Tales of the Covenanters

by Ellen Emma Guthrie

Nothing more than an incident of this kind serves to illustrate the startling difference between town and country. Hundreds of such beings might pass and re-pass along the crowded streets of a great city unnoticed and uncared for, and yet one such individual, seen on a quiet country road or solitary heath, often affords matter for speculation and amusement during an entire day. Having now arrived at the farm-house to which I was specially directed as being near the spot where stood the memorable stone, I requested of a female, then busily engaged in farming operations, that I might be shown the precise locality of this venerable relic. Being kindly invited to take a seat until a guide could be procured to conduct me thither, I entered, and certainly was not a little astonished at the unwonted aspect of the interior. The roof of the kitchen consisted entirely of huge beams of wood placed across each other while the chimney, also built of wood, reminded one forcibly of those now seldom seen, save in the ruined halls of bygone generations, so capacious were its dimensions; and on one side of the grate, which was sufficiently distant from the chimney to prevent the catastrophe of ignition, was placed the settle, one reads of in Scottish story. It was indeed a veritable "inglenook." As if in answer to the look of astonishment with which I was regarding the enormous chimney, the female who had followed my footsteps said, with an air of complacency, "Ay, it's no every day ye'll see sic a hoose as this; it's rale auld-fashioned!" Shortly afterwards the young woman who was to act as my conductor on this occasion made her appearance, and we set off on our expedition. Having pointed out to me the locality where lay the object of my search, she returned to the farm, while I pursued my way along the side of Benharr Burn, on the banks of which stood Peden's Stone. It was indeed a solitary spot, and one well suited for the secret meetings of the persecuted Covenanters. No sound broke in upon the almost oppressive silence that reigned around, save the rippling of the water, which washed the base of the huge piece of rock on which formerly stood the mighty preacher. Surrounding heights concealed this sequestered dell from the observation of those seemingly intent on their destruction, and there would the sentinels be stationed who were to apprise those engaged in this forbidden mode of worship of the approach of their foes. There is something in the aspect of this little ravine which must speak forcibly to the imaginations and feelings of those who love to contemplate aught that is connected with a vanished time. The cold grey stone on which I was now gazing seemed to me a link uniting the remote past and the present, over the mighty gulf that intervened. Nearly two hundred years have passed away since this green turf was pressed by the foot of one who stood foremost amongst the champions of the Covenant. Here, as we are told—it might have been on a lovely summer's morn, when even to breathe the free air of heaven seemed happiness too exquisite for sinful man to enjoy—when the blue vault of heaven formed a glorious canopy over their pastor's head, and all nature breathed sweet harmony around; or it might be in the more sober season of autumn, when the deepening russet of the surrounding moor, the falling leaf, and the stillness of the atmosphere—so often perceptible in that season which harbingers the coming winter—seemed more in unison with the gloom which pervaded the Covenanters' souls, there assembled a mighty crowd to listen to the truths which fell from the lips of Peden. And what spot more suited to their holy purpose! On all sides were they surrounded by scenes famous for their connection with the stirring events of that stormy period. Directly opposite, the mighty Grampians towered majestically in the distance, amid whose solitudes, according to the traditions of the times, the Covenanters, while listening to an impassioned discourse of the zealous Wellwood, were protected from their enemies' bullets by a man of lofty stature, who stood in the air with his drawn sword extended over the heads of the panic-stricken hearers of the Word of God; while, stretching away on their right hand, the blue range of the Pentlands, so linked with the misfortunes of the devoted party of the Covenant, stood out in bold relief against the sky; and on their left lay the disastrous plain of Bothwell. The whole scene was pictured as though in a mirror before me. Here stood the dauntless preacher of the Word, his grey hairs floating on the breeze, his eye bright with sacred enthusiasm, and his hand, which clasped the sacred Scriptures, raised aloft to heaven as though invoking the presence of Him who hath promised to bless the assemblies of His servants, while the surrounding heights were peopled by a dense mass of human beings, hushed into breathless silence, save when aroused to passionate bursts of sorrow, as the speaker brought home to their hearts the sufferings of those who fought and bled in defence of the Church of Scotland. While indulging thus in reminiscences of the past, I was somewhat startled by the pressure of a hand on my shoulder, and, turning suddenly round, to my no small astonishment I found myself confronted by the wearer of the scarlet mantle, who, coming from what direction I knew not, proceeded to inquire, while she peered up in my face with two small penetrating eyes, "Whether I had come any great distance that morning?"

Having satisfied her curiosity upon that point, I proceeded to make some reflections on the subject of Peden, evidently to the great delight of the antiquated-looking stranger, for, seizing me by the arm, she exclaimed, with kindling eyes—

"O, mam, it does my old heart good to meet with one in these degenerate days who professes an interest in the old Covenanting stock; for, alas! new-fangled notions are rapidly taking possession of people's minds, old customs are abolished, a love for those sacred rites, so revered by our forefathers, is entertained now but by few, and (a deep sigh) times are changed in Scotland.

"What!" I said, "do you not esteem it an unspeakable blessing that in these days each one is permitted, nay, invited, to enter the house of God, there to worship Him without incurring the risk of imprisonment, ay, even death for doing so?"

The old woman shook her head as she replied, "To say truly, liberty is indeed granted to all who choose to accept of the gracious invitation to hear the Word of God, but few, few there are who avail themselves of the gracious privilege afforded them. Look at your mighty cities; see the multitudes there who never enter a church-door. And of those who do attend, note the very few attracted thither by sentiments of real devotion. No, no; the old spirit of religion is fast dying out of Scotland, and when it becomes extinct, then may we weep for our country. Far different was it thirty years ago," continued the old woman. "Oh, well do I mind one bonnie summer's morning, when the sky was without a cloud, and the caller air cam' blithely over the heather, while the lark was singing sae cheerily aboon our heads, as if it too was joining in the hymn of praise, at that instant ascending from the lips of three thousand people then assembled on this very spot to hear a sermon preached in remembrance of Peden. Oh, that was indeed a glorious sight, and one never to be forgotten. There was the minister, the saut tears trickling down his cheeks as he spoke of him in honour of whose memory they were that day gathered together—of his zeal, and his love for the mighty cause he had espoused; and there were the hearers, so absorbed in listening to his pious exhortations, that a pin might have been heard to fall in that vast assemblage." Here the old woman paused for an instant, and then continued: "Ay, ay, there was mair religion in one's thoughts when seated on the bonnie hill-side, or aneath the shade o' a nodding beach, imbibing the pure gospel truths as given them by some persecuted servant of God, than when seated between four walls of stone and lime, the perishable work o' men's hands."

Here I broke in upon the stranger's half-muttered observations by inquiring of her "if she belonged to that part of the country?"

"Oh, no!" she replied, "I come from Fifeshire, (I no longer wondered at her resemblance to a broomstick lady,) but am at present on a visit to some friends who reside near here."

"Indeed," I said; "yours was a noted part of the country in the time of the Covenanters; no wonder you still retain a strong predilection for aught that savours of the Covenant. And, pray, to what district of Fifeshire do you belong?"

"To the parish of Kinlassie," was the reply.

"Then you will know Inchdarnie?"