Tales of the Covenanters

by Ellen Emma Guthrie

"Now, most valiant sir," said Walter Henderson, who appeared to be the leader of the party, "as you have despised the warning, I, out of kindness and consideration for your youth was foolish enough to give you, you must prepare to accompany us as our captive. No evil is intended you, but should you evince the slightest disposition to escape—that moment shall be your last;" so saying, he gave orders for the party to set themselves in motion. The moon had risen, and her pale crest appeared over the summits of the surrounding hills, throwing a dim and shadowy light on the path trod by the Covenanters, as they silently, and with many precautions against surprise, pursued their way along the rough-winding road leading in the direction of Lag Tower. Suddenly they were startled in the midst of their progress by a scream, so shrill and wild in its death-like agony, that all paused to listen, awestruck by the heart-rending burst of sorrow which sounded painfully distinct amid the deep and impressive silence that reigned around. Again and again it was repeated; now floating on the breeze like the wail of some restless spirit, and anon dying away in sounds resembling the mournful cadence produced by the wind sweeping the chords of an Æolian harp. The party, at the orders of Walter Henderson, made a sudden halt, and, with deepened gloom on their faces, awaited an explanation of the harrowing sounds which now saluted their ears. Nearer and nearer sounded the voice of lamentation, and in a few minutes a small procession appeared in sight, and approached the spot where stood the wanderers, some of whom instantly rushed forward to ascertain the meaning of what they saw. The first object that met their eyes was a rude bier constructed of green boughs, on which lay the lifeless body of a young man, supported on the shoulders of four men; while at his head, with streaming eyes and dishevelled locks, walked an aged woman, the mother of the deceased. She it was who gave utterance to these terrible bursts of sorrow that first attracted the attention of Walter Henderson and his party.

"What new horror is this?" cried the aged leader, gazing with distended eyes on the bloody object before him, and addressing himself to the woman, who, totally unable to speak, merely pointed to the lifeless corpse, and again gave utterance to a shriek which froze the blood of those who stood speechless around. Perceiving that the wretched mother was wholly incapable of replying to his inquiry, Walter Henderson then turned to one of the four men supporting the bier, and begged to be informed as to the cause of the sad occurrence, and by whose hands the unfortunate man had perished.

"Just the old story!" was the reply; "a poor innocent lad done to death by the blood-hounds of the opposite party; and all for refusing the oath of abjuration. Four of us" continued the speaker, "were this morning seated on the brow of a hill near Dunscore; James Wishart, he who lies on this stretcher, was reading aloud from the Bible, and we were lying beside him listening to the comforting words, when suddenly four or five dragoons appeared at the base of the hill on which we were stationed. Seeing, from their threatening gestures, that harm was intended us, we prepared for flight. 'Pursue different directions,' cried James Wishart, who was himself an excellent runner, throwing off his coat as he spoke. We shook each other by the hand and commended ourselves to God. Away went James Wishart fleet as the wind, and after him, with the fire of hate in their breasts, sped the dragoons. Finding ourselves unmolested, we stood as if spellbound, in breathless anxiety gazing after the retreating figure of our comrade. On he went, swift as the roe-deer. 'He will escape,' murmured one who stood by my side; at that instant he stumbled and fell. 'Oh, God protect him!' cried we all. In an instant he regained his footing, and darted on swifter than ever. Soon he disappeared in the distance. Anxious concerning our own safety, we parted and set off in different directions. This took place in the morning. Towards the hour of noon, prompted by anxiety regarding the fate of young Wishart, I, who had remained concealed beneath a cairn of stones near the spot where my friends left me, sought by a circuitous route to approach the place where last we saw him in advance of the dragoons. Alas! a few paces distant from thence there he lay extended on the ground. Observing, however, some portion of his garments in motion, I hastened joyfully forward, hoping to find him alive; but no; it was only the wind which stirred his yellow hair and a pocket-handkerchief that lay deluged in blood beside him. He was gone! His young life had ebbed away through a gun-shot wound in his breast. I sat down beside him, devoutly hoping my late companions would also return to ascertain the fate of their comrade, as I did not wish to leave his lifeless body to the mercy of the hungry ravens which hovered in circles around our heads, watching for their prey. Soon they rejoined me, another accompanying them. The dragoons, they informed me, satisfied with their morning's work, had galloped off in another direction, therefore we might with safety convey the body of James Wishart to his mother's cottage, which stood not far distant. Having constructed this rude bier, we laid his body upon it, and bore it on our shoulders along this path; just about a mile from thence we encountered his mother, who, alarmed at the protracted absence of her son, had set forth in search of him——"

"Yes!" screamed forth the distracted parent, "the spirit of my murdered boy drove me forth to meet his mangled body. I sat in my house, bewailing my solitary widowhood—alone with my foreboding fears concerning my son, and brooding with tortured soul over the fearful calamities that has befallen the faithful of the land. Suddenly I was seized with a trembling and sinking of the heart—an indescribable feeling of awe, as if some mysterious being invisible, yet distinctly felt, hovered around, overcame me, and I bowed my head in acknowledgment of its presence. Then a voice, which I instantly knew to be that of my son, although sweet and low, whispered the name of—mother! Distracted with fear, I fled from the cottage; and led by my mysterious guide, my footsteps turned in this direction. Maddened by cruel uncertainty, I ran swiftly onwards until I encountered the bier which bore all that remained of my murdered son."

Here the mother ended her sad recital, and weeping afresh, resumed her station at the head of the procession.

"Men, and fellow-sufferers in the good cause!" shouted Walter Henderson at the conclusion of the widow's tale, "what merits the man, who, on account of his high position and influence in this county, has it in his power to succour those overwhelmed by dangers and miseries of every description, and to befriend the followers of the Covenant, but who, instead of shielding these poor afflicted ones under the strong arm of his might, reduces them to the bonds of slavery, and exercises his authority over the minds of his friends and dependants to the furtherance of every evil work, whereby the blood of innocent and inoffensive men is poured out like water on the hills and valleys of Scotland?"

"Death!" was the rejoinder.

"What punishment should be inflicted on him," pursued their leader, "who has driven the labourer from his kindred and home, and the patriot from his country?"

"Let him perish in the midst of his ungodliness, and let his stronghold be razed; yea even to the ground!"

"Comrades," shouted Walter Henderson, "It is Sir Robert Grierson whom ye have with one accord denounced; he it is who has clad the green hills of Dumfriesshire in mourning, and caused the wail of widows and orphans to ascend up to heaven for a testimony against him; then let us, trusting in the help of the Almighty God, call upon him to account for his iniquities, and burn down the stronghold of his cruelties.