PEDEN THE PROPHET.
(_Being the concluding of the conventicle by the Dee Water._)
Yet the chariot of fire came not, for the time was not yet, though the
grinding of its wheels was even then to be heard at the door. But the
Lord had yet a great day's darg to do in Scotland with Richard Cameron.
Then after silence had endured for a time, another minister rose up to
speak to us. At sight of him a murmur went about, and wonder and joy sat
on every face. He was an old man, tall and gaunt. His hair, lyart and
long, fell upon his shoulders. His beard descended upon his breast.
"Peden the Prophet!" was the whisper that went about. And all bent
eagerly forward to look at the famous wanderer, whom all held to have
gifts of utterance and prophecy beyond those of mortal. He it was that
had been a thousand times hunted like a partridge upon the mountains, a
hundred times taken in the net, yet had ever escaped. He it was for the
love of whom men had laid down their lives like water, only that
Alexander Peden might go scatheless and speak his Master's will.
Bowed he was and broken; yet when he spoke his natural strength was in
no wise abated, and at his first word the fear of the Lord came upon us.
I looked at Lochinvar, who in his time had ridden so hard on his track.
He sat open-mouthed, and there was a daze of awe in his look.
Alexander Peden had hardly spoken a sentence to us when the spirit of
prophecy brake upon him, and he cried out for Scotland as was his wont
in those days. His voice rose and rang--not like a war-trumpet as did
Cameron's, but rather like the wild wind that goes about the house and
about the house, and cries fearful words in at the chinks and crevices.
"A bloody sword, a bloody sword for thee, O puir Scotland! Many a mile
shall they travel in thee and see naught but waste places, nor so much
as a house reeking pleasantly on the brae. Many a conventicle has been
wared on thee, my Scotland. And Welsh and Semple, Cameron and Cargill
have cried to thee. But ere long they shall all be put to silence and
God shall preach to thee only with the bloody sword. Have ye never
witnessed for the cause and Covenants? Or have ye been dumb dogs that
would not bark? If that be so, as sayeth godly Mr. Guthrie of Fenwick,
God will make the tongues that owned Him not to fry and flutter upon the
hot coals of hell. He will gar them blatter and bleeze upon the burning
coals of hell!
"Speak, sirs, or He will gar these tongues that He hath put into your
mouths to popple and play in the pow-pot of hell!"
As he said these words his eyes shone upon us like to burn us through,
and his action was most terrifying as he took his great oaken staff and
shook it over us. And we fairly trembled beneath him like silly bairns
taken in a wrong.
But he went on his way as one that cries for vengeance over an open
grave in which a slain man lies.
"Ye think that there hath been bloodshed in Scotland, and so there
hath--dear and precious--but I tell you that that which hath been, is
but as the dropping of the morning cloud ere the sun rises in his
strength, to the mid-noon thunder plump that is yet to come.
"Not since the black day of Bothwell have I slept in a bed! I have been
Nazarite for the vow that was upon me. Have any of you that are here
seen me in New Luce? Not even Ritchie here could have overcrowed me
then, for strength and stature. I stood as a young tree by the river of
waters. Look upon me now--so crooked by the caves and the moss-hags that
I could not go upright to the scaffold. The sword handle is fit for your
hands, and the Lord of Battles give you long arms when you measure
swords with Charles Stuart. But old Sandy is good for nothing now but
the praying. He can only bide in his hole like a toothless tyke, lame
and blind; and girn his gums at the robbers that spoil his master's
house.
"'Crook-back, crab-heart,' sayeth the proverb," Peden cried, "but I
think not so, for my heart is warm this day toward you that sit here,
for but few of you shall win through the day of wrath that is to come in
Scotland."
He turned towards the place where we sat together, the maids, my cousin
and I. A great fear in my heart chilled me like ice. Was he to denounce
us as traitors? But he only said slowly these words in a soft and moving
voice, as one that hath the tears close behind.
"And there are some of you, young maids and weak, here present, that
shall make a name in Scotland, a name that shall never die!"
With that he made an end and sat down.
Then came one, white-face and panting from the hill on the east.
"The riders are upon us--flee quickly!" he cried.
Then, indeed, there was great confusion and deray. Some rose up in act
to flee. But Anton Lennox, who had the heart of a soldier in him and the
wit of a general, commanded the men to stand to their arms, putting the
women behind them. And through the confusion I could see stern-faced men
moving to the front with guns and swords in their hands. These, as I
learned, were the disciplined members of the Praying Societies, whom
Cameron and afterwards Renwick, drew together into one military bond of
defence and fellowship.
For me I stood where I was, the maids only being with me; and I felt
that, come what might, it was my duty to protect them. Kate McGhie
clasped her hands and stood as one that is gripped with fear, yet can
master it. But Maisie Lennox, who was nearest to me, looked over to
where her father stood at the corner of his company. Then, because she
was distressed for him and knew not what she did, she drew a
half-knitted stocking out of the pocket that swung beneath her kirtle,
calmly set the stitches in order, and went on knitting as is the
Galloway custom among the hill-folk when they wait for anything.
There was a great silence--a stillness in which one heard his neighbour
breathing. Through it the voice of Peden rose.
"Lord," he prayed, "it is Thine enemies' day. Hour and power are allowed
to them. They may not be idle. But hast Thou no other work for them to
do in their master's service? Send them after those to whom Thou hast
given strength to flee, for our strength's gone, and there are many weak
women among us this day. Twine them about the hill, O Lord, and cast the
lap of Thy cloak over puir Sandy and thir puir things, and save us this
one time."
So saying he went to the top of a little hill near by, from which there
is a wide prospect. It is called Mount Pleasant. From thence he looked
all round and waved his hands three times. And in a minute there befel a
wonderful thing. For even as his hands beckoned, from behind the ridges
of the Duchrae and Drumglass, arose the level tops of a great sea of
mist. It came upon the land suddenly as the "haar" that in the autumn
drives up the eastern valleys from the sea. Like a river that rises
behind a dam, it rose, till of a sudden it overflowed and came towards
us over the moorland, moving with a sound like running water very far
away.
Then Peden the Prophet came hastening back to us.
"Move not one of you out of your places!" he cried, "for the Lord is
about to send upon us His pillar of cloud." Then the mist came, and made
by little and little a very thick darkness, and Peden said:
"Lads, the bitterest of the blast is over. We shall no more be troubled
with them this day." And through the darkness I felt a hand placed in
mine--whose I could not tell, but I hoped plainly that it might be
Maisie Lennox's hand, for, as I have said, she was my gossip and my
friend. At least I heard no more the click of the knitting-needles.
The mist came yet thicker, and through it there shone, now and then, the
flickering leme of pale lightning, that flashed about us all. Then quite
suddenly we heard strangely near us the jangling of the accoutrements of
the troopers and the sound of voices.
"Curse the Whig's mist, it has come on again! We canna steer for it!"
cried a voice so near that the hillmen stood closer in their ranks, and
my own heart leaped till I heard it beat irregularly within me.
We marked the sharp _clip clip_ as the shod horses struck the stones
with their feet. Now and then a man would clatter over his steed's head
as the poor beast bogged or stumbled.
Looking over between the hazel trees, I could faintly discern the steel
caps of the troopers through the gloom, as they wound in single file
between us and the water-side. It was but a scouting party, for in a
moment we heard the trumpet blow from the main body, which had kept the
road that winds down to the old ford, over the Black Water on the way
from Kirkcudbright to New Galloway and Kenmuir.
In a little the sounds came fainter on our ears, and the swing and
trample of the hoofs grew so far away that we could not hear them any
more.
But the great cloud of people stood for long time still, no man daring
to move. It struck me as strange that in that concourse of shepherds not
so much as a dog barked. In a moment I saw the reason. Each herd was
sitting on the grass with his dog's head in his lap, wrapped in his
plaid. Then came the scattering of the great meeting. Such were the
chances of our life at that dark time, when brother might part from
brother and meet no more. And when a father might go out to look the
lambs, and be found by his daughter fallen on his face on the heather by
the sheep ree, with that on his breast that was not bonny to see when
they turned him over. As for me I went home with Maisie Lennox and her
friend the young lass of Glen Vernock, as was indeed my plain duty. We
walked side by side in silence, for we had great thoughts within us of
Cameron and Peden, and of the Blue Banner of the Covenant that was not
yet wholly put down.