support her cow during the winter season. In fact, Elspeth's whole
riches consisted in her cow and an only daughter, who, however, was out
at service in a neighbouring farm town. This cow and Elspeth were
constant companions, and it was difficult to say which was most
essential to the other's happiness. The first thing Elspeth did, after
her duty to her God, was to attend to Doddy; and the first look Doddy
gave over her shoulder was towards the door through which Elspeth was
expected to enter. During the fine days of summer, Elspeth might be seen
conversing with her cow as with a rational being, whilst Doddy was
engaged in plucking, or in ruminating. If Elspeth went for a day from
home, Doddy was quite disconsolate, and would roam about the house and
park, as if in quest of her companion. In fact, these two sentient
beings had become, as it were, essential to each other's happiness. The
small circumstance of rationality had been overlooked, and the common
instinct of kindly feeling had united them completely. There was just
one other inmate of this sequestered apartment--a large, sonsy, gaucy
cat. This animal partook in all Elspeth's meals and movements; ceased
purring when Elspeth prayed, and went afield and returned at Elspeth's
heels like a colly-dog. To be sure, there was a little jealousy on
Doddy's side, when pussy seemed to occupy too much attention, for she
(_videlicet_ Doddy) would come up and smell at pussy as she sat on
Elspeth's knee, and then, shaking her head and snorting, make off
quick-step to a distance. Nevertheless, these three--we dare not say
this triumvirate, for fear of the etymologists--got on exceedingly well,
and with fewer disputations and quarrellings than generally occur
amongst the same number of rationals. Elspeth had been married for one
single year and fifteen days, as she often mentioned. Her husband had
been gardener at Collean, and had been killed on the spot by the fall of
a tree, which he was assisting in felling. Jenny, or, as she was
familiarly called, Jessy, Wallace was born a few days after this
mournful accident, and had been reared with much care and affection.
Necessity, however, removed her, at the age of fifteen, from her
mother's roof, but to no great distance; and she would frequently come
to visit her mother of a Saturday evening, and return next day to her
post of duty. Such was the state of things at Blairquhan, in the year of
our Lord 1678, when the Highland Host was let loose upon the western
district of Scotland, in particular. Bonds! bonds! bonds! were then the
order of the day; the proprietor must give bond for his tenantry, the
tenantry for their servants, the father and mother for their children,
and the brother, even, for his sister. These bonds were certifications
to prevent those who were, or were presumed to be, under your authority,
from attending conventicles, hill-preachings, and prayer-meetings--in
short, from committing any act which could be construed into a
resistance to the most despotic and cruel executions that ever vexed an
oppressed people. This Highland Host, as it was familiarly called,
consisted of an army of half-naked and wholly savage Highlanders of the
name and clan of Campbell, from the County of Argyle. Their only object
was pillage, their only law the gratification of the lowest
propensities, and their only restraint their officers' pleasure. "When
the Highlanders went back," says Woodrow, "one would have thought that
they had been at the sacking of some besieged town, by their baggage and
luggage. They were loaded with spoil; they carried away a great many
horses, cows, and no small quantity of goods out of merchant ships. You
would have seen them with loads of bedclothes, carpets, men and women's
wearing apparel, pots and pans, gridirons, shoes, and other furniture,"
&c. Such was the nature and character of the Highland Host, which, at
the date to which we have referred, overspread, and oppressed, and
outraged from Greenock to Galloway, from Lanark to the town of Ayr.
Elspeth Wallace and her daughter were sitting, of a Saturday's night, by
the side of a comfortable peat-fire. It was a hard frost, moonlight, and
in the month of February. Their supper consisted of boiled sowans, with
a small accompaniment, on such occasions, as that of beer and bannock.
Elspeth had just got her pipe lighted, and was beginning to weigh the
propriety of her daughter accepting of a proposal of marriage, when the
door opened, or rather gave way, and in burst "her nane sel," in all the
glory of filth and nakedness. There were two figures on the floor, in
Highland plaids; but with a very scanty appointment of nether garments.
There was no commanding officer present; and these two helpless women
were left to the mercy, or rather the merciless pleasure, of these two
Highland savages. In vain did Elspeth expostulate, and represent the
cruelty of their conduct. They but partially understood what she said,
and replied in broken English. Their actions, however, were
sufficiently demonstrative: for the one laid hold of the poor girl, who
screamed and expostulated in vain; and the other unloosed the cow from
the stake, and tying the old helpless woman to the same stake from which
they had unloosed the cow, they immediately began their march up the
Glen of Blairquhan. Poor Jessie Wallace soon learned that she was
destined for the closet of my Lord Airley, then commanding in the
district, who had unfortunately seen her, marked her beauty, and
destined her to ruin; and that the cow was the price at which the
services of these two savages had been procured. It was difficult to say
which of these brothers (for brethren they were, not only in iniquity,
but by blood) had the more difficult task--he who dragged onwards the
camstairy and unwilling brute, or he who half-dragged, half-carried, the
resisting and struggling maiden. The Sabine rape was playwork to this.
Donald swore, and Archibald cursed; but still the progress which they
made was little, and the trouble and labour which they were subjected to
were immense. At last matters came to a dead stand: Doddy absolutely
refused to march one inch further; and Donald proposed that, since
"matters might no better be," they should "slay te prute" at once. So,
having secured Jessie's ankles by means of her napkin, and placed her
upon a rock in the midst of the mountain stream, with all suitable
admonitions respecting the folly of even meditating an escape, Archibald
and Donald set to work to carry their deadly purpose into execution on
Doddy. But how was this to be effected? Doddy, very unaccountably, as it
seemed to her nightly visiters, would neither lead nor drive, nor in any
way be art and part in her own destruction. Having held a council of
death, and having resolved to carry over the hill as much as they could
of Doddy's flesh, they immediately set to work in compassing the means
of destruction. But these were not so much at hand as might have been
wished. They had neither nail nor hammer, else they would have given
Doddy a Sisera exit; nor had they even an ordinary pocket-knife. They
were totally destitute of arms, by order of their officer, as their duty
was not to kill, but to keep alive--not to conquer, but to spoil. What
was to be done? "Deil tak them wha hae nae shifts," says the old
proverb; but then it unfortunately adds, "Deil tak them, again, that hae
owre mony." So, at the suggestion of Donald, a large water-worn stone
was selected from the channel of the burn, and being tied up firmly into
the corner or poke of the Highland plaid, it was judged an efficient
instrument of death. Doddy, however, observed, and appeared, at least to
Jessie, to understand what was going on, and had taken her measures
accordingly. There they stood--Donald holding _on_ by the horns, and
Archy swinging and aiming, but hesitating, from the instability of the
object to be struck, to inflict the fatal blow. Again and again the
stone was swung, and the blow was meditated; but again and again did
Doddy twist and twine herself almost out of Donald's hands. At last,
losing all patience, Archy swung the great stone round his head, which,
when in mid-air, took a different direction from that which was
intended--or it might be that the error was owing to the sudden wresting
of Doddy; but so it was, and of verity, that the stone came ultimately
full swing, not upon the forehead of the cow, but upon the temples of
Donald, and felled him to the ground.
"Wi' glowering een and lifted hands,"
says Burns,
"Poor Hughoc like a statue stands."
It would be impossible, by any similitude or quotation, to give an
accurate picture of Archy Campbell, when he saw Doddy, free as air,
taking the bent and crooning defiance, and his own brother lying a
corpse at his feet, and all by his own hands. It is needless to say
that, in all bosoms, there are sympathies and calls of affection. The
trade upon which Donald and Archy were employed was a bad one; but they
had great brotherly affection; and it was indeed, as has been repeated
to us, an affecting sight to behold Archy's grief on this occasion. He
leaned over, he embraced, he kissed his brother, he raised up the dead
body to the wind, he braided back the hair, he wiped the foam from the
lips, he burst at last into tears, and fell down, apparently lifeless,
on his brother's corpse. So deeply has God imprinted himself on our
natures, nothing--not even Lauderdale cruelty--could entirely erase his
image.
Poor Jessy escaped, in the meantime, to her mother, and was married in
the course of a month. The present member of Parliament for the Ayr
Burghs is her lineal descendant.
VII.--BONNY MARY GIBSON.
The summer of 168- was wet and ungenial; the little grain which Scotland
at that time produced had never ripened, and men and women would shear
all day, and carry home the greater part of the thin and scanty upland
crop on their backs. The winter was issued in by strange and marvellous
reports--men fighting in the air--showers of Highland bonnets--and
eclipses of no ordinary occurrence. In fact, the northern lights, which
for centuries had disappeared, had again returned, and were viewed by a
superstitious people with much dread and amazement. The end of the world
was anticipated and confidently predicted, and the soul of man sank
within him under the pressure of an awakened conscience. Besides,
political events were sufficiently distressing: the battle of Bothwell
Brig had been fought and lost by the friends of Presbytery and religious
freedom; and strong parties, under the command of demons, denominated
Grierson, Johnstone, Douglas, and Clavers, scoured the west country, and
Dumfries-shire in particular, making sad and fearful havoc amongst God's
covenanted flock. It appeared to many, and to Walter Gibson of
Auchincairn in particular, that, what betwixt the pestilence induced by
want and bad provisions, and the devastations brought on the earth by
the hand of man, life was not only precarious, but a burden. Men rose,
went about their wonted employment, and retired again to rest, without a
smile, and often without exchanging a word. Young men and young women
were seen constantly perusing the Bible, and taking farewell of each
other, with the feeling that they were never to meet again. The cattle
were driven into the farmer's stores from the outfields, and there bled
every three weeks. The blood thus obtained was mixed and boiled with
green kail from the yard, and this, with a mere sprinkling of meal, was
all the subsistence which could be afforded to master and servant, to
guest and beggar. A capacious pot, filled with this supply, stood from
morn to night in the farmer's kitchen, with a large horn spoon stuck
into the centre of it; and every one who entered helped himself to a
heaped spoonful, and retired, making way for a successor. If the summer
had been ungenial, the winter was unusually severe. Snow and frost had
set in long before Christmas, with awful severity. The sheep were
starving and dying by scores on the hills; and the farmer, with his
servant band, were employed all day in digging out the half and wholly
dead from the snow wreaths. The strength of man failed him; and the very
dogs deserted their masters, and lived wild on the hills, feeding on the
dead and dying. It was indeed an awful time, and a judgment-like season,
unparalleled (unless perhaps by the year '40 of the last century) in the
annals of Scotland. Five hundred human beings are said to have perished
of hunger merely within the limited district of Dumfries-shire, besides
many hundreds whom the plague (for such it was deemed and called) cut
off.
It was on a cold frosty night, with intervals of drifting and falling
snow, that a strange apparition made its way into the kitchen of
Auchincairn, in the hill district of the Parish of Closeburn. It was
naked, emaciated, and extremely feeble, and rolled itself into the
langsettle with extreme difficulty. "In the name of God," said Mrs
Gibson, "who and what art thou?" But the apparition only stretched out
its hand, and pointing to its mouth, signified that it was dumb. Food,
such as has been described, was immediately administered; and a glass of
French brandy seemed to revive the skeleton greatly. Walter Gibson, and
his wife Janet Harkness, were not the persons to deny shelter on such a
night and to such an object. Warm blankets and a great peat-fire were
resorted to; and the next morning saw the stranger much recovered. But
he was manifestly deaf and dumb, and could only converse by signs;--his
features, now that they could be clearly marked, were regular, and a
superior air marked his movements. He was apparently young; but he
refused to make known, by means of writing, his previous history. There
he was, and there he seemed disposed to remain; and it was not possible
to eject by force a being at once so dependent and so interesting. As he
gained strength, he would walk out with an old musket, which hung
suspended from the roofing of the kitchen, and return with valuable and
acceptable provisions--hares, miresnipes, woodcocks, partridges, and
even crows, were welcome visiters in the kitchen of Auchincairn. Without
the aid of a dog, and with ammunition which nobody knew how he procured,
he contrived to contribute largely to the alleviation of the winter's
sufferings. The family, consisting of one daughter about eighteen years
of age, a son about twenty-two, and four or five male and female
servants, were deeply impressed with the notion that he possessed some
unearthly powers, and was actually sent by Heaven for the purpose of
preserving them alive during the asperities and deprivations of the
famine and the storm. The winter gradually and slowly passed away, and
it was succeeded by a spring, and a summer, and a harvest of unusual
beauty and productiveness. The stranger was a wanderer in the fields,
and in the linns, and in the dark places of the mountains; and
it was observed that he had read all the little library of
Auchincairn--consisting of Knox's History, "The Holy War," "The
Pilgrim's Progress," and a volume of sermons--again and again. He had
clearly been well educated, and, as his frame resumed a healthy aspect,
he looked every inch a gentleman. Mary Gibson was a kind-hearted, bonny
lassie. There were no pretensions to ladyhood about her; but her sweet
face beamed with benevolence, and her warm heart beat with goodness and
affection. She had all along been most kind and attentive to the poor
dumb gentleman (as she called him), for it early struck her that the
stranger had been born such. But, all at once, the stranger disappeared;
and, though search was made in all his haunts, not a trace of him could
be found. It was feared that, in some of his reveries, he had stumbled
over the Whiteside Linn; but his body was not to be found. Newspapers,
in these days, there were none, at least in Dumfries-shire; and in a
month or two the family of Auchincairn seemed to have made up their mind
to regard their mysterious visiter in the light of a benevolent
messenger of God--in short, of an angel. Into this opinion, however,
Mary, it was observed, did not fully enter. But she _said_ little, and
_sung_ much, and seemed but little affected by the stranger's departure.
It was in the month of November of this destructive season, that, one
morning, long ere daylight, the close of Auchincairn was filled with
dragoons. There were fearful oaths, and plunging of swords into
bed-covers and wool-sacks, in quest of some one after whom they were
searching. At length Walter Gibson and his son were roused from their
beds, and placed, half-naked, in the presence of Grierson of Lag, to be
interrogated respecting a stranger whom they had sheltered for months
past, and whom Grierson described as an enemy to the king and his
government. Of this, both son and father declared, and truly, their
ignorance; but they were disbelieved, and immediately marched off, under
a guard, to Lag Castle, to Dumfries, and ultimately to Edinburgh, there
to await a mock trial, for harbouring a traitor. In vain was all
remonstrance on the part of the wife and daughter. Resistance was
impossible, and tears were regarded as a subject of merriment.
"Ay, pipe away there," said the infamous Lag, "and scream and howl your
bellyfuls; but it will be long ere such music will reach the ear or
soften the heart of my Lord Lauderdale. There is a maiden in Edinburgh,
my gentle wood-dove," familiarly grasping Mary Gibson's chin, and
squeezing it even to agony--"there is a maiden in Edinburgh more loving,
by far, than thou canst be; and to this lady of the sharp tongue and
heavy hand shall thy dainty brother soon be wedded. As to the old cock,
a new pair of boots and a touch of the thumbikins will probably awaken
his recollections and clear his judgment. But march, my lads!--we are
wasting time." And the cavalcade rode off, having eaten and drunk all
eatables and drinkables in the dwelling.
Mrs Gibson was a person of mild and submissive manners; but there was a
strength in her character, which rose with the occasion. She immediately
dried up her tears, spoke kindly, and in words of comforting, to her
daughter; and, taking her plaid about her shoulders, retired to the
barn, where she had long been in the habit of offering up her
supplication and thanksgiving to the God of her fathers. When she came
forth, after some hours of private communion with herself, she seemed
cheered and resolved, and addressed herself to the arrangement of family
matters as if nothing particular had happened. In a few days information
was conveyed to her that her husband and son had been marched off to
Edinburgh, there to await their trial, for the state offence of
harbouring a rebel, but really to gratify the resentment of the parish
curate, who had taken mortal offence at their nonconformity. Helen
Gibson had already resolved in what manner she was to act; and, leaving
her daughter to superintend domestic affairs, she set out, like her
successor, Jeanie Deans, on foot and unprotected, to Edinburgh, there to
visit her husband and son in their confinement, and intercede, should
opportunity occur, with the superior and ruling powers, for their life
and freedom. As she wandered up the wild path which conducts to
Leadhills, it began to snow, and it was with infinite difficulty that
she reached the highest town in Scotland, then an insignificant village.
Fever was the consequence of this exertion; but, after a few days' rest,
she recovered, and, though still feeble, pursued her way. At Biggar,
news reached her that four individuals had, a few days before, been
executed at the Gallowlee; and she retired to rest with an alarmed and a
dispirited mind. The snow having thawed, she pursued her way under the
Pentlands next day, and had advanced as far as Brighouse, at the foot of
these hills, when, overcome by fatigue, she was compelled to seek for
shelter under the excavation of a rock, upon the banks of a mountain
torrent, which works its way through rock and over precipice at this
place. Being engaged in prayer, she did not observe, for some time, a
figure which stood behind her; but what was her surprise, when, on
looking around, she recognised at once the well-known countenance of the
poor dumb lad! He was now no longer dumb, but immediately informed her
that he lived in the neighbourhood; and entreated his former mistress to
accompany him home to his habitation. Surprise and astonishment had
their play in her bosom--but comfort and something like confidence
succeeded; for Mrs Gibson could not help seeing the finger of her God
in this matter.
She was conveyed by her guide, now a well-dressed and well-spoken
gentleman, to his abode at Pentland Tower--a strongly-built edifice,
well fitted for defence, and indicating the antiquity of the family by
which it had been possessed. The place was to her a palace, and she
looked with amazement on the looking-glasses and pictures which it
contained; but, what was of more moment and interest than all other
considerations, she learned that King James had fled, and King William
had given "liberty to the captive, and the opening of the prison-doors
to those who were bound." Nay more, her mysterious landlord informed
her, that, having himself just obtained his pardon, he had only returned
from skulking about, from place to place, to his paternal inheritance, a
few days ago, and that, having heard of her family's misfortunes,
occasioned in some measure by himself, he had immediately repaired to
Edinburgh, had seen her husband and son, who were actually at that
moment in another chamber of the same house, on their return home to
Auchincairn. His rencounter with her had undoubtedly been providential,
as he had not the slightest idea that she could possibly be in his
neighbourhood.
The interview which followed, with all its interesting and fond
recognisances, I shall leave to the reader's imagination--only noticing
the kindness of the young Laird of Pentland Tower, in consequence of
which the father and son were compelled to delay their return to
Auchincairn for a few days, in the course of which a chaise one evening
drove up to the door, from which alighted, dressed in her newest attire,
and in all the pride of beauty and of a gentle nature, Mary Gibson.
The sequel can be easily anticipated. To all but Mary the poor
persecuted stranger had been dumb; but to her he had formerly confided
the secret of his birth, and his subsequent history; and in places "whar
warl saw na," they had again and again sworn truth and fealty to each
other. But, having learned that a search was going on in his
neighbourhood, the young "Laird of Pentland Tower" had assumed a new
disguise, and betaken himself to another locality, from which he was
drawn by the blessed change of government already alluded to, as well as
by his wish to dignify and adorn, with the name and the honour of wife,
"a bonny, virtuous, kind-hearted lassie," who long continued to share
and add to his happiness, and to secure the inheritance of Pentland
Tower, with its domains, to the name of "Lindsay."
Among the claimants who, a few years ago, contended for the honours of
the lordship of Lindsay, I observed a lineal descendant of BONNY MARY
GIBSON.
VIII.--THE ESKDALEMUIR STORY.
In the rural retreats of Eskdalemuir, the following narrative still
exists in tradition:--
A soldier belonging to Johnstone of Westerhall's company had a fall from
his horse, in consequence of which he was disabled for a time from
service. He was committed to the charge of a poor but honest family in
Eskdalemuir, near Yettbyres, where he was carefully nursed and well
attended to. This family consisted of a mother, a daughter, and two
sons, who were shepherds on the property of Yettbyres. The daughter's
name was Jean Wilson; and the soldier's heart was lost to Jean, ere he
was aware. In truth, Jean was a beauteous rosebud, a flower of the
wilderness, in her seventeenth year, and most kind and attentive to
their guest. To own more truth, Jean was likewise in love with the brave
and manly figure and bearing of her patient; but she never told him so,
being greatly averse to his profession and his politics--for he was one
of the persecutors of God's people, and Jean's father had been shot on
Dumfries Sands for his adherence to the Covenant. At last, however, and
after many fruitless attempts on Jean's part to convert the soldier, and
convince him of the evil of his profession, he was again summoned to his
post--and the shieling of Yettbyres assumed its wonted peaceful aspect.
In the midst of the Eskdale mountains a scene was exhibited of no
ordinary interest. A poor captive stood bound and blinded; a party of
five soldiers, under the command of a serjeant, was ordered out to shoot
him. The poor man had asked for five minutes of indulgence, which was
granted; during which time he had sung some verses of a psalm, and
prayed. It was night and full moon. It was in the midst of a mountain
glen, and by the side of a mountain stream; all was still, and peaceful,
and lonely around--but the passions of men were awake. There was a
voice--it was the voice of Johnstone of Westerhall--which commanded the
men to do their duty, and to blow out the brains of the poor kneeling
captive.
"If I do, may I be hanged!" exclaimed the serjeant, standing out before
his men, and looking defiance on his captain.
"What!" exclaimed Johnstone, "do you dare to disobey my orders?
Soldiers, seize Serjeant Watson, and bind him!"
In the meantime, partly through the connivance of the men, and partly
from the confusion which ensued, the captive had made his escape. To him
the localities of this glen were all familiar; and, by ensconcing
himself beneath and beyond a sheet of foaming water which was projected
from an apron-fall in the linn, John Wilson effected his escape for the
time.
The serjeant was immediately carried to head-quarters at Lockerby, and
tried by a court-martial for disobedience of orders. The court consisted
of Grierson of Lag, Winram of Wigton, Douglas of Drumlanrig, and Bruce
of Bunyean. The fact of disobedience was not denied; but the soldier
pled the obligations which he had been under to the Wilson family during
his distress; and his consequent unwillingness to become the instrument
of John Wilson's murder. Even Clavers was somewhat softened by the
statement, and was half-inclined to sustain the reason, when Johnstone
struck in, and urged strongly the necessity of preserving subordination
at all times in the army--and particularly in these times, when
instances of disobedience to orders were anything but uncommon. Douglas
of Drumlanrig seemed likewise to be on the point of yielding to the
better feelings of humanity, when Grierson, Winram, and Bruce decided,
by a majority, that Serjeant Watson should be carried back to the ground
where the act had been committed, and shot dead on the spot.
The poor serjeant's eyes were tied up, and the muskets of four soldiers
levelled at his head, when a scream was heard, and a lovely girl, in the
most frantic manner, threw herself into the arms of the victim.