proceeding farther into the thicket by a scarce visible footpath. "The
horses canna follow us here unless they hae the legs an' airms o'
puggies. As for the men, they'd have to cut a track to let their big
boots pass. We may tak' it easy, for they're uncommon slow at loadin'."
In a few minutes the two friends were beyond all danger. Returning then
to the road about a mile farther on, they continued to journey until
they had left the scene of the great communion far behind them, and when
day dawned they retired to a dense thicket in a hollow by the banks of a
little burn, and there rested till near sunset, when the journey was
resumed. That night they experienced considerable delay owing to the
intense darkness. Towards dawn the day following Quentin Dick led his
companion into a wild, thickly-wooded place which seemed formed by
nature as a place of refuge for a hunted creature--whether man or beast.
Entering the mouth of what seemed to be a cavern, he bade his companion
wait. Presently a sound, as of the cry of some wild bird, was heard.
It was answered by a similar cry in the far distance. Soon after the
shepherd returned, and, taking his companion by the hand, led him into
the cave which, a few paces from its mouth, was profoundly dark. Almost
immediately a glimmering light appeared. A few steps farther, and
Wallace found himself in the midst of an extraordinary scene.
The cavern at its inner extremity was an apartment of considerable size,
and the faint light of a few lanterns showed that the place was clouded
by smoke from a low fire of wood that burned at the upper end. Here,
standing, seated, and reclining, were assembled all sorts and conditions
of men--some in the prime and vigour of life; some bowed with the weight
of years; others, both young and old, gaunt and haggard from the
influence of disease and suffering, and many giving evidence by their
aspect that their days on earth were numbered. Some, by the stern
contraction of brow and lip, seemed to suggest that submission was the
last thought that would enter their minds, but not a few of the party
wore that look of patient endurance which is due to the influence of the
Spirit of God--not to mere human strength of mind and will. All seemed
to be famishing for want of food, while ragged clothes, shaggy beards,
hollow cheeks, and unkempt locks told eloquently of the long years of
bodily and mental suffering which had been endured under ruthless
persecution.
CHAPTER FIVE.
RISKS AND REFUGES.
Immediately on entering the cave in which this party of Covenanters had
found a temporary shelter, Will Wallace learned the reason of the large
supply of provisions which he and his comrade had carried.
"I've brought this for ye frae Andrew Black," said Quentin, taking the
wallet from his shoulder and presenting it to a man in clerical costume
who advanced to welcome him. "He thought ye might stand in need o'
victuals."
"Ever thoughtful of his friends; I thank him heartily," said the
minister, accepting the wallet--as also that handed to him by Wallace.
"Andrew is a true helper of the persecuted; and I thank the Lord who has
put it into his heart to supply us at a time when our provisions are
well-nigh exhausted. Our numbers have been unexpectedly increased by
the arrival of some of the unfortunates recently expelled from Lanark."
"From Lanark!" echoed Wallace as he glanced eagerly round on the forlorn
throng. "Can you tell me, sir, if a Mr. David Spence and a Mrs. Wallace
have arrived from that quarter?"
"I have not heard of them," returned the minister, as he emptied the
wallets and began to distribute their contents to those around
him.--"Ah, here is milk--I'm glad our friend Black thought of that, for
we have a poor dying woman here who can eat nothing solid. Here,
Webster, take it to her."
With a sudden sinking at the heart Wallace followed the man to whom the
milk had been given. Might not this dying woman, he thought, be his own
mother? True, he had just been told that no one with her name had yet
sought refuge there; but, there was a bare possibility and--anxiety does
not reason! As he crossed to a spot where several persons were bending
over a couch of straw, a tremendous clap of thunder shook the solid
walls of the cavern. This was immediately followed by a torrent of
rain, the plashing of which outside suggested that all the windows of
heaven had been suddenly opened. The incident was natural enough in
itself, but the anxious youth took it as a bad omen, and trembled as he
had never before trembled at the disturbances of nature. One glance,
however, sufficed to relieve his mind. The dying woman was young.
Delicate of constitution by nature, long exposure to damp air in caves,
and cold beds on the ground, with bad and insufficient food, had sealed
her doom. Lying there, with hollow cheeks, eyes closed and lips deathly
pale, it seemed as if the spirit had already fled.
"Oh, my ain Lizzie!" cried a poor woman who knelt beside her.
"Wheesht, mither," whispered the dying woman, slowly opening her eyes;
"it is the Lord's doing--shall not the Judge of a' the earth do right?
We'll understand it a' some day--for ever wi' the Lord!"
The last words were audible only to the mother's ear. Food for the
body, even if it could have availed her, came too late. Another moment
and she was in the land where hunger and thirst are unknown--where the
wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.
The mourners were still standing in silence gazing on the dead, when a
loud noise and stamping of feet was heard at the entrance of the cave.
Turning round they saw several drenched and haggard persons enter, among
them a man supporting--almost carrying--a woman whose drooping figure
betokened great exhaustion.
"Thank you, O thank you; I--I'm better now," said the woman, looking up
with a weary yet grateful expression at her protector.
Will Wallace sprang forward as he heard the voice. "Mother! mother!" he
cried, and, next moment, he had her in his arms.
The excitement coupled with extreme fatigue was almost too much for the
poor woman. She could not speak, but, with a sigh of contentment,
allowed her head to fall upon the broad bosom of her son.
Accustomed as those hunted people were to scenes of suffering, wild
despair, and sometimes, though not often, to bursts of sudden joy, this
incident drew general attention and sympathy--except, indeed, from the
mother of the dead woman, whose poor heart was for the moment stunned.
Several women--one of whom was evidently a lady of some position--
crowded to Will's assistance, and conveyed Mrs. Wallace to a recess in
the cave which was curtained off. Here they gave her food, and changed
her soaking garments. Meanwhile her brother, David Spence--a
grand-looking old man of gentle manners and refined mind--gave his
nephew an account of the manner in which they had been driven from their
home.
"What is the matter with your hands, uncle?" asked Will, observing that
both were bandaged.
"They tried the thumbscrews on me," said Spence with a pitiful smile,
glancing at his injured members. "They wanted to force me to sign the
Bond, which I declined to do--first, because it required me to perform
impossibilities; and, second, because it was such as no Government in
the world has a right to exact or freeman to sign. They were going to
put the boot on me at first, but the officer in command ordered them to
try the thumbscrews. This was lucky, for a man may get along with
damaged thumbs, but it would have been hard to travel with crippled
legs! I held out though, until the pain became so great that I couldn't
help giving a tremendous yell. This seemed to touch the officer with
pity, for he ordered his men to let me be. Soon afterwards your mother
and I managed to give them the slip, and we came on here."
"But why came you here, uncle?" asked Will.
"Because I don't want to be taken to Edinburgh and hanged. Besides,
after hearing of your temporary settlement with Black, I thought the
safest place for your mother would be beside yourself."
When Wallace explained the cause of his own journey, and the condition
of the district around Black's farm, the plans of David Spence had to be
altered. He resolved, after consideration and prayer, to take to the
mountains and remain in hiding, while Mrs. Wallace should go to
Edinburgh, as already planned, and live with Mrs. Black.
"But it will never do to take her along with yourself, Will," said
Spence. "She cannot walk a step farther. We must try to get her a
horse, and let her journey along with some o' the armed bands that
attended the conventicle at Skeoch Hill. They will be sure to be
returning this way in a day or two."
"You are right," said the minister who has already been introduced, and
who overheard the concluding remark as he came forward. "The armed men
will be passing this way in a day or two, and we will take good care of
your mother, young sir, while she remains with us."
"Just so," rejoined Spence. "I'll see to that; so, nephew, you and your
comrade Quentin may continue your journey with easy minds. You'll need
all your caution to avoid being taken up and convicted, for the tyrants
are in such a state of mind just now that if a man only _looks_
independent they suspect him, and there is but a short road between
suspicion and the gallows now."
"Humph! we'll be as innocent-lookin' an' submissive as bairns," remarked
Quentin Dick, with a grim smile on his lips and a frown on his brow that
were the reverse of childlike.
Convinced that Spence's arrangement for his mother's safety was the best
in the circumstances, Wallace left her, though somewhat reluctantly, in
the care of the outlawed Covenanters, and resumed his journey with the
shepherd after a few hours' rest.
Proceeding with great caution, they succeeded in avoiding the soldiers
who scoured the country until, towards evening, while crossing a rising
ground they were met suddenly by two troopers. A thicket and bend in
the road had, up to that moment, concealed them from view. Level
grass-fields bordered the road on either side, so that successful flight
was impossible.
"Wull ye fecht?" asked Quentin, in a quick subdued voice.
"Of course I will," returned Wallace.
"Ca' canny at first, then. Be humble an' _awfu'_ meek, till I say
`_Noo_!'"
The troopers were upon them almost as soon as this was uttered.
"Ho! my fine fellows," exclaimed one of them, riding up to Quentin with
drawn sword, "fanatics, I'll be bound. Where from and where away now?"
"We come, honoured sir, frae Irongray, an' we're gaun to Ed'nbury t' buy
cattle," answered Quentin with downcast eyes.
"Indeed, oho! then you must needs have the cash wherewith to buy the
cattle. Where is it?"
"In ma pooch," said the shepherd with a deprecating glance at his
pocket.
"Hand it over, then, my good fellow. Fanatics are not allowed to have
money or to purchase cattle nowadays."
"But, honoured sir, we're no fannyteeks. We're honest shepherds."
The lamb-like expression of Quentin Dick's face as he said this was such
that Wallace had considerable difficulty in restraining an outburst of
laughter, despite their critical position. He maintained his gravity,
however, and firmly grasped his staff, which, like that of his
companion, was a blackthorn modelled somewhat on the pattern of the club
of Hercules.
"Here, Melville," said the first trooper, "hold my horse while I ease
this `honest shepherd' of his purse."
Sheathing his sword, he drew a pistol from its holster, and, handing the
reins to his companion, dismounted.
"NOO!" exclaimed Quentin, bringing his staff down on the trooper's iron
headpiece with a terrific thwack. Like a flash of lightning the club of
Wallace rang and split upon that of the other horseman, who fell
headlong to the ground.
Strong arms have seldom occasion to repeat a well-delivered blow. While
the soldiers lay prone upon the road their startled horses galloped back
the way they had come.
"That's unfort'nit," said Quentin. "Thae twa look like an
advance-gaird, an' if so, the main body'll no be lang o' gallopin' up to
see what's the maitter. It behoves us to rin!"
The only port of refuge that appeared to them as they looked quickly
round was a clump of trees on a ridge out of which rose the spire of a
church.
"The kirk's but a puir sanctuary nooadays," remarked the shepherd, as he
set off across the fields at a quick run, "but it's oor only chance."
They had not quite gained the ridge referred to when the danger that
Quentin feared overtook them. A small company of dragoons was seen
galloping along the road.
"We may gain the wood before they see us," suggested Will Wallace.
"If it _was_ a wud I wadna care for the sodgers," replied his comrade,
"but it's only a bit plantation. We'll jist mak' for the manse an' hide
if we can i' the coal-hole or some place."
As he spoke a shout from the troopers told that they had been seen, and
several of them leaving the road dashed across the field in pursuit.
Now, it chanced that at that quiet evening hour the young curate of the
district, the Reverend Frank Selby, was enjoying a game of quoits with a
neighbouring curate, the Reverend George Lawless, on a piece of ground
at the rear of the manse. The Reverend Frank was a genial Lowlander of
the muscular type. The Reverend George was a renegade Highland-man of
the cadaverous order. The first was a harum-scarum young pastor with a
be-as-jolly-as-you-can spirit, and had accepted his office at the
recommendation of a relative in power. The second was a mean-spirited
wolf in sheep's clothing, who, like his compatriot Archbishop Sharp, had
sold his kirk and country as well as his soul for what he deemed some
personal advantage. As may well be supposed, neither of those curates
was a shining light in the ministry.
"Missed again! I find it as hard to beat you, Lawless, as I do to get
my parishioners to come to church," exclaimed the Reverend Frank with a
good-humoured laugh as his quoit struck the ground and, having been
badly thrown, rolled away.
"That's because you treat your quoits carelessly, as you treat your
parishioners," returned the Reverend George, as he made a magnificent
throw and ringed the tee.
"Bravo! that's splendid!" exclaimed Selby.
"Not bad," returned Lawless. "You see, you want more decision with the
throw--as with the congregation. If you will persist in refusing to
report delinquents and have them heavily fined or intercommuned, you
must expect an empty church. Mine is fairly full just now, and I have
weeded out most of the incorrigibles."
"I will never increase my congregation by such means, and I have no wish
to weed out the incorrigibles," rejoined Selby, becoming grave as he
made another and a better throw.
At that moment our fugitive shepherds, dashing round the corner of the
manse, almost plunged into the arms of the Reverend Frank Selby. They
pulled up, panting and uncertain how to act.
"You seem in haste, friends," said the curate, with an urbane smile.
"Oot o' the fryin'-pan into the fire!" growled Quentin, grasping his
staff and setting his teeth.
"If you will condescend to explain the frying-pan I may perhaps relieve
you from the fire," said Selby with emphasis.
Wallace observed the tone and grasped at the forlorn hope.
"The dragoons are after us, sir," he said eagerly; "unless you can hide
us we are lost!"
"If you are honest men," interrupted the Reverend George Lawless, with
extreme severity of tone and look, "you have no occasion to hide--"
"Bub we're _not_ honest men," interrupted Quentin in a spirit of almost
hilarious desperation, "we're fannyteeks,--rebels,--Covenanters,--born
eediots--"
"Then," observed Lawless, with increasing austerity, "you richly
deserve--"
"George!" said the Reverend Frank sharply, "you are in my parish just
now, and I expect you to respect my wishes. Throw your plaids, sticks,
and bonnets behind that bush, my lads--well out of sight--so. Now, cast
your coats, and join us in our game."
The fugitives understood and swiftly obeyed him. While they were
hastily stripping off their coats Selby took his brother curate aside,
and, looking him sternly in the face, said--"Now, George Lawless, if you
by word or look interfere with my plans, I will give you cause to repent
it to the latest day of your life."
If any one had seen the countenance of the Reverend George at that
moment he would have observed that it became suddenly clothed with an
air of meekness that was by no means attractive.
At the time we write of, any curate might, with the assistance of the
soldiers, fine whom he pleased, and as much as he pleased, or he might,
by reporting a parishioner an absentee from public worship, consign him
or her to prison, or even to the gallows. But though all the curates
were in an utterly false position they were not all equally depraved.
Selby was one who felt more or less of shame at the contemptible part he
was expected to play.
When the troopers came thundering round the corner of the manse a few
minutes later, Quentin Dick, in his shirt sleeves, was in the act of
making a beautiful throw, and Will Wallace was watching him with
interest. Even the Reverend George seemed absorbed in the game, for he
felt that the eyes of the Reverend Frank were upon him.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," said the officer in command of the soldiers,
"did you see two shepherds run past here?"
"No," answered the Reverend Frank with a candid smile, "I saw no
shepherds run past here."
"Strange!" returned the officer, "they seemed to enter your shrubbery
and to disappear near the house."
"Did you see the path that diverges to the left and takes down to the
thicket in the hollow?" asked Selby.
"Yes, I did, but they seemed to have passed that when we lost sight of
them."
"Let me advise you to try it now," said Selby.
"I will," replied the officer, wheeling his horse round and galloping
off, followed by his men.
"Now, friends, I have relieved you from the fire, as I promised," said
the Reverend Frank, turning to the shepherds; "see that you don't get
into the frying-pan again. Whether you deserve hanging or not is best
known to yourselves. To say truth, you don't look like it, but, judging
from appearance, I should think that in these times you're not unlikely
to get it. On with your coats and plaids and be off as fast as you
can--over the ridge yonder. In less than half-an-hour you'll be in
Denman's Dean, where a regiment of cavalry would fail to catch you."
"We shall never forget you--"
"There, there," interrupted the Reverend Frank, "be off. The troopers
will soon return. I've seen more than enough of hanging, quartering,
and shooting to convince me that Presbytery is not to be rooted out, nor
Prelacy established, by such means. Be off, I say!"
Thus urged, the fugitives were not slow to avail themselves of the
opportunity, and soon were safe in Denman's Dean.
"Now, Lawless," said the Reverend Frank in a cheerful tone, "my
conscience, which has been depressed of late, feels easier this evening.
Let us go in to supper; and _remember_ that no one knows about this
incident except you--and I. So, there's no chance of its going
further."
"The two rebels know it," suggested Lawless.
"No, they don't!" replied the other airily. "They have quite forgotten
it by this time, and even if it should recur to memory their own
interest and gratitude would seal their lips--so we're quite safe, you
and I; quite safe--come along."
Our travellers met with no further interruption until they reached
Edinburgh. It was afternoon when they arrived, and, entering by the
road that skirts the western base of the Castle rock, proceeded towards
the Grassmarket.
Pushing through the crowd gathered in that celebrated locality, Quentin
and Wallace ascended the steep street named Candlemaker Row, which led
and still leads to the high ground that has since been connected with
the High Street by George the Fourth Bridge. About half-way up the
ascent they came to a semicircular projection which encroached somewhat
on the footway. It contained a stair which led to the interior of one
of the houses. Here was the residence of Mrs. Black, the mother of our
friend Andrew. The good woman was at home, busily engaged with her
knitting needles, when her visitors entered.
A glance sufficed to show Wallace whence Andrew Black derived his grave,
quiet, self-possessed character, as well as his powerful frame and
courteous demeanour.
She received Quentin Dick, to whom she was well known, with a mixture of
goodwill and quiet dignity.
"I've brought a freend o' Mr. Black's to bide wi' ye for a wee while, if
ye can take him in," said Quentin, introducing his young companion as
"Wull Wallace."
"I'm prood to receive an' welcome ony freend o' my boy Andry," returned
the good woman, with a slight gesture that would have become a duchess.
"Ay, an' yer son wants ye to receive Wallace's mither as weel. She'll
likely be here in a day or twa. She's been sair persecooted of late,
puir body, for she's a staunch upholder o' the Covenants."
There have been several Covenants in Scotland, the most important
historically being the National Covenant of 1638, and the Solemn League
and Covenant of 1643. It was to these that Quentin referred, and to
these that he and the great majority of the Scottish people clung with
intense, almost superstitious veneration; and well they might, for these
Covenants--which some enthusiasts had signed with their blood--contained
nearly all the principles which lend stability and dignity to a people--
such as a determination to loyally stand by and "defend the King," and
"the liberties and laws of the kingdom," to have before the eyes "the
glory of God, the advancement of the kingdom of our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ, the honour and happiness of the King and his posterity, as
well as the safety and peace of the people; to preserve the rights and
privileges of Parliament, so that arbitrary and unlimited power should
never be suffered to fall into the hands of rulers, and to vindicate and
maintain the liberties of the subjects in all these things which concern
their consciences, persons, and estates." In short, it was a testimony
for constitutional government in opposition to absolutism.
Such were the principles for which Mrs. Black contended with a
resolution equal, if not superior, to that of her stalwart son; so that
it was in a tone of earnest decision that she assured her visitors that
nothing would gratify her more than to receive a woman who had suffered
persecution for the sake o' the Master an' the Covenants. She then
ushered Wallace and Quentin Dick into her little parlour--a humble but
neatly kept apartment, the back window of which--a hole not much more
than two feet square--commanded a view of the tombstones and monuments
of Greyfriars' Churchyard.
CHAPTER SIX.
TELLS OF OVERWHELMING REVERSES.
Mrs. Black was a woman of sedate character and considerable knowledge
for her station in life--especially in regard to Scripture. Like her
son she was naturally grave and thoughtful, with a strong tendency to
analyse, and to inquire into the nature and causes of things. Unlike
Andrew, however, all her principles and her creed were fixed and well
defined--at least in her own mind, for she held it to be the bounden
duty of every Christian to be ready at all times to give a "reason" for
the hope that is in him, as well as for every opinion that he holds.
Her natural kindness was somewhat concealed by slight austerity of
manner.
She was seated, one evening, plying her ever active needle, at the same
small window which overlooked the churchyard. The declining sun was
throwing dark shadows across the graves. A ray of it gleamed on a
corner of the particular tombstone which, being built against her house,
slightly encroached upon her window. No one was with the old woman save
a large cat, to whom she was in the habit of addressing occasional
remarks of a miscellaneous nature, as if to relieve the tedium of
solitude with the fiction of intercourse.
"Ay, pussie," she said, "ye may weel wash yer face an' purr, for there's
nae fear o' _you_ bein' dragged before Airchbishop Sherp to hae yer
thoombs screwed, or yer legs squeezed in the--"
She stopped abruptly, for heavy footsteps were heard on the spiral
stair, and next moment Will Wallace entered.