CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE FIGHT IN THE GUT OF THE ENTERKIN.
All the next two days we were gathering for the rescue of Maisie and herfather, finding, as we went eastward, men whose hearts were hot withinthem because of the oppression. But we found not place nor opportunitytill the third day. It was the night of the second day that I stole downto the little village of Carron Bridge, which stands by the brink of adashing, clean-running stream, where the troops were encamped. There Imanaged to get speech of Maisie Lennox. I clambered down one bank and upthe other. And because the houses stood over the brawling of the stream,the soldiers on guard heard me not. I went from window to window till,by the good hap of love (and the blessing of God), I found the window ofthe room within which Maisie Lennox was confined.
I cried to her through the dark, low and much afraid. "Maisie May!" Icalled as in old days at the Duchrae, when I used to carry her on myback, and she in sportiveness used to run and hide from me.
She was not asleep, for I heard her say plainly, like one speaking froma bed:
"It is a dream--a sweet dream!" But nevertheless I knew that she sat upand listened.
"Maisie May!" I said again at the window, very softly.
I heard her move, and in a moment she came to the lattice, and put herhand on the sill.
"Oh, William!" she said, "is it indeed you and not a dream?"
"It is even William Gordon!" I said, sorry that I could not do more thantouch her fingers through the thick bars of the guard-house.
"You must go away at once," she said; "there are three soldiers sleepingno further off than the door."
"We will rescue you to-morrow, Maisie," I said.
"And get yoursel's killed!" she said. "Do not try it, for my sake."
"Well, for your father's!" I said.
And at that she said nothing.
Then she told me that the young officer in command was a lad from one ofthe good families of the North, and that he treated them civilly. Butthat, having lost a prisoner on a former occasion, he might happen tolose his life if he let slip so noble a taking; which made him carefulof his prisoners with a great carefulness. As well it might; for thePrivy Council was not to be trifled with in those days.
There were nine of the prisoners altogether, including the minister of aNithside conventicle that had been scattered that day. More I could notget from her. For, one of the soldiers stirring without, she prayed meso piteously to be gone, that I set off crawling down among the stones,though I was eager to hear how they had been taken at Cove Macaterick.But that I had to put off to another diet of hearing, as they say in thekirk.
On the morrow we came upon the man that was of all men the best fittedto give us aid in the matter of rescue. This was James Harkness ofLocharben, "James of the Long Gun," as he was called. He had been asoldier, and was said to be the finest marksman in Scotland. Often hadthe King's party tried to win him back again to the troop, but Jameskept to the hills with his noted long gun ever at his back. For manyyears he had as companion his brother Thomas, called "Tam o' the LangHosen." But he had been killed in battle, so that often like a widowedJack heron, James Harkness stood at gaze on some hilltop, leaning on hisgun, and this was mostly his place at conventicles or meetings of theSocieties.
Being an old soldier, it fell to him now to choose the place of therescue and to command us in the manner of it. It was in the deep andnarrow defile of the Enterkin that he posted us--a most wild andfearsome place, where the hills draw very close together. One of theplaces is called Stey Gail, and is so high that the sheep grazing on itare like flies but half way up, as my plain-spoken friend Mr. Daniel deFoe well remarked when he passed that way. On the other side there risesstill higher, and almost as steep, the top of the Thirlstane Hill. Thereis one place at which the water runs down the cleft of the hills, andthe place is perpendicular like a wall. It is so steep a place, as Mr.Foe saw it, that if a sheep die it lies not still, but falls from slopeto slope, till it ends in the Enterkin Water.
The path passes midways on the steepest and most terrifying slope. Here,on the brow high above, we laid our ambush, and piled great stones toroll on the enemy if need were.
It was a dark, gloomy day, with black clouds driven by the wind, andscuffs of grey showers scudding among the hilltops.
Presently lying couched amid the heather we saw the dragoons comemarching loosely two and two, with their reins slack on their horses'necks. At the entering in of the gorge we observed them fall to singlefile, owing to the narrowing of the path. We could see the ministerriding first of the prisoners in his black clothes. Then after a soldiercame Anton Lennox, sitting staid and sober on his horse, with acountryman to lead the beast, and to watch that, by reason of his woundsand weakness, he did not fall off.
Then followed Maisie, riding daintily and sedately as ever. Then camefive or six other prisoners. Each man of these was held by a rope roundhis neck, which a trooper had attached to the pommel of his saddle. Andat this he took an occasional tug, according to his desire, as other menmight take a refreshment.
So these poor lads were being haled along to their fate in Edinburgh.And for a certain long moment, at least, I thought with more complacenceon the stark spy behind the dyke, to whose treachery they owed theirfate. But the next minute I was ashamed of my thought.
As I looked over I saw the whole party strung out along the steep anddangerous face of the precipice. Then while they were thus painfullytoiling with their horses through the dangers of the way, James of theLong Gun rose to his height out of the bent, and sent his powerful voicedown, as it had been out of the clouds. For as I said, it was misty andgloomy that day--as indeed it is seldom otherwise there, and to see theplace well you must see it in gloom and in no other way.
"Halt, ye sons of Belial!" cried James of the Long Gun.
I could hardly help smiling, for he said it solemnly, as though it hadbeen his idea of a civil salutation or the enunciation of anincontestable fact.
The young apple-faced officer answered, holding up his hand to stay thecavalcade behind him, and hearing some one call from the misty hill, butnot catching the word.
"Who may you be, and what do you want?"
Then at the upward wave of James of the Long Gun's hand, twelve of usstood up with our pieces at the point. This startled young Apple-Face(yet I would not call him that, for he was not uncivil to Maisie). Forhe thought of the Council's word to him, for he well knew that it wouldbe kept, and that his life would stand for the prisoners'. So when hesaw twelve armed men rise from the steep side of the Nether Pot, andmore looking over the brow of the Crawstane Snout, he was shaken verygreatly in his nerves, being young and naturally much in fear of hisneck.
Then another officer, whom we afterwards knew as Sergeant Kelt (he haswrongly been called Captain, but no matter), took up the word and badeus to stand, for rebel loons.
But it was Long Gun that cried out to him:
"Stand yourself, Kelt. It is you that must do the standing, lest we sendyou to your own place at the bottom of the ravine, and with a dozen shotin you. Will you deliver your prisoners?"
"No, sir," cried Kelt, "that we will not, though we were to be damned!"
It was a soldier's answer, and I think none of us thought the worse ofhim for the expression he had at the close.
For indeed it was a hard case for all of them.
At which, quick as the echo of his oath, there rose one from the heatherat our back and fired a musket at him. It was Black MacMichael.
"Damned ye shall be, and that quick! Tak' that," he cried, "an' learnno' to swear!"
And he fired his pistol also at the soldier.
Sergeant Kelt threw up his arms, shot through the head. His horse alsofell from rock to rock, and among a great whammel of stones, reached thebottom of the defile as soon as its master.
Then every man of the twelve of us had our pieces to our eyes, and eachhad picked his quarry, when the young officer held up his hand anddesired a parley.
&n
bsp; Indeed, the whole command was in great jeopardy, and so strung out likeonions on a cord, that no man could either fight well himself or yetdraw in to support his party. We had them completely at our mercy, therein the Gut of the Enterkin.
At this moment their fore-goer cried back to them, from the knoll whencehe had gone to scout, that there appeared another band of armedcountrymen on the top of the hill to their front. They were, indeed, butsome merchant travellers who, seeing the military stopping the way,stood modestly aside to let them pass. But they did us as much good asthey had been a battalion of the Seven Thousand.
At this the officer was even more afraid, though I think like a goodsoldier lad, more for his command than even for his own credit and life.
"Stand!" he cried. "A parley! What would ye have?"
So James of the Long Gun called out to him:
"We would have our minister."
For so they thought of ministers in those days. But I would have criedfor certain others before him, being, as it were, a man prepared andready to go. However, I tell it as James Harkness said it.
"Ye shall have your minister," said the officer.
"And the lass," cried I, striking in, for which James did not thank me.
"And the lass," the officer repeated, moving a little at hearing a newvoice.
"And her father and the other prisoners," I added.
The officer hung a little on his words.
"Do you want them all? Must ye have them?"
"Aye, all--or we will take the lives of every one of you!"
"Then," said the officer, "my life is forfeit to the Council. Anothershall surrender the prisoners and not I."
And with that he pulled a pistol from his holster and snapped it at hisown head. Nevertheless it went not off, the lock being out of order,belike, or the poor lad's hand unsteady.
He was reaching down with his other hand to pull another pistol from theopposite holster, but ere he could draw it, the voice of the Covenanter,Anton Lennox, spoke, gravely and nobly, so as to be heard by all of us.
"Young man, face not in your own blood an angry God! Leap not thus quickto hell! Abide--and I, Anton Lennox, vow that I will not see youwronged. I am but an old and a dying man. My wounds can hardly let melive. What is my life any more? It is even at your service. I will gowith you to the Council!"
And at the word he looked up to the dark heaven, the sunshine waftingafter the shower caught his head, and lo! there was a kind of gloryabout it, as of one that sees mysteries unveiled.
Then we cried out to him to come with us, but he denied. And Maisie, hisdaughter, fleeched and besought him, but he would not even for hertears.
"Go thou, my lassie," he said, "for I am spent. When I set my sword tothe hilt in the breast of Mardrochat, of a surety I also gat my deadstroke. Now I am no better than a dead man myself; and perhaps if I givemy life for the life of this heathen man, the Lord will not see theblood of the slain on my hands."
It happens not often while men are yet in the struggle, that they seemto live to the height of their profession. But as Anton Lennox made hisrenunciation he was lifted, as it were, to the seventh heaven, and wecommon men gazed silently at him, expecting to see him vanish out of oursight.
Then he gave the orders as one with authority among the soldiers, eventhe officer not taking the words from his mouth.
"Loose the minister and let him step up the hill!"
And they did it. And so with the other prisoners till it came to hisdaughter, Maisie Lennox.
Then Anton, being sore wounded, bent painfully from his horse, and laidhis hands on her shoulders.
"My lassie," he said, "daughter of the Covenant and of mine old age, donot weep or cry for me. Yea, though I dwell now by the waters of Ulais,whose name is sorrow, and drink of the springs of a Marah that cannot bemade sweet, I am the Lord's man. He hath chosen me. My Master gaveHimself for a thief. I, a sinner above most men, am willing to givemyself for this persecutor that he may have time to repent."
And Maisie bent herself pitifully upon his hand, but she gave forth novoice or tear, and her little hands were still bound before her.
"Daughter of the Covenant," her father said again, "thou dost well. Kissme once, ere, with all my garments red I come up from Bozrah, going tothe sacrifice as a bridegroom goeth to his chamber. If it please theLord, in the Grassmarket, which is red already with the blood of thesaints, I shall witness a good confession and win worthily off thestage. It has been my constant prayer for years."
So without further word the troop filed away. And Anton Lennox,Covenanter and brave man, sat his horse like a general that enters aconquered city, not so much as looking behind him to where, by the sideof the path, Maisie Lennox stood, bareheaded, her hands yet bound, fornone had remembered to loose them. No tear was upon her pale face, andas each rude soldier man came by her, he saluted as reverently as thoughshe had been King Charles Stuart himself.
And we, that were twelve men, stood at gaze on the hill above, silentand afraid. There was no word in our mouth and no prayer in our heart.We stood as though the place had been the Place of a Skull--the placewherein there is a garden, and in the garden a new tomb.