppose that Haiven is
to pe filled full of such poor insignaificant crheatures as they? or
that Cot is not a shentleman, that he would pe falling into such
cohmpany? But I'll pe giving you advice as a friend and prhother; when
you come pefore the couhnsel, or any of their commissioners, do not you
pe talking of Haiven, and Haiven, and of conscience and covenants. And
do not you pe pragging and poasting of one to pe your chief, or to pe of
a clan that has not a friend at court; but tell them your own clan, and
your claims to be its chief; and if you do not know her true descent,
you had better claim Macpherson; she pe as ould and as honourable a clan
as any of them all, and more."
Walter said, he trusted still to the proofs of his own loyalty, and the
want of evidence to the contrary.
"Pooh! pooh! Cot tamn!" said Macpherson; "I tell you the evidence you
want is this, if any great man say you ought to live, you will live; if
not, you will die. Did not I was telling you that the soholdiers that
were found dead in the correi, on the lands that belong to yourself, was
evidence enough and more; I would not pe giving _a curse_ for _your_
evidence after that, for the one is much petter than te other. And py
Cot, it is very well thought!" continued he, smiling grimly, "if you
will pe preaking out into a rage, and pe cursing and tamning them all,
you will get free in one moment."
Walter said, that would be an easy ransom, and though it was an error he
was too apt to fall into when angry, he could see no effect it could
have in this case, but to irritate his prosecutors more and more against
him.
"You see no effect! Cot t--n, if you ever can see any effect peyond the
top that is on your nose! and you will not pe advised by a man of
experience, who would do more for you than he would pe commending of;
and if you trust to what you can see, you will pe dancing a beautiful
Highland shig in the air to a saulm tune, and that will have a very good
effect. I tell you, when you come again to be questioned, I know my Lord
Dundee is to be there to pe adducing his proof; take you great and proud
offence at some of their questions and their proofs; and you may pe
making offer to fight them all one by one, or two by two, in the king's
name, and send them all to hell in one pody; you cannot pe tamning them
too much sore. By the soul of Rory More Macpherson! I would almost give
up this claymore to be by and see that effect. Now you are not to pe
minding because I am laughing like a fool, for I'm perfectly serious; if
matters should pe standing hard with you, think of the advice of an ould
friend, who respects you as the chief of the clan MacLeadle, supposing
it to pe as low, and as much fallen down as it may.--Farewell! she pe
giving you her hearty Cot's blessing."
Thus parted he with Daniel Roy Macpherson, and, as he judged, an
unfortunate change it was for him. The wretch who now took the command
of their guard had all the ignorance and rudeness of the former, without
any counterbalance of high feeling and honour like him. His name was
Patie Ingles, a temporary officer, the same who cut off the head of the
amiable Mr White with an axe, at Kilmarnock, carried it to New-mills,
and gave it to his party to play a game with at foot-ball, which they
did. Ingles was drunk during the greater part of the journey, and his
whole delight was in hurting, mortifying, and mimicking his prisoners.
They were all bound together in pairs, and driven on in that manner like
coupled dogs. This was effected by a very simple process. Their hands
were fastened behind, the right and left arm of each pair being linked
within one another. Walter was tied to a little spare Galloway weaver, a
man wholly prone to controversy--he wanted to argue every point--on
which account he was committed. Yet, when among the Cameronians, he took
their principles as severely to task as he did those of the other party
when examined by them. He lived but to contradict. Often did he try
Walter with different points of opinion regarding the Christian Church.
Walter knew so little about them that the weaver was astonished. He
tried him with the apologetical declaration. Walter had never heard of
it. He could make nothing of his gigantic associate, and at length began
a sly enquiry on what account he was committed; but even on that he
received no satisfactory information.
Ingles came staggering up with them. "Weel, Master Skinflint, what say
you to it the day? This is a pleasant journey, is it not? Eh?--I say,
Master, what do they call you! Peal-an'-eat, answer me in this--you
see--I say--Is it not delightful? Eh?"
"Certainly, sir," said the weaver, who wished to be quit of him; "very
delightful to those who feel it so."
"_Feel_ it so!--D--n you, sirrah, what do you mean by that? Do you know
who you are speaking to? Eh?--Answer me in this--What do you mean by
_Feel it so_? Eh?"
"I meant nothing," returned the weaver, somewhat snappishly, "but that
kind of respect which I always pay to gentry like you."
"Gentry like me!--D--n you, sir, if you speak such a--Eh?--Gentry like
me!--I'll spit you like a cock pheasant--Eh? Have you any of them in
Galloway? Answer me in this, will you? Eh?"
"I'll answer any reasonable thing, sir," said the poor weaver.
"Hout! never head the creature, man," said Walter; "it's a poor drunken
senseless beast of a thing."
Ingles fixed his reeling unsteady eyes upon him, filled with drunken
rage--walked on, spitting and looking across the way for a considerable
space--"What the devil of a whig camel is this?" said he, crossing over
to Walter's side. "Drunken senseless beast of a thing! Holm, did you
hear that?--Macwhinny, did you?--Eh? I'll scorn to shoot the cusser,
though I could do it--Eh? But I'll kick him like a dog--Eh?--Take that,
and that, will you? Eh?" And so saying, he kicked our proud-hearted and
independant Goodman of Chapelhope with his plebeian foot, staggering
backward each time he struck.
Walter's spirit could not brook this; and disregardful of all
consequences, he wheeled about with his face toward him, dragging the
weaver round with a jerk, as a mastiff sometimes does a spaniel that is
coupled to him; and, as Ingles threw up his foot to kick him on the
belly, he followed up his heel with his foot, giving him such a fling
upwards as made him whirl round in the air like a reel. He fell on his
back, and lay motionless; on which, several of the party of soldiers
levelled their muskets at Walter. "Ay, shoot," said he, setting up his
boardly breast to them--"Shoot at me if you dare, the best o' ye."
The soldiers cocked their pieces.
"Your Colonel himsel durstna wrang a hair o' my head, though fain he
wad hae done sae, without first gieing me ower to his betters--Let me
see if a scullion amang ye a' dare do mair than he."
The soldiers turned their eyes, waiting for the word of command; and the
weaver kept as far away from Walter as the nature of his bonds would let
him. The command of the party now devolved on a Serjeant Douglas; who,
perhaps nothing sorry for what had happened, stepped in between the
soldiers and prisoner, and swore a great oath, that "what the prisoner
said was the truth; and that all that it was their duty to do was, to
take the prisoners safe to Edinburgh, as at first ordered; and there
give their evidence of this transaction, which would send the lousy whig
to hell at once, provided there was any chance of his otherwise
escaping."
They lifted Ingles, and held him up into the air to get breath, loosing
meantime his cravat and clothes; on which he fell to vomit severely,
owing to the fall he had got, and the great quantity of spirits he had
drunk. They waited on him for about two hours; but as he still continued
unable either to speak or walk, they took him into a house called
Granton, and proceeded on their destination.
This Douglas, though apparently a superior person to the former
commander of the party, was still more intolerant and cruel than he.
There was no indignity or inconvenience that he could fasten on his
prisoners which he did not exercise to the utmost. They lodged that
night at a place called Tweedshaws; and Walter used always to relate an
occurrence that took place the next morning, that strongly marked the
character of this petty officer, as well as the licensed cruelty of the
times.
Some time previous to this, there had been a fellowship meeting, at a
place called Tallo-Lins, of the wanderers that lurked about Chapelhope
and the adjacent mountains. About eighty had assembled, merely to spend
the night in prayer, reading the Scriptures, &c. The curate of
Tweedsmuir, a poor dissolute wretch, sent a flaming account of this in
writing to the privy council, magnifying that simple affair to a great
and dangerous meeting of armed men. The council took the alarm, raised
the hue and cry, and offered a reward for the apprehending of any one
who had been at the meeting of Tallo-Lins. The curate, learning that a
party of the king's troops was lodged that night in his parish and
neighbourhood, came to Tweedshaws at a late hour, and requested to speak
with the captain of the party. He then informed Douglas of the meeting,
shewed him the council's letter and proclamation, and finally told him
that there was a man in a cottage hard by whom he strongly suspected to
have formed one at the meeting alluded to in the proclamation. There
being no conveniency for lodging so many people at Tweedshaws, Douglas
and the curate drank together all the night, as did the soldiers in
another party. A number of friends to the prisoners had given them money
when they left Dumfries for Edinburgh, to supply as well as they might
the privations to which they would be subjected; but here the military
took the greater part of it from them to supply their intemperance.
About the break of day, they went and surrounded a shepherd's cottage
belonging to the farm of Corehead, having been led thither by the
curate, where they found the shepherd an old man, his daughter, and one
Edward M'Cane, son to a merchant in Lanarkshire, who was courting this
shepherdess, a beautiful young maiden. The curate having got
intelligence that a stranger was at that house, immediately suspected
him to be one of the wanderers, and on this surmise the information was
given. The curate acknowledged the shepherd and his daughter as
parishioners, but of M'Cane, he said, he knew nothing, and had no doubt
that he was one of the rebellious whigs. They fell to examine the youth,
but they were all affected with the liquor they had drunk over night,
and made a mere farce of it, paying no regard to his answers, or, if
they did, it was merely to misconstrue or mock them. He denied having
been at the meeting at Tallo-Linns, and all acquaintance with the
individuals whom they named as having been there present. Finding that
they could make nothing of him whereon to ground a charge, Douglas made
them search him for arms; for being somewhat drunk, he took it highly
amiss that he should have been brought out of his way for nothing.
M'Cane judged himself safe on that score, for he knew that he had
neither knife, razor, bodkin, nor edged instrument of any kind about
him; but as ill luck would have it, he chanced to have an old gun-flint
in his waistcoat pocket. Douglas instantly pronounced this to be
sufficient, and ordered him to be shot. M'Cane was speechless for some
time with astonishment, and at length told his errand, and the footing
on which he stood with the young girl before them, offering at the same
time to bring proofs from his own parish of his loyalty and conformity.
He even condescended to kneel to the ruffian, to clasp his knees, and
beg and beseech of him to be allowed time for a regular proof; but
nothing would move him. He said, the courtship was a very clever excuse,
but would not do with him, and forthwith ordered him to be shot. He
would not even allow him to sing a psalm with his two friends, but
cursed and swore that the devil a psalm he should sing there. He said,
"It would not be singing a few verses of a psalm in a wretched and
miserable style that would keep him out of hell; and if he went to
heaven, he might then lilt as much at psalm-singing as he had a mind."
When the girl, his betrothed sweet-heart, saw the muskets levelled at
her lover, she broke through the file, shrieking most piteously, threw
herself on him, clasped his neck and kissed him, crying, like one
distracted, "O Edward, take me wi' ye--take me wi' ye; a' the warld
sanna part us."
"Ah! Mary," said he, "last night we looked forward to long and happy
years--how joyful were our hopes! but they are all blasted at once. Be
comforted, my dearest, dearest heart!--God bless you!--Farewell
forever."
The soldiers then dragged her backward, mocking her with indelicate
remarks, and while she was yet scarcely two paces removed, and still
stretching out her hands towards him, six balls were lodged in his heart
in a moment, and he fell dead at her feet. Deformed and bloody as he
was, she pressed the corpse to her bosom, moaning and sobbing in such a
way as if every throb would have been her last, and in that condition
the soldiers marched merrily off and left them. For this doughty and
noble deed, for which Serjeant Douglas deserved to have been hanged and
quartered, he shortly after got a cornetcy in Sir Thomas Livingston's
troop of horse.
Two of the prisoners made their escape that morning, owing to the
drunkenness of their guards, on which account the remainder being
blamed, were more haughtily and cruelly treated than ever. It is
necessary to mention all these, as they were afterwards canvassed at
Walter's trial, the account of which formed one of his winter evening
tales as long as he lived. Indeed, all such diffuse and miscellaneous
matter as is contained in this chapter, is a great incumbrance in the
right onward progress of a tale; but we have done with it, and shall now
haste to the end of our narrative in a direct uninterrupted line.
CHAPTER XII.
The sudden departure of Katharine from home, after the extraordinary
adventure of the curate Clerk in the Old Room, at the crowing of the
cock, was a great relief to him, as it freed him from the embarrassment
of her company, and gave him an opportunity of telling his own story to
the goodwife without interruption, of the success he had in freeing her
daughter from the power and fellowship of evil spirits. That story was
fitted admirably to suit her weak and superstitious mind; it accorded
with any thing nearer than the truth, and perhaps this finished
hypocrite never appeared so great a character in the eyes of Maron
Linton as he did that day. He spoke of going away to Henderland in the
evening, but she entreated him so earnestly to stay and protect her from
the power of the spirits that haunted the place, that he deemed it
proper to acquiesce, for without the countenance of the family of
Chapelhope he was nothing--he could not have lived in his puny cure. She
depended on him, she said, to rid the town of these audacious (or, as
she called them, _misleared_) beings altogether, for without his
interference the family would be ruined. Their servants had all left
them--the work remained unwrought, and every thing was going to
confusion--she had given Brownie his accustomed wages again and again,
and still he refused to leave the house; and without the holy man's
assistance in expelling him and his train, their prospects in life were
hopeless.
The curate promised to use his highest interest with Heaven, and assured
her that no further evil should come nigh unto her, at least while he
remained under her roof; "for were it not," said he, "for the
conjunction which they are in with one of the family, they should have
been expelled long ere now. That unnatural bond, I hope, by a course of
secret conferences, to be able to break asunder, but be not thou afraid,
for no evil shall come nigh thy dwelling." He talked with the goodwife
in the style that pleased her; flattered her high and pure notions of
religion, as well as her piety and benevolence; said evening prayers in
the family with zeal and devotion; but how was he startled when informed
that he was to sleep again in the Old Room! He indeed knew not that it
was haunted more than any other part of the house, or that it was the
favourite nightly resort of the Brownie of Bodsbeck, but the apparition
that he had seen, and the unaccountable rescue that he had witnessed the
night before, preyed on his mind, and he hinted to the goodwife, that he
had expected to be preferred to her daughter's room and bed that night,
as she was absent; but Maron, too, was selfish; for who is without that
great ruling motive? She expected that Brownie would appear; that Mass
John would speak to it; and thenceforward to be freed from its unwelcome
intrusions. To the Old Room he was shown at a late hour, where the lamp,
the Bible, and the _sand-glass_ were placed on the little table, at the
bed's head, as usual.
It was past eleven when the curate went to sleep. Old Nanny, who was
dressed more neatly than usual, sat still at the kitchen fire, expecting
every minute the two covenant-men, whom her young mistress had promised
to send to her privily, as her companions and protectors through the
dark and silent watches of the night until her return. Still nothing of
them appeared; but, confident that they would appear, she stirred the
embers of the fire, and continued to keep watch with patient anxiety.
When it drew towards midnight, as she judged, she heard a noise without,
as of some people entering, or trying to enter, by the outer door of
the Old Room. Concluding that it was her expected companions, and
alarmed at the wrong direction they had taken, she ran out, and round
the west end of the house, to warn them of their mistake, and bring them
in by the kitchen door. As she proceeded, she heard two or three loud
and half-stifled howls from the interior of the Old Room. The door was
shut, but, perceiving by the seam in the window-shutters that the light
within was still burning, she ran to the window, which directly faced
the curate's bed; and there being a small aperture broken in one of the
panes, she edged back the shutter, so as to see and hear the most part
of what was going on within. She saw four or five figures standing at
the bed, resembling human figures in some small degree--their backs
towards her; but she saw a half-face of one that held the lamp in its
hand, and it was of the hue of a smoked wall. In the midst of them stood
the deformed little Brownie, that has often been mentioned and
described in the foregoing part of this tale. In his right hand he
brandished a weapon, resembling a dirk or carving-knife. The other hand
he stretched out, half-raised over the curate's face, as if to command
attention. "Peace!" said he, "thou child of the bottomless pit, and
minister of unrighteousness; another such sound from these polluted lips
of thine, and I plunge this weapon into thy heart. We would shed thy
blood without any reluctance--nay, know thou that we would rejoice to do
it, as thereby we would render our master acceptable service. Not for
that intent or purpose are we now come; yet thy abominations shall not
altogether pass unpunished. Thou knowest thy own heart--its hypocrisy,
and licentiousness--Thou knowest, that last night, at this same hour,
thou didst attempt, by brutal force, to pollute the purest and most
angelic of the human race--we rescued her from thy hellish clutch, for
we are her servants, and attend upon her steps. Thou knowest, that still
thou art cherishing the hope of succeeding in thy cursed scheme. Thou
art a stain to thy profession, and a blot upon the cheek of nature,
enough to make thy race and thy nation stink in the nose of their
Creator!--To what thou deservest, thy doom is a lenient one--but it is
fixed and irrevocable!"
There was something in that mis-shapen creature's voice that chilled
Nanny's very soul while it spoke these words, especially its
pronunciation of some of them; it sounded like something she had heard
before, perhaps in a dream, but it was horrible, and not to be brooked.
The rest now laid violent hold of Mass John, and she heard him mumbling
in a supplicating voice, but knew not what he said. As they stooped
forward, the lamp shone on the floor, and she saw the appearance of a
coffin standing behind them. Nanny was astonished, but not yet overcome;
for, cruel were the scenes that she had beheld, and many the trials she
had undergone!--but at that instant the deformed and grizly being
turned round, as if looking for something that it wanted--the lamp shone
full on its face, the lineaments of which when Nanny beheld, her eyes at
once were darkened, and she saw no more that night. How she spent the
remainder of it, or by what means she got to her bed in the kitchen, she
never knew; but next morning when the goodwife and her sons arose, poor
old Nanny was lying in the kitchen bed delirious, and talking of
dreadful and incomprehensible things. All that could be gathered from
her frenzy was, that some terrible catastrophe had happened in the Old
Room, and that Clerk, the curate, was implicated in it. The goodwife,
judging that her favourite had been at war with the spirits, and that
Heaven had been of course triumphant, hasted to the Old Room to bless
and pay the honour due to such a divine character; she called his name
as she entered, but no one made answer; she hasted to the bed, but
behold there was no one there! The goodwife's sole spiritual guide had
vanished away.
The curate Clerk was never more seen nor heard of in these bounds; but
it may not be improper here to relate a circumstance that happened some
time thereafter, as it comes no more within the range of this story.
In the month of October, and the memorable year 1688, it is well known
that Clavers hasted southward, with all the troops under his command, to
assist King James against the Prince of Orange and the protestant party
of England, or to sell himself to the latter, any of the ways that he
found most convenient. In the course of this march, as he was resting
his troops at a place called Ninemile-brae, near the Border, a poor
emaciated and forlorn-looking wretch came to him, and desired to speak a
word with him. Mr Adam Copland and he were sitting together when this
happened; Clavers asked his name and his business, for none of the two
recognised him--It was Clerk, the curate (that had been) of Chapelhope
and Kirkhope! Clavers said, as there were none present save a friend, he
might say out his business. This he declined, and took Clavers a short
way aside. Copland watched their motions, but could not hear what Clerk
said. When he began to tell his story Clavers burst into a violent fit
of laughter, but soon restrained himself, and Copland beheld him
knitting his brows, and biting his lip, as he seldom failed to do when
angry. When they parted, he heard him saying distinctly, "It is
impossible that I can avenge your wrongs at this time, for I have
matters of great import before me; but the day may come ere long when it
will be in my power, and d--n me if I do not do it!"
The spirits of the wild having been victorious, and the reverend curate,
the goodwife's only stay, overcome and carried off bodily, she was
impatient, and on the rack every minute that she staid longer about the
house. She caused one of her sons take a horse, and conduct her to
Gilmanscleuch that night, to her brother Thomas's farm, determined no
more to see Chapelhope till her husband's return; and if that should
never take place, to bid it adieu for ever.
Nanny went to the led farm of Riskinhope, that being the nearest house
to Chapelhope, and just over against it, in order to take what care she
was able of the things about the house during the day. There also the
two boys remained, and herded throughout the day in a very indifferent
manner; and, in short, every thing about the farm was going fast to
confusion when Katharine returned from her mission to the Laird of
Drummelzier. Thus it was that she found her father's house deserted, its
doors locked up, and its hearth cold.
Her anxiety to converse privately with Nanny was great; but at her first
visit, when she went for the key, this was impossible without being
overheard. She soon, however, found an opportunity; for that night she
enticed her into the byre at Chapelhope, in the gloaming, after the kine
had left the lone, where a conversation took place between them in
effect as follows:
"Alas, Nanny! how has all this happened? Did not the two Covenanters,
for whom I sent, come to bear you company?"
"Dear bairn, if they did come I saw nae them. If they came, they were
ower late, for the spirits were there afore them; an' I hae seen sic a
sight! Dear, dear bairn, dinna gar me gang owre it again--I hae seen a
sight that's enough to turn the heart o' flesh to an iceshogle, an' to
freeze up the very springs o' life!--Dinna gar me gang ower it again,
an' rake up the ashes o' the honoured dead--But what need I say sae? The
dead are up already! Lord in Heaven be my shield and safeguard!"
"Nanny, you affright me; but, be assured, your terrors have originated
in some mistake--your sight has deceived you, and all shall yet be
explained to your satisfaction."
"Say nae sae, dear bairn; my sight hasna deceived me, yet I have been
deceived. The world has deceived me--hell has deceived me--and heaven
has winked at the deed. Alak, an' wae's me, that it should sae hae been
predestined afore the world began! The day was, an' no sae lang sin'
syne, when I could hae prayed wi' confidence, an' sung wi' joy; but now
my mind is overturned, and I hae nouther stay on earth, nor hope in
heaven! The veil of the Temple may be rent below, and the ark of the
testimony thrown open above, but _their_ forms will not be seen within
the one, nor their names found written in the other! We have been
counted as sheep for the slaughter; we have been killed all the day
long; yet hath the Lord forgotten to be gracious, and is his mercy clean
gone for ever!"
"Peace, peace, for Heaven's sake!--You are verging on blasphemy, and
know not what you say."
"Do the reprobate know what they say, or can they forbear? How
then can I? I, who am in the bond of iniquity, and the jaws of death
eternal?--Where can I fly? When the righteous are not saved, where shall
the ungodly and the sinner appear?--Ay, dear bairn, weel may ye stare
and raise up your hands that gate; but when ye hear my tale, ye winna
wonder that my poor wits are uprooted. Suppose sic a case your
ain--suppose you had been the bosom companion o' ane for twenty
years--had joined wi' him in devotion, e'ening and morning, for a' that
time, and had never heard a sigh but for sin, nor a complaint but of the
iniquities of the land--If ye had witnessed him follow two comely sons,
your own flesh and blood, to the scaffold, and bless his God who put it
in their hearts to stand and suffer for his cause, and for the crown of
martyrdom he had bestowed on them, and bury the mangled bodies of other
two with tears, but not with repining--If, after a' this, he had been
hunted as a partridge on the mountains, and for the same dear cause, the
simplicity of the truth as it is in Jesus, had laid down his life--If
you knew that his grey head was hung upon the city wall for a spectacle
to gaze at, and his trunk buried in the wild by strangers--Say you knew
all this, and had all these dear ties in your remembrance, and yet,
after long years of hope soon to join their blest society above, to see
again that loved and revered form stand before your eyes on earth at
midnight, shrivelled, pale, and deformed, and mixed with malevolent
spirits on dire and revengeful intent, where wad your hope--where wad
your confidence--or where wad your wits hae been flown?" Here she cried
bitterly; and seizing the astonished Katharine's hand with both hers,
and pressing it to her brow, she continued her impassioned and frantic
strain.--"Pity me, O dear bairn, pity me! For man hasna pitied me, an'
God hasna pitied me! I'm gaun down a floody water, down, down; an' I wad
fain grip at something, if it were but a swoomin strae, as a last hope,
or I sink a' thegither."
"These are the words of delirium," said Katharine, "and I will not set
them down as spoke by you. Pray the Almighty that they may never be
written in his book of remembrance against you; for the veriest
downfallen fiend can do no more than distrust the mercy of God in a
Redeemer. I tell you, woman, that whatever you may fancy you have seen
or heard in the darkness of night, when imagination forms fantasies of
its own, of all those who have stood for our civil and religious
liberties, who, for the sake of a good conscience, have yielded up all,
and sealed their testimony with their blood, not one hair of _their_
heads shall fall to the ground, for their names are written in the book
of life, and they shall shine as stars in the kingdom of their
Father. You have yourself suffered much, and have rejoiced in your
sufferings--So far you did well--Do not then mar so fair an eternal
harvest--so blest a prospect of a happy and everlasting community, by
the sin of despair, that can never be forgiven. Can you, for a moment,
while in possession of your right senses, doubt of the tender mercies of
your Maker and Preserver? Can you for a moment believe that he has hid
his face from the tears and the blood that have been shed for his cause
in Scotland? As well may you doubt that the earth bears or the sun warms
you, or that he never made a revelation of his will to man."
All the while that Katharine spoke thus, Nanny's eyes were fixed on her,
as if drinking every word she uttered into a soul that thirsted for it.
A wild and unstable light beamed on her countenance, but it was still
only like a sun-beam breaking through the storm, which is ready to be
swallowed up by the rolling darkness within. Her head shook as with a
slight paralytic affection, and she again clasped the hand which she had
never quitted.
"Are ye an angel o' light," said she, in a soft tremulous voice, "that
ye gar my heart prinkle sae wi' a joy that it never thought again to
taste? It isna then a strae nor a stibble that I hae grippit at for my
last hope, but the tap of a good tow-widdy saugh; an' a young sapling
though it be, it is steevely rootit in a good soil, an' will maybe help
the poor drowning wretch to the shore!--An' _hae_ I thought sae muckle
ill o' you? Could I deem that mild heavenly face, that's but the
reflection o' the soul within, the image o' sin and o' Satan, an' a veil
o' deceit thrawn ower a mind prone to wickedness? Forgie me, dear, dear
saint, forgie me! It surely canna be condemned spirits that ye are
connectit wi? Ah, ye're dumb there!--ye darna answer me to that! Na, na!
the spirits o' the just made perfect wad never leave their abodes o'
felicity to gabble amang derksome fiends at the dead hour o' the night,
in sic a world o' sin and sorrow as this. But I saw _him_, an' heard him
speak, as sure as I see your face an' hear the tones o' my ain voice;
an', if I lookit nae wrang, there were mae risen frae the dead than ane.
It is an awfu' dispensation to think o'! But there was a spirit o'
retaliation in him that often made me quake, though never sae as now. O
wad ye but tell me what kind o' spirits ye are in conjunction wi'?"
"None but the blest and the happy--None but they who have come out of
great tribulation, and washed their robes white in the blood of the
Lamb--None that would harbour such a thought, or utter such a doubt, as
you have done to-night, for the empire of the universe--More I may not
tell you at present; but stay you here with me, and I will cherish you,
and introduce you to these spirits, and you shall be happier with them
than ever you have been."
"Will I sae?--Say nae mair!--I wad pit hand to my ain life the night,
an' risk the warst or I again met wi' them face to face in the same
guise as I saw them at midnight last week. Ye're a wonderfu' creature!
But ye're ayont my depth; therefore I'll love ye, an' fear ye, an' keep
my distance."
Thus they parted: Katharine into her long vacant house, and Nanny over
to Riskinhope. The farmer of Riskinhope (David Bryden of Eldin-hope),
was ruined by the sequestration of his stock by Clavers, but the
shepherds and other servants still lingered about the house for better
or for worse. There was not a sheep on that large farm, save about five
scores of good ewes, that Davie Tait, the herd of Whithope, had turned
slyly over into the hags of the Yokeburn-head, that day the drivers took
away the stock. When Clavers made his last raid up by Chapelhope, all
the family of Riskinhope fled to the hills, and betook them to cover,
every one by himself; and there, with beating hearts, peeped through the
heath and the rash-bush, to watch the motions of that bloody persecutor.
Perilous was their case that day, for had any of them been found in that
situation, it would have been enough; but Davie well knew it was good
for him to keep out of the way, for Mr Renwick, and Mr Shields, as well
as other wanderers, had been sheltered in his house many a night, and
the latter wrote his _Hind let Loose_ in a small house at the side of
Winterhopeburn. Yet Davie was not a Cameronian, properly speaking, nor a
very religious man neither; but the religious enthusiasm of his guests
had broke him a little into their manner, and way of thinking. He had
learned to make family exercise, not however to very great purpose, for
the only thing very remarkable in it was the strong nasal Cameronian
whine of his prayer, and its pastoral allusions; but he was grown fond
of exhibiting in that line, having learned the Martyr's tune, and the
second part of the Dundee, which formed the whole range of his psalmody!
Yet Davie liked a joke as well as ever he did, and perhaps as well as
any part of divine worship. When one remarked to him that his family
music was loud enough, but very discordant,--"Ay," quoth Davie, "but
it's a lang gate atween here an' Heaven; a' music's good i' the
distance; I hae strong faith in that. I hae some hope i' Dan's bass too;
it has _great effect_. I was wantin him to tak some salts an' sinny leaf
to help it a wee."
That night after Nanny came over, Davie had prayed as usual, and among
other things, had not forgot the Brownie of Bodsbeck, that "he might be
skelpit wi' the taws o' divine wrath, an' sent back to hell wi' the
sperks on his hips; and that the angel of presence might keep watch over
their couches that night, to scare the howlaty face o' him away, an'
learn him to keep his ain side o' the water."
After prayers the family were crowded round the fading ingle, and
cracking of the Brownie and of Davie's prayer. Davie had opened his
waistcoat, and thrown off his hose to warm his feet, and, flattered
with their remarks on his abilities, began to be somewhat scurrilous on
Brownie. "I think I hae cowed him the night," said he; "he'll fash nane
o' us--he may stay wi' his Keatie Laidlaw yonder, an' rin at her biddin.
He has a sonsy weel-faur'd lass to bide wi'--he's better aff than some
o' his neighbours, Maysey;" and, saying so, he cast a look to his wife
that spoke unutterable things; but finding that his joke did not take,
after so serious a prayer, he turned again on Brownie, and, as his own
wife said, "didna leave him the likeness of a dog." He said he had eaten
sax bowes o' good meal to the goodman, an' a' that he had done for't,
that ony body kend o', was mending up an auld fail-dike round the corn
ae night. In short, he said he was an unprofitable guest--a dirty
droich, an' a menseless glutton--an' it was weak an' silly in ony true
Christian to be eiry for him. He had not said out the last words, when
they heard a whispering at the door, and shortly after these words
distinctly uttered:
"There's neither blood nor rown-tree pin,
At open doors the dogs go in."
The size of every eye's orbit was doubled in a moment, as it turned
towards the door. The light of the fire was shining bright along the
short entry between the beds, and they saw the appearance of a man,
clothed in black, come slowly and deliberately in, walk across the
entry, and go into the apartment in the other end of the house. The
family were all above one another in beyond the fire in an instant, and
struggling who to be undermost, and next the wall. Nanny, who was
sitting on the form beyond the fire, pondering on other matters, leaning
her brow on both hands, and all unconscious of what had entered, was
overborne in the crush, and laid flat undermost of all.
"Dear, dear bairns, what's asteer? Hout fy! Why, troth, ye'll crush the
poor auld body as braid as a blood-kercake."
"Ah! the Brownie!--the Brownie!--the Brownie o' Bodsbeck!" was whispered
in horror from every tongue.
Davie Tait luckily recollecting that there was a door at hand, that led
to a little milk-house in the other end of the house, and still another
division farther from Brownie, led the way to it on all four, at full
gallop, and took shelter in the farthest corner of that. All the rest
were soon above him, but Davie bore the oppressive weight with great
fortitude for some time, and without a murmur. Nanny was left last; she
kept hold of the Bible that she had in her lap when she fell, and had
likewise the precaution to light the lamp before she followed her
affrighted associates. Nothing could be more appalling than her own
entry after them--never was a figure more calculated to inspire terror,
than Nanny coming carrying a feeble glimmering lamp, that only served to
make darkness visible, while her pale raised-like features were bent
over it, eager to discover her rueful compeers. The lamp was
half-covered with her hand to keep it from being blown out; and her
face, where only a line of light here and there was visible, was
altogether horrible. Having discovered the situation, and the plight of
the family, she bolted the door behind her, and advanced slowly up to
them. "Dear bairns, what did ye see that has putten ye a' this gate?"
"Lord sauf us!" cried Davie, from below, "we hae forespoke the
Brownie--tak that elbow out o' my guts a wee bit. They say, if ye speak
o' the deil, he'll appear. 'Tis an unsonsy and dangerous thing to--Wha's
aught that knee? slack it a little. God guide us, sirs, there's the
weight of a mill-stane on aboon the links o' my neck. If the Lord hae
forsaken us, an' winna heed our prayers, we may gie up a' for tint
thegither!--Nanny, hae ye boltit the door."
"Ay hae I, firm an' fast."
"Than muve up a wee, sirs, or faith I'm gane--Hech-howe! the weight o'
sin an' mortality that's amang ye."
Davie's courage, that had begun to mount on hearing that the door was
bolted, soon gave way again, when he raised his head, and saw the utter
dismay that was painted on each countenance. "Hout, Maysey woman, dinna
just mak sic faces--ye are eneuch to fright fock, foreby aught else,"
said he to his wife.
"O Davie, think what a wheen poor helpless creatures we are!--Does
Brownie ever kill ony body?"
"I wish it be nae a waur thing than Brownie," said Dan.
"Waur than Brownie? Mercy on us!--Waur than Brownie!--What was it like?"
was whispered round.
"Ye mind poor Kirko, the bit Dinscore laird, that skulkit hereabouts sae
lang, an' sleepit several nights ben in that end?--Didna ye a' think it
was unco like him?"
"The very man!--the very man!--his make, his gang, his claes, an' every
thing," was echoed by all.
"An' ye ken," continued Dan, "that he was shot on Dumfries sands this
simmer. It is his ghaist come to haunt the place whar he baid, an'
prayed sae aften."
"Ower true! Ower true! it's awsome to think o'," was the general remark.
"Let us go to prayers," said Nanny: "it isna a time to creep into nooks
on aboon other, an' gie way to despair. There is but Ane that _can_
guard or protect us, let us apply there."
"Something has been done that way already," said Davie Tait; "we canna
come to handygrips wi' him, an' force him to stand senter at our door a'
night."
Davie's matter was exhausted on the subject, and he did not much relish
going over the same words again, which, he acknowledged, were _rather
kenspeckle_; nor yet to venture on composing new ones out of his own
head: this made him disposed to waive Nanny's proposal.
"Ay," answered she, "but we mauna haud just wi' saying gie us this, an'
gie us that; and than, because we dinna just get it aff loof, drap the
plea an' despair. Na, na, dear bairns, that's nae part o' the christian
warfare! we maun plead wi' humility, and plead again, an' never was
there mair cause for rousing to exertion than now. The times are
momentous, and some great change is drawing near, for the dead are
astir--I have seen them mysel'. Yes, the severed members that were
scattered, and buried apart, are come thegither again--joined, an' gaun
aboon the grund, mouthing the air o' Heaven. I saw it mysel--Can it be
that the resurrection is begun? It is a far away thought for the thing
itsel to be as near; but it's a glorious ane, an' there's proof o't. But
then the place an' the time are doubtfu'--had it been sun proof I wad
hae likit it better. We little wot what to say or think under sic
visitations. Let us apply to the only source of light and direction.
David, be you a mouth to us."
"A mouth?" said Davie; but recollecting himself, added--"Hum, I
understand you; but I hae mouthed mair already than has come to ony
good. I like fock to pray that hae some chance to be heard; some fock
may scraugh themsels hersh, and be nae the better."
"Oh fie, David! speak wi' some reverence," said his wife Maysey.
"I mintit at naething else," said he, "but I hae an unreverent kind o'
tongue that nought ever serous-like fa's frae, let my frame o' mind be
as it will; an' troth I haena command o' language for a job like this. I
trow the prelates hae the best way after a', for they get prayers ready
made to their hands, an' disna need to affront their Maker wi'
blunders."
"How can ye speak sae the night, David? or how can sic a thought hover
round your heart as to flee out at random that gate? If ye will _read_
prayers, there's a book, read them out o' that; if the words o' God
winna suit the cases o' his ain creatures, how can ye trow the words o'
another man can do it? But pray wi' the heart, an' pray in humility, and
fearna being accepted."
"That's true; but yet ane maks but a poor figure wi' the heart by
itsel."
"Wow, Davie, man," quoth Maysey, his wife, "an' ye mak but a poor figure
indeed, when we're a' in sic a plight! Ye hear the woman speaks gude
truth; an' ye ken yoursel ye fenced us against the Brownie afore, but no
against Kirky's ghaist; tak the beuk like a man, an' pit the fence o'
scripture faith round us for that too."
Stupid as Maysey was, she knew the way to her husband's heart. Davie
could not resist such an appeal--he took the Bible; sung the 143d psalm,
from beginning to end, at Nanny's request; and likewise, by her
direction, read the 20th of Revelations; then kneeling down on his bare
knees, legs, and feet, as he fled from the kitchen, on the damp miry
floor of the milk-house, he essayed a strong energetic prayer as a fence
against the invading ghost. But as Davie acknowledged, he had an
irreverend expression naturally, that no effort could overcome, (and by
the bye, there is more in this than mankind are in general aware of,)
and the more he aimed at sublimity, the more ludicrous he grew, even to
common ears. There is scarcely a boy in the country who cannot recite
scraps of Davie Tait's prayer; but were I to set all that is preserved
of it down here, it might be construed as a mockery of that holy
ordinance, than which nothing is so far from my heart or intention; but,
convinced as I am that a rude exhibition in such a divine solemnity is
of all things the most indecent and unbecoming, I think such should be
held up to ridicule, as a warning to all Christians never to ask
ignorance or absurdity to perform this sacred duty in public. The
sublime part of it therefore is given, which was meant as a fence
against the spirit that had set up his rest so near. To such as are not
acquainted with the pastoral terms, the meaning in some parts may be
equivocal; to those who are, the train of thinking will be obvious.--It
is part of a genuine prayer.
"But the last time we gathered oursels before thee, we left out a
wing o' the hirsel by mistake, an' thou hast paid us hame i' our
ain coin. Thou wart sae gude than as come to the sheddin thysel,
an' clap our heads, an' whisper i' our lugs, 'dinna be
disheartened, my puir bits o' waefu' things, for though ye be the
shotts o' my hale fauld, I'll take care o' ye, an' herd ye, an'
gie ye a' that ye hae askit o' me the night.' It was kind, an'
thou hast done it; but we forgot a principal part, an' maun tell
thee now, that we have had another visitor sin' ye war here, an'
ane wha's back we wad rather see than his face. Thou kens better
thysel than we can tell thee what place he has made his escape
frae; but we sair dread it is frae the boddomless pit, or he wadna
hae ta'en possession but leave. Ye ken, that gang tried to keep
vilent leasehaud o' your ain fields, an' your ain ha', till ye gae
them a killicoup. If he be ane o' them, O come thysel to our help,
an' bring in thy hand a bolt o' divine vengeance, het i' the
furnace o' thy wrath as reed as a nailstring, an' bizz him an'
scouder him till ye dinna leave him the likeness of a paper izel,
until he be glad to creep into the worm-holes o' the earth, never
to see sun or sterns mair. But, if it be some puir dumfoundered
soul that has been bumbased and stoundit at the view o' the lang
Hopes an' the Downfa's o' Eternity, comed daundering away frae
about the laiggen girds o' Heaven to the waefu' gang that he left
behind, like a lost sheep that strays frae the rich pastures o'
the south, an' comes bleating back a' the gate to its cauld native
hills, to the very gair where it was lambed and first followed
its minny, ane canna help haeing a fellow-feeling wi' the puir
soul after a', but yet he'll find himsel here like a cow in an
unco loan. Therefore, O furnish him this night wi' the wings o'
the wild gainner or the eagle, that he may swoof away back to a
better hame than this, for we want nane o' his company. An' do
thou give to the puir stray thing a weel-hained heff and a beildy
lair, that he may nae mair come straggling amang a stock that's
sae unlike himsel, that they're frightit at the very look o' him.
"Thou hast promised in thy Word to be our shepherd, our guider
an' director; an' thy word's as gude as some men's aith, an' we'll
haud thee at it. Therefore take thy plaid about thee, thy staff in
thy hand, an' thy dog at thy fit, an' gather us a' in frae the
cauld windy knowes o' self-conceit--the plashy bogs an' mires o'
sensuality, an' the damp flows o' worldly-mindedness, an' wyse us
a' into the true bught o' life, made o' the flakes o' forgiveness
and the door o' loving-kindness; an' never do thou suffer us to be
heftit e'ening or morning, but gie lashin' meals o' the milk o'
praise, the ream o' thankfu'ness, an' the butter o' good-works.
An' do thou, in thy good time an' way, smear us ower the hale bouk
wi' the tar o' adversity, weel mixed up wi' the meinging of
repentance, that we may be kiver'd ower wi' gude bouzy shake-rough
fleeces o' faith, a' run out on the hips, an' as brown as a tod.
An' do thou, moreover, fauld us ower-night, an' every night, in
within the true sheep-fauld o' thy covenant, weel buggen wi' the
stanes o' salvation, an' caped wi' the divots o' grace. An' then
wi' sic a shepherd, an' sic a sheep-fauld, what hae wi' to be
feared for? Na, na! we'll fear naething but sin!--We'll never mair
scare at the poolly-woolly o' the whaup, nor swirl at the gelloch
o' the ern; for if the arm of our Shepherd be about us for good,
a' the imps, an' a' the powers o' darkness, canna wrang a hair o'
our tails."
All the family arose from their knees with altered looks. Thus fenced, a
new energy glowed in every breast. Poor Maysey, proud of her husband's
bold and sublime intercession, and trusting in the divine fence now
raised around them, rose with the tear in her eye, seized the lamp, and
led the way, followed by all the rest, to retake the apartment of
Kirky's ghost by open assault. Nanny, whose faith wont to be superior to
all these things, lagged behind, dreading to see the sight that she had
seen on the Saturday night before; and the bold intercessor himself kept
her company, on pretence of a sleeping leg; but, in truth, his faith in
his own intercession and fence did not mount very high. All the
apartment was searched--every chest, corner, and hole that could be
thought of--every thing was quiet, and not so much as a mouse
stirring!--not a bed-cover folded down, nor the smallest remembered
article missing! All the family saw Kirky's ghost enter in his own
likeness, and heard him speak in his wonted tongue, except old Nanny. It
was a great and wonderful victory gained. They were again in full
possession of their own house, a right which they never seemed before to
have duly appreciated. They felt grateful and happy; and it was hinted
by Maysey, Dan, and uncle Nicholas, that Davie Tait would turn out a
burning and a shining light in these dark and dismal times, and would
supersede Messrs Renwick, Shields, and all the curates in the country.
He had laid a visible ghost, that might be the devil for aught they knew
to the contrary; and it was argued on all hands, that "Davie was nae
sma' drink."
The whole of the simple group felt happy and grateful; and they agreed
to sit another hour or two before they went to sleep, and each one read
a chapter from the Bible, and recite a psalm or hymn. They did so, until
it came to Nanny's turn.
[Music: A Cameronian's Midnight Hymn.
O thou who dwell'st in the heavens high,
Above yon Stars and within yon Sky,
Where the dazzling fields never needed light,
Of the Sun by day nor the Moon by night,
Where the dazzling fields never needed light,
Of the Sun by day nor the Moon by night.
]
She laid her hands across each other on her breast, turned in the balls
of her half-closed eyes so that nothing was seen but the white, and,
with her face raised upwards, and a slow rocking motion, she sung the
following hymn, to a strain the most solemn that ever was heard. A scrap
of this ancient melody is still preserved, and here subjoined, for
without its effect the words are nothing.
O thou, who dwell'st in the heavens high,
Above yon stars, and within yon sky,
Where the dazzling fields never needed light
Of the sun by day, nor the moon by night!
Though shining millions around thee stand,
For the sake of one that's at thy right hand,
O think of them that have cost him dear,
Still chained in doubt and in darkness here!
Our night is dreary, and dim our day;
And if thou turn'st thy face away,
We are sinful, feeble, and helpless dust,
And have none to look to, and none to trust.
The powers of darkness are all abroad,
They own no Saviour, and fear no God;
And we are trembling in dumb dismay,
O turn not thus thy face away!
Our morning dawn is with clouds o'erspread,
And our evening fall is a bloody red;
And the groans are heard on the mountain swarth;
There is blood in heaven, and blood on earth.
A life of scorn for us thou did'st lead,
And in the grave laid thy blessed head;
Then think of those who undauntedly
Have laid down life and all for thee.
Thou wilt not turn them forth in wrath,
To walk this world of sin and death,
In shadowy dim deformity?
O God it may not--cannot be!
Thy aid, O mighty One, we crave!
Not shortened is thy arm to save.
Afar from thee we now sojourn
Return to us, O God, return!
This air, having a great resemblance to the tone and manner in which the
old Cameronians said, or rather sung their prayers, and just no more
music in it, as the singer will perceive, than what renders the
recitation more slow and solemn, Nanny's hymn affected the family group
in no ordinary degree; it made the hairs of their head creep, and
thrilled their simple hearts, easily impressed by divine things, while
their looks strongly expressed their feelings. None of them would read
or recite any thing farther, but entreated Nanny to say it over again,
affirming, with one voice that "it was an _extrodnar_ thing."
"Ah! dear, dear bairns! I dinna ken about it," said she; "he was a good
cannie lad that made it, but he mixed wi' the scoffers, and turned to
hae his doubts and his failings like mony ane, (Lord forgie us a' for
our share in them;) he seems even to have doubted o' the Omnipresence
when he penned that, which was far far wrang. I'll rather say ye ane on
that subject that he had made when in a better way o' thinking. It is
said that the Englishes sing it in their chapels."
She then attempted one in a bolder and more regular strain, but wanting
the simplicity of the former, it failed in having the same effect. As
it, however, closed the transactions of that momentous night at
Riskinhope, we shall with it close this long chapter.
Dweller in heaven and ruler below!
Fain would I know thee, yet tremble to know!
How can a mortal deem, how may it be,
That being can not be, but present with thee?
Is it true that thou saw'st me ere I saw the morn?
Is it true that thou knew'st me before I was born?
That nature must live in the light of thine eye?
This knowledge for me is too great and too high!
That fly I to noon-day, or fly I to night,
To shroud me in darkness, or bathe me in light,
The light and the darkness to thee are the same,
And still in thy presence of wonder I am?
Should I with the dove to the desert repair;
Or dwell with the eagle in clough of the air;
In the desart afar, on the mountain's wild brink,
From the eye of Omnipotence still must I shrink?
Or mount I on wings of the morning away
To caves of the ocean unseen by the day,
And hide in these uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there to be living and moving in thee?
Nay, scale I the cloud in the heavens to dwell;
Or make I my bed in the shadows of hell;
Can science expound, or humanity frame,
That still thou art present, and all are the same?
Yes, present for ever! Almighty--alone
Great Spirit of nature, unbounded, unknown!
What mind can embody thy presence divine?
I know not my own being! how can I thine?
Then humbly and low in the dust let me bend,
And adore what on earth I can ne'er comprehend;
The mountains may melt, and the elements flee,
Yet an universe still be rejoicing in thee!
END OF VOLUME FIRST.
EDINBURGH:
Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes
There is one page of music in the book; the html version of this
file has links to a midi file ([Listen]); the musical notation ([PDF]);
and and a MusicXML file ([XML]), which can be viewed in most browsers,
text editors, and music notation applications.
The book has no chapter VII and two chapters XII.
A duplicate heading before chapter one ("THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK") has
been removed.
The following are inconsistently used in the text:
Quave Brae and Quave-Brae
meantime and mean time
day-light and daylight
eye-brow and eyebrow
moon-light and moonlight
way-laid and waylaid
M'Leadle and MacLeadle
Tallo-Lins and Tallo-Linns
cleuch-brae and Cleuch-brae
Clark and Clerk
Clavers and Claverhouse
Obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been corrected as follows:
p. 30 "Several witnessess" changed to "Several witnesses"
p. 43 "'Now, billies, says I, ye" changed to "'Now, billies,' says
I, 'ye"
p. 43 "gar ye speak." changed to "gar ye speak.'"
p. 44 "shabbles o' swords!"" changed to "shabbles o' swords!'"
p. 44 "light o'the truth" changed to "light o' the truth"
p. 56 (note) "Christ in Scotland_. It is dated" changed to "Christ in
Scotland_." It is dated"
p. 131 "proffers proved alike in vain" changed to "proffers proved
alike in vain."
p. 145 "the everlasting Covenant," changed to "the everlasting
Covenant,'"
p. 160 "night-time, beats a,'" changed to "night-time, beats a',"
p. 161 "cried Maron,"--"Dear" changed to "cried Maron,--"Dear"
p. 211 "power to make a handle o" changed to "power to make a
handle o'"
p. 217 "appresion" changed to "apprehension"
p. 243 "head the creature, man,'" changed to "head the creature, man,""
p. 275 "to be eiry for him."" changed to "to be eiry for him."
Some possible errors have been left unchanged:
p. 189 "had for sometime been hopping down"
p. 196 "further precedure soon"