Tales of the Covenanters

by Ellen Emma Guthrie

"To visit Peden's Stone; likewise to call on a Mr. Brown, who, I understand, is able to give me some information regarding it."

"Peden's Stone," re-echoed Mrs. Black—such she afterwards informed me was her designation—"a weel, mam, it's just up by there, an' a solitary bit it is. Many a one has gone to visit Peden's Stone. There's my daughter; a few weeks ago she was spending the day with some friends that live near there, and they took her away to see it. On her return home, she says to me, 'Oh, mother! just to think o' my being twenty years old, and never to have been at Peden's Stone afore.' 'Hoots, lassie!' says I, 'I'm a hantle mair than that, and I have never seen it! ha, ha, ha!' And so you're going to Sandy Brown's to get information; weel I'll no say but he'll be able to tell you something canny, for folks say that he speaks like ony minister. Aweel, aweel, I mind the day when I could have told you lots o' stories mysel'; but that's a' by! And you're rale ta'en up about the Covenanters, are you?" demanded the loquacious dame, and, without waiting for an answer, away she went on. "Ay, weel, so was I at ae time o' my life; for when I was at the sewing-school in Strathaven, I was rale anxious to see Loudon hill—may be you'll ken Loudon hill, where the battle o' Drumclog was fought? Ay, I thought sae; it's a queer-looking place, I fancy, and I was many a time going to see it, but I never could win, and the time just gaed by. Losh me, but there was a curious story told about that hill—a most ex-tre-orner thing indeed; for, when I was at the sewing-school, many and many a time ha'e I heard tell o' a heap o' siller being buried there; and when any person went to dig it up, an awful voice ahint them cried—'Clog's in a low!' and on their turning round to see what was wrong, the sight o' a great bull rushing at them gar'd them rin, and the hole instantly closed, so that they couldna win at it again. But maybe you'll think that's a lee; and I wadna say but it is."

"Is it true," I inquired, "that your brother, who lives near here, has a sword that belonged to Captain Paton?"

"He has that, he has that! but stop noo, I'm foolish to say sae"—here Mrs. Black put her finger into her mouth and appeared to reflect a little—"Did you say Captain Paton?"

"Yes."

"Weel, I'm no sae sure about that; but I ken brawly he has an 'Andrew Ferrara' that belonged to some o' thae fechting folk. However, ye should just gang and ask him about it, he'll be blythe to see ye, and I'll show ye a heap o' curiosities, for he is rale ta'en up about auld-fashioned things. And ye can just say I sent ye."

Thanking Mrs. Black for her instructions, I proceeded towards the house indicated, and Mr. Graham being within, I was ushered into a room, where a huge sword lay upon the table. From its appearance, I should have judged it rather to be a relic of the forty-five than of the days of persecution. Mr. Graham, in answer to my inquiries, stated that it was said to have been one of Captain Paton's swords, but that he could not give me any true account of it, as it had formerly belonged to his brother, and at his death came into the hands of its present possessor. Amongst other curiosities, Mr. G. produced two coins of the reign of David the First, which had been found with a great many more at the foot of a hill, about a mile or two on the moor at the back of his house. The tradition told concerning them in the neighbourhood is, that a man, whose Christian name was Tom, while returning at that remote period of time from a marriage party, missed his footing, and fell over a quarry which lay in his path, and was killed on the spot, the money falling out of his pocket during his too rapid descent. In consequence of this sad disaster, the spot is known as "Tam's leap" to this day.

While speaking about the persecuting times Mr. Graham informed me that a particular part of the moor was known by the name of the "Headless Cross," and that the circumstance which gave rise to its singular designation was this:—A persecutor of that name, who had rendered himself particularly obnoxious to the Covenanting party, on account of his many cruelties, took refuge from their anger in this part of the moor. The Covenanters, having been apprised of his whereabouts, set off instantly in pursuit of their intended victim. On arriving at the place where they expected to find their enemy, their astonishment may be conceived on seeing him without his head! It appeared that the unfortunate man had fallen into the hands of another hostile party, who, depriving him of his head, rendered him in truth a "Headless Cross." A large stone, likewise on the moor, familiarly known as "Pack Stone," was said to have been thrown down there by the celebrated wizard, Michael Scott, when in4 company with his Satanic majesty. These worthies, it is believed, were employed in carrying stones suitable for the erection of a bridge over the Firth of Forth. During this benevolent employment, a dispute took place between them—words ran high; and Michael Scott, in a fit of rage, threw down the stone then borne on his back, declaring that not one foot further should he carry it. How the quarrel ended is not related; but the stone, which is of an immense size, still remains in confirmation of the truth of this legend. The most probable version of the story is, that there the wearied pedlar used to rest with his pack while journeying between Glasgow and Edinburgh, as the wheel tracts of the old Glasgow Road are still visible near the spot.

After a minute inspection of Mr. Graham's little museum, I set off to visit Mr. Brown. The farm towards which I directed my steps was prettily situated near a "gleaming wood," the trees of which, now clad in autumn's russet brown, peacefully waved over the cottage roof, before the grateful breeze, as it sped along the moor on its trackless way; while a few plants of Indian cress, trained up against the wall evinced a greater predilection for neatness than is generally to be seen in the farm-houses of Scotland. A cleanly-dressed, pleasant-looking woman—whom I afterwards ascertained to be Mrs. Brown—was standing near the entrance; and on my inquiring if Mr. Brown was within, she invited me to take a seat, as he was in the fields, and should be in presently. Availing myself of the kind invitation, I entered, and taking possession of the proffered chair, I amused myself with inspecting the cottage interior, until the arrival of Mr. Brown. It presented the nicest little picture of a moorland farm I had ever seen. Rows of nicely-cleaned dishes, bright pewter plates, and spotless chairs, all indicated the careful housewife.

In a few minutes Mr. Brown entered; and on my informing him of the nature of my visit, he said, with a smile, that he did know a little regarding these times, and should only be too happy were it in his power to give me any information that might chance to be of service. This was encouraging, so I at once began the conversation by remarking, "that this seemed to have been a great part of the country for the Covenanters in former times." Upon which he replied that it was, more particularly the west end of the parish, where Peden and Cargill used to preach, adding, "I suppose you have seen Peden's Stone?" On my informing him that I was then on my way to visit it, he said it was not above a mile distant.