Wilsons' father,clasping his hands in agony. "Hae ye nae mair?"
"No' anither plack," said the old man in deepest dejection. "They tookall I had for Aggie."
"Ye are strang, Quentin," suggested Peter, who now understood the reasonof his friend's wild despair. "Could ye no' waylay somebody an' robthem? Surely it wouldna be coonted wrang in the circumstances."
"Sin is sin, Peter. Better death than sin," returned Quentin with agrave look.
"Aweel, we maun just dee, then," said Peter in a tone of resignation.
Nothing could avert the doom of these unfortunate women. Their judges,of whom Grierson, Laird of Lagg, was one, indicted this young girl andthe old woman with the ridiculous charge of rebellion, of having been atthe battles of Bothwell Bridge and Airsmoss and present at twentyconventicles, as well as with refusing to swear the abjuration oath!
The innocent victims were carried to the mouth of the river Bladenoch,being guarded by troops under Major Winram, and followed by an immensecrowd both of friends and spectators. Quentin Dick and his littlefriend Peter were among them. The former had possessed himself of astick resembling a quarter-staff. His wild appearance and bloodshoteyes, with his great size and strength, induced people to keep out ofhis way. He had only just reached the spot in time. No word did hespeak till he came up to Major Winram. Then he sprang forward, and saidin a loud voice, "I forbid this execution in the name of God!" at thesame time raising his staff.
Instantly a trooper spurred forward and cut him down from behind.
"Take him away," said Winram, and Quentin, while endeavouring to staggerto his feet, was ridden down, secured, and dragged away. Poor Petershared his fate. So quickly and quietly was it all done that few exceptthose quite close to them were fully aware of what had occurred. Theblow on his head seemed to have stunned the shepherd, for he made noresistance while they led him a considerable distance back into thecountry to a retired spot, and placed him with his back against a cliff.Then the leader of the party told off six men to shoot him.
Not until they were about to present their muskets did the shepherd seemto realise his position. Then an eager look came over his face, and hesaid with a smile, "Ay, be quick! Maybe I'll git there first to welcomeher!"
A volley followed, and the soul of Quentin Dick was released from itstenement of clay.
Peter, on seeing the catastrophe, fell backwards in a swoon, and theleader of the troop, feeling, perhaps, a touch of pity, cast him looseand left him there. Returning to the sands, the soldiers found that themartyrdom was well-nigh completed.
The mouth of the Bladenoch has been considerably modified. At this timethe river's course was close along the base of the hill on which Wigtownstands. The tide had turned, and the flowing sea had already reversedthe current of the river. The banks of sand were steep, and severalfeet high at the spot to which the martyrs were led, so that peoplestanding on the edge were close above the inrushing stream. Two stakeshad been driven into the top of the banks--one being some distance lowerdown the river than the other. Ropes of a few yards in length werefastened to them, and the outer ends tied round the martyrs' waists--oldMrs. McLachlan being attached to the lower post. They were then biddenprepare for death, which they did by kneeling down and engaging infervent prayer. It is said that the younger woman repeated somepassages of Scripture, and even sang part of the 25th Psalm.
At this point a married daughter of Mrs. McLachlan, named Milliken, whocould not believe that the sentence would really be carried out, gaveway to violent lamentations, and fainted when she saw that her mother'sdoom was fixed. They carried the poor creature away from the dreadfulscene.
The old woman was first pushed over the brink of the river, and asoldier, thrusting her head down into the water with a halbert, held itthere. This was evidently done to terrify the younger woman intosubmission, for, while the aged martyr was struggling in the agonies ofdeath, one of the tormentors asked Margaret Wilson what she thought ofthat sight.
"What do I see?" was her reply. "I see Christ in one of His memberswrestling there. Think ye that we are sufferers? No! it is Christ inus; for He sends none a warfare on his own charges."
These were her last words as she was pushed over the bank, and, like hercompanion, forcibly held, down with a halbert. Before she was quitesuffocated, however, Winram ordered her to be dragged out, and, whenable to speak, she was asked if she would pray for the King.
"I wish the salvation of all men," she replied, "and the damnation ofnone."
"Dear Margaret," urged a bystander in a voice of earnest entreaty, "say`God save the King,' say `God save the King.'"
"God save him if He will," she replied. "It is his salvation I desire."
"She has said it! she has said it!" cried the pitying bystanderseagerly.
"That won't do," cried the Laird of Lagg, coming forward at the moment,uttering a coarse oath; "let her take the test-oaths."
As this meant the repudiation of the Covenants and the submission of herconscience to the King--to her mind inexcusable sin--the martyr firmlyrefused to obey. She was immediately thrust back into the water, and ina few minutes more her heroic soul was with her God and Saviour.
The truth of this story--like that of John Brown of Priesthill, thoughattested by a letter of Claverhouse himself [See Dr. Cunningham's_History of the Church of Scotland_, volume two, page 239.]--has beencalled in question, and the whole affair pronounced a myth! We have nospace for controversy, but it is right to add that if it be a myth, therecords of the Kirk-sessions of Kirkinner and Penninghame--which exist,and in which it is recorded--must also be mythical. The truth is, thatboth stories have been elaborately investigated by men of profoundlearning and unquestionable capacity, and the truth of them proved "upto the hilt."
As to Graham of Claverhouse--there are people, we believe, who wouldwhitewash the devil if he were only to present himself with a dashingperson and a handsome face! But such historians as Macaulay, McCrie,McKenzie, and others, refuse to whitewash Claverhouse. Even Sir WalterScott--who was very decidedly in sympathy with the Cavaliers--says ofhim in _Old Mortality_: "He was the unscrupulous agent of the ScottishPrivy Council in executing the merciless seventies of the Government inScotland during the reigns of Charles the Second and James the Second;"and his latest apologist candidly admits that "it is impossiblealtogether to acquit Claverhouse of the charges laid to his account."We are inclined to ask, with some surprise, Why should he wish to acquithim? But Claverhouse himself, as if in prophetic cynicism, writes hisown condemnation as to character thus: "In any service I have been in, Inever inquired further in the laws than the orders of my superiorofficer." An appropriate motto for a "soldier of fortune," which mightbe abbreviated and paraphrased into "Stick at nothing!"
Coupling all this with the united testimony of tradition, and nearly allancient historians, we can only wonder at the prejudice of those whowould still weave a chaplet for the brow of "Bonnie Dundee."
Turning now from the south-west of Scotland, we direct attention to theeastern seaboard of Kincardine, where, perched like a sea-bird on theweatherbeaten cliffs, stands the stronghold of Dunnottar Castle.
Down in the dungeons of that rugged pile lies our friend Andrew Black,very different from the man whose fortunes we have hitherto followed.Care, torment, disease, hard usage, long confinement, and desperateanxiety have graven lines on his face that nothing but death can smoothout. Wildly-tangled hair, with a long shaggy beard and moustache,render him almost unrecognisable. Only the old unquenchable fire of hiseye remains; also the kindliness of his old smile, when such a rarevisitant chances once again to illuminate his worn features. Years ofsuffering had he undergone, and there was now little more than skin andbone of him left to undergo more.
"Let me hae a turn at the crack noo," he said, coming forward to a partof the foul miry dungeon where a crowd of male and female prisoners wereendeavouring to inhale a little fresh air through a crevice in the wall."I'm fit to choke for want o' a breath o
' caller air."
As he spoke a groan from a dark corner attracted his attention. At onceforgetting his own distress, he went to the place and discovered one ofthe prisoners, a young man, with his head pillowed on a stone, and miresome inches deep for his bed.
"Eh, Sandy, are ye sae far gane?" asked Black, kneeling beside him intender sympathy.
"Oh, Andry, man--for a breath o' fresh air before I dee!"
"Here! ane o' ye," cried Black, "help me to carry Sandy to the crack.Wae's me, man," he added in a lower voice, "I could hae carried you yewi' my pirlie ance, but I'm little stronger than a bairn noo."
Sandy was borne to the other side of the