Tales of the Covenanters

by Ellen Emma Guthrie

"Oh! yes," she replied, "there was one at Rockhall, but it was stolen from thence by some person in the time of one of the late baronets."

"Did you ever hear any description of his personal appearance?"

"Well," she replied, "I have heard it said that he was a fair man with long yellow hair which hung in ringlets down to his shoulders, but I cannot believe that any fair person ever possessed such a black soul as he must have had. However, he might have been a bonnie man for all that."

Begging pardon for the interruption, I prayed her to continue, which she did as follows:—

"Well ma'm, as I told you before, my memory is not so good as it was, and there are many things told of the Laird of Lag that I have quite forgotten; yet one thing I still remember, and that is the account of what took place at the time of his burial. My Thomas told me his grandfather remembered that day well, and such a one he never saw. It was in the winter time and bitterly cold; yet notwithstanding, there was a storm of thunder and lightning the like of which never occurred in the memory of man. As Lag died in Dumfries, horses were brought from the Kings' Arms Inn in order to bring his body to Dunscore. I suppose you have seen his grave?"

"Yes," I replied, "and very sorry I am to see it all in ruins!"

"Ay," she, said, "Lag is in a sad state!"

After this sage remark, Mrs. Walker continued: "As I was saying, horses were brought from the inn at Dumfries, for the purpose of driving the hearse to the burial-ground; but when they were yoked, and the driver endeavoured to set them in motion, not one foot would they stir. All this time the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed in an awful manner. Half-blinded by the vivid flashes that played around, and smarting under the furious strokes of the driver's whip, the poor horses trembled in every limb; yet no power on earth was capable of causing them to proceed with their burden. Well, Sir Thomas of Closeburn was there, and he swore a great oath that he would drive Lag to his grave, although the devil was in him. So, unyoking the horses from his own carriage, he fastened them to the hearse, and mounting himself on the driver's seat, prepared to urge them forward. At this moment, a large black rook, that had been seated on one of the housetops, apparently watching the whole proceedings with the deepest interest, flew down from its elevated situation, and, with a loud caw, seated itself on the top of the hearse. Strange to say, whenever it placed itself there, the horses set off at a gallop; and the roads being rough and heavy with the recent rains, the hearse was jolted about in a fearful manner; still the rook kept its seat, and cawed every now and again. Whenever it did so the horses went faster and faster, until at length on arriving at the churchyard, they fell down dead, from sheer exhaustion. Then the strange bird rose up from its seat, and, with a loud scream and a flap of its wings, flew away and was soon out of sight. The people about maintain to this day that it was the devil who had come in person to superintend the funeral of his colleague. At the time I speak of there were copies of an elegy on the Laird of Lag—a verse of which I read to you from the 'Scots' Worthies'—distributed throughout the country; and as no one knew the composer, it was universally believed that the devil himself wrote it, as a lament for having lost so good a servant as Lag had been to him while on earth. All the copies that could be procured were bought up by by Sir Robert's granddaughter, who could not bear that her grandfather's memory should be held in such detestation, and I doubt if there is a copy now in existence."

"How far is Lag Tower from here?" I inquired, after thanking her for the tale.

"About four miles," replied Mrs. Walker, "and an easy road it is to find out. You go past the Free Church Manse, and turn up the Barjarg Road: then go through Glen Midge, and you will soon see the old tower. It is a wild place, and well worth visiting."