LONDON
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO
GLASGOW: THOMAS B. MORISON
1920
*CONTENTS.*
A Tale of Bothwell Bridge
The Laird of Culzean
Peden's Stone
The Murder of Inchdarnie
The Laird of Lag
The Sutor's Seat
*INTRODUCTION.*
The kings of old have shrine and tomb
In many a minster's haughty gloom;
And green along the ocean's side
The mounds arise where heroes died;
But show me on thy flowery breast.
Earth! where thy nameless martyrs rest!
The thousands that, uncheer'd by praise,
Have made one offering of their days;
For Truth, for Heaven, for Freedom's sake.
Resigned the bitter cup to take;
And silently, in fearless faith,
Bowing their noble souls to death.
Where sleep they, Earth?--by no proud stone
Their narrow couch of rest is known;
The still, sad glory of their name
Hallows no mountain into fame.
No--not a tree the record bears
Of their deep thoughts and lonely prayers.
Yet haply all around lie strew'd
The ashes of that multitude.
It may be that each day we tread
Where thus devoted hearts have bled;
And the young flowers our children sow
Take root in holy dust below.
O, that the many rustling leaves,
Which round our home the summer weaves,
Or that the streams, in whose glad voice
Our own familiar paths rejoice,
Might whisper through the starry sky,
To tell where those blest slumberers lie
Would not our inmost Hearts be thrill'd
With notice of their presence fill'd,
And by its breathings taught to prize
The meekness of self-sacrifice?--
But the old woods and sounding waves
Are silent of these hidden graves.
Yet, what if no light footstep there
In pilgrim love and awe repair.
So let it be!--like him whose clay,
Deep buried by his Maker lay.
They sleep in secret--but their sod,
Unknown to man, is marked of God!
Mrs. Hemans.
Scotland is indeed a land of romance. Her mouldering ruins are linked
with legends and historical associations which must ever enhance their
interest in the eyes of those who love to gaze on these the
Standing mementos of another age;
and the pages of her history teem with deeds of chivalry and renown that
have won for Scotland a mighty name. Thus, while the annals of our
country are emblazoned with the deathless names of those mighty heroes
who fought and bled in defence of her freedom from spiritual bondage,
the nameless mound, or simple cairn of stones, still to be met with on
the solitary heath or sequestered dell, marks the spot where rests some
humble champion of her religious liberties.
Although three hundred years have passed away--marked in their flight by
great and startling events--since the reign of persecution in Scotland,
yet the hearts of her peasantry cling with fondness to the remembrance
of those hallowed days sealed by the blood of her faithful martyrs.
Still is the name of Claverhouse execrated by them, and the story of
"John Brown" is related from children to children while seated around
the cottage hearth, in illustration of the lawless doings of the
Covenanters' foes.
It must strike the mind of every unprejudiced observer, who reads the
various histories of that stirring time, that the shocking and barbarous
cruelties practised on the defenders of the Covenant by their relentless
enemies, will ever remain a stain on the memories of those who
countenanced or took an active part in such proceedings. Scarcely is
there a churchyard extant in Scotland, laying claim to antiquity, that
does not contain one or more stones, the half-obliterated inscriptions
of which attest the fact, that underneath lies some poor victim of
persecuting zeal.
Having lately visited different parts of Scotland intimately connected
with many of the events which took place at that memorable time, I
experienced an inexpressible satisfaction in the reception I met with at
the different farm-houses in the neighbourhood, and hearing from the
lips of their simple inhabitants the story of the cruel wrongs inflicted
on the Covenanters in the days of their persecution.
During these pleasant wanderings, I gathered information sufficient to
furnish the Tales contained in the present volume, in which the reader
will, I trust, find much that is calculated to awaken fresh interest in
those benefactors of our country, whose magnanimity and patient
endurance were worthy of all praise, and who, for the cause of Christ
and his Crown, laid down their lives on the scaffold or amidst the
burning faggots.
*THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS.*
*A TALE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE.*
While staying at ----, in the parish of W----, I discovered that a
standard, borne by the Covenanters at Bothwell Bridge, was still to be
seen at the farm of Westcroft. Being very desirous of viewing this
interesting relic, I set off one fine morning in the hope of obtaining a
glimpse of the time-honoured banner. On reaching the village of H----,
which lay on my way, I observed a very portly-looking woman standing by
the side of the road, apparently enjoying the grateful breeze, as she
looked east and then west, evidently in search of something amusing or
exciting. Being now somewhat at a loss in what direction to turn my
steps, I crossed over to where she was standing, in the expectation of
obtaining from her the requisite information, when the following
dialogue ensued:--
"Would you be so kind as to tell me the way to Westcroft?"
"That I will. I'll just go wi' you a step or two and show you the farm
itsel'. But what are ye wanting at Westcroft, if I may ask the
question?"
"I wish to see Mr. Anderson, as I understand he has got a standard that
was borne at Bothwell Bridge."
"He has that--he has that; but it's often away frae hame, ta'en to
Glasgow and the like, for ye see it's something to say, a body has seen
the like o' that."
"From what I have heard, this seems to have been a great part of the
country for the Covenanters to take refuge in."
"'Deed an' it was, but for my part I dinna ken much _aboot_ them; my
brother, again, was a great _antiquarian_, and rale ta'en up about these
auld affairs."
"Does he live near here?"
"Oh! mam, he's dead;" and after a short pause added, "Now, you see that
white house forenent the road?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's Westcroft; and if Willie Anderson be at hame, ye'll get
plenty o' cracks about the Covenanters, for he has lots o' bees in his
bonnet, him."
After thanking the good humoured dame for her information--upon which
she replied I was welcome--I turned up the path leading to Westcroft.
In answer to my request to see Mr. Anderson, I was informed he was in
the fields; but that Mrs. A. was within, upon which a very
intelligent-looking woman came forward, and, on my expressing a wish to
see the standard, desired me to come ben, and I should have a sight o'
the colours.
Following the mistress of the house, I was speedily ushered into a tidy
little room, the walls of which were adorned with pictures, the most
striking of which was one entitled "The Guardsman's Farewell,"
representing a gallant son of Mars in a most gorgeous uniform, on
horseback, taking leave of a stout woman, attired in a yellow
polka-jacket and a crimson petticoat, who was gazing upwards in the face
of the departing soldier, with a look of agony impossible to describe.
"Here are the colours!" and, as she spoke, Mrs. A. produced from a
drawer on old piece of linen covered with stains as dark as those
exhibited in Holyrood--the surface of which displayed unmistakable
bullet-holes, and bearing the following inscription in large red
letters:--
"For the parish of Shotts,
For Reformation of Church and State;
According to the Word of God, and
Our Covenants."
Above was the thistle of Scotland, surmounted by a crown and an open
Bible.
And this standard was borne at Bothwell Bridge! How my thoughts reverted
to that fearful time, when the plains of Scotland resounded with the
cries of the wounded and the oppressed; when men, embittered by party
spirit and misguided zeal, wrought deeds of cruelty and shame, over
which angels well might weep; when fathers were murdered in presence of
their wives and children; and the widow slain while weeping over the
dead body of her husband!
In thought I was traversing the bloody plains of Bothwell, when----but
here I must present the reader with an account of that fearful fight, as
related by the Laird of Orfort to his brother, while standing on the
spot where was fought the last battle against the enemies of the good
old cause:--
"On that moor," said the Laird, who, after a long silence, and without
being conscious of it, by a kind of instinct, natural enough to a
soldier, had drawn his sword, and was pointing with it. "On that moor
the enemy first formed under Monmouth. There, on the right, Clavers led
on the Life Guards, breaching fury, and resolute to wipe off the
disgrace of the affair of Drumclog. Dalziel formed his men on that
knoll. Lord Livingstone led the van of the foemen. We had taken care to
have Bothwell Bridge strongly secured by a barricade, and our little
battery of cannon was planted on that spot below us, in order to sweep
the bridge. And we did rake it. The foemen's blood streamed there.
Again and again the troops of the tyrant marched on, and our cannon
annihilated their columns. Sir Robert Hamilton was our
commander-in-chief. The gallant General Hackston stood on that spot with
his brave men. Along the river, and above the bridge, Burley's foot and
Captain Nisbet's dragoons were stationed. For one hour we kept the
enemy in check; they were defeated in every attempt to cross the Clyde.
Livingstone sent another strong column to storm the bridge. I shall
never forget the effect of one fire from our battery, where my men
stood. We saw the line of the foe advance in all the military glory of
brave and beautiful men--the horses pranced--the armour gleamed. In one
moment nothing was seen but a shocking mass of mortality. Human limbs
and the bodies and limbs of horses were mingled in one huge heap, or
blown to a great distance. Another column attempted to cross above the
bridge. Some threw themselves into the current. One well-directed fire
from Burley's troops threw them into disorder, and drove them back.
Meantime, while we were thus warmly engaged, Hamilton was labouring to
bring down the different divisions of our main body into action; but in
vain he called on Colonel Clelland's troop--in vain he ordered
Henderson's to fall in--in vain he called on Colonel Fleming's.
Hackston flew from troop to troop--all was confusion; in vain he
besought, he entreated, he threatened. Our disputes and fiery misguided
zeal, my brother, contracted a deep and deadly guilt that day.
"The Whig turned his arm in fierce hate that day against his own vitals.
Our chaplains, Cargil, and King, and Kid, and Douglas interposed again
and again. Cargil mounted the pulpit he preached concord; he called
aloud for mutual forbearance. 'Behold the banners of the enemy!' cried
he, 'hear ye not the fire of the foe, and of our own brethren? Our
brothers and fathers are falling beneath the sword! Hasten to their
aid! See the flag of the Covenant! See the motto in letters of
gold--"Christ's Crown and the Covenant." Hear the voice of your weeping
country! Hear the wailings fof the bleeding Kirk! Banish discord; and
let us, as a band of brothers, present a bold front to the foeman!
Follow me, all ye who love your country and the Covenant! I go to die
in the fore-front of the battle!' All the ministers and officers
followed him--amidst a flourish of trumpets--but the great body remained
to listen to the harangues of the factions. We sent again and again for
ammunition. My men were at the last round. Treachery, or a fatal
error, had sent a barrel of raisins instead of powder![#] My heart sank
within me--while I beheld the despair on the faces of my brave
fellows--as I struck out the head of the vessel. Hackston called his
officers to him. We throw ourselves around him. 'What must be done?'
said he, in an agony of despair. 'Conquer or die,' we said, as if with
one voice. 'We have our swords yet.' 'Lead back the men, then, to
their places, and let the ensign bear down the blue and scarlet colours.
Our God and our country be the word,' Hackston rushed forward. We ran
to our respective corps; we cheered our men, but they were languid and
dispirited. Their ammunition was nearly expended, and they seemed
anxious to husband what remained. They fought only with their
carabines. The cannons could no more be loaded. The enemy soon
perceived this. We saw a troop of horse approach the bridge. It was
that of the Life Guards; I recognised the plume of Clavers. They
approached in rapid march. A solid column of infantry followed. I sent
a request to Captain Nisbet to join his troops to mine. He was in an
instant with us. We charged the Life Guards. Our swords rang on their
steel caps.--Many of my brave lads fell on all sides of me. But we
hewed down the foe. They began to reel. The whole column was kept
stationary on the bridge. Clavers' dreadful voice was heard--more like
the yell of a savage than the commanding voice of a soldier. He pushed
forward his men, and again we hewed them down. A third mass was pushed
up. Our exhausted dragoons fled. Unsupported, I found myself by the
brave Nisbet, and Paton, and Hackston. We looked for a moment's space
in silence on each other. We galloped in front of our retreating men.
We rallied them. We pointed to the General almost alone. We pointed to
the white and scarlet colours floating near him. We cried, 'God and our
country!' They faced about. We charged Clavers once more. 'Torfoot,'
cried Nisbet, 'I dare you to the fore-front of the battle.' We rushed
up at full gallop. Our men seeing this, followed also at full speed.
We broke the enemy's line, bearing down those files which we
encountered. We cut our way through their ranks. But they had now
lengthened their front. Superior numbers drove us in. They had gained
entire possession of the bridge. Livingstone and Dalziel were actually
taking us on the flank. A band had got between us and Burley's
infantry. 'My friends,' said Hackston to his officers, 'we are last on
the field. We can do no more. We must retreat. Let us attempt, at
least, to bring aid to these deluded men behind us. They have brought
ruin on themselves and on us. Not Monmouth, but our own divisions have
scattered us.' At this moment, one of the Life Guards aimed a blow at
Hackston. My sword received it; and a stroke from Nisbet laid the
foeman's hand and sword in the dust. He fainted and tumbled from the
saddle. We reined our horses, and galloped to our main body. But what
a scene presented itself here! These misguided men had their eyes now
fully open to their own errors. The enemy were bringing up their whole
force against them. I was not long a near spectator of it; for a ball
grazed my courser. He plunged and reared, then shot off like an arrow.
Several of our officers drew to the same place. On a knoll we faced
about; the battle raged below us. We beheld our commander doing
everything that a brave soldier could do with factious men against an
overpowering foe. Burley and his troops were in close conflict with
Clavers' dragoons. We saw him dismount three troopers with his own
hand. He could not turn the tide of battle; but he was covering the
retreat of these misguided men. Before we could rejoin him, a party
threw themselves in our way. Hennoway, one of Clavers' officers, led
them on. 'Would to God that this was Grahame himself,' some of my
companions ejaculated aloud. 'He falls to my share,' said I, 'whosver
the officer be.' I advanced--he met me. I parried several thrusts. He
received a cut on the left arm; and the same sword, by the same stroke,
shore off one of the horse's ears; it plunged and reared. We closed
again. I received a stroke on the left shoulder. My blow fell on his
sword arm. He reined his horse around, retreated a few paces, then
returned at full gallop. My courser reared instinctively as his
approached. I received his stroke on the back of my Ferrar; and, by a
back stroke, I gave him a deep cut on the cheek. And, before he could
recover a position of defence, my sword fell with a terrible blow on his
steel cap. Stunned by the blow, he bent himself forward, and, grasping
the mane, he tumbled from the saddle, and his steed galloped over the
field. I did not repeat the blow. His left hand presented his sword;
his right arm was disabled; his life was given to him. My companions
having disposed of their adversaries (and some of them had two a-piece),
we paused to see the fate of the battle. Dalziel and Livingstone were
riding over the field, like furies, cutting down all in their way.
Monmouth was galloping from rank to rank, and calling on his men to give
quarter. Clavers, to wipe off the disgrace of Drumclog, was committing
fearful havoc. 'Can we not find Clavers?' said Haugh-head. 'No,' said
Captain Paton, 'the gallant Colonel takes care to have a solid guard of
his rogues around him. I have sought him over the field; but I found
him, as I now perceive him, with a mass of his Guards about him.' At
this instant we saw our General at some distance, disentangling himself
from the men who had tumbled over him in the mele. His face, and hands,
and clothes, were covered with gore. He had been dismounted, and was
fighting on foot. We rushed to the spot, and cheered him. Our party
drove back the scattered band of Dalziel. 'My friends,' said Sir
Robert, as we mounted him on a stray horse, 'the day is lost! But--you,
Paton; you, Brownlee of Torfoot; and you, Haugh-head, let not that flag
fall into the hands of these incarnate devils. We have lost the battle;
but, by the grace of God, neither Dalziel nor Clavers shall say that he
took our colours. My ensign has done his duty. He is down. This sword
has saved it twice. I leave it to your care: you see its perilous
situation.' He pointed with his sword to the spot. We collected some
of our scattered troops, and flew to the place. The standard-bearer was
down, but he was still fearlessly grasping the flag-staff; while he was
borne uprightly by the mass of men who had thrown themselves in fierce
contest around it. Its well-known blue scarlet colours, and its motto,
Christ's Crown and Covenant, in brilliant gold letters, inspired us with
a sacred enthusiasm. We gave a loud cheer to the wounded ensign, and
rushed into the combat. The redemption of that flag cost the foe many a
gallant man. They fell beneath our broad swords, and with horrible
execrations dying on their lips, they gave up their souls to their
Judge. Here I met in front that ferocious dragoon of Clavers, named Tom
Kalliday, who had more than once, in his raids, plundered my halls, and
had snatched the bread from my weeping babes. He had just seized the
white staff of the flag. But his tremendous oath of exultation had
scarcely passed its polluted threshold, when this Andro Ferrara fell on
the guard of his steel, and shivered it to pieces. 'Recreant loon,' said
I, 'thou shalt this day remember thy evil deeds.' Another blow on his
helmit laid him at his huge length, and made him bite the dust. In the
mele that followed, I lost sight of him. We fought like lions, but with
the hearts of Christians. While my gallant companions stemmed the tide
of battle, the standard, rent to tatters, fell across my breast. I tore
it from the staff, and wrapt it round my body. We cut our way through
the enemy, and carried our General off the field.
[#] The natives of Hamilton have preserved, by tradition, the name of
the merchant who did this disservice to the Covenanters.
"Having gained a small knoll, we beheld once more the dreadful spectacle
below. Thick volumes of smoke and dust rolled in a lazy cloud over the
dark bands mingled in deadly affray. It was no longer a battle, but a
massacre. In the struggle of my feelings, 'I turned my eyes on the
General and Paton. I saw in the face of the latter an indescribable
conflict of emotions. His long and shaggy eyebrows were drawn over his
eyes. His hand grasped his sword. I cannot yet leave the field,' said
the undaunted Paton; 'with the General's permission, I shall try to save
some of our wretched men beset by those hell-hounds. Who will go? At
Kilsyth I saw service. When deserted by my troops, I cut my way through
Montrose's men and reached the spot where Colonels Halket and Strachan
were. We left the field together. Fifteen Dragoons attacked us, we cut
down thirteen and two fled. Thirteen next assailed us. We left ten on
the field, and three fled. Eleven Highlanders next met us. We paused
and cheered each other. 'Now, Johnny,' cried Halket to me, 'put forth
your metal, else we are gone.' Nine others we sent after their
comrades, and two fled.[#] 'Now, who will join this raid?' 'I will be
your leader,' said Sir Robert, as we fell into the ranks. We marched on
the enemy's flank. 'Yonder is Clavers,' said Paton, while he directed
his courser on him. The bloody man was at that moment, nearly alone,
hacking to pieces some poor fellows already on their knees disarmed and
imploring him by the common feelings of humanity to spare their lives.
He had just finished his usual oath against their feelings of humanity,
when Paton presented himself. He instantly let go his prey and slunk
back into the midst of his troopers. Having formed them, he advanced.
We formed and made a furious onset. At our first charge his troop
reeled. Clavers was dismounted. But at that moment Dalziel assailed us
on the flank and rear. Our men fell around us like grass before the
mower. The buglemen sounded a retreat. Once more in the mele, I fell
in with the General and Paton. We were covered with wounds. We directed
our flight in the rear of the broken troops, By the direction of the
General I had unfurled the standard. It was borne off the field flying
at the sword's point. But that honour cost me much. I was assailed by
three fierce dragoons, five followed close in the rear. I called to
Paton--in a moment he was by my side. I threw the standard to the
General, and we rushed on the foe. They fell beneath our swords; but my
faithful steed, which had carried me through all my dangers, was
mortally wounded. He fell. I was thrown in among the fallen enemy. I
fainted. I opened my eyes on misery. I found myself in the presence of
Monmouth--a prisoner--with other wretched creatures, awaiting in awful
suspense their ultimate destiny." * * *
[#] This chivalrous defence is recorded in the life of Captain Paton.
And this standard had been borne at Bothwell Bridge; borne at early morn
by the Covenanters, when hopes of victory animated their souls, urging
them on to deeds of daring; and at evening, when the bright rays of the
setting sun fell upon the deserted bridge--deserted by all save the dead
and the dying--this banner blood-stained and riven, had been borne by
some weary, perchance, wounded Covenanter, from the disastrous field,
where perished the hopes of the Covenanting party.
I was roused from my momentary fit of abstraction by hearing Mrs.
Anderson observe, as if in answer to her own thoughts, "Ay, it's rale
dirty! but I was on the point of washing it the other day, when my
husband said it was much better to let it remain as it was." Wash the
standard stained with the blood of her forefathers! Convert the
time-honoured relic into a clean piece of linen which would no longer
bear the slightest resemblance to a banner that had been engaged in
_such honourable service_! Surely she was joking. But no. There was no
twinkle of merriment in those large grey eyes, which were fixed on mine,
as if anticipating a glance of approbation for her thwarted intentions;
not the slightest approach to a smile at the corners of the mouth, that
had given utterance to the astounding declaration. I repressed a strong
desire to laugh, and answered with becoming gravity, that I thought on
the whole Mr. Anderson was right; and that it would be better to spare
it the cleansing process, upon which she said, "May be ay;" and the
venerable banner was replaced in the drawer.
Observing an old sword suspended from a nail on the wall, I inquired of
Mrs. Anderson if there was any particular history attached to it?
"'Deed there is," she replied, taking it down from the wall and placing
it in my hands; that sword was employed in the killing o' two or three
Royalists down by M---- yonder in the time o' the persecution. You see,
the dragoons were drinking in a public-house that used to stand by the
side o' the road near till M----. They were going on the next day to
L---- to levy fines frae the Covenanters, a thing they had no business
to do. And as they drank, their hearts were opened, and they boasted to
the landlord that the wine-stoupa wadna contain the gold they should
bring wi' them on their return.
"Now ye must know, that some one who was na' very friendly to their side
of the question, happened to be in the house at that time, and heard
their foolish talk; and what does he do, think ye, but rins awa' to some
o' the nearest farms and collects several others like himself; for ye
see people in these days were na' deterred by fear o' the laws frae just
doing as they liket; and they all marched to the public-house, with the
wicked intention o' killing the soldiers. Some say an old miller, o'
the name o' Baird, who lived near here, and who had been a sore enemy to
the Royalists, and had obtained a free pardon frae the Government, when
aince he fell into their hands, headed the party. Wi' blackened faces,
and guns, and swords, in their hands, they rushed into the room where
sat the men. One of them, on perceiving their entrance, caught up a
chair to defend hinself, but one o' the Covenanters thrust his sword wi'
such force through his body, that it stuck in the wall behind him; while
the others were finished wi' the butt-ends of their guns. Eh, sirs, but
these were wild times. And this part o' the country was in a very
disturbed state about that time; for just before the battle o' Bothwell
Bridge, the royal army lay encamped all over the Muirhead up on the hill
yonder; for it being a high situation, they had a good view o' all the
country round; and whenever they ran out o' provisions, the soldiers
just gaed to a' the farm-houses round about, and took away cattle, meal,
butter, and everything they could lay their hands on without saying by
your leave, or thank ye kindly for what they got. Ye must know that
that standard belonged to the Telfords of Muirhead; it was one o' them
that carried it to the battle o' Bothwell Bridge, and my husband's
mother being one o' that family, he kens plenty _aboot_ the Covenanters.
Well, as I was saying, the dragoons went to all places they could think
on to procure provisions for themselves, and provender for their horses,
and they honoured Mrs. Telford often wi' a visit at these times--for she
was well off in this world's gear; and I've heard my husband say--he had
it from his mother, and she had it again from hers--that whenever the
soldiers found there was more meal than they could conveniently carry
away, they thought nothing o' tumbling the lave (remainder) a' doon the
hill, not caring one straw how _they were to be served_ that came ahint
them. "However," continued Mrs. Anderson with a laugh, "they sometimes
were cheated too, when they came to clear the byres and stables o' them
that could ill afford to lose their cattle, as ye will hear by the
following story o' the then mistress o' this house, who was sorely
troubled by visits frae the thieving dragoons, who were sure never to go
away empty-handed. Well, one day they came for the purpose o' stealing
her cattle, when, just as they were conveying them away, she ran after
them, telling them it was as much as their lives were worth, to take
away her cows, as she had an order frae one of their officers,
threatening with death the person who should touch them; so saying, she
displayed an old receipt. The soldiers, as the woman suspected, not
being able to read writing, and afraid of incurring the displeasure of
their superiors, allowed the receipt to pass unchallenged, and departed,
for once, empty-handed. Another time, they came to take her horses; and
after they had removed them out of the stable, all except one old horse,
which they did not consider worth the trouble of taking, and left them
standing at the door, they entered the house, for the purpose of
obtaining some refreshment. The mistress of the farm, on being informed
of their intentions, managed, on some pretext or other, to slip away,
after she had seen them seated round a loaded table, preparing to
discuss the good things set before them, and entering the stable,
loosened the sole remaining horse, and, mounting him, dashed off at a
gallop, the others following in the rear. The dragoons hearing the noise
attendant upon the departure of their stolen steeds, rushed out of the
house, but too late to recover possession of the coveted horses, which
in the most commendable manner followed their leader until they reached
a place of safety. The soldiers returned to the camp highly incensed at
being done out by a woman, and fully resolved never to venter near
Westcroft farm again."
"Wicked people lived in these times," I observed.
"Ay," said Mrs. Anderson, "and good ones too; for I mind well o' my
mother telling me, that even in her youth, people were far more strict
and better in their conduct, than they were in my young days--ay," she
added, with a shake of her head, "there is mony a strange sect started
up now; and if a' are right that think they are, we maun be far wrong.
But, as I was saying, my mother told me, that when young and able for
the walk, she thought nothing of going ten miles to church. And one day
she went to the kirk at O----, accompanied by a man and his wife; and
while they were walking along the road, the man was standing pretty
often, and looking at the crops, when his wife turned round and said--my
mother told me she would never forget it--'James, are you not ashamed of
yoursel', for casting your e'en at'oure the fields on the Lord's-day?'
And for my own part, I mind well as a child, never being allowed to be
seen out on a Sunday, binna it was when going to the kirk."
"I suppose you have frequently read the 'Scotch Worthies?'" I inquired.
"That I have, often and many a time," replied Mrs. Anderson, "eh, but
these were the noble men--it's hard to say who were the best, they were
all so good. There's Mr. Peden, what a bright example he gave to his
people! Oh, but they were privileged who could hear the gospel preached
by such a man! And eh, sirs, but he was sair, sair persecuted. I mind
o' my mother telling me, when a little bit lassie, she had been shown a
house near here, where that worthy man had a narrow escape for his life.
You see he was coming to preach at an appointed place on the moors, and
was spending the evening before-hand wi' a farmer who was a great friend
o' the persecuted clergy, and never was known to turn one frae his door,
even although certain death was the consequence o' its being found out.
Well, just as Mr. Peden was seated at his supper, in the best room, the
master o' the farm, frae the kitchen window, saw the red-coats advancing
in the direction of the house. 'Wife, wife,' cried he, 'Mr. Peden is
lost! Here are the dragoons come to take him. What can we do to save
him?' Ye see, Mr. Peden was held in great veneration by them a'. 'Oh,'
replied his wife, 'whenever the dragoons are within hearing, just you
call out, Jock, put on your smock frock, and go off instantly to B----
for coals, and maybe the soldiers winna stop him.' The man did as he
was desired, at the same time throwing the smock into the room where Mr.
Peden was sitting. The latter perceiving the great danger he was in,
instantly put on the carter's frock, and pulling his cap down over his
forehead, put on as lubberly an appearance as possible, in order to look
like the character he was assuming; and in this way passed his enemies
without in the least exciting their suspicions; and very leisurely
yoking the horse to the cart, he set off on his expedition. Thus, while
the dragoons were searching the house for Mr. Peden, he was, through the
mercy of God, far beyond their reach.
After a few remarks about the wicked deeds that were done in those days,
the conversation turned upon the murder of Archbishop Sharpe, which Mrs.
Anderson allowed was a cruel doing on the part of the Covenanters,
although the Archbishop himself had caused the destruction of many of
their body. "Ay," she said, "talking about that, I mind well o' a
minister coming in here one night, who had just come frae Fife, and he
told us that, in the house where he had been staying, the conversation
one evening had turned upon the Covenanters, and the murder o' the
Archbishop; and as they were speaking about him, the mistress o' the
house went till a drawer, and pulling out two letters frae the King to
Archbishop Sharpe, threw them on the table wi' a great air of
consequence--for ye must know that she prided herself on her descent
frae the Archbishop. The minister read the letters carefully, and
having observed the look of importance with which the woman had produced
them, he said to her, 'My good woman, I do not see any use in your
keeping letters that belonged to that evil man, who did our forefathers
such bad service; with your leave I shall put them into the fire.' 'You
shall do no such thing!' replied the woman; 'these letters hae been in
my possession this mony a day, and it's not very likely I kept them so
long to allow them to be burned in the end.' Now for my own part," said
Mrs. Anderson, "I think she did perfectly right; for losh pity me! if
people were to be condemned for the evil doings o' their ancestors, we
might a' hide our heads thegither; and besides, I think it a nice thing
to hae these auld relics in one's ain house: there, now, a gentleman was
very anxious, a short time ago, for me to send the banner and sword into
the Antiquarian Society in Edinburgh; but no, no, says I, I'll just e'en
keep them, were it only to show that my forefathers were fighting for
the good old cause; but here comes my husband, and he will be able to
tell ye plenty about the Covenanters."
Scarcely had Mrs. Anderson finished speaking, when her husband entered.
"Here, Willie," she said, addressing him, "I am so glad you have come,
for this lady is very anxious to hear some of your stories about the
Covenanters."
"Indeed, ma'm," replied Mr. Anderson, taking off his hat on observing
me, "it's not much that I know about them, but the little I have came
from my forefathers, and you're welcome to it, if you think it would
interest you; in the meantime," he added, "I suppose you have seen the
standard and sword?"
"Indeed I have; it was the knowledge that you had such things that
brought me here to-day."
Mr. Anderson smiled as he observed, that "the standard itself was
nothing to look at, being made of such humble materials, but that the
silk ones borne by the wealthy farmers and lairds were splendid indeed.
Now, for instance, there was Mr. G----, of Green Hill, the standard he
had was of the finest yellow silk, with the motto, 'Christ's Crown and
Covenant,' engraved in letters of gold; ay, but it was bonnie to see!
And I mind well, when the great meetings in connection with the Reform
Bill were held throughout the country, that there was one at B----, and
the people wished to get all the banners that could be procured, as
there was to be a grand procession. Well, as I knew of Mr. G---- having
this one, away I went to Green Hill, to see if he would let me have it
for the above purpose; and as I was not personally acquainted with him,
I got a line from the minister of the parish, testifying that I was
trustworthy. Armed with this, I made my request known to Mr. G----, who
received me very kindly, saying, that the banner was sadly torn and
destroyed, but, if I could manage to get it repaired, I was welcome to
it. Accordingly, I brought away the standard, and my wife having got it
patched up a little, I took it to B----; and, oh, had you but seen the
people's faces, as I laid before them the venerable banner: there was
not a dry eye in the whole assembly. Men, women, and children mourned
and wept; while gazing on the standard stained with the blood of their
forefathers, who nobly fought and died for the cause of the Covenant."
"And who, pray, bore the standard, now in your possession, at Bothwell
Bridge?"
"A young man of the name of Telford, who lived up at the Muirhead
yonder. My mother was one of that family, and they had many a thing
that belonged to the Covenanters; amongst other articles, the musical
instruments they made use of when going to battle. My mother kept them
until they fell to pieces with age; and the last time I saw the drum, it
was holding rowans that the children had gathered; while the bugles
which sounded the retreat at Bothwell were devoted to purposes equally
peaceful and innocent."
"Can you give me any account of the young man who carried the standard
on that occasion?"
"Yes ma'm," replied Mr. Anderson, and after a moment's pause, as if to
collect his thoughts, he furnished me with the particulars comprised in
the following story:--
On the evening of the 21st of June, 1679, while the royal army lay
encamped on Bothwell Moor, a young man might have been observed stealing
round the base of the hill, on which the farm of Muirhead was situated,
apparently anxious to avoid being seen by any of the hostile army that
lay around. He paused every few moments in his progress, as if to
assure himself that he remained undetected, and listened eagerly to
catch the least sound that gave warning of impending danger. But all was
silent. No sound broke in upon the almost Sabbath stillness of the
scene, save the voices of the sentinels as they went their solitary
rounds.
Young Telford, for it was he, succeeded in gaining the farm-house in
safety, and gently raising the latch, was speedily clasped in the arms
of his mother, who had started to her feet, apprehensive of danger, on
hearing her house entered at that unseasonable hour.
"My son! my son!" exclaimed the delighted woman, "'the Lord be praised,
who in his great mercy hath spared you to gladden my eyes once more; but
where is Thomas? Why came he not with you?"
"He could not, mother," replied her son, "else had he flown to see you!
He stays to guard the banner committed to his care, and as we expect to
encounter the foe to-morrow, he charged me to tell you, that never while
he lives shall it fall into the hands of the enemy." The mother's eyes
glistened at this proof of bravery on the part of her absent son, and
gazing fondly in the face of the one now beside her, she inquired with a
faltering voice, "and where have you been since last we met? For it
seems to me an age since you and Thomas departed to join the ranks of
the Covenanters."
"I have but shortly returned from Morayshire," replied her son, "where I
sped with the fiery cross through moor and valley, terrifying the
inhabitants with the false alarm that the Macdonalds were preparing to
descend upon them, in order to prevent them from advancing to aid the
royal forces. The peasant was aroused from his slumber, when the
unearthly glare streamed in at his cottage window, as onwards I sped.
Armed forces who were marching thitherward, swiftly returned to their
homes, on hearing the appalling cry! "the Macdonald's are coming!" The
bold Highlander turned pale with apprehension as I passed with the fatal
symbol of war and desolation, and the fond mother pressed still closer
to her bosom, the child who might soon be fatherless, on beholding the
fiery track of the herald of woe."
"Oh, Willie!" cried Mrs. Telford, clasping her hands as she spoke.
"Still onwards I sped. Terror was visible on the faces of all, as again
the warning voice proclaimed amidst the stillness of night the approach
of the Macdonalds. At that dread name, the alarm flew from house to
house; signal fires flamed upward from each mountain summit; all
thoughts of leaving their country were abandoned, and the King may in
vain expect men from thence."
At this moment a low tap at the door interrupted young Telford in the
midst of his narration. Without one moment's hesitation, he darted
towards the entrance, and presently returned with his arm round the neck
of a young girl, whose lovely countenance was almost hid beneath the
shepherd's plaid which she had hastily donned to protect her head from
the cool breezes of evening.
"Jeanie!" exclaimed Mrs. Telford, warmly embracing the blushing
stranger, "how fortunate! just to think you should chance to come
when----!"
"It was no chance, mother," interrupted her son, "I durst not venture
near Jeanie's house, in case the soldiers might send a bullet after me;
so I bade a little boy go to the farm, and tell her that there was one
she might wish to see in this house to-night, and, as he could remain
but a few minutes, the sooner she came, the better for us both."
"Oh, Willie!" sobbed the weeping girl, "could you but know the cruel
state of suspense I have been in these three months back, not knowing
where you were, or what might be your fate, you would never, never go
away again! Oh! say you winna leave me," she implored, gazing upwards
in his face with eager beseeching eyes, while tears coursed rapidly down
her cheeks; "say you winna go!"
"Tempt me not, dearest," replied her lover in a voice expressive of the
deepest anguish, as he drew her fondly to his bosom, "I cannot--must not
remain. To-morrow we may chance to encounter the foe, and I could not
endure the thoughts of entering the field, without again obtaining a
mother's blessing, and one more glance from those bright eyes; so I
stole from the camp, while my brother remained behind to guard the
banner. And now I must return, for I may be missed; and I should not
like to be long absent at a time like this. Mother, your blessing on me
and my absent brother, that we prosper in the fight," so saying, he
knelt to receive the desired benediction.
"May the God of battles, in whose hands are the issues of life and
death, be unto you both as a rock of defence in the hour of danger, and
restore you once more to me, my beloved son," exclaimed his mother,
placing her hands on his lowly bent head, and weeping as she spoke; "the
Lord knows," she continued, "the bitterness of my heart this night, and
yet why should I grudge you in so good a cause? Rise, my son, rise; and
may the Power above, who is able and willing to help us in the time of
need, guide you in all safety, and strengthen me in the hour of trial."
Young Telford sprang to his feet, and clasping his betrothed in his
arms, was about to comfort her with assurances of his speedy return,
when he perceived she had fainted.
"My poor Jeanie!" exclaimed Mrs. Telford tenderly, then pointing to the
door, she conjured her son to hasten away ere his betrothed recovered
her consciousness, and thus spare her the agony of witnessing his
departure.
"Ay, far better it should be so, mother," replied her son, "and yet it
is hard to leave my Jeanie thus; but tell her I only went to spare her
further pain;" so saying, he placed the unconscious girl gently in a
chair, imprinted a kiss on her clay-cold forehead, wrung his mother's
hand, and was gone.
Scarcely had he disappeared, ere Jeanie Irving, with a deep-drawn sigh
of anguish, opened her eyes, and fixing them with a wandering vacant
look upon Mrs. Telford, who had placed her upon her own bed, and was now
bending over her with almost maternal solicitude depicted upon her
benevolent countenance, inquired where she was, and if she had been only
dreaming he had seen her Willie.
"'Deed and it was no fancy," replied Mrs. Telford; "Willie was here sure
enough, but don't speak any more about him just at present, like a dear,
good girl; he will be back to-morrow evening to tell you all about
himself, and where he has been; so just remain quiet for a little while,
and I will go to Mr. Irving and tell him that you will stay here a day
or two, to comfort me in the absence of my sons;" so saying, and without
tarrying for an answer, away she ran to execute her mission.
Early on the following morning, Jeanie Irving, whom no reasoning on the
part of Mrs. Telford could induce to remain in bed, posted herself at
the door of the cottage, eager to obtain the first glimpse of him she
loved, should he return according to his promise. In the meantime the
royal army had advanced towards Bothwell, where the Covenanting party
was stationed, and soon the mighty roar of cannon proclaimed to the
startled ears of Jeanie that the fighting had commenced. In her wild
eagerness to ascertain the fate of her lover. she was about to rush
madly forward in the direction from whence the sounds proceeded, and the
almost frantic efforts of Mrs. Telford were scarce sufficient to
restrain her from executing her purpose. For a few hours the thunder of
the cannon, mingled with the firing of musketry, struck terror to the
hearts of the affrighted women, who clung to each other, pale and
speechless; while pealed forth the death-knell of many a gallant heart.
Then came a lull, even more dreadful in its terrific calmness, for it
proclaimed the battle was over--that the fate of their loved ones was
decided. And now might be seen riderless horses galloping wildly across
the plain, and mounted horsemen spurring their jaded steeds beyond their
powers of endurance; while more slowly, and dragging his weary steps
along, the wounded Covenanter strove to find safety in flight from the
disastrous field. With a scream of delight, Jeanie bounded forward on
observing the figure of a young man, evidently making towards them; but,
on nearing him, she found to her consternation it was Thomas, and not
William Telford, who now approached, staggering under the load of the
banner, which, soiled and torn, he laid at his mother's feet.
"Thomas!" screamed Mrs. Telford; "but where is Willie? Oh! wherefore so
silent?"
"Speak, I implore you, speak," gasped forth Jeanie Irving, "is he
killed? Is he wounded?"
"He is a prisoner!" was the sad reply.
"God be praised it is no worse!" fervently ejaculated the weeping girl;
"I shall yet save him, or perish in the attempt."
"And you, Thomas, what of yourself?" demanded Mrs. Telford, observing
the ghastly expression of her son's face, while traces of blood were yet
apparent on his coat and hands. The young man, without a reply,
uncovered his head, and displayed, in so doing, a frightful gash on his
forehead. "My son, my son!" groaned forth the afflicted mother, "Oh!
this is hard--hard to bear. I thought I had taught myself to say with
resignation, 'the Lord's will be done;' but, oh my rebellious heart!"
"'I said I should bring it back to you, mother, if life were spared me
to perform my promise, and I have done it," proudly exclaimed her son.
"I have brought it in safety; but, alas! from a dishonoured field.
Treachery has lost us the day, and ruined our cause for ever. But
Willie and I did our duty. While a ray of hope still animated the
bosoms of our leaders, we would not quit the field. Willie was mad with
rage. He fought like a lion. Every soldier he encountered fell beneath
his sword. My care was the banner. Three dragoons attacked me.
Encumbered with the standard, I called upon Willie for assistance. He
came hewing down all in his way. A musket was upraised to shoot him. I
struck it down, and, in so doing, received this wound on my forehead
from a cowardly ruffian, who took advantage of my being engaged with
another, to inflict the dastardly blow. I fell with the banner beneath
me. Then the dragoons, aided by two others, rushed upon Willie, and bore
him away. They would have killed him, but for the Duke of Monmouth, who
commanded them to spare his life. I struggled to regain my feet; but
fainted away through loss of blood. On recovering my senses, I observed
a dragoon stealing up to deprive me of my standard; but one blow from
the butt-end of my musket despatched him, and, grasping my banner in my
hand, I made another effort to rise, and succeeded. Captain Paton
advanced. 'My poor fellow,' he said, 'you are sadly wounded; get off
the field as swiftly as possible;' so saying, he took some herbs from
his pocket, and applying them to the wound, staunched the blood; then,
taking me by the arm, he moved onwards a few paces by my side, as though
to protect me from further injury--the road in this direction being
clear of the Royalists, who were murdering my comrades right and left at
the other end of the field. I thanked the noble Captain--whose eyes
gleamed with pleasure on observing the uncaptured standard--and
proceeded on my way in safety. Having ascended an eminence, I turned to
look on the bloody plain. There stood Captain Paton, as I had left him,
leaning on his sword, and gazing on the fearful scene around him,
apparently overwhelmed with grief. General Hamilton, with a party of
officers, was advancing towards him. I looked again. They were slowly
quitting the field. And I continued my solitary flight."
Mrs. Telford, at the close of her son's narrative, threw her arms around
his neck, and wept aloud. "My poor Thomas," she exclaimed, "grateful
should I be to the Lord, who hath spared you to return this day to your
home; but, oh! when I think on my noble Willie a captive in the hands of
these cruel, blood-thirsty men, my heart feels like to burst with its
load of sorrow; and, yet, what can I do to save him?"
"Mother," said Jeanie Irving, "for such you have been to me, do not
despair. A voice whispers in my heart that Willie will soon be
free--that he will yet live to bless and comfort us all. Do not give
way to grief, but trust in God, who, I feel assured, will grant the
wishes of our hearts in this matter."
"The widow--for such Mrs. Telford was--soothed and comforted by the
earnest assurances of the kind-hearted and hopeful maiden, embraced her
warmly, and blessed her for her dutiful resignation to the will of
Providence. But a high and noble purpose had filled the loving heart of
the simple Scottish girl; and it was the determination to free her lover
that caused her eye to sparkle, and her cheek to burn, with the sweet
anticipations of hope, as she dwelt on the triumph of obtaining her
lover's pardon, even should she kneel at the feet of the Duke of
Monmouth to obtain it. Accordingly, at an early hour on the following
morning, when Mrs. Telford and her son were locked in the arms of
slumber, Jeanie Irving, acting on a previously adopted resolution, stole
gently from her couch and dressed herself hastily; then, kissing Mrs.
Telford silently on the forehead, she knelt down and prayed fervently
for guidance and protection during her absence; and, snatching a small
bundle of necessaries prepared over-night for her journey, and placing a
letter--informing Mrs. Telford of the step she was about to take--on the
table, she noiselessly opened the door, stood for one moment, while her
lips moved as if she was engaged in mental prayer, shut it slowly, and
departed. Having been informed by Thomas Telford that the prisoners were
to be taken to Edinburgh, thither Jeanie determined to proceed; but on
arriving at Linlithgow, she heard no tidings of their having passed that
way. Fearful lest some change had been made regarding their
destination, Jeanie Irving stood irresolute, not knowing what to do,
but, on second thoughts, she proceeded to the house of her aunt, a
sister of her mother, who resided in Linlithgow, there to await their
coming, lest something might have occurred to delay their progress.
Mrs. Johnstone--which was the name of her aunt--received her niece very
kindly; but on her expressing her surprise at seeing her enter so
unexpectedly, the long-sustained fortitude of Jeanie Irving gave way,
and she burst into a passionate flood of tears. Amazed and distressed
at the sight of her niece's grief, Mrs. Johnstone soothed and comforted
her to the best of her ability, and was rewarded for her kind sympathy
by the recital of Jeanie's hopes, fears, and intentions respecting her
lover's escape, which she confided to the willing ears of her aunt, when
her sorrow allowed her the power of utterance.
"Oh, my dear lassie!" said Mrs. Johnstone, at the close of her niece's
narration, "you do not know the difficulty of the course you mean to
pursue; you never can succeed. Willie Telford will be so closely
guarded that you will not get near him; do not go on, but stay with me
at least until we hear something regarding the destination of the
unfortunate men."
At this moment a distant murmur of voices was heard, mingled with the
trampling of many feet. Nearer came the sounds; louder swelled the
tumult, till none could mistake its meaning. Poor Jeanie turned as pale
as death; her heart told her the prisoners were approaching. Grasping
her aunt by the arm, she staggered towards the window, and what a dismal
sight greeted her eager eyes! Onwards came the dragoons--their plumes
waving--their horses prancing. Next advanced a body of men, to the
number of about five hundred, foot-sore and weary; wounded, and
prisoners. Jeanie Irving groaned in agony. The quick glance of
affection soon descried the stately form of William Telford. Amidst the
motley crowd, he walked erect and proudly, as though he were marching
onwards to victory--not to a prison--perchance to death.
The eyes of Jeanie Irving seemed about to start from their sockets on
beholding the sad procession; but new horrors awaited her. She beheld
some of the sympathising spectators, while advancing with cups of cold
water to moisten the lips of the wounded portion of the prisoners, and a
morsel of bread to comfort their weary hearts, beaten back with oaths,
and contumely by the rude soldiers, who, insensible to all the softer
emotions of humanity, seemed determined to make their captives feel the
wretchedness of their lot. She saw her beloved William stunned by a blow
from the butt-end of a musket, while endeavouring to procure nourishment
for a sinking comrade.
On beholding this outrage inflicted on the object of her affections,
Jeanie Irving screamed and struggled to free herself from her aunt's
grasp, as if for the purpose of springing out into the street, in order
to join her lover. Indeed, so excited did she become in her endeavours
to carry out her wishes, that her aunt, fearful of the consequences that
might ensue, should she be permitted to retain her station at the
window, seized her in her arms, and dragged her away from beholding the
dismal spectacle. On the disappearance of the melancholy cavalcade,
Mrs. Johnstone placed Jeanie Irving on her bed, and would on no account
hear of her attempting to rise until she had partaken of some repose;
and, indeed, poor Jeanie, overcome as she was with fatigue and anxiety,
felt the necessity of obeying her aunt's wishes in this respect.
Shortly after lying down she fell into a sleep, apparently broken at
first by the agitating thoughts that chased each other through her mind,
for she moaned and shivered in such a manner that Mrs. Johnstone grew
apprehensive lest the distress under which she laboured might yet throw
her into a fever. Gradually, however, she grew calmer, and at length,
to her aunt's delight, all the sad events of the day seemed forgotten in
a tranquil slumber. On her awaking, refreshed and strengthened from her
long repose, Mrs. Johnstone, who now perceived the danger of thwarting
her in her intentions of endeavouring to free William Telford,
represented the strong necessity there was of her remaining quiet, for a
few days longer, as, should she set off instantly on her journey, she
might get herself into trouble, and thus by her rashness lose the only
chance of saving her lover. This last argument, skillfully introduced
by Mrs. Johnstone, had great weight with her impatient niece; and she
accordingly remained with her aunt five days, during which period she
carefully abstained from alluding to the topic which so entirely
engrossed her thoughts. But on the morning of the sixth day she again
expressed her intention of proceeding to Edinburgh, in order to learn
the destination of the prisoners. This time Mrs. Johnstone threw no
obstacles in the way of her niece's departure, but going to a closet she
took from thence two bundles, one of which she handed to Jeanie Irving,
while the other she retained in her own possession. Jeanie eyed her
aunt with astonishment, while that worthy person proceeded very
leisurely to donn her bonnet and shawl, and at length ventured to
inquire the meaning of such preparations.
"It is just this, my dear lassie," said Mrs. Johnstone in answer to her
niece's inquiry, "I am a lone widow with no one here to care for me, or
to mind whether I go or stay, so I have determined upon accompanying you
to Edinburgh, in order to protect and assist you as far as lies in my
power. When you came here and told me your sad story, I resolved upon
going with you, and laid my plans accordingly. Two days ago a boy was
dispatched to tell your father and Mrs. Telford where you were, and that
they need not feel anxious about you, as I should tend and love you as
though you were mine own child. Now, don't say one word against this,
Jeanie, for my mind is made up on this subject."
Poor Jeanie Irving, quite overcome with this proof of affection and kind
interest on the part of her aunt, threw herself into her arms, and
sobbed aloud, thanking her through her tears for her promised
protection, which she assured her would prove invaluable, as she should
require a faithful guide and counsellor to cheer and advise her 'mid all
the trials and disappointments she was prepared to encounter. All being
thus satisfactorily arranged, Mrs. Johnstone proceeded to settle some
little household affairs prior to departing with her niece--such as
stopping the clock, locking up closets, throwing water on the fire, and
sundry other little arrangements which all careful housekeepers know to
be essential before leaving home. The rays of the setting sun were
gilding the towers of the ancient fortress of Dunedin, as Mrs. Johnstone
and her niece entered the Scottish capital. All was terror and
confusion. Dragoons marched along the streets with all the insolence of
petty power which subordinates know so well how to assume;--members of
the opposite faction stole noiselessly on their way, as if afraid of
attracting the notice of the swaggering soldiers, who seemed fully aware
of, and to enjoy the terror they inspired; while aged citizens, whose
care-worn faces betrayed the anxiety under which they laboured, stood
together in groups as if discussing the events of the day. Jeanie, with
the natural modesty of her sex, drew the shepherd's plaid still closer
around her, to screen her face in some measure from the insolent gaze of
the dragoons, some of whom peered underneath the covering as they passed
in the hopes of obtaining a glimpse of the carefully-shrouded face.
"Pull it off her, George," said a soldier to his comrade, one of these
who failed in their attempts to get a look of Jeanie Irving, "pull it
off her, and let us see what she's like; what in the name of wonder
makes her hide her face in that manner? Pull it off her, I say."
"No, no, don't do that: let the woman alone," exclaimed another of the
party, observing that the one named George was about to obey his
friend's instructions; "she is not annoying us; and see that party of
men, yonder, watching us with threatening looks, as if eager to take
advantage of the slightest provocation on our part, to commence an
affray. Come, let us be peaceful." The soldier thus admonished
abandoned his purpose, and allowed Jeanie and her aunt to pass on their
way unmolested.